Stranger At My Door (A Murder In Texas) (23 page)

“She was released about a year ago and disappeared. A parole violation, but since she hasn’t turned up on any criminal complaints, no one seems to be looking too hard for her.”

“Anything else.”

“I searched through the other files related to Miss Dinah’s kidnapping. Seems like the sheriff lifted some prints from the cabin that match Hollyn Sutton’s too. So she’s definitely been at that cabin, although we can’t place her there at the time of the kidnapping.”

“Well, I can’t say any of this surprises me. Her story about Dinah’s abduction didn’t pass the smell test, and this morning the dog was poisoned.”

“That old greyhound was nice to everyone else, but she sure did hate Hollyn Sutton.”

“Yeah. I better let Swope know.” He’d drive over to the house and discuss the situation with Swope, but he didn’t trust himself around Dinah. Her lukewarm, “it’s-not-you-it’s me” rejection seethed in him. So did the picture of her sweet body pressed against her candy-ass boyfriend’s muscled chest.

He flipped on his radio. “Swope? You there?”

Dead silence.

He radioed Swope again. “Goddammit, Swope. Answer me.”

Nothing. Why wasn’t Swope responding to the radio call? Because he couldn’t? Had Hollyn made her move?

Rafe drove as fast as he dared without his siren and lights. He didn’t want to alert Hollyn if she’d cornered Swope and Dinah. He eyed his radio. He should call this in, shouldn’t he? But maybe he was going
loco
. Maybe he’d mixed up his memories of Sam’s murder with his fears for Dinah. If he pulled up with the entire El Royo squad to find Swope sipping sweet tea in the kitchen with Dinah, would they put him on permanent desk duty? Or worse, boot him out for being a psychiatric ticking time bomb. Not that he’d blame them. He’d never trust himself again, either.

He was going in alone. He’d call for backup if it was warranted.

Parking the cruiser at the end of the street, Rafe crept across the yards, staying low and close to the houses as he made his way cautiously toward the bungalow. Swope’s patrol car was sitting at the curb, idling but empty. Odd. Edging up to the bungalow, he hunkered down beneath the open living room window. Although the shades were drawn, he identified Dinah saying, “I like Gerald. That’s a very nice name.”

Then a harsh voice he barely recognized as Hollyn’s blasted through the thin shade and rattled the rusty screen. “And you’re stupid.”

Crack!

Nausea and alarm rocketed through his body. Cold sweat oozed from his pores. He bent, fighting back the urge to retch. He needed to get to Dinah right away.

Then Swope spoke up. “Your arm!”

A tiny whimper in Dinah’s husky voice touched his ear like a caress. His heart lightened with relief. She was alive. He sat back on his haunches, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing the wild desire to dive through the window and save her.

“That’s your last warning. Where’s the money?” It was Hollyn again.

“I-I feel a little dizzy,” said Dinah. The words were strong and swam through the thick, humid air to Rafe like exquisite gifts.

Good girl. Stall for time.

Infused with raw purpose, he jogged around the back. Away from the window and out of Hollyn’s earshot, he called for backup.

“Hostage situation at 445 Sunset. Officer and civilian. Gun involved. One shot fired. Request Code Two backup.”
Urgent, no light or sirens.
He kept his mouth as close to his shoulder mike as possible, praying his voice wouldn’t travel.

“Roger that. Two officers on their way. Code Two.”

“What’s the ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

Dinah and Swope could be dead in ten minutes. “Situation critical. I’m going in the back.”

“Roger that.”

The back door was open, the screen door unlocked, ready and waiting. He crept into the kitchen and stole a peek into the front rooms. Hollyn had her back to him.
Good.

She was holding a gun he had no trouble recognizing. The irony of facing the gun he’d killed Sam’s murderer with gave him a moment’s pause. Was payback finally here? His brokenness was his own damn fault, and he could accept the consequences. But what about Dinah? He couldn’t bear to have her blood on his hands, covering Sam’s blood, mixing into a brew that would sure as hell suck the life right out of him.

Get over it, Morales. You got a job to do.

He let his eyes sweep over the scene. Swope was down on one knee supporting Dinah. She held one arm close to her chest, and blood dripped off her elbow. Her skin was pale, her blond curls in wild disarray, the delicate bones of her sternum shimmered with perspiration, but she seemed okay.

Actually, she looked like she was faring better than Swope. Rafe’s eyes dropped to the front of Swope’s pants. A large circle of urine stained the front.
All talk and no spurs.
He’d been right about Swope.

Before Rafe pulled back, a flicker of surprise, then relief flashed in Dinah’s eyes. She’d seen him, and she had to know disarming Hollyn called for a man with a sure hand on his weapon. She should be scared to death. But she wasn’t.

He leaned against the kitchen wall and raised his eyes to the ceiling, tracing the tiny fault lines in the old plaster. He could do this. He had to do this. Pull his gun or sacrifice Dinah’s life, and Swope’s too. He let his fingers brush over the warm metal of his revolver. Tightening his mouth with determination, he grabbed and pulled.

The gun quivered in his hand.
Come on, Morales. You want to lose another woman? Get it together.
He tightened his fingers around the handle and pressed his arm against his body as he fought to steady his grip.

The Beretta’s trigger clicked as Hollyn pulled back the hammer. “Last chance, bitch, or you’ll be saying howdy to your daddy and your momma before you take another breath.”

Rafe stopped thinking and stepped into the dining room. He released the safety.

“Drop your weapon.”

Hollyn spun on him. Her eyes glittered with hatred, and she erupted in crazed laughter when she saw him. “It’s your chicken-shit boyfriend, bitch. Come to save you.”

His gaze flew back to Dinah. Something gentle and sure settled in her eyes.
You can do this. I know you can.
But all she said was, “Rafe.” It came out strong like a squeeze of encouragement. Beside her Swope dropped his head as if he were saying his final prayers.

He focused back on Hollyn. “Last chance. Drop your weapon.”

Her arm remained straight and steady, the Beretta pointed with unswerving accuracy straight at his chest.

“You’re acting stupid. I know all about you. My uncle told me how you were shaking like a yellow-bellied coward when you tried to shoot him.

“Your uncle was mistaken.”

“Yeah? Let’s find out.”

She twisted like an agile cat and turned the gun on Dinah.

His body vibrated with emotions he could barely name—self-loathing, uncertainty, grief, but most of all, love. Love for the woman who must live because it was the only thing he could give her that she couldn’t refuse. He aimed—or tried to aim—for Hollyn’s shoulder, but his vibrating hand wasn’t taking orders from his brain. His finger pulled, and the gun jerked back hard into his palm, transporting him for a few second back to Dallas, to that bloody night.

More gunfire exploded. Two bullets fired, one from the Beretta, one from his service pistol. A woman screamed.

He hardly dared look up to learn his fate. Then Dinah began to keen softly, and Swope uttered soothing sounds. Rafe let his hand fall to his side and forced himself to look at what he’d done. Hollyn’s body was sprawled across the floor. Bright blood poured from her hip. Her face was a mask of pain, but her eyes were open, watching him warily. She’d live to stand trial. The Beretta lay a few feet from her hand. Rafe kicked it away.

Dinah and Swope knelt together beneath a shower of plaster. Dinah had collapsed against Swope, who held her protectively against his side. Rafe inspected the ceiling over their heads. There were two bullet holes, side by side.

“Rafe.” Dinah’s voice was brimming with gratitude.

He couldn’t bear it. “Better call this in, Swope, and get an ambulance over here ASAP for the prisoner.” Something sour settled inside him as he watched the light in Dinah’s eyes dim with the realization he’d built a hurt-proof wall between them. “Unless you let this little girl take your radio, too.”

Swope pulled his cell from his pocket. “Got my phone.”

“I’ll see you back at the station.”

“Wait.” Reluctantly he let his eyes settle on Dinah. She met him straight on, all business. She’d accepted his retreat, and the pain inside him grew deeper, the wall higher.

“Yeah?” The word came out angry.

“There’s a penny under the table. It’s worth a lot.”

He stooped and peered at the scratched oak legs. An ordinary-looking penny lay on the worn rug. He picked it up.

“My daddy bought coins with the money. That one he took with him to Beeville. But there must be more. Gold ones. I think he put them in the museum when he was moonlighting there as a security guard. Hid them in plain view, so to speak.”

The wall of his hurt thinned. She’d done it. His girl had figured it out. He was proud of her. But that was the only emotion he dared to feel.

Chapter Thirty

“Sir, you must wait in the visitor’s area.”

Esme looked up. The sound of a small scuffle filtered into the examination room where she sat with Dinah who was waiting for a doctor to dress her flesh wound. Footsteps hurried in their direction, curtains were pulled aside, people gasped. Then Jamey’s voice echoed through the emergency ward. “Esme? Esme Morales? Where the hell are you?”

Dinah’s mouth curved into a huge grin. “Over this way, Jamey.”

“Sir, this is against hospital policy,” said an irate nurse.

The curtain to their examination area was flung aside, and Jamey, wild-eyed and flushed, appeared. His gaze slid from Esme to Dinah, then back to Esme.

“I heard about the shooting, and when I called the clinic they said you were at the hospital, and I thought you’d g-g-gotten hurt…” He trailed off, managing to look sheepish in a gorgeous, masculine way.

“Rafe called me and asked me to sit with Dinah.” Esme slid her gaze to Dinah. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

Dinah’s face flushed. “Whatever.”

Esme turned back to Jamey. “As you can see, I’m fine. And you’re not supposed to be in here.”

He seemed incapable of moving. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

“By the way, I’m going to be okay too,” said Dinah.

Jamey didn’t smile. His eyes were solemn and brimming with emotion as they met Esme’s. He whispered her name, then grasped her shoulders, lifting her from the chair. He’d always treated her like an easily bruised flower, but now he pulled her against him hard. The way a man does when he wants a woman. The burning heat of his body and the musky scent of his skin overwhelmed her. Nervousness made her breath catch.

“Sir, you must leave or I am calling security.” A little bulldog of a nurse was glaring at them.

Jamey didn’t stir, and Esme was afraid to shift. He’d feel her panic if she tried to pull away, wouldn’t he? She didn’t want to hurt him. He was important to her…okay, she loved him, plain and simple. But was she ready for intimacy? She envied Dinah her confidence with men.

Dinah broke the silence. “The doctor will be here any minute to patch me up. Why don’t you both go on.”

Jamey’s arms loosened. Esme slid from them as nonchalantly as she could. “Rafe wanted me to stay with you, Dinah.”

“Nonsense. It’s a little old flesh wound. I can find my own way home.”

That was an overstatement. Dinah had no money, no phone, and very few friends in El Royo. She’d probably end up walking the six or so miles to her house in blinding midday heat.

“Sir?” Nurse Bulldog again.

Jamey glared at the woman.

“I’m going to the waiting room, but I am not leaving this hospital without you. My brother would never forgive me.”

Dinah cheeks paled. “I don’t think he’d care.”

“He would. Come on, Jamey.” Esme strode out with Jamey, Nurse Bulldog in hot pursuit.

The waiting room was filled with fussy children and moaning adults. There were a few unoccupied chairs scattered amid the humanity, but none together.

Jamey touched her shoulder. “There’s an empty bench outside.”

In the shadow of the hospital a wood bench nestled beneath an ancient oak tree. The air was cooler here, and the traffic from the street was muffled. She sat beside Jamey and let him take her hand. His skin was warm and rough, his fingernails dirty.

He stared at her fingers, intertwined with his. “I didn’t mean to start all that commotion. I was just worried is all.”

“It’s okay.”

“How is Dinah doing?” he asked.

She weighed her response, not wanting to divulge secrets. But wasn’t that part of intimacy? Sharing secrets? “Physically, she’s going to be fit as a fiddle. It’s just a scratch.”

“But?”

He’d read her mind, and she squirmed. “She and Rafe had a falling out. A serious one. He’s pissed, and she’s defensive and sad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”
Just do it. Say what’s on your mind.
“Jamey—”

He squeezed her hand. “Something else is wrong, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Then why d-d-do you have that ‘you’re-a-nice-guy-but-not-my-type’ look on your face?”

“I don’t.” She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the heavy beats of her chicken-liver heart. “I-I love you—”

His expression softened. “Es.” He swiveled and reached for her.

She pushed him away. “Let me finish. I love you, and you’ve been so patient with me and my…problems.”
Mierda. She sounded so stupid.
She glanced up at Jamey’s face. He was frowning at her.

Swallowing hard, she pushed forward. “I mean—”
Oh, hell. Just spit it out, girl.
“If you want to sleep together, it’s fine with me.” She’d tell Brooke a tale of a sick animal needing overnight care, then she’d drive to Jamey’s house and go upstairs with him and do what other women did every night.

Jamey’s hands cupped her jaw and tilted her face up. He was still glowering at her. Embarrassment burned her cheeks. She was a
puta.

“Is that what you think of me?”

Confused, she shook her head.

“Do you think I raced from my job site and nearly ran four cars over to get here b-b-because I want to get laid? I love you, Esme Morales. I want to marry you.”

He’d taken her breath away, and her words.

He searched her face. “I’ve surprised you.”

She nodded. Her lungs struggled for air.

“You don’t have to tell me yes or no if you’re not ready. I just want you to understand I want all of you. And as far as sleeping together, I want you in my bed—our bed—as my wife.”

It shouldn’t matter, should it? Yet the notion of making love as a married lady didn’t seem as daunting. There’d be time to work through feelings…together. Time to get everything between them right in case the wedding night proved bumpy. “Yes.” The word rolled over her tongue, warm and sweet and sure.

The most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen grew deep and round, reminding her of a velvety midsummer sky. He pulled her against him. “Thank you, Es. I’ll talk to Dr. Ernesto right away. And I don’t want to wait.”

Neither did she.