Dark Valentine (26 page)

Gesturing lamely in the direction of the kitchen, she asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

Jules glanced around as though taking an inventory of her surroundings. “Thanks. I need to wash my hands. That was some drive.”

“There’s a half-bath this way,” Rhianna said, embarrassed that she hadn’t offered this small courtesy in the first place.

She led Jules past the formal living room and opened the bathroom door. They faced each other, but did not touch. A shiver played down Rhianna’s spine. She thought about Bonnie’s words. Werner Brigham had harmed Jules, too. The damage was plain in her shadowed, uncertain gaze.

Regret chewed at Rhianna. She tried to harden her heart, reminding herself that this was the woman who had sold her out, who had tried to give her money, as if that could make things right between them. But she could not shut out the memory of Jules’s touch, the sense that this woman already knew her better than almost anyone. Jules had invited her to be herself as no one had before. Rhianna wasn’t even sure if she knew who that self was, entirely, yet Jules seemed to. Should they just throw that away on Brigham’s account?

“Can I say something?” Jules touched Rhianna’s arm only for a second, but the contact tripped nerves in a chain reaction that surged all the way to her center.

Short of breath, Rhianna managed a little nod. A dull ache compressed her throat, thwarting her attempt to swallow. Her gaze settled on Jules’s mouth and she could not look away.

“That first day in court, I asked my boss to release me from the case.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m not making excuses for myself,” Jules said. “But I want you to understand something. Brigham would probably have been acquitted, whether I defended him or not.”

“What are you saying?”

“My boss, Carl Hagel, has never lost a case. He would have taken my place. And he’s not the most sensitive guy.”

Rhianna struggled to absorb the information. She had not entertained the possibility that Jules had tried to step down, or that Brigham would still have won even if Jules had declined to defend him. She felt dazed.

“None of us can ever be a hundred percent certain which way a jury will swing, but—”

“You don’t think I had much of a chance.”

“Sometimes you have to pick your fights.” Jules’s tone was resigned but there was also an edge of ferocity.

Disconcerted, Rhianna watched the muscles work in her cheeks. Her face was already lean, but the narrow indentations on either side seemed more defined. She’d lost weight. Unable to resist, Rhianna touched her, just the smallest brush of fingertips near her serious mouth. “I’m glad you came.”

Something seemed to fracture in Jules’s composure. Her pupils dilated, engulfing the indigo-etched slate of her eyes. With a soft groan, she reached for Rhianna. “I’ve missed you.”

Rhianna could feel her defenses crumbling. “I’ve missed you, too.”

They fell almost drunkenly against each other, surrendering to a kiss so desperate there was no room for doubt about where they were headed next. No one had ever kissed Rhianna the way Jules did. Her mouth staked an insistent erotic claim, making promises Rhianna knew she could fulfill. Their tongues stroked and coaxed, deeper and harder until Rhianna could not stay upright. She felt drugged. Her pulse slowed to a languorous rhythm and the blood felt hot and heavy in her veins.

Jules raised her lips just far enough from Rhianna’s to ask huskily, “Where’s your room?”

Rhianna drew back, knowing where this was headed. “We can’t.” She caressed Jules’s nape beneath the compact ponytail. “Not yet.”

Jules sighed with wry humor. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“I’m a nanny,” Rhianna explained, “and the little girl I take care of is playing out back with our ranch hand.”

Jules transformed right in front of her. The dazed craving left her expression and she was instantly businesslike. “Get them indoors.”

“Why?” Rhianna asked.

Jules took her face gently between her palms. “Because Brigham is on his way here.”

*

Werner wrapped his fingers over the linen-textured handle of his favorite dagger. Named the Reaper by its creator, Jay Fisher—custom knife-maker extraordinaire—the weapon was a sleek-bladed tactical punch/pull knife designed for a quick kill of painful disablement.

He would probably try it out on the dog, first, Werner decided. The animal was well past its prime and of no use to anyone. He would be doing the owners a favor. People had trouble letting go of pets and Werner could understand their reservations. A dog offered loyalty and devotion for the whole of its life, and the owner did not want to betray that trust. But people were weak and selfish. Werner had seen the chubby housewife who employed Rhianna. Had she asked herself if her dog wanted to spend the rest of its days limping around half-blind? Werner had his doubts.

He slid the Reaper back into its black leather sheath and fastened the retainer. He would ensure the death was quick and merciful. It gave him no pleasure to kill an animal. He was not a sicko.

“Did you say ten thousand?” Mr. Entwhistle asked. “You want to rent my shed for ten thousand dollars?”

“I do,” Werner confirmed. “The one nearest the road.”

He pointed to a run-down structure on a rise west of the ranch house. Its filthy rear window offered an unmatched view of the property next door. Werner would be able to see who came and went, what that beanpole ranch hand was doing and when he retired for the night, and which lights were on in the main house.

He would choose his moment, and this time he would not fail.

Chapter Fifteen

So, you see, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Rhianna said brightly. “Bonnie says they’re professionals.”

Jules frowned. “Let me get this straight. Your boss sent hired muscle to scare Brigham off?”

“They left two days ago,” Rhianna said.

“Any word from them yet?”

Rhianna shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

“He was already gone when they got there, maybe.” Percy flipped the cap off another bottle of beer.

“We need to find out,” Jules said. “Can you call your boss?”

“Sure can.” Percy took a cell phone from the pocket of his plaid shirt.

As he made the call, Rhianna got to her feet and padded into the den to retrieve a Cabbage Patch Kid from Hadrian. He never chewed on Alice’s toys; he just drowned them in slobber. She returned the doll and said, “This baby needs clean clothes now.”

She suspected Alice had engineered the situation herself so that she would have a reason to choose new garments for her doll. Beaming, the toddler opened the trunk in one corner of her playpen and extracted a pair of sequined overalls and a marabou-trimmed sweater, a recent gift from one of the showgirls Bonnie knew.

As Rhianna helped change the doll’s outfit, she heard Percy say, “Both of them?” His weathered features were screwed up like he was squinting into the sun. He said, “No one’s getting hurt.” After a gruff good-bye, he put the phone away.

“Well?” Rhianna asked.

“They’re in the hospital.”

Jules stared at him unflinchingly. “What happened?”

“They both took bullets. One guy had knife wounds, too. I bet they didn’t think he’d be armed.”

Rhianna returned to the table. “I said he had a knife, and no one believed me.”

“When did they attack him?” Jules asked.

“The night they got there.”

“Well, that’s a felony, so he probably left immediately,” Jules said. “Even if he drove instead of flying, he could be here by now.”

“If he’s in town, someone will know,” Rhianna said. “Around here, people notice strangers.”

In Denver, Brigham could blend in, but in Oatman, a tall, pasty-faced man slouching along the street in a high-priced suit would draw attention to himself.

“I could ride into town,” Percy volunteered. “Ask around.”

“That would be helpful,” Jules said. “He drives a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows. I printed copies of his picture before I came.” She placed her briefcase on the table and took out a file. “Mug shots and publicity photos. Help yourself.”

Percy pored over a couple of images. “That’s a mummy’s boy,” he observed perceptively.

Flicking through the stack with obvious distaste, Jules said, “If he wasn’t a blimp, he could look like John Wayne.”

Rhianna said, “I didn’t think he had it in him to shoot at a couple of tough guys. I thought he’d give up.”

“He’s escalated,” Jules said. “Fantasy is a dangerous thing. We already know he makes plans. He probably gets excited thinking about what he’s going to do. It makes him single-minded. That’s why he couldn’t stop sending flowers to you and why he tried to give you an engagement ring. That was his fantasy and it became a compulsion.”

A chill enveloped Rhianna and she glanced toward the kitchen window. It was closed and the blind was still, and she realized the faint breeze she’d felt was trapped in her own memory, the rush of air as Brigham had opened and closed his bedroom door that night. She’d thought then, with her wrists bound behind her, that evil had just entered the room, and she felt the same presence now.

“I think he’s here,” she said.

Her two companions regarded her silently. Percy reached for his gun. Jules took a Taser from her briefcase.

“I don’t mean right here, in the house.” Rhianna laughed nervously. “I mean he’s around. I can feel it.”

No one laughed at her.

“Are you sure all the doors and windows are bolted?” Jules asked.

“I checked them when Percy and Alice came indoors.”

Jules rose. Signaling Percy, she said, “It’s time you showed me that gun safe.” As they started toward Bonnie and Lloyd’s wing of the house, she called back to Rhianna, “Go in the den with Alice and the dog.”

Rhianna’s heart galloped. She curled up on the sofa near Hadrian and wiggled around so he would know he was not alone. When he opened a bleary eye, she scratched his chunky head and scooted down next to him. Alice cooed happily to herself as she played. Occasionally she deliberated in half-sentences over important matters such as who liked ice cream and what color Mommy’s shoes were. She was getting sleepy.

Rhianna lifted her from the playpen and rocked her close, stroking her soft, silky hair and singing a lullaby to her. A band of fear closed around her heart as she thought about Brigham sneaking onto the ranch, breaking into the house, hurting Alice. Shooting Hadrian. Filled with panic, she swayed gently back and forth until the small body grew heavy.

She carried Alice into the nursery off the den and lowered her into the pink four-poster toddler bed Bonnie had decked out a few months earlier. Rhianna knew her employer worried about spoiling Alice. She and Lloyd had attempted to have a baby for eight years and had almost given up when Alice was finally conceived. Bonnie tried to spend as much time at home as she could, but the years she had originally freed up for child rearing had been filled with the casino when no baby came along. Now, like most mothers with demanding careers, she struggled to find a balance.

Rhianna knew Bonnie would die if anything happened to her baby. She felt sick that she had unwittingly placed Alice in peril. She brushed a light brown curl away from the sweet little face and planted a kiss on Alice’s rosy cheek. She was sound asleep, sucking her thumb, oblivious to the turmoil around her.

When Rhianna returned to the den, she found Jules and Percy sorting weapons and ammunition. Two rifles were propped against the sofa.