Peppermint Creek Inn (36 page)

Before he had a chance to react, a woman’s determined voice sliced through the misty silence.

“Hold it right there, mister!”

Tom froze dead in his tracks. A cold chill sizzled up his spine.

“Get those arms up in the air or I’ll blow sunlight right through your brains,” the woman ordered crisply.

He hesitated. If he could make a run for it, he could disappear into the dark bowels of the barn and escape through the back window. Sara might hear the gunshot and have a chance at getting away. On the other hand, she might walk outside and straight into a bullet.

“Do it! Now!” Another voice. A man’s voice.

Shit! He was surrounded. No use running. His best bet to save Sara would be to wait for an opportunity to escape. Reluctantly he raised his arms skyward.

“Now move toward us!” the man ordered sharply.

Tom swallowed hard against his nervousness and his gut scrunched up with a sick feeling of dread as he slowly began walking toward the two mist-enshrouded shadows.

As he got closer, the shadows took shape. To his horror, he recognized the man from his earlier hallucinations or visions or whatever the hell they had been, the same man whose blood he’d tried to stop from flowing out of what had once been his throat seemed very much alive.

The only differences between the man in his memory and this man was the white handlebar mustache growing beneath this man’s pudgy nose, the gun, which he held in his pudgy hand, and the wheelchair he sat in.

A wave of dizziness swooped over him and he faltered as bright flashes of light produced images.

Shattering glass. This old man yelling at him to run. Then this man’s eyes staring unseeing at him. The smell of death hanging heavy in the air.

“My God, I thought you were dead?” The words escaped Tom’s lips in a rush.

“Wish I could say the same for you, mister!” the old man growled, his knuckles whitened as they tightened around his gun.

Another figure stepped out of the mist. The woman. “Told you I saw someone lurking in the fog.”

The sweet feminine voice instantly captured his attention. A tall and slender brunette with forget-me-not blue eyes. She was very pretty but it was the pistol she trained on him that held most of his attention.

“I’m Tom Smith,” he offered to both of them.

A satisfied knowing smile whipped across the woman’s lips.

The old man laughed bitterly. “Don’t toy with us, pup. We know who you are.”

“You know who I am?”

Bittersweet relief swept through every fiber of Tom’s being.

—

Sara threw a few more strips of bacon into the frying pan. They sizzled crazily and she smiled as the delicious aroma wafted up to her nostrils. This morning she would cook Tom a feast fit for a king. Because that’s who he was. A king. And she, his queen.

Last night when he’d made love to her, he’d brought out the woman in her so many times, so easily. And today she looked forward to experiencing the same love.

God, she felt so happy. She’d found another man to share her life with, and this time she’d never let anyone take him away from her. Not even—

The hushed sounds of faraway voices filtered through the slightly open kitchen window. Sara’s breath caught in her throat. Was it Justin Jeffries? And the police? Her heart crashed against her chest as she dared a peek out the window. She saw nothing. Had she imagined the voices? Maybe. But just to be on the safe side she’d better go out and take a quick look. She took the frying pan off the stove, setting it safely aside on the counter and tiptoed out onto the front veranda.

“What in the world is going on here!” Sara yelled as she spotted Garry and her sister Jocelyn pointing their guns at Tom.

“Caught this killer lurking out in the barn. Has he harmed you in anyway, Sara?” Jocelyn’s cold voice shocked Sara, and she looked at Tom. His eyes pleading for a helping hand out of this mess.

“Dear Lord! Take your guns off him. He’s not a murderer.”

“Did he touch you?” Garry commanded.

Sara jumped at his rough voice.

“What is the matter with you two?”

“That’s the man they say murdered my brother.”

Sara’s mouth opened in utter shock. “Robin?” Her voice a shocked whisper. She barely heard Tom’s strangled gasp. She couldn’t think. Her surroundings swam before her eyes.

“Sara, are you okay?” Tom’s concerned words barely registered on her ears. She saw him step forward.

“Stay away from her or I’ll shoot you dead!” Garry shouted at him. Tom stopped.

This wasn’t possible. How could Robin be dead? How could Tom be the murderer of Garry’s brother? A sick thought slammed into Sara’s gut making her gasp. Tom’s memories. The old man in his memories had been Robin. A slow tremble began to jostle her insides.

“C’mon, Sara,” her sister urged. “Let’s get you inside.” Sara felt her sister firmly take hold of her elbow. “Can you handle him, Gar—?” Jo yelled back to Garry.

“With pleasure.”

Numbly, Sara felt herself being led back into her house. In the kitchen, she slumped dejectedly into a chair before her legs could give out.

Jocelyn sat down opposite Sara.

“Robin’s dead? How? When?”

“A little over two weeks ago.”

“This is insane.” Sara shook her head with disbelief. “Not Tom. It’s not possible.”

Jo gently patted Sara’s clenched fists. “You’ve fallen in love with him haven’t you?”

“How—?”

“It’s written all over your face.” Jocelyn sighed deeply.

“Oh, Jo, I was so sure he wasn’t a murderer. That what he’d said about Justin Jeffries was true.”

“What?” Jo’s eyes narrowed curiously. “What has he said about Justin Jeffries?”

“That Justin killed Sam Blake in cold blood and that it’s likely Justin killed Jack, too.”

“His partner? You mean Sam Blake is dead?”

“Yes, but no one knows about it except Tom, Justin and me.”

“Sounds like a lot has been going on around here. I’d like to hear more about this man of yours. But I don’t know if we can believe him.”

“Why not?”

“They have witnesses against him, Sara. One of them is a high-ranking cop. The other is a detective. Both say he pulled the trigger that killed Garry’s brother. They found a stash of cocaine at Robin’s house. They said it was a thwarted drug deal.”

Sara shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

Jo smiled weakly.

“That’s what’s so strange about this case. There’s no way Robin would ever be buying or selling drugs. Garry thinks it’s a plant. We were checking out all the possibilities. We tried to contact you but the phones were out. Then when I finally got through, I would have left a message, but I wanted to tell you, not speak to a machine.”

Sara nodded with understanding.

“Sara, honey, I want you to tell me everything you know about this guy.”

She choked back a sob and nodded. She’d tell Jo every single detail if it helped free Tom. Everything.

—

Out in the barn, Tom sat on a hard wooden stool, his hand was cuffed once again. This time to the wooden leg of a very heavy workbench. A twisted groan escaped his throat as he thought about what Sara was going through. For her to realize he really was a murderer. And to make matters worse he killed someone she loved.

God, he felt sick.

The old man in the wheelchair eyed him stonily. The pale skin of his wrinkled face was well creased like the leather of his old neglected motorcycle saddlebags. Pure hatred brewed in his smoldering blue eyes as they drilled a hole right through him. And the old man’s fingers twitched nervously on the trigger as the fingers from his other hand stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

Again, Tom found himself in another life-and-death predicament. And quite frankly he was beginning to get fed up with it.

“If I wasn’t involved with the justice system, I’d blow your brains out right here and now.”

Tom grimaced at the raw emotion in the man’s voice. He wished there was something he could do to ease the man’s pain.

“Why did you kill him?” The words shot through Tom like a bullet. How could he respond to the question when he couldn’t remember what had happened himself?

“How do you know I killed anyone? You have proof or am I just a convenient scapegoat?” Tom’s words seemed to rock the older fellow.

“Witnesses saw you pull the trigger. Plastered my brother’s throat and chin all over the walls of his house. You hopped on your bike and tore out of there like the devil himself was after you.”

Tom grimaced as a flash of something passed through his mind. He pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to keep it from coming.

Someone yelled at him to run. Yelled at him to save himself. Save the truth. A flittering picture of shattering glass. Then the blood. Trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Even when he knew it was too late. Images of driving his motorcycle through the coldness of the dead of night.

Tom shook himself from the webs of his memories.

The old man stared at him making him squirm uneasily. He felt as if he was a bug specimen under a microscope and the old man a mad scientist ready to stick a pin into him. The old man’s next words shocked him.

“You were a good cop. Why’d you turn?”

Tom’s mind reeled. “A cop?” He was a cop?

The idea was both mind-shattering and exciting.

“Garry!” Both jumped at the unexpected interruption. It was the woman. Sara’s sister. She stood at the barn door.

“What?”

“Bring him into the house!” she instructed. “Sara has some information you need to hear.”

“All right. We’ll be right in.”

Garry leaned over in his wheelchair slamming the key into the lock of the handcuffs. His eyes narrowed threateningly. “Don’t make one wrong move,” he warned icily. “I’m keeping my eye on you. So watch your step.”

—

A few minutes later Tom stomped up the back door wheelchair ramp and into the house. His hands were cuffed in front of him. His back prickled under the scrutiny of the gun he knew Garry pointed at him. From behind, he could hear the barely discernible squeak one of the wheels of the wheelchair made, as Garry used his free hand to whip his wheelchair quickly up the ramp.

Tom had to hand it to the old fellow. He was quite efficient in the way he maneuvered the chair with one hand and kept the gun trained on him with the other. He hadn’t allowed Tom one second at attempting to escape.

As Tom passed the open doorway to the bedroom, he briefly caught a glimpse of the mussed up covers on the bed he’d shared with Sara last night. Although he hadn’t admitted it to her, the first time he’d seen her dashing up the walkway, her wonderful auburn curls billowing around her heart-shaped face in the rising wind, he’d fallen head over heels for the woman.

And now when they carted him off to jail, he’d most likely never hold her again. A great emptiness welled inside of himself and he almost preferred it if Garry would shoot him and put him out of his misery.

Garry instructed Tom to sit down in one of the overstuffed sofas in the living room. All the while, the gun remained trained on him.

A moment later Jocelyn brought in a heaping plate of cinnamon-covered donuts and various croissants, and placed it on top of the coffee table in front of Tom. Tom’s stomach heaved at the sight of the food.

“I know it’s not a healthy type of breakfast,” Jo said as she leaned over and picked up two of the cinnamon-covered donuts. “But once in a while won’t hurt. Help yourself.”

She seemed genuinely surprised when he didn’t take one. “They really are delicious. C’mon,” she urged. When he shook his head, she smiled softly at him.

“Don’t worry, you’ll come around.” She walked over to the recliner closest to the fireplace and sat down.

Tom couldn’t get over her resemblance to Sara. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it earlier.

She had the same pretty nose, well-rounded full lips and the same type of heart-shaped face like Sara, but that’s where the resemblance ended. She was taller than Sara. Not as thin. Her eyes weren’t as wide-set as Sara’s, and she had pretty forget-me-not blue eyes.

Her hair seemed darker than Sara’s. Chestnuts. That’s it. Her hair seemed the color of roasting chestnuts.

“A wonderful woman in town bakes them every Monday.” She was still talking to him as if he were an old friend paying a visit instead of a criminal shackled in her sister’s living room. She took a huge bite out of the donut. Misty brown sugar caressed her mouth.

He really didn’t feel like socializing, so he said nothing. He just wanted everything to be sorted out so he could get on with life. Even if it meant living it behind bars.

Sara entered with a pot of steaming coffee, some mugs and a large paper bag on top of a large tray. He found himself relaxing when she threw him an encouraging smile as she sat down on the couch beside him.

“Don’t get too close to him, Sara.” Garry warned in an icy tone.

Tom was surprised when Sara whirled on her father-in-law. Her dark chocolate eyes sparkled dangerously with anger. God, she looked so beautiful when she was mad.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Garry. Or you, Jo, for that matter. I was always under the impression you two believed in innocent until proven guilty.”

Jo leaned comfortably back in her chair, seemingly content to watch and observe. A hint of a smile played at the sides of her full lips. Tom got the feeling she seemed happy at Sara’s outburst, but Garry’s eyes grew dark and fierce with disgust.

“What kind of garbage has this man been feeding you, Sara? There’s witnesses. Or hasn’t Jo told you.”

“Damn your witnesses!” Sara spat at Garry.

Garry looked shocked for a moment but recovered quite quickly. “He’s wanted for murdering my brother. Until you give me some information that can change my mind—”

“I have some information.”

The donut tray and yet untouched coffeepot and mugs danced crazily on the table as she slammed the bag containing their evidence down with furious determination. If she was looking to get Garry’s attention she was doing a good job of it, Tom mused as he watched Garry peer at the bag, obvious curiosity on his weathered face.