Texas Hustle (27 page)

“What about the jewelry store you robbed next to me? Surely he had some good stuff there?”

Slade’s face took on a manic expression. He began pacing around the room. “Naw. I haven’t found a buyer for that crap. What to do…what to do?” he muttered as he walked.

She found her footing and stood. She had to do something. Slade was just manic enough to kill her since he’d just found out she had no value to him.

He swung the gun toward her. “How much did you say you have in your bank account?”

Looking down the barrel of a gun made her flinch. “Not much. Maybe a thousand.” Even as the words left her mouth, she realized she probably should have lied and given him a much higher balance. If he thought he could get more from her when the bank opened, it might have bought her more time tonight. But damn her mouth and lack of ability to lie when she was scared to death.

“Fuck,” he shouted again and dragged his hand through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Gesturing with the gun toward her purse, he said, “Give me your purse.”

As she picked up the purse, she thought about swinging it at him. Maybe she could dislodge the gun from his hand. Ack. Stupid idea. She’d watched way too much television. She was a baker, not a boxer.

He waved the gun as she took a step toward him. “Slow,” he said. “Drop the purse on the table and move back.”

She did, but he wouldn’t find much in there. There was a secret compartment in her wallet where she hid five-hundred dollars of mad money, but he’d never find that. Should she give that to him and hope that he’d go away?

Was he going to kill her no matter if she gave him money? If he was going to shoot her no matter what, she’d rather go down fighting.

She glanced around the room looking for something,
anything
, that could be used as a weapon. When she got out of this,
if
she got out of this, she was going to get that concealed weapon license she’d been meaning to apply for.

Her eyes alighted on a black and white onyx tray she’d brought home from a vacation in Mexico. The thing was heavier than shit. It would crack him good if she could figure out how to get to it and then get him to stand still so she could brain him with it.

Yeah, she needed a better plan.

Slade dumped out the contents of her purse on the coffee table and tossed aside items of no value, such as tissues, lipsticks and a mirror. Papers from her wallet were tossed onto the table as he searched for any money she might have stashed in the various pockets and slots. His grip on the gun grew lax.

Until she came up with a better plan…she eased toward the tray sitting on the high table under the front window. She’d made three steps when Slade leveled the gun on her.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

She nodded toward the ginger jar on the table. “Checking the ginger jar. Sometimes I stash some mad money in there.”

“I’m watching you. Don’t try anything funny.”

She reached the table, knowing full well there was no money in the ginger jar. At best, she could hand him a fist of dust from it, but that’s about it.

The stomp of boots on the porch reverberated through the door. Slade’s head and full attention snapped toward the door. This might be the only chance she had. She wrapped her fingers around one end of the tray and lifted it from the table as her doorbell rang.

“Porchia? You in there?”

Darren. What was he doing back here?

Slade’s gaze never moved from the door. He raised his gun and pointed. The doorknob twisted and the door eased open.

“Porchia?”

Darren stepped through the door.

“Don’t fucking move,” Slade growled.

Porchia hauled back and slammed the thick onyx tray across the back of Slade’s head. She heard the crack of bone at the same time as the crack from the gun.

Blood gushed from Slade’s head as he slumped to the floor.

She glanced at Darren expecting a broad smile for her actions. Instead, he was looking down at the bright red blossom on his white shirt from the bullet shot by Slade.

Not knowing if Slade was dead or unconscious, she didn’t dare let him regain use of his gun. She kicked the gun across the room as her front door slammed open and four deputies followed by Sheriff Marc Singer stormed into the room.

Porchia didn’t go to the hospital with Darren for a number of reasons. The main one was that she figured the last person the Montgomerys would want to see was the person who’d gotten their son shot.

Of course, Marc Singer had her sequestered in her kitchen and wouldn’t let her leave, but she also didn’t put up much of a fight either. The sheriff had a dead man, a shot man, an unconscious deputy and a job to do. Porchia understood that. However, she was going nuts not knowing what was happening with Darren.

The paramedics hadn’t told her anything either. As soon as the cops burst through the door, she’d been hustled out of the room to sit at her kitchen table, and that was where she still sat an hour later.

Crime scene investigators were combing through her entire house, not just the living room. From her restricted position, she could see black fingerprint dust on tables in her living room. If she understood correctly, the technicians were also dusting the rest of her house. She suspected, but did not know for a fact, that they were looking for Slade’s fingerprints in other rooms of her house. As far as she knew, they wouldn’t find them, but what if they did? What if Slade had been in her house without her knowledge? Could they jump to the incorrect conclusion that she and Slade had been in cahoots and that she’d had a part in burning down her bakery?

Marc Singer sat again at her table. “Okay, Porchia, let’s go through this again.”

She stood. “Enough. We’ve been through this twenty times. And twenty times, I’ve told you the same thing. Am I under arrest?”

“No,” Singer said. “Sit down”

“Damn it, Marc. You haven’t told me anything and it’s been hours. Do I need to call a lawyer?”

He hiked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Do you?”

The only lawyers she knew were Darren’s sister and Darren’s cousin. And she suspected neither of them would want to offer their legal services. Even their new associate might feel like it was a conflict of interest to represent her.

Putting her hands flat on the table, she leaned toward Singer. “Don’t you understand? I need to see what’s happening with Darren. No one has told me anything.” She sighed and dropped back into her chair. “His family is going to hate me.”

“Porchia. Don’t say anything else until we’ve had time to talk.”

She looked toward the door. Her mouth gaped in amazement as Jason Montgomery walked in.

“Marc. I’ve been retained to represent Ms. Summers. You are not to question my client any further without my being present.”

“Jason? What? Who?” She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Sheriff? I’d like to speak with my client.”

Singer stood. “That’s fine. I’m done for now anyway.”

Jason sat next to Porchia and leaned in close so they could not be overheard. “Darren is going to be fine. The sonofabitch is beyond lucky. The bullet slid between his side and his forearm. He has a nice deep trench on the inside of his arm and the outside of his chest. The docs cleaned out the area and patched him up. He’ll be sore and bitch a lot, but he’ll be back to normal in no time. They’re keeping him overnight but just for observation.”

The dam of tears she’d been containing broke. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face.

“I thought he was going to die. I saw the blood and just assumed.”

Jason grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter and handed her one. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Thanks. But I don’t understand. What happened? All that blood. What was it?”

“The bullet hit enough vessels to give him a nasty injury. The white shirt made the blood loss look a whole lot worse than it turned out to be.” Jason grinned. “Reno told him that he’d been nailed worse by barbed wire than this bullet.”

She sagged in relief from the news. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. Darren told us what happened. That without your fast thinking, he would be a dead man. We owe you a debt of gratitude. If you hadn’t wacked the other guy on the back of the head, Darren says there was no way the bullet would have just grazed him.”

Flinching, she glanced toward the sheriff and leaned in closer. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wasn’t trying to kill him, only incapacitate him long enough to get away.”

“Don’t worry, Porchia. It was self-defense and if the sheriff’s department sees it any other way, Montgomery and Montgomery will be with you the whole way.”

“Thanks, Jason. I really appreciate it.”

“Where will you be staying tonight?”

Her eyes opened wide. “Tonight?” She looked around at the deputies and technicians still combing her house for evidence. “I hadn’t thought about it. I can call Tina or Tanya or one of my friends. They always have a spare bed.”

“KC and Drake have offered you their spare room. KC said that’s the least she could do for the woman who saved her brother’s life.”

Porchia smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t want to put them out. I can probably get a room at the Evergreen B&B. Now that I think about it, I think getting a room there would be perfect, unless…” She glanced toward Marc Singer talking with one of his detectives. “Unless they decide to lock me up.” She looked at Jason. “Am I going to be arrested?”

Jason took her hand. “No. But I’ll go have a little chat with our sheriff and make sure he sees things our way.”

In the end, Porchia was released for the night after Jason promised she’d be back at the station in the morning for additional questioning.

Since Porchia had been supplying the B&B with rolls and pastries for the past couple of years, the owners not only found her a room, but gave her the largest and nicest suite in the old house. While she valued their kindness, she was too tired and too drained to fully appreciate the amenities the room had to offer. After a long, hot shower, she hit the mattress face down.

She’d been asleep for only about thirty minutes when a knock at the door rattled her awake. If this was Singer with more questions, she was going to tell him to call her lawyer and slam the door in his face.

Shoving her long hair off her face, she staggered to the door. Bracing herself for Marc in his I-am-the-sheriff persona, she stumbled back a step upon seeing the man standing there. Pale but looking better than a recently shot man had a right to, Darren grunted as Porchia threw her arms around him with a cry of delight.

“Careful,” he said. “I’m a little sore.”

“Why aren’t you in the hospital? Jason said you were staying overnight.”

“Stop crying and I’ll tell you.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, sobbing into his shirt. “I thought you were dead, and damn Marc wouldn’t let me leave to go to the hospital. But I wanted to be there. You have to know that. I thought you were going to die.”

“Me too. Probably would have if you hadn’t bashed that guy in the head.”

She smiled through her tears. “Come in.” She pulled him through the door and over to the chaise lounge, making sure to grab the unaffected side. “Sit. Sit. Talk to me.”

He sat and made her sit beside him. “I’m fine. A little sore. A lot embarrassed but fine.”

“I think you should be in the hospital.”

He kissed her. “I needed to see you. I had to thank you for what you did. You were so brave.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was scared to death.” She slugged his good arm. “And what were you doing at my house? Don’t you know better than to walk into someone’s house when they aren’t expecting you?”

“Apparently not.” He kissed her again, sending her heart rocketing around in her chest. “I got home. Everything was fine. I missed you. So I came back. And damn good thing I did too.”

“What has your family told you?”

“Everything. Jason came back to my hospital room, where I swear every member of my family was, and told us all he could without violating attorney-client privilege. Let me tell you, my family is behind you one-hundred percent. I would be dead without you.”

“I am so mad at myself. It’s my fault that you and Mallory both got hurt. It’s my fault that Slade Madden came to Whispering Springs.”

He put his arm around her. “No, it’s not your fault. He was a bad seed looking for a place to sprout.”

“You know about the woman who was killed while I was in the car?”

He nodded. “Also not your fault. You’re the innocent party here. You’ve done nothing wrong. Not back then and certainly not today.”

She kissed him as relief poured through her. “Thanks.”

It was nice to hear him say she was the innocent party, even if she didn’t believe it. Seventeen years ago, she’d done nothing wrong. But now, she should have never let the situation get so out of control.

She hugged Darren around the waist.

Thank God for onyx trays and bad aims.

Chapter Twenty-One

The state fire marshal confirmed the arson of Heavenly Delights. Neither the money stolen from the bakery nor any of the stolen jewelry was on Slade’s body when he died.