Most Wanted Woman

by Maggie Price

  He knew that if Creath had gotten to Regan, he wouldn’t have given her the chance to pack her belongings. So, logic told him she’d taken off on her own. And the only reason she would do that was if she’d found out Creath was in Sundown.

  How would she know?

  Whipping around, he strode to the answering machine. Saw there were two messages. One would be his, Josh thought as he hit the play button.

  “Josh, it’s Nate.”

  He listened to the message while the sax wailed and his gut knotted. It was easy to envision Regan standing here, listening to Nate. Realizing she was now wanted for a second murder and that Creath was closing in. Josh could almost see the fear in her eyes, feel her panic.

  He swore viciously. Then again, quietly. Stalking out of the kitchen, he retraced his steps along the hallway. Despite the fear she’d surely felt, the panic, he knew the reason Regan had run wasn’t to save herself, but him.

  She’d forgotten to take the bread out of the oven.

  Less than an hour had passed since Regan sped past the Sundown city limit sign; she was still trembling, shaking. Yet the thought blipping in her brain was that if Josh hadn’t gotten home by now, the lemon tea bread might have already burst into flames and burned down his house.

  Because of her, he could lose his house, his badge, his life.

  Standing in the grimy bathroom at the rear of the mom-and-pop convenience store on an isolated country road, Regan stared into the wavy mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes half-glassy with fear. She wanted desperately to talk to Josh, tell him she trusted him. Loved him. But she didn’t dare contact him. Not when she could almost feel Creath sniffing at her heels.

  Still, that was where she wanted the NOPD cop. Sniffing at her heels, not Josh’s.

  She’d taken precious moments at Etta’s while cramming her laptop and clothes into her suitcase to phone the tavern. She told the day bartender that she’d quit her job and was leaving town. Since Creath had used the address of the apartment over the tavern when he pawned the gun he’d used to kill Bobby, surely that would be the first place he would look for her. And hearing that she’d just left town he would come after her, thinking he could catch up with her. He wouldn’t stay in Sundown long enough to find out about her close ties to Etta. To Josh.

  Regan splashed cold water on her face, dried it, then took a deep breath when she felt despair rising inside her. She’d already pumped a full tank of gas into the Mustang and she needed to get back on the road. Needed to put as much distance as possible between herself and Sundown.

  Dipping her hand into her shorts pocket to retrieve the key to the restroom, her fingers brushed across Etta’s recorder. Regan shook her head. When she returned the key to the clerk, she would see if the small store sold padded mailing envelopes so she could send the recorder back to Etta.

  Turning, Regan tugged open the door. The long rays of the afternoon sun had her squinting as she stepped out into the skin-soaking heat.

  The door was still swinging shut behind her when a heavy hand seized her wrist and hauled her sideways.

  “Got you,” a gruff voice said.

  Chapter 15

  The instant the hand locked on her wrist, a jolt of sheer terror shot through Regan. She thrashed, struggling to get free, until she was jerked around and collided with a solid wall of muscle.

  “Hold still, dammit.”

  Her head whipped up. Her breath whooshed out as she stared into Josh’s face. “What…are you doing here?”

  “Keeping you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  He loomed over her, his broad shoulders all but blocking the sun, his dark eyes glinting, anger showing in every tense line of his body.

  “You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be anywhere near me.” Fear for him crimped her voice. “How did you find me?”

  “You wouldn’t give me your word to stay, so I put a tracking device in your laptop.” His voice could have sharpened a razor. “You might ditch the Mustang, but you need the computer to stay in touch with Langley.”

  “You had no…” She shook her head. Going toe-to-toe with him wouldn’t get her the distance she desperately needed to put between them. “Surely you’ve talked to Nate by now. So you know that Creath is on his way to Sundown. You should leave here and go home to Oklahoma City—”

  “Creath spent last night at the Sundown Inn.”

  Regan felt the blood drain out of her face. “I stayed at your house,” she burst out. “He could have seen—”

  “Us. Together.” Josh’s fingers tightened on her wrist as his eyes hardened. “If he did, he already knows you and I are involved. So your running away to protect me won’t do a damn bit of good. It will only piss me off more and—”

  “Police, freeze!”

  Regan jerked toward the sound of Creath’s voice at the same time Josh yanked her halfway behind him. While fear arrowed into her bones, her gaze flicked to the gun holstered against the small of Josh’s back. His right hand, still locked rock steady around her wrist, was only inches from the weapon.

  Looking past Josh, she watched Creath with a sick sense of dread. He was maybe ten feet away, standing on the hard-packed dirt in a legs-apart-cop-stance, gun aimed in their direction. The gold badge clipped to the waistband of his khaki pants glinted in the sun.

  Behind him, she could see only a slice of the convenience store’s parking lot, but no cars. She couldn’t even see her Mustang, which she’d left parked at the gas pump. At the side of the building where they stood, they were out of view of almost all customers who stopped at the small, isolated store.

  All potential witnesses.

  Josh raised his free hand waist high while saying, “I’m a cop, too. I’m a cop.”

  Creath’s chin lifted minutely. He was big and imposing with dark brown hair and brown eyes that were currently hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. “Don’t see a badge.”

  “It’s in my back pocket,” Josh answered levelly. “I’ll be happy to show it to you.”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” Creath ordered. “Both hands.”

  Regan felt Josh hesitate before he gave her wrist a reassuring squeeze, then released it. Slowly, he moved his right hand into Creath’s view.

  Terror clawed into Regan’s chest. With no witnesses, Creath could do whatever he wanted and no one would question the outcome. She slowly edged her hand into the pocket of her shorts, slid out Etta’s recorder and clicked it on.

  Despite Creath’s mirrored sunglasses, she knew the exact moment he shifted his gaze to her, could almost feel his eyes crawl across her flesh. His mouth curled. “There’s two warrants on the woman out of New Orleans. For murder. I’m taking her in.”

  Josh inched his elbows back. Regan tensed, sensing he was waiting for an opening to go for his gun.

  “I know about the warrants,” he responded. “In fact, right before you got here I placed Kincaid under arrest. Meaning she’s my prisoner. You can follow me when I transport her to the county jail. Start your extradition paperwork there.”

  “Sure thing,” Creath said, and pulled the trigger.

  The deafening blast muffled Regan’s scream as the bullet slammed into Josh. He staggered into her, knocking the recorder from her hand.

  “No!” He was too heavy for her to support, so Regan went down with him, breaking his fall with her own body. She landed on her side, he on top of her, knocking the breath out of her.

  “Josh!” Lungs heaving, she struggled from under him, scrambled to her knees. He was on his back wheezing, hand gripping his chest while he fought for air. Already, blood was soaking into the upper right side of his shirt. His eyes were narrowed, pain already overtaking the fierceness she’d seen there earlier.

  Biting down on her lip, she forced her years of training to kick in and ripped open his shirt. The sucking sound and frothy bubbles of blood coming from the entrance wound told her the bullet had punctured the chest wall. Air entering the wound could cause hi
s lung to collapse. It was urgent she find something airtight to seal the wound.

  “Hold on, Josh. Hold—”

  Creath’s fingers twisted into her hair. She had a split second to press Josh’s hand over the wound before Creath jerked her to her feet.

  “Think I’m going to let Little Miss Paramedic save her latest lover?”

  She lashed out at him with her hands, her feet, kicking at his knees, his shins, any part of him she could hit.

  When he slammed her forward against the building, she grunted in pain. Pressing the length of his body against the back of hers, he trapped her against the rough concrete wall. He clenched his fingers tighter in her hair, angled her head sideways, forcing her to look at him. With his face only inches from hers, she smelled the cloying scent of peppermint on his breath. Her stomach roiled.

  “Thought you could hide from me forever, didn’t you, Susan?”

  “Let me help him,” she pleaded. Creath’s mirrored sunglasses reflected back the desperation in her eyes. She wanted to lunge at him, scratch his eyes out, but with both of her arms trapped between her body and the building, and his full weight pressing against her she could barely breathe, much less move.

  “Last night I was outside the tavern where you work.” Creath’s voice was cold, filled with malice. “I thought you’d go upstairs to that apartment after you closed, but you climbed into your car instead. I tailed you, wanting to see exactly what you’d been up to.” He jerked his head toward where Josh lay. “Saw you on the porch with him. Figured since you had a job and were whoring yourself, you weren’t planning to leave that armpit of a town anytime soon. So I drove to Dallas this morning, took care of some business for you.”

  Somehow using her name to pawn the gun he’d used to kill Bobby, Regan thought.

  “I’d just gotten back to Sundown and was on my way to reunite with you when you sped by in the opposite direction,” Creath continued, his breath hot against her skin. “I followed you. Hung back to see if lover boy would show up.” Creath smiled. “He did.”

  “Let me help him,” she pleaded. “He’s a cop. Even you can’t get away with killing a cop.”

  “But I didn’t kill him, cher,” Creath countered as his fingers tightened in her hair. “You see, I used a throwaway to shoot your lover. Before we’re done here, that gun’s going to have only your prints on it. And with me claiming I witnessed you shoot him, McCall’ll be just one more man you killed.”

  “You killed!” Regan shouted. Josh was still alive—she wouldn’t let herself think otherwise. She had to make sure he stayed alive. If anyone heard the gunshot, they hadn’t dashed around the building to see what was happening. She had to get help. Had to try to make enough noise to attract someone’s attention and get Josh help.

  “You killed Steven and Bobby,” she yelled. “You thought getting them out of the way would make me want you. I never wanted you. Nothing could make me want you!”

  “Defiant bitch, you’ll pay for leaving me.” Creath shoved forward, pressing her so hard against the wall she could breathe only in painful pants. The rough concrete bit into her cheek, her arms, her legs. “You’re going to sit in a cell for the rest of your life, thinking of me,” he said with heavy satisfaction, then licked the side of her face.

  She shuddered, trembling with revulsion as much as fear. “You’re the last person I’ll think of.”

  “Wrong, cher.” His mouth curled. “You’ll wish a thousand times you’d turned to me after I took your pathetic Steven and Bobby out of the picture.”

  “That’s what you did to your missing fiancée, isn’t it? She broke up with you, rejected you, so you killed her, too.”

  “No one rejects me!” When Creath dragged her head back, Regan’s cheek scraped across the concrete wall. She whimpered as pain exploded in the side of her face, jagged and sharp. Blood pooled warmly on her cheek.

  Creath’s fingers dragged from her hair to clamp onto the back of her neck. “I caught up with that P.I. you hired to follow me.” His lips pulled back against his teeth in a feral snarl. “After I killed him I read the report on my background he e-mailed to you. That two-bit slime had no hard facts. No evidence.”

  Langley, Regan thought, her heart clenching. So many dead on her account. And Josh lying just feet away, shot and bleeding and her unable to help him.

  She had to do something. Had to get away from Creath long enough to get to Josh, find something to use to seal his wound.

  “You soulless bastard,” she hissed, seizing her anger and hate and using them as shields to beat back her terror. “You’re sick, Creath. Twisted. I’d rather go to jail for the rest of my life than have you touch me!”

  “Shut the hell up!” Enraged, he jerked her away from the building. The back of his hand exploded against the side of her face, snapping her head to the side and sending her reeling.

  The blow brought a burst of stars behind her eyes and the taste of blood to her mouth even before she landed hard on her palms and knees. Gasping, Regan shook her head, trying to clear it. Get to Josh, she told herself, but the ground was spinning beneath her and nausea crawled up the back of her throat.

  “You’re going to have a whole lot more bruises on you, cher, by the time I get you to jail,” Creath said, advancing on her. “That’s to be expected when a fugitive felon resists arrest.”

  Seeing his right leg tense, Regan braced to absorb the kick she knew was coming.

  The next second, a thunderclap blasted the air, and Creath crumpled beside her.

  Wild-eyed, she jerked her head sideways. Josh was sitting up, blood covering his chest, his gun clenched in both hands. On a strangled cry, she pushed to her feet and raced to him as he did a slow-motion slide sideways.

  She caught him before he hit the ground, eased him onto his back.

  “Had…to wait…till…you were clear…to get a shot,” he managed.

  “You got him.” Her heart drummed impossibly hard, impossibly loud. Tears rose to burn the back of her eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Relax now. Don’t talk.”

  The sucking sound from the wound continued; his pulse was weak and there was a bluish tint to his lips now. She slid her hand beneath his shoulders, checking for blood, but there wasn’t any. No exit wound meant the bullet was still inside him. She couldn’t be sure what angle it had entered his chest, had no idea how much damage the slug had done. If she didn’t seal the wound to keep oxygen from entering the chest cavity, it was possible both lungs could collapse and he would suffocate.

  “Creath.” Josh kept his eyes closed. “Dead?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed her palm against the wound while she frantically patted his pockets with her free hand. His cell phone wasn’t clipped to his waistband, it wasn’t in his pockets. God, he must have left it in his car. She had to call for help, but she didn’t dare leave him for that long.

  “Get…Creath’s gun.” Josh winced, pain flickering across his face. “Kick it away…don’t get your…prints on it. Make sure…there’s not another…gun.”

  She didn’t want to deal with Creath. But Josh was right—if the bastard wasn’t dead he could take another shot at them.

  “All right.” She lifted Josh’s right hand, pressed his palm over the bullet hole. “It will be easier to breathe if you can keep your hand here. You’re going to be okay, Josh. I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

  Her legs barely supported her as she dashed toward Creath’s body. He’d landed on his back, still wearing the mirrored sunglasses. There was a single, neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead. His right arm was outstretched, the gun a foot from his hand.

  Regan kicked it away. Setting her jaw, she touched fingers against the pulse point on Creath’s throat. As she confirmed he was dead, the scent of peppermint assaulted her.

  Peppermint, she thought, desperation rising inside her like a flood. Creath habitually carried peppermints in a plastic bag.

  Swallowing a sob, she stabbed her hand into h
is pants pocket, jerked out the bag and dumped the mints.

  “Whoa, what’s going on?”

  She whirled. Two teenage boys wearing T-shirts, jeans and cowboy boots stood at the corner of the building, gaping. One had the keys to the men’s restroom danging from his hand.

  Regan stabbed a finger at the boy on the right. “You, call the police,” she ordered. “Tell them a cop has been shot. He needs to be airlifted to the nearest E.R. Have you got that?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  She aimed her finger at the other boy. “You, run into the store and bring me gauze and a roll of duct tape. Now!” she screamed when they both continued to goggle at her.

  They took off like rockets. Praying they followed through, Regan dashed back to Josh.

  She dropped beside him, clenched her jaw when she discovered he was now unconscious, his face pale as wax. “Hold on.”

  Shaking almost uncontrollably, she folded the empty plastic baggy, then moved his hand away from the wound and replaced it with the baggy. Once the kid returned with the gauze and duct tape, she would dress the wound then seal the bag over it on three sides, creating a flutter valve.

  She kept her bloodstained fingers pressed around the baggy’s sides and top. With no medical equipment, this was all she could do for him. All she could do to try to keep him alive.

  “Hold on,” she repeated while tears rolled down her cheeks. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let you die.” Fear that he might do just that crimped her voice. “I love you, Josh. Please hold on.”

  “Well, Regan…guess I should say Susan, your turning on Etta’s recorder when you did goes a long way to backing up your story about Payne Creath.”

  Gripping her hands together until her knuckles ached, Regan stared numbly across the scarred table at Jim Decker, clad in a sharp-pressed county sheriff’s uniform. “I forgot all about the recorder after Creath shot Josh,” she said, her voice a thin rasp.