Love Under Two Wildcatters (20 page)

Just as well. He didn’t want to speak to them. He just wanted to kill them.

Morton chuckled. “I don’t wish to speak to them, my dear. I only want to kill them!” He laughed and laughed until he had tears in his eyes. Finally, he got his mirth under control. He really wanted to go and see firsthand the result of his labors.

Dark had fallen, and they should have been home by now and received his gift. Or maybe he’d get there just in time to watch it happen!

He’d spent the morning rigging the explosive, using some of the last of his C4 and a remote detonator. One of the things he’d loved best about the construction company he’d owned was those times he got to play with the explosives.

He loved the power of them, and he loved his power over them. He felt the need to drive past their house, see how well he’d crafted that surprise for the bastards.

Don’t be a fool. Dumb ass bastard, returning to the scene of the crime. That’s what all the low-life criminals do. They return to the scene of the crime, and then they get caught.

“I’m not a criminal. Those two no-accounts are just getting what they have coming to them, is all. They ruined my life, made me a laughingstock, took me for a ride then used my name to gain entrée into Houston business circles. Now shut up, Daddy, and leave me alone!”

He didn’t care what his father said. This was a free country, wasn’t it? He was a citizen of this city, of this great state of Texas, of this country, and if he wanted to go for a ride about town in Bessie, well, then, by damn, he could do that, couldn’t he?

At least don’t take the damn Caddy. Fucking monstrosity stands out like a sore thumb. Someone might have seen it earlier when you planted the bomb, too.

“Shows what you know. I’m smarter than you ever gave me credit for. I parked two blocks away from the house, and I wore a pair of green coveralls the gardener left behind. I was just another servant, going about his miserable life. No one ever looks at servants.”

By damn, he would take that drive. He deserved to bask in his own glory after all these years.

Morton took a few moments to make sure his appearance, as always, was pristine. His father had hammered into him the importance of personal hygiene and a neat appearance. It didn’t matter if he was headed out the door to put gas in the car or to go out to the club for lunch. He was a Barnes of the Houston Barneses and, therefore, expected to set an example.

Morton ensured his suit hung well, that his hair was combed neatly, and his Stetson sat just so upon his head. Nodding his satisfaction, he grabbed his keys off the front entrance hall table.

Once outside, he took a moment, as he often did, to admire his car. He’d bought the 1976 Cadillac Eldorado the day after he came in to the last part of his trust, when he’d been thirty. It had been in mint condition, and he’d paid a pretty penny for it, but that didn’t matter one damn bit. It was the only car he’d ever really wanted and the only car that fit his style.

Its white body gleamed with not a mark or dent upon it. He patted the hood and admitted things would have been a lot easier if he’d realized from the beginning that Bessie—named for his dear, departed grandmother who’d left him that lovely trust—was the true love of his life, instead of getting married two times.

Morton got behind the wheel, and a sense of power, of entitlement, swept through him. He never felt so much a man as when he was behind the wheel of his Caddy. Head held high, he wheeled the big car out of his driveway, heading west.

He supposed it
was
possible that he’d be stopped on Barclay Drive. Yes, likely there would be emergency vehicles on the scene, and they would be stopping traffic, maybe even redirecting it. Perhaps he wouldn’t actually be able to drive
past
the house, but he’d get to see a bit of the chaos he created. That would have to be good enough until the eleven o’clock news.

Just in case, he angled his rearview mirror so that he could see his own reflection. And as he drove, he practiced looking shocked and dismayed in the face of the human tragedy he hoped he was about to witness.

* * * *

Susan’s ears had finally stopped ringing.

She sat on the camp stool Ryder had gotten for her out of the garage with a fire department blanket wrapped around her and watched the controlled chaos taking place on her men’s front lawn.

Beside her, on another stool, Colt was being treated by paramedics for cuts and burns he’d suffered when the front door of the house had exploded. He’d been hurt saving her life.

“Ouch, God damn it, take it easy there!”

There was nothing wrong with Colt’s voice, or his temper, Susan thought.

“Don’t be such a pussy. Hush up and let the nice paramedics treat you,” Ryder said.

“Fuck you,” Colt replied.

“Sorry, this door don’t swing both ways.” Ryder flashed a grin at Colt.

“Ha ha.”

Susan recognized scared man macho-banter when she heard it. She did, after all, have four brothers and two fathers. She watched the EMT treating Colt. “Should he go to the hospital?” she asked him.

“I’m not going to a fucking hospital,” Colt said.

Susan laid a hand on his leg. “I wasn’t speaking to you, sweetheart. I was asking the medical professional amongst us.”

The EMT obviously found their kibitzing amusing, unable or unwilling to restrain his smile. “Mr. Evans has suffered only superficial injuries, a few small cuts and just a couple of light burns. He’s going to hurt like hell for a day or so, and you might want to contact his doctor to get him some pain medication. But I really don’t think he needs to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need any pain pills, either,” Colt said.

Now he sounded more like Benny when the little guy was told to get ready for his bath. Susan caressed Colt’s leg. “You might change your mind. Wouldn’t hurt to have some on hand, would it?”

A squeal of tires caught Susan’s attention. She turned to see that a familiar looking Hummer 3 had pulled up to the curb. Both driver and front passenger doors were flung open, and her brothers Alex and Josh emerged.

They easily evaded the police trying to keep out nosy neighbors. She heard the word “family”, which made her smile.

“Holy shit! What the hell happened here?” Alex asked.

“Colt saved my life,” Susan said before either Colt or Ryder could take over the conversation. It was very important to her that these brothers, who had seemed a little miffed a couple of days ago, understand just what had really happened here.

Her brothers both focused their attention on Colt.

“To answer your question,” Colt said, “what happened here was a goddamned bomb.”

“How badly are you hurt?” Josh asked him. Then he looked over at Ryder. “You?”

“No, I was further away and hit the ground the instant I understood what the hell was happening.”

Josh moved to stand beside Colt, as if he would watch over him, and Susan wondered whether her men understood they had just gained a whole mess of family.

“Just minor,” Colt answered him. “More of a nuisance than an injury, really.”

“What about you, little sister?” Alex squatted in front of her.

Susan shivered as those moments when she’d hit the wire and Colt had grabbed her replayed in her memory. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the fear and the explosion if she lived to be a hundred. She put her attention back to her brother.

“I’m older than you, remember? I’m not hurt at all, just shaken up.”

Susan returned her focus to the house. The fire department and police had arrived within minutes of the blast. There hadn’t really been as much of a fire as she would have expected, and it didn’t appear as if the explosion had been big enough to damage anyone else’s property.

Ryder laid his hand on her shoulder. “You warm enough, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay. I’m not shaking from the cold. I’m shaking from being scared and being mad. I know what this place means to you both, and it pisses me off that someone would do this.”

“It does mean a lot to us, but it’s just a house, Susie Q. We’ll do what has to be done to fix it,” Ryder said.

“Fucking asshole’s a dead man when I get my hands on him.” Colt’s tone sounded icier than she’d ever heard it. When she looked over at him, he said, “I don’t care about the fucking house. I care about you. You could have been killed, goddamn it.”

Susan felt her eyes tear. “But I wasn’t. You took care of me.”

“Excuse me.”

Susan looked up and into the eyes of a large man wearing a black windbreaker with a tie peeking through the zippered opening.

“I’m Detective Carrerra, Houston PD.” He flashed his credentials, but Susan noticed no one in particular really looked at them.

“First off, we’re going to have to restrict access to the property until our investigation is complete. You’ll have to find some other place to stay for the foreseeable future. Now, who’d like to tell me what happened here tonight?”

For all his anger, Colt was able to give a succinct, if terse account. He also reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet.

“You might want to contact Detective Shipton of the San Angelo PD.”

“And why would I want to do that, Mr. Evans?” Carrerra asked as he took the card.

“Because this is the second bomb we’ve had directed toward us in three days. Call me fanciful, but there might be a connection.”

Despite the situation—or maybe because of it—Susan found Colt’s dry tone particularly funny. She did her best, however, to suppress the urge to laugh.

Laughing hysterically might get her hauled away for a psychiatric examination. Fortunately, her brother Alex turned to the detective.

“I’d like very much to get my friends and my sister settled for the night, detective. If you need them, they’ll be in penthouse three of Benedict Towers.”

The detective raised one eyebrow and made a point of looking around the neighborhood. “I’d say that’s a quite a move up for you, gentlemen. Congratulations.”

Susan blinked twice and then slowly got to her feet. One part of her was glad he’d mouthed off. His attitude had cured her of the need to giggle. She felt conscious of both her brothers moving slightly and even heard Josh’s, “Oh, oh.”

“Perhaps it would be a better use of your time to question the neighbors,
detective
, as opposed to baiting the victims of this crime. Someone set a bomb on this property, likely today sometime. That means somebody had to have seen something.”

“Susie.” Ryder’s voice reached her through the roiling fury. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Let the man do his job.”

Susan turned to meet Ryder’s gaze. “That would be refreshing.” When she met the detective’s gaze again, she was gratified to see that he blinked first.

“Mr. Evans is good to go,” the EMT said, effectively breaking the tension that had engulfed them.

“Let’s go,” Josh said. “I’ll drive the three of you in the Hummer, and Alex will drive your car.” He’d directed his words at Colt, who’d slowly gotten to his feet.

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” But Colt didn’t move, he just looked at Detective Carrerra. “We want to get Susan away from here, if it’s all right with you?”

The man nodded, and Susan wondered if it was because he didn’t want to listen to any more of her acerbic tongue. She made a mental note to call her father and see if he could do anything about this situation. Having the integrity of her men questioned, even if it was standard police procedure, infuriated the hell out of her.

She felt stiff, likely because she’d been sitting in the cool night air for so long, but turned to walk toward her brother’s car.

Ryder and Colt immediately flanked her, with Josh in front and Alex in back. Not that she didn’t appreciate the precaution, but likely the coward who’d planted these two bombs was long gone.

Colt got in the front seat of the Hummer. Susan sat in back and watched Ryder jog back to Colt’s car. He rummaged in the trunk then came back with a T-shirt that he tossed to his partner.

“Thanks.” Colt hissed as he pulled it on, and Susan decided right then and there she was going to insist on pain meds for him.

“I guess there’s no doubt that, somehow or other, pal of mine,” Ryder said, “we’ve made it on to somebody’s shit list.”