The Crush (46 page)

Ransacked the whole house. And you know what he was doing all that time? Laughing. Laughing his ass off because he knew I was destroying any chance we had of bringing him to trial for Joe's murder.

"When I didn't turn up the piece of clothing I had hoped to find, I went after him.

That scar above his eye? Courtesy of me. He wears it proudly because it signifies his biggest victory. To me it represents my lowest point. I honestly believe I would have killed him if Oren hadn't shown up and physically pulled me off him. I owe Oren my thanks--and my life--for that. And the only reason Lozada didn't kill me and claim self-defense is because he knew the torture it was going to be for me to live with this."

He came around slowly and his eyes connected with hers through the darkness. "You have me to thank for all the trouble Lozada's caused you. If I hadn't lost my temper along with my sanity, he would be on death row and you wouldn't be in this mess."

He chuckled softly and spread his arms to encompass the small room. "And I wouldn't be in this one. I wouldn't be living in a hovel, licking my wounds and wearing a rubber band around my wrist to ward off panic attacks like a--"

"Human being," she said, interrupting. "You said it yourself, Wick. A lot of shit happened to you all at once. Everything you felt, everything you feel now, is human."

"Well, sometimes I'm a little too human for my own good." He gave her a weak smile and she returned it. Then he grimaced and swore softly. Reaching for the microphone, he switched it on. "Yes, I hear you. Jesus, do you think I'm deaf? What's up?" He listened for a moment then said, "Nothing here either. I'm coming out to get some air. Don't shoot me."

He moved past her to retrieve his pistol and cell phone, then headed for the door. "I'll be right outside. If you hear or see anything, holler."

Sleep was out of the question, so she dressed and was in the kitchen making coffee when he came back in. He was moving quickly. His expression was purposeful.

"What's the matter?"

"We're leaving, Rennie. Now. Get dressed." Then he saw that she was already dressed.

"Get your things together. Hurry."

"Where are we going? What's happened?"

He kept moving, through the kitchen, through the living room and into the bedroom where he began stuffing discarded clothing back into his duffel. "Wick!

Tell me. What's going on? Has Lozada done something?"

"Yeah. But not in Galveston."

HE TOLD HER NOTHING MORE
because he didn't know anything more.

Oren had called him on his cell phone while he was outside breathing in sea air in an attempt to clear his head and his conscience. Telling Rennie about his fuckup had left him with a mixed bag of feelings.

On the one hand, it had been cathartic to talk about it. She was a damn good listener. On the other, talking about it had reminded him that he was the idiot who had secured Lozada's freedom.

He would carry the guilt of that until Lozada was behind bars. Or, better, dead.

Knowing that Lozada was out there mocking his futility made him feel incompetent. Oren's call had left him feeling powerless.

"We don't believe Lozada's still in Galveston," Oren had said.

"Why not?"

"We have good reason to believe he's no longer there."

"What's with the prepared speech and double talk?

This isn't a press conference. What's up?"

"Do you have access to Dr. Newton's cell phone?"

"Why?"

"For the next few hours, it might be best if she didn't receive any phone calls."

"Why?"

"Let me sort this out and I'll get back to you."

"Sort what out?"

"I can't tell you until I sort it out."

"What do you mean you can't tell me? Where are you?"

"Ever heard of a Weenie Sawyer?"

"Who the devil--"

"Ever heard of him?"

"No! Who is he?"

"Never mind that now. It can keep. You stay put. Keep the doctor occupied. Have a picnic on the beach or something. Peterson's going to keep his people in place just in case we're wrong. I've got to go now, but I'll be in touch."

"Oren--"

He had hung up and when Wick tried to dial him back, his line was busy. He called the Homicide Division and was told that Oren couldn't be reached but he would be given a message.

He had deliberated for maybe ten full seconds before he returned to the house and alerted Rennie that they were leaving immediately. Picnic on the beach, my ass, he thought. If the FWPD was closing in on Lozada, he wanted to be in on the action, although he couldn't blame Oren for wanting to keep him away until it was a done deal.

Maybe it wasn't so smart to drag Rennie along, but what if Oren were wrong and Lozada was still in Galveston? It was possible that Lozada had duped them into thinking he'd left Galveston for just that purpose, to lure Wick back to Fort Worth and clear his way to Rennie. Wick didn't have enough confidence in Peterson and his crew to protect her. He certainly wouldn't entrust her to Thigpen. Which left him no alternative but to take her back with him.

Why had Oren suggested that he confiscate her cell phone? Knowing his partner must have a good reason for such a strange request, Wick had placed it in his duffel bag while she was in the bathroom.

She didn't miss it until they were on the far side of Houston and heading north up I-45.

"I think you had it with you in the kitchen," he lied.

"I'm always so conscientious about keeping it with me. How could I have left it?"

"It's too late now to go back for it."

About every ten miles, she questioned him about the phone call that had prompted them to leave so abruptly.

"Wesley didn't tell you anything else?"

"Nothing else."

"Only that he doesn't think Lozada is still in Galveston."

"That's what he said."

"We know he was there last night."

"I guess he could have made a quick round trip. He could have left sometime after calling you."

"And Wesley said nothing else?"

"Rennie, what he said to me hasn't changed since the last ninety-nine times you've asked."

"So where are we going?"

"To your ranch. I'll drop you there. Make sure Toby Robbins is available to keep an eye on you. Then I'll go into Fort Worth and find out what the hell is going on."

"You can take me to the ranch, but only so I can get my Jeep. I'll drive myself to Fort Worth."

"No way. You stay where--"

"I have work to do."

"Bullshit. You're on vacation, remember?"

"I'm going back."

"We'll argue about it when we get there."

The argument never took place.

When they arrived at her ranch a little before noon, they were shocked to see several vehicles, including a sheriff's squad car, parked inside her gate. Wick recognized Toby Robbins's pickup among them.

"What in the world is going on?"

"Stay in the truck, Rennie."

Of course she didn't. Before he could stop her, she was out of the pickup and running toward the gaping barn door.

"Rennie!" He bolted out his own door. But when his feet hit the ground, a pain knifed through his back. It took his breath for a second, but he struck out after Rennie in a hobbling run. She had too much of a head start for him to catch her.

He watched her disappear into the barn.

Then he heard her screams.

Chapter 31

She didn't remember it ever raining this hard in August. Today's aberrant weather would probably set state records. The clouds had rolled in from the northwest at about two o'clock, providing unexpected and welcome relief from the sun and heat. But it wasn't a passing thundershower. It had begun as a hard, steady rain and hadn't let up.

Rennie sat on a hay bale with her back propped against the door of Beade's empty stall. Beyond the barn door, the rainfall looked like a gray curtain. Gullies had been gouged into the hard, dry earth. Channels of rainwater filled puddles that had formed in natural depressions. Rain had washed away the tire tracks left by the cattle truck that Toby had arranged to haul off the carcasses.

Carcasses. Her beautiful horses. All that magnificent power, beauty, and grace reduced to carcasses.

She wept without restraint, sobbing audibly, shoulders shaking. Her heart was broken. Not only for her loss, which was enormous, but for the sheer cruelty of the act. She wept over the wanton waste of those five beautiful, living creatures.

She wept to the point of exhaustion. When her weeping subsided, she remained as she was, listless, eyes closed, tears drying on her cheeks, listening to the hypnotic patter of raindrops striking the roof.

Sounds of his approach were eclipsed by the rainfall, but she sensed his presence. She opened her eyes and saw him standing in the open doorway of the barn, seemingly impervious to the torrent beating down on him.

He had offered to assist with the removal of the carcasses but had been reluctant to leave her alone. Toby had suggested calling Corinne to sit with her, but she had declined. She'd wanted to be alone for a while. He had seemed to understand that and had honored her wishes.

Nevertheless, he had asked a sheriff's deputy to remain parked at her gate until his return and had told her to stay inside the house, rifle nearby, with the door bolted. And for a while she had complied. But the barn had seemed the only appropriate place in which to mourn. Taking a throw from the sofa, she had used it as protection from the rain as she ran to the barn. Either the deputy hadn't seen her or had elected to leave her undisturbed.

Taking advantage of the solitude, she had grieved for each of the animals individually, then as a group. They had been her family. She had loved them as children. And now they were gone. Destroyed maliciously.

She didn't know how long she'd been here in the barn alone, but Wick would consider any amount of time too long. He would be angry at her for leaving herself unprotected.

He stepped inside and started down the center aisle. His boots squished rainwater. It had plastered the old T-shirt to his skin, making a mold of his torso. His blue jeans were soaked through, too, and clung to his legs. His hair was dripping rainwater and lay flat against his skull.

He stopped a few feet away from her.

Contrary to what she had expected, his expression wasn't angry, but anguished. His eyes weren't hard with annoyance, but soft with compassion. He stretched out his hand, clasped hers, and pulled her to her feet. Before her next heartbeat, she was in his arms and his mouth was possessively taking hers.

This time she gave herself over to it. She went with what had been her inclination the first time he'd kissed her. Mouth, hands, body--all responded. She pushed her fingers up through his wet hair and clutched his head, kissing him back hotly and hungrily, with desire finally unleashed.

She worked the clinging T-shirt up his chest and ran her hands over his wet skin, enmeshing her fingers in the curled hair, brushing his nipples.

Then she dipped her head and kissed his chest, her lips skipping over it lightly, greedily.

Hissing swear words of surprise and arousal, his large hand closed around her jaw, lifted her mouth back up to his, and made love to it.

When at last they broke apart, she clawed at his T-shirt until, together, they had it off.

"Get close to me, Wick. Please. Be close to me."

He peeled her top over her head and brought her up against his bare chest. His skin was wet, cool; hers felt very hot against it, an erotic contrast.

He buried his face in her neck. His arms enveloped her. She felt the imprint of all ten of his fingers on her back as he held her hard and flush against him. She worked her hands between their bodies. It was difficult to unfasten the metal buttons of his jeans because the wet fabric was stubborn, but she stayed with the task until they were all undone and she was touching him.

His breathing was harsh and loud in her ear as he walked her backward until she was pinned between him and the door of the stall. They kissed ravenously while he dealt with the zipper of her slacks. He pushed them down, along with her underpants. When her legs were free, he lifted her up.

With one thrust he was inside her. "My God, Rennie," he gasped and was about to withdraw.

"No!" She slid her hands over his butt and drew him deeper into her, rocking her hips against him. He rasped her name again and began to move.

He stroked them toward a climax that seized them quickly and simultaneously.

Supporting her on his thighs, he gradually lay her on the throw she had brought from the house and stretched out above her. He brushed loose strands of hair off her face and lowered his head to kiss her. "Wick--"

"Hush."

His lips moved over her face delicately, caressing each feature in turn. She tried to follow them, to capture them with her own for a kiss. But they were elusive, moving from ear to eyelid to temple to cheek to mouth. His breath was warm and sweet on her skin as he traced a slow path to her breasts.