Touch of Evil (10 page)

Ross had known Debbie’s divorce had been contentious, had heard rumors the marriage was abusive, but he hadn’t realized just how bitter she remained.

Abruptly, her expression softened, moisture turning the blue of her eyes translucent. Taking his hand in hers, she squeezed it. “After watching your heart get shocked out of Vfib, I can’t stand the thought of a woman like that breaking it. So, please, Ross, please be careful. You’re the best friend I have here, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Uncomfortable with the contact, he returned the squeeze before reclaiming his hand. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, even as he wondered if Debbie Brown imagined going from being his friend to his next lover.

“What do you mean, she’s not here?” Ross asked Laney’s oldest sister, Trudy, who was wearing a pair of rubber gloves.

Left to her own devices, thirty-five-year-old Trudy scrubbed everything that stood still long enough. She claimed it helped her deal with her excess nervous energy, but the prevailing opinion within the family was that she’d
always been a neat freak. She certainly had the cleanest pair of toddlers in East Texas, their soft, café-au-lait skin as spotless as her own.

Trudy pushed a fringe of dark hair from her brown eyes, puffed her plump cheeks, and blew out a breath. “Gone, can you believe that? Couldn’t even wait for me to get here.”

A memory of the noose hanging in this kitchen shafted through his thoughts, lightning-swift. “The door, was it still locked? Was there any sign of a forced entry?”

Trudy shook her head. “Nothing like that—she left a note. Said she’d gone out to spend time with
real friends.
Like her sisters and her cousins don’t count. Like her own family doesn’t mean a darned thing.”

Her eyes misting with hurt, she added, “But that’s my baby sister for you. Never did appreciate a thing we did for her. Never thought of anything except that music of hers. That ambition.”

“She’s been through a hell of a time lately,” Ross reminded Trudy. “Seems we ought to cut her a little slack for now.”

Trudy fisted one hand on the full curve of her hip. “I might feel more inclined if she’d at least cleaned up after herself in the kitchen.”

Ross thought guiltily that he’d been the slacker who’d left his rinsed dishes in the sink, but he had no intention of getting into it with his cousin. Especially not until he figured out where Laney had gone. “Who would Laney be visiting? With Jake and everybody from the band dead, who else would she turn to?”

Trudy shook her head, irritation tugging at her full mouth. “I have no idea who she hangs around with. Riffraff from the bar, most likely. No one she would ever bother introducing me to.”

Small wonder Laney confided in him rather than her sisters. Though Ross was at a loss to name any more of her friends, either. “Let me give her a call.”

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and quickly tried her number. Moments later, he and Trudy turned their heads toward a sound from the back bedroom.

It was Laney’s cell phone, ringing where she’d left it. Leaving him no idea whatsoever how to reach her.

And leaving him increasingly worried when Laney failed to return home throughout the long, long night.

If we were brought to trial for the crimes we have committed against ourselves, few would escape the gallows.

—Paul Eldridge

Wednesday, October 21

Death slips in on stealth’s feet, as subtly as a swamp snake gliding over grass. But it comes this time not to the lake’s shore, nor beside the quiet bayous, but to a misted morning meadow in the leaden hours before dawn.

An elderly mare lifts her gray head, ears pricking toward the leafy crunch of something moving through the brush outside the field where she is pastured. Something large, and coming closer. Flaring her nostrils, she catches a scent that sets her quivering: a burnt-sharp odor overlaid with blood. She starts at the sound of a human voice, one so harsh and sudden it launches a covey of fat, brown ground birds to the air.

As they whirl away, an upright and a slumped form materialize out of the dimness, and finally, flight instinct drives the mare forward, and she gallops, heedless of all obstacles before her. She barely feels the sting as she snaps through three strands of barbed wire, and she doesn’t slow at all.

Later, she stands trembling, her sleek hide torn and dripping, the color of her bright blood cutting through the fog. But the mare at least will heal, will live to carry riders and bear the foal that swells her belly.

While the awkward burden left by the intruders can do no more than stain the withered grass.

Justine was already mainlining her second cup of coffee by the time her father called at eight o’clock that morning.

“Get any sleep?” His words came out a mixture of gruffness and concern.

“I should’ve been the one to stay with Noah, not you.”

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to do everything on your own. You have my help for as long as you need it, probably longer than you’ll want it. I stayed last night so you could get some rest. So
did
you?”

Staring out the kitchen window, Justine watched a trio of buzzards swirl above the back pasture, beneath the morning’s threatening, low sky. Probably some armadillo had bought it, or perhaps a deer or feral hog.

“Some,” Justine answered, “between phone calls to my deputies. I had to keep up with the investigation—not that they’ve found anything much so far.”

There was no way she could simply delegate and forget about things, especially not with Noah involved. She thought about how small and vulnerable he’d looked, curled beneath the white hospital sheets. For a long time last night she’d sat there beside him, stroking his hair and whispering promises that she would keep him safe forever. Watching through a haze of tears until her father had insisted she return home.

“I thought we had agreed you were going to let Roger handle things.” Her father’s voice was stern now. “At least until you’re back on your feet again.”

“We’re talking about
Noah,
Dad. Not some stranger’s suicide.” Setting down her mug of coffee, Justine took a deep breath and continued. “Besides, I fired my chief deputy last night.”

“You did
what
?” her father demanded. “When was this? And why?”

“Never mind that jackass. How’s Noah this morning?”

Her father paused a beat—long enough to let her know he
hadn’t missed the change of subject. “Getting dressed to head home, so he can get the
right
breakfast for a Wednesday. I can tell you, that boy was thoroughly pissed when the attendant brought him pancakes instead of cereal with sliced bananas.” Her father chuckled. “Threw a walleyed fit, let ’em know there’s nothing wrong with his lungs. Doctor released him after that, said there’s no reason to keep him any longer.”

Justine smiled, oddly proud of her son’s skills when it came to asserting his wishes. Or maybe she was simply relieved he hadn’t been using those skills on
her.

“So you’re bringing him straight home, right?” she asked. She couldn’t wait to get her son back where she could keep an eye on him.

“Sure I am, but he’s already making noises about school and pointing to the clock. It’s after ten, and he’s convinced he ought to be there.”

Justine’s heart sank. Though she knew she couldn’t keep him out of school forever, she couldn’t imagine sending him back less than a day after he’d been grabbed. At the very least, she wanted to march down to the school and have a come-to-Jesus meeting with the principal and teachers about keeping a better eye on the students during dismissal time, particularly those with special needs.

“I’ll talk to him when you get home, tell him there’s a teacher workday.” She hated lying to him, but it was the only way she had a prayer of getting him to rest.

With Noah home and safe, she’d be able to focus her attention on checking law enforcement databases for any suspicious hangings within a five-hundred-mile radius. Because if she really was looking at three murders staged to look like suicides, it was all too possible that this was part of something bigger.

Part of something guaranteed to get the FBI in here to yank the investigation out of her hands—unless she beat them to the killer.

An unexpected movement outside the window attracted her attention. Something large and gray, with gleaming red. In spite of the weak light, Justine realized it was the mare, Moonshadow. Injured, perhaps badly, and clearly terrified.

“I have to hang up now,” Justine explained quickly. “Horse is loose—she’s bleeding. I’d better go see what’s the matter with her.”

“I’ll bring Noah and get there soon as I can,” her father said. “Be careful. A hurt horse is a dangerous horse, and the last thing you need is another kick to the head.”

After swallowing one last, cool mouthful of coffee, Justine grabbed a denim jacket to throw over her long-sleeved T-shirt and headed for the back door. At the last moment, she hesitated, went back to the bedroom, and put on her shoulder holster on the off chance that her child wasn’t the only thing some bastard had dared mess with.

“And I would so dearly love to catch you on my property,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Shoving her cell phone in her pocket, she hurried outside and jogged in the direction where she had last seen Moonshadow, in the deep gloom beneath some live oaks. The mare was nowhere in sight. But Justine found blood spotting the leaf litter, and by following the trail, she tracked the horse to where she stood, head down and quivering, not far from the gate leading to her pasture.

Justine spotted several cuts crisscrossing the mare’s chest and forelegs. Linear in nature, they told the story of a panicked charge through barbed wire. Which was strange for an uncommonly laid-back twenty-one-year-old mare. What could have frightened her so badly? Coyotes or some wild dogs? Or had there been a big snake?

“Easy, girl,” Justine coaxed as she approached. “Let’s get you checked out, sweetheart. Just a little closer, now.”

Justine came within twelve yards before Moonshadow whinnied and spooked, loping some distance down the fence
line. Again and again, the two of them repeated this dance, Justine approaching and crooning soft words, the mare bolting to what she saw as a safe distance.

And all the while, buzzards spiraled near the center of the pasture as thunder muttered in the distance. If there
had
been a predator, Justine hoped Moonshadow had kicked in its head and killed it.

After three attempts, Justine retrieved a bucket of sweet feed to coax the mare nearer. As she reached for Moonshadow’s halter, the ringing of the cell phone in her pocket sent the horse racing away.

Cursing, Justine pulled out her phone and flipped it open. “Wofford here,” she snapped before reminding herself not to take out her frustrations on the caller.

“Justine, it’s Ross,” he said in a voice that sent heat coursing through her veins. Embarrassment, that was all, over their shared kiss last evening. Regret over a mistake that would never be repeated.

“Laney’s missing. She didn’t come home last night.” The words tumbled from Ross in a worried rush. “She left a note, said she’d be with friends, but she forgot her cell phone. I have no idea who to call, or who she’d be with other than the guys from her band.”

Justine breathed a silent prayer that Laney hadn’t gone to join them, that the lure of self-destruction hadn’t cinched tight around her neck. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be left alone.”

“When Calvin came to get me yesterday, I left her sleeping at the house. But it should have been for only a few minutes. Laney’s sister Trudy was on her way there.”

“So she was gone when Trudy got there?”

“Right. And Laney left a note, which didn’t exactly shock me. Trudy drives her crazy over her late hours, boyfriends, you name it. Before she went to bed, Laney was complaining
that she couldn’t take her big sister harping on her right now. Kicking her when she was down—that’s how Laney put it.”

“Is this like her, to run off and worry people? Is this something Laney’s done before?”

As Ross hesitated, a breeze kicked up and blew Justine’s hair in front of her eyes. Tucking it behind her ears, she added, “I don’t mean to imply—rd;

“I understand; you have to ask. To tell you the truth, ordinarily I might say this
was
like Laney, getting pissed and taking off to spend the night somewhere else. But she knew how worried we were. She must have known how frantic we’d be by now. My God, with the other members of her band all dead…”

Justine wished she could reach through the phone to him to offer comfort. But right now, Ross needed a sheriff, not a lover, and particularly not a lover he’d cast off. “Any reason to believe she’s been taken against her will?”

“None at all. The house was locked up, and everything looked in order. Nothing seems strange about her note or the handwriting. If it turns out that girl’s just somewhere sulking, I swear I’m going to wring her neck.”

“I understand completely, especially after yesterday with Noah. We’re going to find your cousin safe, too. We’re going to bring her home.”

“You can’t promise me that, Justine. Some bastard left a noose for her. What if she’s—” He huffed out a sigh. “What am I going to tell her mother?”

Justine thought of Caleb LeJeune’s mother, thought of all the mothers whose hearts she had broken. Surely Ross, as an emergency room physician, had done the same as well. But when it came to one’s own family, there was no such thing as professional distance, no way to keep the words’ sharp edges from eviscerating one’s soul.

“You can’t go there, Ross, not unless you’re forced to. For right now, let’s focus on those things you can do.”

“Like what?” For the first time since she’d known him, she heard the boy behind the man’s voice, his relief at having someone to direct him for a change, someone who ostensibly knew better.

“First, I’m going to need any information you have on whatever vehicle Laney could be driving. Does she have her own car?”

“Sure,” Ross answered. “She drives a Chevy. A little red Cobalt, about two years old. I, uh, I bought it for her, so I probably have the papers with the license number somewhere. ”

Justine wasn’t surprised.

“That’s good,” she said. “As soon as you get me the information, we’ll put out an APB on it. Now I want you to open up your cousin’s cell phone. Check the call log for me.”

“I already did that when she didn’t show by midnight. Her last few calls were to me or to her agent—but those were days ago.”

“Her agent? What’s his name?” Justine wished she’d brought something to write with, though she normally didn’t take notes while chasing livestock.

“It’s Simon Cordero, out of Austin. Handles bookings for bands all over this part of the country.”

“Have you called him?”

“I have, and he hasn’t heard from her. He hadn’t heard, either, about Caleb’s death.”

“How’d he take the news? Surprised?” Justine asked.

Ross hesitated before answering. “Sounded like it, and he seemed really worried about Laney. I get the feeling she’s a special project of his. Says he’s coming down for Caleb’s funeral so he can talk to her.”

“A special project…” Justine echoed. “Are you at home or at your aunt’s house?”

“I’m still at Aunt Ava’s. Trudy and I both spent the night here, waiting—and racking our brains and going through
her phone’s contact list to see if any name jumped out. Used the landline to call most of the local numbers, too, but no one’s heard from her.”

“And her e-mail, did you check that?” Justine asked, hoping she would get a crack at it as well.

“Couldn’t figure out her password.”

Justine saw his comment as an opening, but she didn’t want to appear too eager. “I’ll send a couple deputies right over. And I’ll drop by as soon as I can, too. I’d come now, but I’m—”

“It’s fine. I understand. You have your own problems. I should’ve called your office in the first place.”

“I’m glad you called me,” she said, thinking of how she had turned to him yesterday when her son needed help. “I want you to know, whatever’s happened between us, you’ve always got a friend in my department.” She was proud of how she put it in the past tense.
Whatever’s
happened
between us.

“Friendship’s not what I was after with you,” Ross admitted, “but as a consolation prize, it’ll have to do.”

Justine blew out a long breath before ending the call and then phoning the office as she’d promised. By the time she finished, Moonshadow had calmed down enough to allow her to approach.

After giving the horse a few pats and rewarding her with sweet feed, Justine led her to a hitching post outside the stable. Once she had secured the mare, Justine examined the wounds carefully. Assured that none were serious, she washed away the blood with a clean rag she’d dipped in warm water.

By the time she finished slathering on antibiotic ointment and wiping her hands, Justine’s father arrived with Noah. “What happened?”

Justine shook her head. “Ran through the fencing for some reason, but at least the cuts aren’t too bad. I don’t think we’ll need a vet.”

Her attention had already migrated to her son, though
he’d turned from her already. He stood close to the wire and stared out over the pasture, his attention fixed on the reddish heads and brown-black shoulders of the buzzards bobbing above and below the ragged line of grasses. Something about the way Noah watched them set the back of her neck tingling with awareness.