by Joanna Wayne
“Me, too.” She shook her head. “When the bomb didn’t explode, the goons must have decided to come after me themselves. But it doesn’t add up. They said they weren’t supposed to kill me.”
“You’ll have to help me find the men. That’s the only way we’ll get answers.”
“Then we’re in big trouble. I already told you I can’t identify them. They were muscular and dressed in jeans, Western shirts and black boots. That description would fit ninety percent of the men I’ve met in Dry Creek.”
“If witness identification is impossible, we have to look for motive and opportunity,” he said, easing down to perch on the edge of the bed.
She scooted over to make room for him. “Someone wants me to leave town. That appears to be motive enough in Dry Creek. As I said before, it’s a real friendly town you have here, Ranger McQuaid.”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin, making a mental note to shave in the morning, a chore he frequently omitted when he was on vacation at the ranch. But then, he didn’t usually have house guests.
“For the most part the people around here are extremely friendly to strangers,” he said. “Especially ones who look like you. The men around here are strutting like stud horses at the sight of you. The last thing they want is for you to hightail it out of here.”
“That may be true for most of the people, but someone is ready to kill to get rid of me, and all because I asked a few questions about a woman no one claims to remember.”
Matt stood and walked to the window. “Someone remembers her. It’s what they remember about her that concerns me. I’ll find out, one way or another, but you could simplify matters by telling me the whole truth.”
“Do you have a hearing problem or just a mental block? I have told you the truth.”
She spit the words at him, obviously upset by his implication that she hadn’t been totally honest. Or maybe she was simply a good actress. Either way, he had no choice but to push for the truth.
“Someone is willing to kill to see that Kathy Warren’s past isn’t uncovered. That leads me to think your story has a few holes.”
“The holes aren’t my making.” Heather’s eyes blazed, and her bruised chin jutted defiantly. “I don’t like your insinuations, Ranger McQuaid, and I don’t like the idea of spending the night with a man who’s accusing me of lying.”
“I’m not accusing, just asking. And it’s a long walk back to town.”
She threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Then I’ll sleep in the brush with the coyotes and snakes, in friendlier territory.”
She grabbed her skirt and started to wriggle into it. Matt sidled past her. “Just settle down, Heather. You can’t blame me for being suspicious. It’s my job.”
“I thought your job was catching criminals, not pretending to be a Good Samaritan just so you can harass the victim in the privacy of your bedroom.”
Her words hit Matt solidly, like a good right to the gut. He put up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. I promise, no more questions tonight.”
“It’s not the questions I mind. It’s that I’m wasting time telling you the truth when you’re going to believe what you want anyway. A cop by any other name is obviously still a cop.”
“I apologize for offending you,” he said, taking her admonishing finger and gingerly moving it down to her side. “But not for being a Ranger. Now, go back to bed. Give the coyotes and snakes a break.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, but one more accusation and I’m out of here.”
Her words were more of a growl, but Matt heard the bedsprings squeak as he headed for the door. He’d have to watch his step with this one. Her temper was clearly as spectacular as her body, and he had no desire to tangle with either. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but he knew his limits. And he damn sure knew his priorities.
Walking to the kitchen, he stopped at the sink and rummaged for a clean glass and the bottle of whiskey he kept stashed in the corner of the kitchen counter. He poured a couple of fingers of the amber liquid, just enough to settle his mind and not enough to dull his senses.
Vacation was over. Two men were celebrating a victory tonight, and he planned to make sure the victory cost them a few years of freedom. He never gave a case less than a hundred percent. It was a matter of pride. And the legacy of Jake McQuaid.
Old resentment jabbed him in the gut. The first time he’d seen Susan Hathaway, she’d been battered just as Heather had tonight. But the beating Susan had suffered had left her near dead. His dad had taken her in and nursed her back to health. She could have walked away then, but she had stayed.
She had been the only mother Matt had ever known, always there for him during his youth. The one who had told him wonderful stories, dried the tears he’d never dared shed in front of his tough-as-nails father, understood how much a child could long for the mother he’d lost.
Susan had been there for Jake McQuaid, too. And how had the town legend thanked her? By taking her to his bed, but not the marriage altar.
“Here’s to you, dear old Dad,” he said, lifting his glass into the air in a sarcastic toast. To a man who never admitted needing anyone. A man who’d buried one wife, run off another, and cheated the only woman who’d stayed with him out of his name.
He downed the whiskey and set the empty glass on the table. Heather Lombardi wanted to connect with a family she’d never known. How ironic she’d ended up coming to him for help. He couldn’t even connect with the family he knew.
HEATHER ROLLED OVER in bed. Her head ached, her toes tingled and every body part in between reacted in some similar, irritating fashion. Stretching, she wiggled her arms and legs. No stabbing, breath-stealing pains shot through her, only the aches and pangs she’d already noted, a good sign that nothing was broken or dislocated. Flinging back the covers, she forced her feet to the floor.
Bright sunlight streamed through a small window, painting streaks of light across the bare planks of a wooden floor, reminding Heather of her whereabouts. The ranch house of Matt McQuaid, the host she didn’t begin to understand and wasn’t sure she completely trusted. Still, he had saved her last night from who knew what, and he was certainly masculine enough for anyone’s taste.
Her gaze scanned the beamed ceilings and wide windows of the room. Like Matt, the place had promise, but the house’s promises hadn’t been kept for a long time. The walls begged for a coat of paint, and the coverlet on the bed had probably been shiny and new when John Wayne saved Texas from the Mexicans, the version of the Alamo battle non-Texans like Heather knew best.
The scent of bacon hit her nostrils just as she reached the oak dresser and caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror. The sight overpowered the smell, killing any chance of a healthy appetite. Her right cheek was purple and blue, the eye above it open now, but circled by puffy mounds of black.
A knock sounded at the door, swift and hard, no doubt the no-nonsense Ranger. “Come in if you dare,” she called.
The door creaked open, and Matt stepped inside. “How do you feel?”
“Better than I look.”
“Good.” A smile lit up the ebony of his eyes and drew the hard lines of his face into more approachable lines. “Are you hungry?”
“I was, until I made the mistake of looking in the mirror.”
“It could have been a lot worse. Besides, there are no mirrors in the kitchen, and the bacon’s almost done. How do you like your eggs?”
“Last time I had them, I liked them over easy.”
“You sound like that was a long time ago.”
“A few years. I’m a bagel-and-cream-cheese fan. I can eat those on the way to the office.”
“Yeah, I’m a doughnut man myself, when I have to go into headquarters, that is. Out here, I like the works, especially since I’ve already put in a half-day’s labor.”
She felt on her arm for her watch. It was missing. “What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock. Days start early in South Texas. Gabby’
s already called, but I told him to let you sleep. He’ll be here soon though. The bomb find has him fired up and ready to stick somebody in his jail.” Matt backed out the door. “Two eggs over easy coming up.”
Heather took quick stock of the rest of her appearance. The borrowed T-shirt hung loose, skimming her breasts and skirting her knees in an uneven drape. All the necessary parts were covered, but she’d have to wash her face and brush her teeth and hair before she could think of facing Matt across the breakfast table.
As for the image of Frankenstein staring back at him, he’d just have to live with it. After all, he’d insisted she stay and then insulted her integrity.
Still, she had to admit that none of the happenings of the last few days made sense. Given only the facts, she might have drawn the same conclusions he had, figuring anyone telling a story like hers had to know more than she was letting on.
But all she knew was that Kathy Warren had been in this town, and someone here knew something about her they didn’t want Heather to find out.
But what, and why? To find out, she might need Matt McQuaid’s help. That was reason enough to cooperate with him as much as she could. But under no circumstances would she be taken in by his rough, tough Texas charm. She was the victim. He was the law. With that reminder firmly in mind, she left the mirror of horrors and headed down the hall.
BREAKFAST WAS to die for, Tex-Mex at its finest. Eggs peeking from under a smattering of salsa and perched atop a flour tortilla that slid like heaven across the tongue. The bacon was thick and honey-cured and so crisp it broke in her fingers and crackled between her teeth.
“How about another cup of coffee?”
Heather nodded, her mouth too full to talk. Matt refilled both their mugs with the dark brew and set the pot back on the counter before taking the chair opposite hers. Quiet settled over the kitchen, and Heather pushed all troubling thoughts away as she let the satisfying aromas and taste of the meal provide a temporary calm.
Matt watched as Heather chewed the last bite of food.
“Okay, I’m impressed,” she said, smiling at him from across the table. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“From the woman who raised me and my brothers. She thought all boys should know how to take care of themselves.”
“She was a good teacher.”
“She was good at a lot of things. Still is, I’m sure, though I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Heather wiped her mouth and hands on the plain cotton napkin and took a long sip of the coffee. “It sounds like you miss her. Who is she?”
“Susan Hathaway.” Matt got up from the table and carried their plates to the sink. “She was a friend of my dad’s who lived with us.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“It’s a long story.” He sat back down, this time with a pencil in hand and a black notebook in front of him. “And we have more relevant things to discuss.”
“From breakfast to business in a matter of seconds. You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“I try not to. Leads, like coffee, are always best hot.” Around headquarters, “sex” took the place of “coffee” in that simile, but Matt decided the tamer version was safer when talking to Heather. He tapped his pencil against the notebook. “I want you to tell me everything that happened last night, beginning with the second you saw the attackers.”
“I told you all of that last night.”
“You’d just been through a traumatic experience then. This time you might remember more, some scrap of information you failed to mention. It’s usually the little things that trip up a criminal. A careless move. A slip of the tongue.”
“Do Texas Rangers typically investigate simple cases of battery?”
“You were kidnapped and a homemade bomb was found in your car. That’s not a simple battery.” He drummed his fingers against his coffee cup. “But this isn’t my case, if that’s what you’re asking, not officially anyway. Even so, if the sheriff requests my assistance, I can get involved.”
“Do you think he will request your assistance?”
“After I ask him to.”
“Why would you do that? You said yourself, you’re on vacation.”
Matt’s mind staggered under the weight of her question. He’d asked himself the same thing a dozen times since last night. Heather Lombardi was sexy and desirable, even in her bruised and swollen state. Maybe more so. Now there was a certain vulnerability about her that hadn’t been there before.
But she wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t usually let his libido do his thinking for him. Heather was not the only reason this case had his attention. “I can’t resist a good mystery,” he said, when nothing better came to mind. And that was as close to the truth as anything else he could think of.
“Then you’ll help me find out what happened to my birth mother?”
“I didn’t say that, but I will find the men who attacked you and tried to blow up your car. They made the mistake of doing their dirty work practically under my nose. I take that personally.” Matt swirled the last dregs of his coffee, staring into it as if it had some power to reveal the truth. Finally, he pushed the cup away. “Did anyone use a name during the attack?”
“No. I’d remember if they had. They did refer to someone who wasn’t there as ‘the boss,’ but they never used a name.” She propped her elbows on the table and leaned in. “What could have happened twenty-five years ago that would make people this desperate to keep it hidden? Isn’t there a time limit on crimes?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“Murder? Kathy Warren wasn’t murdered. She died in a car wreck.”
“That wouldn’t have prevented her from being involved in a murder. I warned that you might be opening a can of worms that won’t be to your liking.”
“I can assure you my birth mother took no part in a murder. She wasn’t like that.”
Matt watched Heather’s eyes darken and her swollen lips purse. No doubt she’d created a fantasy about her mother in her mind that she chose to accept as fact. Unfortunately, as an investigating officer, he couldn’t afford to play that game. “How do you know what she was like? All you can be sure of is she deserted a helpless baby.”
“She was extremely upset that she had to leave me. Cass Purdy told me that much.”
“Cass Purdy?” Matt thumbed through his notes. “I don’t think you mentioned her before.”
“I did, but maybe not by name. She worked at the orphanage when I was there, though she’s been gone from there for twenty years. Cass is the one who dropped my mother off at Dry Creek.”
“How did you find her?”
“I made phone calls and wrote letters until I located the woman who managed the orphanage fifteen years ago. That’s when it closed. She gave me the name of Mrs. Purdy.”
“And this Cass Purdy remembers that twenty-five years ago someone named Kathy Warren brought a baby to the orphanage and that she dropped the woman off at the bus stop in Dry Creek. That’s quite a memory. How old is this woman now?”
“She’s in her seventies, but I believe her.”
“Yeah, you’re a trusting sort.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Not if you can afford to be mistaken. In my line of work, it can cost you your life. Is Mrs. Purdy certain she dropped Kathy Warren off at the bus stop and not at someone’s house?”
“Yes. She said my mother was going to New Orleans to meet a friend. It struck her as odd that my mother ended up in Texas with a new baby when she claimed she knew no one in the whole state.” Heather pressed the folded edge of the napkin with her finger, ironing away the wrinkles.
“I want to talk to this Cass Purdy myself. Do you have a number where she can be reached?”
“Yes, but there’s no need to bother her. I’ve told you everything she told me.”
“Call her, Heather. Tell her we’d like to drive over this afternoon.”
&n
bsp; “Her number’s back in my room at the motel.”
“Then we’ll get it right after Gabby finishes his questions.”
Heather pushed away from the table. “No more questions. I answered at least a hundred last night.”
“I know, but I need something more. This won’t be fun, but I still need you to relive last night for me. Tell me everything, every word of conversation you can remember, every action. We just need a scrap of a clue to get us started.”
“If I had a clue I would have told you already.”
HEATHER LEANED BACK in her chair and closed her eyes. Trembling inside, she forced her mind to replay last night’s events. The images rumbled and raged, tearing at her control, straining her muscles and sending jabs of pain through her already aching body.
Matt’s voice, unexpectedly gentle, broke the silence. “Don’t think first, Heather. Share the images with me. Say everything that comes to mind.”
“I’ll try.” She took a deep breath and started talking, letting the memories inside her break through the protective wall she’d unconsciously erected. Her voice grew distant, as if someone else was inside her, ripping out each statement, forcing her to recall the pain, to remember details her mind had refused to accept last night.
“The men were cruel. One of them spoke with a Texas accent, but the other one didn’t sound like he was from this area. They were coarse, rough. Every other word was a filthy curse or some vile derogatory term.”
“Were both of them like that?”
She nodded, the memories so alive she could smell the men, feel their hands on her. “Yes, but one was worse.”
“Go on.”
“They were following the ‘boss’s’ orders. Only the older man wasn’t afraid of the boss like the other one. He was all over me, ripping my blouse, squeezing my thighs.” She could feel him now, groping, trying to pull her from the car. She was going to be sick.