Texas True (14 page)

At the click of a boot heel on the floor, her heart lurched. Her eyes shot open. For the first split second she feared it might be Slade, but as her head came around, she saw that it was Beau. He stood framed in the doorway, looking as if he'd just been kicked.

As his eyes took her in, a slow anger transformed his face. When he spoke, his voice was like cold steel. “How long did you think you could keep me from knowing?”

“Who told you?” Natalie forced herself not to flinch. She knew how awful she looked, but she wouldn't play the victim.

Not with Beau.

“Tori thought it would be a good idea to warn me that Slade was out on bail. I couldn't let her off without hearing the full story.”

“She promised—” Natalie broke off as she realized that wasn't true. Tori hadn't promised not to tell Beau. She'd only said she wouldn't tell him unless she had to. Had Tori told him about the divorce, too?

“You can't be here,” she said. “You mustn't be involved in this mess.”

“Damn it, Natalie . . .” He crossed the floor, cupped her chin in his hands, and gazed down into her battered face. “What the hell happened?”

“Somebody—I don't know who—told Slade I was with you at the ranch. Of course he believed the worst. The next night when I got home late from working, he was there. He'd wrecked the clinic . . .”

Natalie's voice broke. Her face would heal on its own. But even if the insurance paid, restoring her precious clinic would take time and money she couldn't spare. “I tried to call and warn you about him,” she said. “But I couldn't get a message through. Have you been all right, Beau?”

“Me? You're worried about
me
?”

“Slade's gone crazy. He's capable of anything.”

“I know.” He reached down and captured her hands in his big palms. “That's why, as soon as you're released, I'm taking you to the ranch. You'll be safe there. There'll be no way he can get to you.”

“And how do you think that's going to look?” Natalie pulled her hands away and drew herself up in the bed. “You're not in charge of my life, Beau Tyler. I'm going back home to get my clinic running again. If Slade has the nerve to show up, I'll have a gun.”

He shook his head, as if he'd expected her reaction. “But can you shoot? I know for a fact you used to hate guns.”

“I still do. That doesn't mean I can't point a weapon and pull the trigger.”

“But could you shoot your husband—even if he was going to hurt you again? Natalie, you're the gentlest person I've ever known.”

“Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do!” She thrust out her chin, forcing herself to say the words. “I can take care of myself, Beau. So go away and leave me alone!”

 

Seething, Beau drove back down the highway toward Blanco Springs. Today Natalie had been like a feisty little wounded kitten, hissing, clawing, and utterly vulnerable. If Slade chose to violate the restraining order, he could murder her—and likely would.

He'd been wise to hold back what he knew, Beau reflected. Tori had told him about the rape, too. And the very thought of Slade ripping down Natalie's jeans, thrusting into her helpless body, and leaving her to lie there was enough to incite a murderous rage. Beau had killed more men than he cared to remember, and he'd done it with the cold efficiency that was part of his job. But he'd never wanted to kill a man as much as he wanted to kill Slade Haskell.

He didn't plan to do it, of course. That would be murder. But he could make certain the man knew what would happen if he didn't leave Natalie alone. At the very least, it might help keep her safe.

When Slade had baited him before, Beau had held in his anger out of respect for Natalie's marriage. But respect was out the window now.

He eased off on the gas pedal as the truck rolled into town. The Blue Coyote would be a good place to start looking. Stella, the owner, seemed a friendly sort. If Slade wasn't there, she might at least know where to find him.

When he pulled into the parking lot, Beau didn't see Slade's red pickup, but Tori had told him it was in impound and that Slade wasn't allowed to drive. If he was here, it made sense that he wouldn't be here alone.

Walking inside, he glanced around the bar. Slade was nowhere to be seen. But Stella spotted him. Dressed in a low-cut black satin cowgirl shirt embroidered with roses, she gave him a wave and a sexy smile. Minutes later she joined him at the bar.

“What can I do for you, cowboy?” She nudged him with one shoulder, causing her ample breasts to jiggle. Beau glanced toward the tattooed bartender, who was wiping a glass and taking no notice. No jealousy there, Beau surmised. But it would be interesting to know more about the relationship between those two. He had yet to snap a photo of the man for his friends at the DEA to run, but he'd have to worry about that later.

Beau ordered a beer on tap, taking his time. “I was hoping Slade Haskell would be here,” he said.

“Have you got business with Slade?” One painted eyebrow arched a little higher.

“You might say that.” Beau gave her a lopsided grin. He knew how to charm when it suited him. “If you're expecting him anytime soon, I'll hang around. You wouldn't mind that, would you?”

“Not if it means we get to know each other better.” She flashed him a wink. “Slade usually comes in about this time, so feel free to wait. Right now I've got my customers to keep happy, but don't you go anywhere, hear?”

She sashayed away, her plump ass doing a little shimmy for his benefit. Hoping he hadn't charmed himself into a sticky situation, Beau sipped his beer and watched the door. Did Stella know what was going on? But why wonder? Beneath that cowgirl-floozy façade, Beau sensed a keen acuity that missed nothing. Underestimating the woman could be a dangerous mistake.

He'd finished his beer and started on another when the door opened and Slade walked in. Beau's instincts sprang to full alert. Slade was flanked by two quiet-looking older men wearing Haskell Trucking shirts. Slade's employees, Beau surmised. They didn't strike him as the sort who'd wade into trouble to save their boss. But there were other men in the bar, tough-looking types who could be Slade's friends. He'd be smart to watch his back.

He could get away with threatening Slade, but if it got physical—and it would—the man would have to come at him first. Beau took his time, sipped his beer, and waited. His training had taught him to fight cold, with emotions detached. He would have to maintain that detachment—otherwise, his anger could push him to kill the man.

Slade had spotted him. His pale eyes narrowed to slits of rage. “Tyler, you wife-stealing bastard!” he bellowed. “Come fight me like a man!”

Beau set down his beer, turned slowly on the bar stool, and stood. “These people deserve to drink in peace, Slade,” he said. “Let's take this outside.”

“And have you run again?” Slade muttered an obscenity. “I'm gonna beat you till you puke blood! And when I'm done with that pretty-boy face of yours, no woman will ever want you again!”

Customers scattered out of his path, forming a ring of watchers as Slade lowered his head and charged. Beau waited until the last split second, then shifted his position. Slade crashed into the bar stools. Staggering to regain his balance, he was unprepared for the lightning uppercut that Beau knifed into his solar plexus. The breath whooshed out of him. He doubled over. His knees buckled, giving Beau a perfect opening for a sharp-toed boot kick to the groin.

In less than five seconds it was over. Slade lay curled on his side, whimpering in agony. No one else moved or made a sound.

Beau could feel the adrenaline roaring through his body. He pictured Natalie's battered face, her ravaged body. Bloodred fury flashed behind his eyes and he knew he was on the edge of losing control. One more strategic blow could kill the man at his feet or cripple him for life. He couldn't let it happen.

Forcing himself to exhale slowly, he backed away a step. Slade's watery eyes looked up at him.

“Only a coward would beat a woman,” Beau rasped. “How much does your wife weigh, Slade? Maybe half as much as you? How did you feel when you punched her in the face? Did you feel like a man?”

Slade muttered something vile, but he was in too much pain to get up.

Crouching, Beau seized his collar and yanked him up to the level of his gaze. There was genuine terror in Slade's eyes. Spit trailed from the corner of his mouth to the stubble on his chin. Sick with rage and disgust, Beau glared at him. He'd reduced this human monster to a quivering hulk, but nothing could touch what the man had done to Natalie.

“Get one thing through your thick head, Slade Haskell,” he said. “Don't you ever threaten Natalie again. If you so much as go near her, so help me, the next time I see you I'll kill you.”

Shoving Slade back to the floor, he rose, laid a bill on the bar, and walked out.

 

A pair of unseen eyes had witnessed Slade's humiliation. Lute had come into the Blue Coyote behind Slade and the two truckers. When he'd spotted Beau Tyler and sensed trouble, he'd skirted the crowd, made his way down the hall toward the restroom, and watched from the recessed doorway. Slade had gotten what he deserved. Too bad it had to be at the hands of an arrogant bastard like Beau Tyler.

Now, two mornings later, Lute entered the closed establishment through the back. His weekly cash was due, and Stella had always paid on time. Not finding her at first, he wandered into the bar. The place was silent, the floor swept, the tables cleared and wiped, the glassware polished. Weeks had passed since Jess's murder, but Lute still couldn't walk into the place without picturing her, flitting among the tables in her little pink boots. By now he understood that she'd been a whore. But that didn't mean there hadn't been something special between them—something that, with time, might have become real. He'd fantasized about taking her away from this place, getting a little apartment where he could have her all to himself. But those dreams had ended with the unspeakable discovery in the bog.

Had the cops learned anything about who killed her, he wondered, or had they decided a dead whore wasn't worth their time?

“There you are.” Stella came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on a paper towel. “I've got your money in the office. Come in and sit down. Let's have a talk.”

Lute followed her down the hallway. She was dressed and made up for business except for her feet, which sported rubber flip-flops and several corn plasters.

Seated behind her desk, she motioned Lute to a chair and lit a cigarette. “So how are things with Slade?” she asked.

“Pretty bad,” Lute said. “All he does is drink and talk about how he's going to put a bullet through Beau Tyler's head. I've been keeping stuff organized, and the drivers have been hauling their loads. But Slade's pretty much useless.”

“I see.” Stella blew a smoke ring. “So you've been doing Slade's job.”

“As much as I can.” Lute liked where this exchange seemed to be going. “I can't legally drive the trucks yet, but I'm studying for the test. I should have my license in the next week or so.”

“Smart thinking.” Stella smiled. “Slade's no use to us anymore. He's got to go. And I'll be needing a good man to take his place.”

Lute's pulse had broken into a gallop. It was happening, everything he'd wanted. “I figure Slade's going to jail soon,” he said. “After what he did to his wife, he could be there a spell.”

Stella's expression hardened. She took a drag on her cigarette and blew another smoke ring. “You're a smart boy, Lute. Look at the big picture. You know Slade can't go to trial, and you know why.”

Lute stared through the haze of smoke as her words sank in. Facing prison, Slade would take a plea deal—his freedom in exchange for all he knew about Stella's operation.

Opening a drawer, Stella took out a sealed white envelope and slid it across the desk. When Lute picked it up, he felt the substantial thickness of what it contained. There was a lot more money here than the five $20 bills she usually paid him. The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

“Prove to me that you can do Slade's job. Do that, and the job's yours.” Stella sucked on her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “As long as you're here, let me share a little secret. Just between you and me, I know you were sweet on Jess, and I know how much it hurt you when she died.” She tamped the cigarette in a china ashtray before she met Lute's eyes. “The one who killed her and dumped her body in that bog was Slade.”

 

By the time Natalie was released from the hospital, she was impatient to get home. When Tori came to pick her up, she almost bolted out the door.

“How's your head?” Tori asked as she drove out of the parking lot. “I still wish you would stay with me for a few days so I can keep an eye on you.”

“My head's fine. They could've sent me home two days ago.”

“At least you're looking better.” Tori gave her an appraising glance. “Your bruises are fading fast. A little makeup and nobody will notice them at all.”

“Good.” But Natalie wasn't concerned about appearance. “Is my house all right?”

“It's fine. I checked on my way here. I even put some leftover lasagna in the fridge for you to warm up.”

“What would I do without you?” Natalie reached over and squeezed her friend's shoulder. It felt good to be going home. But home would be a different place now. And she'd be dealing with a mountain of complications—her clinic, the insurance, the money, the divorce . . . Her mood darkened. “I guess I'd better ask what's happening with Slade,” she said.

“Nobody's seen him since he had that fight with Beau in the bar. Rumor has it he's holed up at his trucking company, most likely drinking.”