“You can’t get away from me, bitch.”
Jolie could almost feel his hot breath on her neck.
Ike Denton had offered to come here with her, but Ginny had told Jolie to come alone, that she wouldn’t talk to the sheriff. Why had she been so foolhardy, thinking there wouldn’t be any danger in simply talking to the woman? Hadn’t Nellie checking on and finding out the date of Earl Farris’s death been just a hint that somebody might not want her talking to his widow? Deputy Farris had died right in the middle of the Belle Rose massacre investigation. He had accidently shot and killed himself while cleaning one of his guns.
Jolie made it to the living room before he reached out and grabbed her. His hand clamped down on her shoulder. Jolie tried to scream. A hoarse warble came out instead. She cleared her throat. He dragged her backward, knocking her bag off her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the side of his face. Ruddy complexion. Pockmarked cheek, scarred by acne. Long brown sideburns. Jolie opened her mouth again and this time the terror she felt found a voice. She screamed. He slapped his glove-covered hand over her mouth.
Oh, God, I’m going to die!
The storm door flew open, almost ripped from its hinges. Another man charged toward her, pure rage etched on his features. Max Devereaux lunged forward. She wasn’t quite sure how, but in the ensuing struggle, she was shoved to the floor. On hands and knees, she crawled away from the two men locked in deadly hand-to-hand combat. Ginny’s killer managed to land a solid blow to Max’s stomach, reeling Max backward for a couple of seconds and giving the guy time to escape. But Max immediately pursued him.
Jolie sat on the floor in the living room, unable to move, knowing if she tried to stand, her legs wouldn’t hold her. With trembling fingers, she reached out, grabbed the strap of her bag lying a couple of feet away and dragged it to her. Call for help, she told herself. As she tried to undo the zippered pouch on her bag that held her cell phone, she heard thundering footsteps, the back door slamming…and then a gunshot.
Max! She managed to stand. With her nerves rioting, fear eating away at her insides like acid, Jolie hurried back through the house. She paused in the kitchen, looked around for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. She chose one of the heavy iron skillets hanging on the wall behind the stove. With her weapon raised, ready to strike, she cautiously crept out onto the porch.
Max stood in the backyard near a maple tree, his right hand clutching his left shoulder. Jolie raced down the wooden steps and out into the yard, straight to Max.
He turned, grunted, and then said, “Call the police.”
Blood oozed out from between Max’s fingers.
“You’ve been shot!”
“Call the goddamn police!”
She nodded, dropped the iron skillet to the ground, then unzipped the pouch and grabbled in her shoulder bag. With her hands trembling, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911. As soon as she made the call, she barreled toward Max, almost colliding with him.
“They’re sending an ambulance.” Her fingers tightening around his, then pulled his hand away from the wound. “Oh, Max. I didn’t realize he had a gun.”
“Yeah, he whipped it out and started shooting at me, then ran like hell down the alley and into the woods. He probably parked his car in there.” Max watched her grimace when she inspected his shoulder. “I don’t need an ambulance. The bullet only grazed me.”
“He could have killed you. You’re lucky he—”
“Me? Hell, he could have killed you. And he would have, if I hadn’t gotten here when I did.”
She nodded, realizing the truth of his words. “Why did you show up when you did?”
“I was looking for you. I thought we needed to talk, to clear the air between us, so I started calling around trying to locate you. I spoke to Ike Denton and he told me you were meeting Earl Farris’s widow at seven.”
“Did you know I’d be in danger?” Jolie jerked her blouse from the waistband of her slacks and ripped several inches of soft cotton material from the hem.
“Sheriff Denton seemed nervous, like he was worried, so I asked him a few questions and he told me what y’all had found out from Linden Singleton. I didn’t like what I heard.”
Jolie grasped the tear in Max’s shirt from where the bullet had slashed through the material and through the flesh beneath. Yanking the linen apart as much as the sturdy material would give, she wadded the strip off her blouse into a makeshift bandage and stuffed it inside his shirt, over his bleeding wound.
“Damn, take it easy,” Max said.
“Sorry.”
“You should have had better sense than to come here by yourself.”
“I know that now. And it should be obvious to everyone that somebody doesn’t want the Belle Rose massacre case reopened.” Jolie added gentle pressure to the cloth over Max’s wound.
“Yeah, it would seem so. And that somebody tried to kill Theron the other night and now you tonight.”
“Max?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry that I suspected it might be you.”
He simply stared at her for a moment, then they heard the shrill drone of sirens howling off in the distance. Jolie eased her arm around Max’s waist and together they walked from the backyard into the front yard to wait for the police and the ambulance.
Chapter 17
“I’d like for you to stay overnight for observation,” Dr. Andrews said.
The ER physician seemed genuinely concerned about Max, which in turn made Jolie more concerned than she already was. And she had every right to care about Max’s health—after all, the man had saved her life tonight.
Max slid off the examination bed in the ER cubbyhole. “The damn bullet didn’t enter my shoulder, it just sliced off a small chunk of meat as it passed through. I’m perfectly all right. And I’m going home.”
“Even so, you lost quite a lot of blood and there’s always a possibility of infection, though the—”
“I’m leaving!”
When a bare-chested Max marched out of the curtained cubbyhole, Jolie rushed after him, but paused momentarily and glanced back at the doctor. “I’m sorry. He’s very stubborn. But I promise I’ll look after him and make sure he takes the antibiotic and the pain medication, if he needs it and—”
“Let’s go,” Max growled.
“Oh, I see now that he’s going to be the ideal patient.” Jolie gave the doctor a faint smile and ran to catch up with Max.
Sheriff Denton and Police Chief Harper halted Max just inside the electronic glass double-door entrance to the ER. Jolie paused a few feet behind them. Although Ginny Pounders’ house was officially within the city limits and therefore within the Sumarville police’s jurisdiction, the sheriff’s department definitely had a vested interest in Ginny’s murder. Jolie and Max had given the police officers who arrived on the scene a condensed version of what had happened, and Max had been able to give them a description of the man who’d shot him. Then Jolie had insisted Max needed immediate medical attention. He had refused to ride in the ambulance but had reluctantly agreed to let her take him to the hospital.
“Did the doctor give you the okay to leave?” Ike Denton eyed Max’s partially undressed state.
“Yeah. Sure.” Max cut Jolie a sidelong glance, his expression daring her to contradict him. He rubbed his hand over his bare chest. “I told them to throw my shirt away. Damn thing was ruined.”
“I don’t know what’s happening to our peaceful little town.” Chief Harper shook his balding head. “There hasn’t been a murder here in five years, and now in less than a week, we have a man beaten nearly to death in front of his own home and a woman’s had her throat slit. And one of our leading citizens gets shot.”
“Maybe Sumarville is just now paying the price for having allowed the truth about the Belle Rose massacre to be covered up all these years, for allowing an innocent man to be condemned as a murderer.” Jolie looked squarely at Leon Harper.
“
Ike, what do you know about this mess?” Leon asked. “About Ms. Royale here claiming that Theron Carter was beaten up to stop him from trying to get that old case reopened. And now she’s saying that the guy who killed Ginny Pounders did it to stop her from revealing some sort of secret information Earl Farris knew about the case.”
“I know that the evidence seems to back up Ms. Royale’s assumptions,” Ike said. “I think it bears looking into.”
“What do you think, Mr. Devereaux?” Leon focused his attention on Max. “Do you believe any of this stuff?”
With her gaze fixed on Max, Jolie held her breath, waiting for his reply. Her stepbrother’s opinion carried a great deal of weight in Desmond County.
“I think Theron Carter needs around-the-clock protection,” Max said. “I’d like the local law to provide a guard tonight. I’ll contact a private security agency in Memphis first thing tomorrow and have them send a couple of their men down here.”
Jolie’s mouth dropped open. Had she heard him right?
“Of course, Mr. Devereaux.” Leon all but bowed to Max.
“I’ll stay tonight,” Ike said. “And one of my deputies can relieve me in the morning and stay until your security men can get here from Memphis.”
“Now, Ike, that won’t be necessary,” Leon said. “I can have my officers take shifts outside the ICU until Mr. Devereaux makes other arrangements.”
“Ike can stay tonight,” Max said. “In the morning, y’all can work out something. I just want to make sure that Theron is protected.”
“You can count on it,” Leon said.
Max and Ike looked at each other, unspoken promises passing between them.
Jolie slipped her arm around Max’s waist. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
The corners of Max’s mouth lifted slightly, just a hint of a smile. “Bossy, isn’t she?”
“You’re damn right about that.” Jolie urged Max into movement. “And you might as well just shut up and do what I tell you to do. When a man gets shot saving my life, I feel obligated to see to it that he takes proper care of himself.”
Ike grinned. Leon Harper’s eyes rounded as he glanced from Max to Jolie.
Guiding Max outside, Jolie kept her arm around his waist and gauged her pace according to Max’s gait. He moved a little slower than normal and her guess was that he was in a lot more pain than he’d let on to the doctor. Of course Max was the quintessential macho man and everyone knew that a real man didn’t feel pain. She’d never understood why acknowledging pain or fear or sadness was paramount to admitting you were a wimp.
Just as Jolie pressed the button on her key chain to unlock her SUV, a Harley “Hog” whizzed into the parking lot, followed by a silver Mercedes. The two vehicles parked side-by-side. Jolie groaned. Max froze to the spot.
“Oh, great,” Jolie said under her breath.
“Damn!” Max closed his eyes, as if praying for patience, and moved slightly away from Jolie.
Nowell Landers dismounted from his big metal stallion, assisted Clarice from her perch behind the driver’s seat and helped her remove her metallic red helmet. Jolie just barely restrained herself from laughing out loud. The sight of her petite, immaculately groomed, Southern belle aunt climbing off a motorcycle was, at the very least, comic. Clarice rushed toward Max and Jolie. Nowell removed his helmet and hung both helmets on the bike’s handlebars.
“Max, are you all right? When we were notified you’d been hurt, we came as quickly as possible.” Clarice hovered over him, her hands fluttering all about, but she didn’t touch him. Her gaze settled on the large square of gauze bandaging his shoulder. Already fresh blood stained the center of the dressing. “What happened to you, dear boy? The policeman who drove your car out to Belle Rose said there had been some sort of altercation, and it involved a shooting.”
Nowell walked up behind Clarice, his massive body standing guard over the small nervous woman. “She’s been beside herself with worry.”
Mallory emerged from the Mercedes and broke into a run. Skidding to a halt when she saw Max’s shoulder, she gasped. “My God, what happened? Were you really shot? The policeman told us you’d gone to the emergency room.” Mallory’s gaze zeroed in on Jolie. “What did you do to him?”
“Calm down, calm down.” Max reached out and pulled his sister to him. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m all right. It’s just a little wound. Nothing serious. No need to worry.”
No need to worry your pretty little head, Jolie mentally finished Max’s sentence. Mercy no, don’t let spoiled, selfish Mallory worry about anything or anyone!
Georgette, a lace handkerchief pressed against her cheek, charged forward, only a couple of minutes behind Mallory. Tears dampened Georgette’s face. Parry brought up the rear, his lumbering gait hampered by his inability to walk a straight line. Drunk as usual.
“What the hell happened?” Parry demanded.
“I was shot,” Max said.
Mallory lifted her head from Max’s chest, glowered at Jolie and screamed, “You shot him! Why aren’t you in jail? How dare you—”
“Oh, heaven help us.” Georgette swooned. Max had his hands full at the moment with Mallory, and Parry seemed oblivious to the fact that his sister was on the verge of fainting. Jolie caught her wicked stepmother around the waist just in time to prevent her from hitting the pavement.
“Jolie didn’t shoot me.” Max gently shoved Mallory aside and reached out for his mother.
“I’ve got her,” Jolie said, although her voice sounded strained, even to her own ears. Georgette was a slender woman, but Jolie was no weight lifter either. “I don’t want you reopening that wound. It took twenty stitches to close it up.”
Without saying a word, Nowell came over to Jolie, lifted a sagging Georgette into his arms and carried her to the Mercedes.
Max looked directly at Mallory, who grimaced, then said, “I know, I know. You want me to go see about Mother. But not before you tell us who shot you… if it wasn’t her?” Mallory’s gaze hurled daggers at Jolie.
“I have no idea who he was.” Max nodded toward the Mercedes. “I’ll tell y’all everything when we get home. I’m getting a little groggy from the shot the doctor gave me, so I need to get off my feet. Mallory, I want you and Uncle Parry to get in the car and see about Mother. I need to talk to Jolie.” When neither his uncle nor sister moved an inch, Max said, “Go on. Check on Mother.”
Clarice patted Jolie’s back. “I’ll see you later, at home.”
Jolie nodded, then Clarice walked over to where Nowell hovered in the open back door of the Mercedes, speaking softly to Georgette as she slowly revived. When Parry and Mallory responded to Max’s request to leave, he turned to Jolie.
“I should ride home with my family,” Max told her.
“Sure.” For the life of her, Jolie couldn’t explain why she felt rejected. She actually wished that Max would stay with her, that he’d get in her Escalade and allow her to drive him to Belle Rose. What’s the matter with you? she asked herself. This is Max Devereaux for whom you’re feeling all these fluttery little feminine emotions. Your stepbrother. Georgette’s son. Your enemy.
No, he wasn’t her enemy, not any longer. Max was the man who had saved her. He had risked his own life to protect her. She’d never thought that the day would come when she’d think of Max Devereaux as her knight in shining armor.
When Jolie started walking away from Max, he grabbed her wrist. She waited, her back to him, her breath caught in her throat.
“Y’all go on home,” Max called to the others. “Jolie’s going to take me to the Wal-Mart pharmacy before they close. I’ve got a couple of prescriptions I should get filled tonight.”
A euphoric high swept through Jolie. Get a grip, she told herself. Rein in all those let-me-kiss-it-and-make-it-better feelings before you say or do something really foolish.
“Let’s go,” Max said. “Before they have time to protest.”
Jolie
unlocked her SUV. Within seconds she and Max were settled inside and she was revving the motor.
“You realize that Theron isn’t the only one who needs a bodyguard, don’t you?” There was an uncustomary gentleness in Max’s voice.
Jolie backed out of the hospital parking lot and drove directly onto Milton Avenue. “You believe my life is in danger?”
“Very possibly.”
She took a left off Milton onto Dearborn, which would take her straight to the Wal-Mart Super Center on the outskirts of town.
“Do you think I should hire myself a bodyguard?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Max replied. “Until you’re out of danger, I’ll make sure you’re safe. From tonight on, consider me your personal protector.”
Roscoe Wells gripped the telephone with white-knuckled ferocity. “Goddamn you fucking son of a bitch! What were you thinking? I told you to scare her, not kill her.”
“She didn’t scare none too easy. And when I started slapping her around, she fought me. Hell, she tried to stick me with a butcher knife, so I just turned around and used her knife on her.”
“Did Devereaux and the Royale girl see your face?”
“Don’t think the girl got a good look, but the guy did.”
“And you let them both live, you stupid asshole.”
“Hey, man, that Devereaux guy took me off guard and I couldn’t get to my gun while he was trying to beat my brains out. How’d I know he wasn’t armed? How’d I know that if I stuck around to try to kill them, that he wouldn’t have whipped out a gun and shot me first?”
“So you ran like a scared rabbit and now the police have a description of you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m long gone. A good hundred miles out of Sumarville. Don’t you worry none. I know how to lay low. Nobody’s gonna find me unless I want to be found.”
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