Notorious

by Carey Baldwin

  “What do you mean Cassidy and Spenser survived? I told you to get rid of Langhorne and bring me the diary, not chase those two around,” Hawk shouted at him in a distorted voice.

  Malachi switched his phone to speaker and held it a good distance from his ear. “I thought they might lead me to Langhorne, and in a way, I was right.”

  “So you know where Langhorne is.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But you do know where Cassidy and Spenser are. Because as of now, they’ve become my problem, too. You’ll take care of them—­and not for a penny more.”

  “Understood. But I don’t know their exact whereabouts at the moment.” Before Hawk could yell at him again, he added. “But I have a plan to recover the diary.”

  He suspected the pair would be with Dutch, and, so much the better. With all three of them together, it would be easy to secure the diary for Hawk, then eliminate them all one by one.

  “Tell me where Langhorne is. Obviously, you have some idea.”

  It had been quite simple to deduce the location of Dutch’s hideout once he’d noted Yolanda Langhorne’s reaction to that photograph. In the background, he’d seen a sign that read: MISS MOLLY’S. The place turned out to be a famous old whorehouse down at the Fort Worth stockyards. One that had been converted into a bed-­and-­breakfast. But he wasn’t ready to share that information with Hawk. Hawk was just as likely to hire someone else to do the job and maybe even try to have him eliminated. “As soon as I have a lock on the targets, I’ll be in touch.”

  He heard a hiss over the phone and disconnected before his employer could object.

  At the Bargain Bayou, Malachi had acted impulsively, but that had taught him a valuable lesson. This time he’d be more careful. He wouldn’t let Hawk rush him. He’d take the time to plan out a truly magnificent death for his targets—­starting with Caitlin Cassidy. That would give Spenser and Langhorne a chance to appreciate the Thresher in action.

  It was unfortunate to be so skilled in your craft as he and yet never have anyone witness your greatness.

  Almost to Fort Worth, now, he stopped his car on the side of the road, near one of those ubiquitous barbed-­wire fences. He removed a pair of shears from his tool kit. Then he took the barbed wire in hand. The twisted metal made pleasing impressions on his fingertips, as he held it securely in place for clipping. Satisfied with his work, he held up the length of wire, then measured it against the radius of his right thigh.

  Caitlin was fine-­boned and delicate. Still, he wanted to be sure he had enough length, so he measured out a second strand, with a bit of extra tail. Next, he propped his shoe on the fence post and studied the width of his calf. A strand measured against the bulk of his lower leg would be just about the right size for his purposes.

  Perhaps he’d cut a spare, in case he wanted to repeat this method. He never knew when he’d run into another soul who’d earned the right to a meaningful death.

  Malachi tightened the barbed wire around his calf and observed the angry welts forming on his skin and the blood sliding in fat drops down his leg. He twisted the wire again and again, until the pain became unbearable.

  Good to know about how many turns that would take.

  He worked on his leg until he had the technique honed to maximum effect, then left the wire in place as he hobbled back to his car. He didn’t mind the pain. He liked knowing how it felt to be on both sides of the fence. Ha-­ha. Someday, he thought, he wouldn’t mind knowing how it felt to die. He only wished his end could be as magnificent as the one he had planned for Cassidy.

  As he thought about his own death, an even more brilliant idea for hers came to him. He was missing one item, but no matter, he could stop by a Home Depot along the way.

  Friday, October 18

  4:20 P.M.

  Fort Worth, Texas

  “GUYS, WE PASSED Miss Molly’s already. Where are we going?” Caitlin asked, still hurrying to keep up with Dutch and Spense.

  “To grab a bite and a beer. We haven’t eaten all day in case you forgot. We want to see some bull riding too,” Spense answered.

  “So are we going to see bull riding, or are we going to grab a bite?” She didn’t quite get the plan. Except that obviously it had something to do with hiding in plain sight. She understood they were really no safer shutting themselves away in the room, but she couldn’t help thinking that if they could hide among the crowd, the killer could, too.

  “Both,” Dutch said.

  She noted the way both his and Spense’s eyes darted around as they walked. No matter how casual they might appear, she knew their guard was up. For them, however, being on high alert was second nature. And then the light dawned. They weren’t just going to dinner, they were sniffing out the area.

  The killer wasn’t the only one on the hunt.

  A rush of adrenaline hastened her steps. They turned the corner, and suddenly, there, before her eyes, the world’s largest honky-­tonk appeared. She’d always been curious about this place. They were going to Billy Bob’s.

  The men had just brawled, and they looked the part. She passed out the wipes she’d pulled from her purse, but they didn’t seem interested in cleaning up.

  “Around here, nobody cares if you’ve been in a fight. Just shows you’re not a damn tourist,” Dutch said.

  Spense put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her inside the honky-­tonk. She could almost believe he’d forgiven her, but she knew that wasn’t so. He was in a good mood, now that they’d found Dutch, and he would honor their détente for however long it took to get out of this jam.

  Blinking hard, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the honky-­tonk. She noticed a band set up on stage. Mixed in with the sound of too many voices talking at the same time, she heard the bray of bulls. It seemed the bulls at Billy Bob’s were the real, live, fire-­breathing kind.

  While they waited for a table, they walked over to the arena and watched some cowboys take a ride. For a few wonderful minutes, they hadn’t a care in the world. Dutch smiled—­more than she’d seen him do. She suspected this was probably one of the few times since Cindy had died that he hadn’t been thinking of his wife.

  And Spense—­his face came alive when he talked. She’d never seem him engage with another man like this. It occurred to her that as devastating as it was to learn of his father’s secret life, Spense had been an only child and had probably wished for a sibling many times. Now he had a brother. She was in no hurry for the hostess to seat them. She wanted this moment to last as long as possible. Too soon, the beeper went off, and a young woman, dressed in skintight jeans and red boots, led them to a table near the dance floor.

  Dutch ordered a pitcher of Lone Star and a rattlesnake appetizer for the table. The snake tasted like chicken. Caity had melt-­in-­your-­mouth ribs. Spense and Dutch both started in on their T-­bones like it’d been years, not hours, since their last meal, Spense, apparently suspending his heart-­healthy diet in honor of the occasion, or because, given the menu, it was that or starve.

  Then the band came back from break. As they made adjustments to their setup, a few ­couples made their way to the edges of the big, sawdust-­covered dance floor.

  “By special request for Beau and Jen’s thirty-­third wedding anniversary.” The gravelly voice of the lead singer battled with feedback from the microphone. He plucked a few strings of his guitar to ensure it was tuned to his satisfaction, and the other band members joined in with their instruments. The lead man began to croon “Lookin’ for Love” in a deep bass tone that sounded as though it had been seared with a Texas branding iron.

  Tilting his head toward Caitlin, Dutch elbowed Spense. She smiled and tried to make eye contact with Spense, but he refused to look up from his plate. He carved out a bite of steak and brought it obliviously to his mouth.

  Whatever.

  Sh
e shouldn’t expect him to get over this so easily. He’d been deeply hurt. But he seemed to be madder at her than at anyone else involved. She pulled her shoulders up. He was funneling his anger for his father into a bucket, then dumping it all on her. She might be a psychiatrist, and she might be familiar with displacement as a psychological defense mechanism, but that didn’t make it fair, and it didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Dutch squinted at Spense and threw down his napkin in apparent disgust. “Care to dance, Caitlin?”

  “I’d love to. But I have to warn you, I don’t know the two-­step.”

  “No worries. It’s really easy . . . just two steps.” His grin was wide. “Let’s give it a whirl.” Reaching over, he pinched Spense’s shoulder. “While I dance with this beautiful woman, you stay here and keep a lookout.”

  Despite Dutch’s joking manner, she knew he was serious, and he pulled the brim of his Resistol lower, obscuring his face.

  As she thought about the trouble Dutch was in—­the trouble they were all in—­that momentary feeling of safety vanished. No doubt they’d made some missteps, not the least of which was lying to Spense. But there was no going back now. From here on out, the three of them had to stick together. And if the men could keep up the appearance of a happy trio out on the town, so could she.

  She and Dutch elbowed their way to an open spot on the dance floor. With his hand low on her back, he easily led her in time with the music.

  “You’re a good dancer,” she said.

  “My mother taught me.” He pulled her in and dipped her. “Spense might’ve had more time with Jack, but I was the only apple of Mom’s eye. And Jim was around a lot when I was growing up, too. Dad asked him to look out for me when he was away—­which was most of the time, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I am who I am, in large part, because of the weirdness. Made me tough. Opened my eyes to the fact most ­people, sooner or later, are going to let you down. Doesn’t mean you don’t love them.”

  She nodded. Wondering if that was how he felt about Cindy. She’d let Dutch down, but he loved her anyway.

  “And for the record, I understand why you told Spense the truth. I’m not mad, and now that the hand’s been played, I’m glad it’s all out in the open. I do wish I hadn’t put you in the middle, though. I can’t help noticing that things are a little tense between my brother and you.”

  “He thinks I betrayed him.”

  “Then he’s a fool.” He twirled her beneath his arm. “He won’t stay mad forever, Caitlin. Mark my words.” Dutch pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head, and then he spun her—­around and around and around, until breathless, she begged him for mercy. Her gaze landed on Spense, who’d pulled his chair out from the table and was watching them. She shot him a big smile, but his expression didn’t alter. Her knees threatened to buckle, and Dutch had to shore her up.

  What if Dutch was wrong?

  What if Spense never forgave her?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Saturday, October 19

  10:15 A.M.

  Fort Worth, Texas

  SPENSE PULLED UP a chair close to where Dutch hunkered on the edge of a bed covered by a red velvet spread. Miss Molly’s décor paid tribute to its early days as a one of the most popular brothels in the Wild West. Dutch’s room was named for its former “hostess,” Miss Josie.

  Spense and Caity had bunked in with Dutch last night. Caity had scored the bed, while Spense and Dutch made do with pallets on the floor. Spense was less than thrilled with the accommodations, but when he asked Dutch why he hadn’t selected the “Gunslinger” room, Dutch explained that since he was on the lam, he’d thought it best to book the only room with the private bath—­even if it did have lace curtains and floral wallpaper.

  Last night, Spense and Caity had relayed the whole story to Dutch of what had happened in Jefferson, and they’d been going round and round the same argument ever since. Arguing with Dutch was exhausting, but on the bright side, it didn’t leave Spense much time to dwell on Caity’s betrayal, which was proving harder to deal with than Jim Edison’s or even his father’s. “I didn’t just promise Yolanda I’d bring you home, Dutch. I promised her I’d bring you home safe.”

  “Yet you expect me to just leave her lying alone in some hospital room. What if she were your mother?”

  “She’s not lying alone in a hospital room. I called in some favors and arranged a ­couple of private bodyguards to stay with her. And to answer your question, if she were my mother, I’d hope I’d have the level head to do the right thing. And the right thing, at the moment, is biding our time. Right now, you’re in trouble from all sides. Sheridan is hell-­bent on locking you up, and now that you’ve ‘fled,’ Jim’s washed his hands of you.” He cleared his throat. “He doesn’t know we’re looking for you.”

  “You mean he doesn’t know you found me.” Dutch tugged a thread on his shirtsleeve. “You’re sure you want to stick? You’re willing to risk everything to help me—­a guy you don’t even like? Just because I’m your brother doesn’t mean you have to flush your future alongside mine.”

  Spense squared his gaze with Dutch’s. “Good luck getting rid of me.” He was now absolutely convinced of Dutch’s innocence. Just as he was, now, absolutely convinced that Dutch was his brother. He didn’t need a DNA test for proof—­in either matter. But there was one thing still bothering him. “They say there was blood spatter on your shirt, consistent with blowback from a gunshot wound. Any idea what that’s about?”

  Dutch raised an eyebrow. “When I first found Cindy, it was obvious she was dead, and beyond help, but I couldn’t stop myself from checking her anyway. I remember leaning over her, listening for breathing and feeling for a pulse. I’m guessing that’s how the blood got there.”

  “Then the experts are wrong about the ‘blowback spatter.’ ” Certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Unlike DNA, blood-­spatter analysis was highly subjective.

  Dutch looked away, then said, in a low voice. “I don’t know what changed between us, but . . .”

  “I know,” Spense said. “I’m glad, too.” He wasn’t an emotional guy. But finding out he had a brother was testing his equanimity. One minute he was pissed as hell and lashing out at Dutch, the next, he was planning a brothers’ fishing trip in his head for when this was all over. There was a long, awkward pause, and he changed the subject. “Yolanda’s description of her attacker fits the man I chased out of your house in Preston Hollow. And that’s a good thing. Surely, even Sheridan will have to admit you didn’t stage the attack on your own mother.”

  “One thing that doesn’t point to my guilt. I guess it’s something,” Dutch agreed.

  The bathroom door opened. Then Caity, looking fresh as the petunias on Miss Molly’s front porch, emerged, bringing the scent of jasmine soap into the room along with her. “Thanks for loaning me your shower,” she said to Dutch as she pulled a chair up to join them.

  Steeling himself against the sweetness in her smile, Spense brought her up to speed on the conversation. Every time she walked into a room, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and say sorry, tell her he understood why she’d done what she’d done . . . but the truth was he didn’t understand, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. For months now, every time he’d looked at her, he’d imagined what a life with her might be like. He’d even pictured kids and a big house, a family dog—­the whole nine yards. But never once had he pictured her deceiving him. Caity was the most straight-­up, honest person he’d ever met. And maybe that was the problem. Caity had been the one and only person he’d thought he could count on unconditionally.

  “As far as the mystery man,” Caity jumped right into the conversation, making it easier to put his conflicted emotions aside and focus on business. “Yolanda gave us a name, but we haven’t had a chance to run it yet.”

 
Dutch’s posture straightened. “He told her his name?”

  “Not likely,” Spense said. That was one reason they hadn’t rushed to run it—­it was almost certainly a fake. The other was that logging onto the Bureau’s databases might alert Jim to their whereabouts. “But he claimed he was FBI and said his name was Will Thresher.”

  “The guy said Thresher?” Dutch got to his feet and prowled the perimeter of the room, running his hands through his hair as he did. “Something about that name is familiar.” He came back and sat on the bed again. At last, he jerked his chin up. “Got it. Back in the day, even before I got put on counterterrorism, I was assigned to violent crimes. Not for long, just a month or two. But there was a local guy on the squad’s radar. Sort of a jack-­of-­all-­trades badass—­hired himself out for all kinds of crap. Everything from petty theft to murder.” Dutch pressed his fingers to his temples, as if concentrating hard. “I’m almost certain he called himself the Thresher.”

  “Could be coincidence, but I’m not much of a believer in those.” Ideas rapid-­fired through Spense’s brain. This could turn out to be their first real break in the case.

  “So then, you’re saying this guy who’s after us is just the hired help—­the tip of the iceberg.” Caity seemed to be working to keep her voice steady.

  If she was scared, she had a right to be. There very well might be a monster behind the monster. “Even if our guy is not this Thresher, he’s likely to be a hit man.” Nothing else really made sense at this point. At least not to Spense.

  “All the more reason for you two to go back to Dallas and let me handle things from here. It’s too dangerous to hang around me,” Dutch said.

  “Well, it’s a little late for that now. I’ve seen this guy’s face, and he’s seen both mine and Caity’s. The three of us are in this for the duration, whether we like it or not.” And Spense didn’t like it one bit. “Believe me, if there was any way I could safely send Caity packing, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”