Winsor, Linda

by Along Came Jones

  Deanna ventured an uncertain look in Shep's direction, as if expecting him to react in some dreadful way. Features schooled to show attention without judgment, or the relief he felt at her professed innocence, Shep waited for her to proceed.

  "The police had pictures from the bank camera of me making the deposits. The clerk identified me as Mrs. Majors. I didn't see any harm, so I didn't bother correcting her. I thought it was kind of nice. That's how stupid I was."

  "Stupid and vulnerable are not the same thing," Shep offered in her defense.

  Nonetheless, the more Deanna told him, the grimmer it looked for her. The pictures of her and C. R. implicated a relationship and partnership. C. R. had disappeared, leaving her holding an empty bag. Anger flushed through Shep's veins. Deanna was a savvy young woman, but the generosity and eagerness to please that Shep found so disarming had left her prey to a calculating coward.

  "Then—" Holding Deanna in his arms now, Shep felt the sob that wrenched from her chest. "Then they showed me C. R.'s car, all burned up. And... and that mean detective says I double-crossed C. R. and t-took the money and... and k-killed him with a car bomb."

  She pulled away and blew her nose on the second fresh handkerchief Shep had handed her that day. Told in spurts of emotion, her situation took a turn from bad to worse. She was not only accused of murder and embezzlement, but the police accused her of ransacking her own apartment to throw suspicion away from her.

  "Sure as the Pope prays, I didn't embezzle any money or plant a car bomb. I never so much as lit a firecracker in my life. And I know butkus about who could have wrecked my apartment. All I know is that I was scared and nobody would believe me."

  Her last words tipped her over her emotional edge, driving her back into Shep's waiting arms. No wonder she'd run. She thought C. R. Majors was dead and whoever killed him was after her as well, thinking she had the money. Shep held her tight, kissing the top of her head and whispering reassurances that, even as he made them, gave him pause for concern. He believed Deanna, but how could he prove her innocence?

  "What am I going to do, S-Shep?" Deanna leaned against him as if her fight had drained along with her tears. "I...I turned it over to God this morning, but I'm still scared. I can't see a future for us past the end of my nose, much less what you said you wanted."

  "You are not going to do anything... yet," Shep decided. "There's clearly more to this than what you know."

  "No one believes me anyw-way"

  "I do."

  She lifted her tear-razed face from the cradle of his shoulder, looking as though she wanted to believe but was afraid.

  "And I have some old friends—" How much should he tell her? She was already frightened out of her wits. "Friends from the service," he said carefully, "who can help get to the bottom of this. The Great Falls police sound like they are over their heads." And Jay Voorhees was too gung ho to worry with the little details that might prove Deanna innocent. Even Majors was small change for him. All Voorhees wanted was the big fish, the man behind Majors.

  Professionally, Shep understood. But he also understood the danger to the parties being used as bait for the prize catch. "Is that how you hurt your knee, in the service?"

  Shep couldn't believe that in the midst of her own quandary, Deanna could even think about his knee. "Yes." It wasn't a lie. It simply wasn't the entire story. "And the guys I served with owe me. If anyone can help you, it's them."

  Wonder surfaced on the troubled blue of her eyes. She took his face between her hands. Her lower lip trembled.

  "I thank God for you, Shepard Jones. I know He sent me to you." The corners of her mouth quivered into a smile. "You are my earthly shepherd. I don't deserve you, but I am so thankful God doesn't give us what we deserve. Like, instead of a saint, I'd have that mean-spirited detective on my side."

  Shep tightened the circle of his arms, drawing Deanna to her feet, so that he knew the feminine length of her, soft and inviting against him. "You give me too much credit," he said, his voice suddenly gruff with awareness. "Holding you like this, looking into your eyes, watching your little chin tremble..." He leaned down and brushed the tip of her nose with his lips. "Believe me, I'm feeling anything but saintly, Deanna."

  The kiss he gave her proved it.

  ***

  "We got a solid line on Majors." There was no hello or introduction in the voice coming over the cell phone.

  Victor Dusault pressed it to his ear, no longer interested in what caused the traffic jam in which his limo was caught. His initial indifference upon answering the call vanished at the mention of the man who'd double-crossed him. "What do you have?"

  "A Visa charge in the town down the highway from Buffalo Butte. Majors was sporting a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes, but he was so nervous while he waited at the ATM that he looked right up at the hidden camera."

  Cornered, scared—exactly how Victor wanted his victims to feel in their last hours. And C. R. Majors was living his last hours, whether he knew it or not.

  "...doubts about the woman," the caller said, drawing him back to the conversation.

  "What kind of doubts?"

  "If she'd agreed to meet him after this thing went down, why is Majors dragging his tail? Or why hasn't she made a break for it?"

  "Because he thinks she's being watched. The man is an amateur, but he's not stupid." Dusault leaned against the seat as the limo pulled forward, the traffic finally clearing ahead of it. "It really doesn't matter whether she's innocent or not. She's obviously the key to getting our hands on that little double-crosser, not to mention my money. So what's the game plan with the Feds?"

  "Same as you, sir. Waiting for Majors to make his move on the woman."

  Victor reached into his jacket and took out a gold case and withdrew a custom-wrapped cigarette. Lighting it, he waited as the caller continued.

  "We tail 'em everywhere they go, but it's been a no-go so far." There was a pause on the other end. "Could happen anytime now. With that bank thing, Majors must be getting desperate."

  "Indeed." Victor blew a smoke ring and watched as it dissipated in the draft of the air-conditioning. "Then that's it, my friend. Look's like I'll be hearing from you again soon."

  Flipping the cover of the cell phone shut before the caller could hang up, Victor picked up the remote for the television mounted in the console between him and the driver and turned it on, tuning to the twenty-four-hour weather channel.

  He hadn't risen to where he was by leaving the smallest detail to chance. It was the kind of thing that separated the man from the beast. A man needed to be suitably dressed to kill—and the killing hour was approaching fast.

  Twenty-four

  Will Addison was one of those can-do people whose amiable personality and reputation as a straight shooter had won him the confidence of, not just the men in the D.C. branch of the U.S. Marshals, but key players in other government agencies as well. What Shep's former director didn't know at Shep's first call that morning, he could find out and quickly By the time Shep finished putting up the signs for the weekend roof-raising challenge and barbecue—courtesy of J. B. McCain—Will called him back on the complimentary cell phone Shep stored under the seat of the Jeep.

  "These guys are into a little bit of everything," Addison told Shep. "Drugs and guns are like love and marriage—they just seem to go together. The ring leader is a French Canadian named Victor Dusault."

  Shep could picture his friend sitting in his Constitution Avenue office, folders piled like leaning Towers of Pisa around a desktop. One drawer would be pulled out to make room for an open box of fresh chocolate dipped donuts. By Friday, the stale remains would be softened by a dip in the office coffee, which could soften a stainless steel spoon equally well. Crumbs undoubtedly sprinkled his oxford shirt and tie, not worrying Will in the least.

  "What doesn't fall off will make a good snack later," he'd say, an ever-present twinkle in his eye. His nature ranged from humor to deadly intent, depending on the ci
rcumstances.

  "There's some kind of Internal Affairs investigation going on, so watch your back, Shep."

  "Crooks and crooked agents?" Shep scowled at the road ahead.

  That morning Agent Voorhees was beyond acknowledging the possibility that Deanna was the innocent victim Shep claimed she was. He was too furious with Shep for disabling the listening devices by playing his CD player. Shep was too close to the forest to see the trees, Voorhees claimed. She was playing Shep as the chump, using Hopewell and his hospitality as a safe house until she could rendezvous with Majors.

  Voorhees had told him, there was nothing new. They just had to be patient until Majors surfaced. Lie number one.

  No, the syndicate didn't know Majors was alive. That was either lie number two, covering the Internal Affairs investigation, or Voorhees was an idiot not to recognize the possibility.

  Dusault's men were lying low because of the investigation to cover their laundering tracks. Shep would sooner believe they were subsidizing the Tooth Fairy. The syndicate was looking as hard for Majors and Deanna as they could, if they weren't already on their way, tipped off by the plant in the agency.

  The bimbo was the key. Except Voorhees's word for Deanna hadn't been as tactful. Shep's knuckle had now scabbed over where it had grazed the agent's teeth. In spite of the extra pounds Voorhees had put on, he was still quick. Otherwise he'd have needed some dental work and Shep could have been arrested for assault. As it was, the other two men in the trailer were between them before a second punch could be thrown.

  Lord, maybe I am too close to this for my good and for Deanna's. Reason flew right out the window with turn the other cheek. But how much am I supposed to forgive from this jerk?

  Yet, even as he demanded his answer Shep knew it. Seventy times seven.

  "As for the girl, there's not even a parking ticket on record for her," Addison said, piquing Shep's attention with new information on Deanna. "Grew up in a deteriorating working-class neighborhood, rose above it to a Manhattan high-rise and the upscale crowd. Ambitious, but not afraid to work for it."

  Trying to remain objective, Shep ignored the leap of elation he felt. Every crook had a clean record at some point in life. "What about proof against her? She told me she made the deposits."

  "She told the truth. They have her on camera. What they don't have yet is who withdrew the money," Addison said. "It's gone... cashed out."

  "Majors?" Shep guessed.

  "They're working on the film to identify the person who withdrew it, but it was a dark-haired woman with shades and a hat—not your young woman," Shep's friend pointed out. "She— if it was a she—knew enough to keep her back to the camera."

  "If it was Majors," Shep speculated, "then he's long gone with the loot, and we're waiting for nothing. Voorhees is just spinning his wheels."

  "Don't think so. The DEA has a record of a bankcard cash advance in Taylorville just this morning. Majors wouldn't risk using a corporate card if he had 3 million in cash. Sounds like he's grasping at straws now."

  Voorhees hadn't bothered to tell Shep that—and he'd had time to update him before Shep lost his temper. What else was he not sharing?

  Seventy times seven, Lord? Shep clenched his fist so tight around the wheel that his knuckle started to bleed again. The sight of the blood trickling down the back of his hand brought to mind the greatest example of forgiveness known to mankind, snuffing out Shep's anger like a smoky candle, so that the light of reason shone brighter and clearer.

  "So Voorhees is running this investigation-turned-stakeout to apprehend Majors as a witness against bigger fish with a syndicate plant in the middle of his plan?" Talk about burning a candle at both ends. "He's crazy."

  "Like a fox," Addison said. "He'll get the perp, the plant, and a witness against the syndicate. Voorhees will be running the St. Paul district before this is over."

  "If he doesn't get knocked out in the crossfire." Like Shep had. Voorhees's ambition had ruined Shep's career. If everything didn't go exactly as planned, it could very well do the same to his. The man needed protection from himself.

  Shep held the phone away from his ear at a sudden burst of static, courtesy of the power station he approached. "I'm losing you, Will, but I owe you big time."

  Shep couldn't quite make out his friend's reply—something along the lines of anytime. "Call me if anything new crops up. I'll keep checking for messages."

  "Got your... ber... here—" Pure static surged in Shep's ear, obliterating his connection.

  Cutting off the cell phone, he shoved it back under his seat.

  If Majors had been in Taylorville, he either knew where Deanna was or was on the verge of locating her vehicle at least. And thanks to his bank withdrawal, not only did the DEA know his whereabouts, but so did the syndicate he'd double-crossed— which made it twice as dangerous for Deanna, however she was involved. The question was: How stupid was C. R. to make such a blunder? And if he wasn't stupid, then what was he up to?

  Should he tell Deanna? His heart wanted to, but his professional side reined it in. Including him, there were four men watching out for her. She was already scared witless, not knowing who was after her. Would she be better off knowing it was a crime syndicate? Shep didn't think so. As for C. R., Deanna truly believed he was dead. Should she be warned that he was not only alive, but looking for her?

  Again, his training contradicted his heart. What was to keep her from bolting again, away from the one person who believed in her innocence? And if she was guilty...

  Shep braked the Jeep, tires squealing as they dragged past the entrance to Hopewell. Great. In his emotional quagmire, he'd nearly forgotten where he lived. Frustration bubbling to an all-time high, Shep backed up and wheeled the vehicle sharply onto the long dirt road leading to the ranch. The fact was he trusted Deanna. He just didn't trust his ability to make a sound decision regarding her best interest. Never having been at odds with himself like this, he saw only one solution: Stick to the rules. They were black and white. His emotions were too gray to rely upon.

  Deanna ran out on the porch as he pulled the Jeep in front of the house. Covered with dust, she looked as if she'd been rolling around with the horses in the corral. "Did you talk to your friend?"

  "He's put someone on it. We just need to sit tight until he gets back to us." He wiped a smudge off the tip of her nose as relief flooded her face. "Besides, I gave him my word that I wouldn't let you get away from me."

  "I think your word is safe, Shepard Jones. Wild horses couldn't drag me away when you look at me like that. I just wish I'd told you sooner... trusted you like you trusted me."

  Now who was the deceiver? His conscience cringed. But this was the best way he knew to protect her... and she needed his protection.

  "Don't tell me the house is that dirty, or have you gone into demolition?"

  Her initial anxiety vanished, replaced by a saucy look that reminded him of a cat with a mouthful of canary. "No, but the old dressing screens I got out of the hotel were."

  "Dressing screens?" Shep had no idea what she was talking about but figured he was about to find out soon enough.

  Taking his hand, Deanna led him to the door. "You aren't the only one full of surprises. Now close your eyes." She waited for him to comply before leading him inside.

  "You haven't done anything to Old Bull, have you?"

  "Old Bull is his bug-eyed self again, and the valance is where it belongs, but that's not it."

  By Shep's guess, they passed the kitchen table, sofa area, and were now in the central hall. He smelled the detergent. She had done some washing.

  "Okay, now you can look."

  "I'm afraid to," he protested. "Your track record hasn't exactly instilled confidence—"

  "Ta-da!"

  Shep opened his eyes to see Deanna pointing proudly into the bedroom where not one large bed but two smaller ones stood, snug against opposite walls. Dividing the room in half were two dressing screens placed end to end and supported
by a dresser on one side and a chest of drawers on the other.

  "Now you won't have to sleep folded over on that lumpy old sofa." Deanna fairly sparkled with pride beneath the smudges on her face. "And your aunt Sue and my Gram's spirits can rest that we're not doing anything indecent, immoral, or as Gram would say, disgraceful."

  The way Deanna wrinkled her nose thawed Shep's initial surprise so fast that he had to check his thoughts before they crossed the line Deanna had drawn with furniture and word. It had been hard enough to sleep on the sofa, especially after last night.

  Out of sight was not out of mind. Knowing someone who'd willingly gone into his arms, melting soft against him and burning warm with his kisses, was sleeping in his bed, the womanly scent of her sweetening his sheets and pillows had played havoc with his imagination. Now it would waft across the room, making him as aware of her as the sound of her moving and breathing beneath the covers.

  "Don't you like it?" Disappointment tugged down the upturned comers of her lips.

  "It's fine. Just fine," Shep reiterated mechanically. "Looks like it did when Aunt Sue and Uncle Dan used the room." It wasn't enough. Shep could see it in her fallen face. He grasped for some words of assurance.

  "I only did it because of your knee," she said in defense of her action. "I wasn't trying to be pushy or take over."

  "Of course you weren't. Believe me, I appreciate it." He took her hands and drew her to him. "It's one of the most thoughtful things anyone has done for me, and I'm acting like an ingrate. It's a fault and I'm sorry."

  A mix of wonder and adoration kindled in her expression. Gently, she framed his faced with her hands. "If that's your only fault, Shepard Jones, then I know God sent you to me, straight from heaven. My own guardian angel... I mean... shepherd."

  Shep prayed Deanna was right. But if she was... "I kind of like that role," he admitted with a nervous laugh, "but if I'm going to live up to it, then I'd best just thank you for being so thoughtful and stay on the couch. You see, Deanna..." He cupped her chin, his beating heart about to plunge recklessly into the uncharted waters of her confidence. "Neither of us needs more complications than we already have right now, and if we were that close, I might start feeling more like the wolf than the shepherd."