A Stolen Chance (16 page)

He skipped the image of himself and gazed at Shannon’s surprised face in the background. Damn. Would Dewayne Holt likely see her, and could he be here in the area now, watching? He glanced around the room, checking faces, before flipping the paper to the front page to check the date. A week ago.

Dread twisted his gut. He glanced over at Shannon. She sat at her usual table, unaware of her possible discovery, reading the paper while she ate breakfast. Her hair brushed her cheek as she leaned forward. It had grown since she’d arrived. Soft, silky, he loved its texture against his fingers, the fragrance of her shampoo. She glanced up and smiled. He waved her over. When she reached them, he handed her the paper.

Susan peered down at the picture and gasped. The color drained from her face.

Gina wrung her hands. “Carson, I’m sorry. I don’t believe what the guy wrote. I just thought it was funny to see you in the rag along with movie stars and such.”

“You said a man had a copy in here last night? A customer?”

She nodded. “Yep. I got a copy at the truck stop on I-40 on the way here this morning. Had to—”

“Enough, Gina!” His mind conjured up scenarios he didn’t want to consider—Shannon struggling with the deranged man, or worse yet, lying in a pool of blood. “What did this man look like?”

Her face wrinkled. “Well, he was an odd duck. Fair-headed. His eyes were cold. But let me tell you, he didn’t have any eyebrows or lashes, like they’d been burned off...and his face was all mottled.”

“Oh, God,” moaned Susan. “It’s him.”

Gina whirled around. “Him who?”

“Shannon’s ex-husband.” He held a hand up to stop more questions from her. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Why, sure. I bet George would too.”

“Did he ask any questions?”

“Sure did. Asked if Shannon was a regular here.”

Carson held his temper in check. His anger wasn’t directed at Gina but at himself. He hadn’t explained Susan’s situation to the others to protect her privacy. He should have known better. George suspected something, though he’d not approached Carson about the matter. “What did you tell him, Gina?”

Eyes round, she glanced at George for help. His frown let her know she was on her own. “Well...I didn’t think it was a secret.” She bit her lip.

“Gina, hurry up. Shannon’s life may be in danger.”

She moaned. “Oh, God. I told him she lived in one of the cabins.”

****

The sketch artist was waiting in a room outside Captain Farley’s office when they arrived just after noon. By two p.m. they had a good likeness, one both Gina and George approved. Susan took a deep breath to steady herself and stepped forward. She studied the eyes. How had she not noticed years ago the hint of evil in them—evil or mental illness, she wasn’t sure which. “Yes, that’s Dewayne.” She shook her head. Why hadn’t he died in the explosion rather than coming away disfigured? His hate and desire for revenge would be even greater now. She didn’t wish to see anyone die needlessly, but Dewayne was a festering sore ready to erupt. Anyone in his way would be affected.

They exited the building, took the elevator to the parking garage, and headed to Carson’s truck. A few cars drove in looking for an empty space. His left arm around her shoulders, Carson’s eyes scanned the area for signs of Dewayne. “You all know what he looks like now, so keep your eyes peeled.”

They reached his vehicle to find his tires flat. “Shit!” He opened the rear door and shoved Susan and Gina inside. “He’s around here someplace. Keep your heads down.” Susan did as she was told but managed to sneak peeks through the back window.

George waved down a passing police car and, within minutes, they were hemmed in by several cruisers with lights flashing. A service crew vehicle joined them. Feeling the danger was over, Susan opened the back door and slid out, Gina on her heels. Carson observed their actions but didn’t comment.

A lanky man in overalls exited the tow truck with a clipboard in hand. He eyed the tires. “Sorry, Carson. Looks like you need a full set.” He bent and studied them closer. “I can’t be for sure until we have them off, but it looks like a knife puncture.” He scribbled on a form, ripped out the bottom copy, and handed it to Carson. “I expect your insurance will cover the replacement cost.”

“Yeah, after my deductible. Can’t be helped.”

“I’ll tow it in, get you some tires. A patrol car can bring you by to pick it up and settle the bill.”

Carson handed over his keys. “Appreciate it, Frank.”

“No problem. I’ll call Farley when we have it ready.”

A man and woman carrying evidence kits approached, with Captain Farley in the lead.

“Don’t waste their time, Captain. We know who did this, and I doubt he left any prints.”

“Yeah, I suspect you’re right.” Farley waved the team away. “Let’s get you inside and order up some lunch while you wait for your truck.”

Gina huddled in her chair in the corner of the tiny room, a fistful of the denim of George’s jeans in her hand. For the first time, she seemed to realize Dewayne Holt meant business. Usually yakking, she didn’t say a word. George stood stoically by her side, his expression one of resignation.

Susan peered over Carson’s shoulder as they viewed video footage of the garage’s security tapes. Within minutes they’d found him. On foot, wearing jeans, a generic black ski jacket, and a baseball cap, Dewayne turned and grinned up at the camera. Then he raised his hand in the air, middle finger up.

****

Susan sat next to Carson, cuddled against his side. His small sofa allowed just enough room for the two of them—and Hans, of course. With her feet out to the side, the big dog covered them with his body and kept her toes warm.

Carson’s hand moved from her shoulder and cupped the back of her head. “I wish you’d stay here with me tonight, even though sharing the van with you the other night was torture.”

“Hmm, well I have to admit, your snoring tortured my ears.”

He snorted. “I don’t snore! At least, I don’t think so.”

She chuckled. “Actually it wasn’t so bad, more like a snuffling sound, like that big animal with the long snout, on that children’s television show with the big yellow bird.”

“You have a charming sense of humor.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

His strong fingers kneaded the tense muscles in her neck. She groaned and allowed her head to drop forward. He was good with his hands. The thought of him touching her elsewhere sent shivers through her frame. Oh, how she wanted to share his bed, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Dewayne would kill him to get to her. She couldn’t allow him to harm Carson. She needed to confront Dewayne herself, prove she wasn’t the helpless woman he believed her to be.

Perhaps her reasoning was foolish, but she needed to take control herself. Then she’d be worthy of Carson. “I can’t stay with you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” He dropped his hand to her shoulder, and she sat up.

“Both, I guess. I can’t commit, yet, and I won’t put you in harm’s way. Dewayne would kill you and enjoy seeing my despair.”

“Do you know how emasculating that is? You, the victim, trying to protect me.” He thumped his chest. “I’m the man here. I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

She chuckled. “Me Jane, you Tarzan?”

He frowned. “All right, smart ass. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, I do, but in this case, facing Dewayne is something I must do. I have to stop running from him.”

“Can you kill him if you have to?”

Could she? She’d fired her pistol enough to have pretty quick reflexes, but she hadn’t pointed it at a human being. She snorted. Dewayne wasn’t human, was he? Yeah, he was, but a poor excuse for one. He’d killed that poor woman, the mob boss’s wife. He’d kill Susan too, if she let him. She didn’t want to die, at least not by Dewayne’s hand. If she died some other way, like in a car crash or something, she could handle it. She stifled a giggle. Like she’d know anything about it. Dead was dead. But her parents would be able to handle a car crash a lot better than death by Dewayne Holt. “Yeah, I can.”

“Remember now, no time for thinking. If he confronts you, shoot first, ask questions later.”

She laid her head against his chest. “I’ll remember.”

“By the way, who said I wanted a commitment? I just want you in my bed.”

Susan jerked away from him, ready to bolt, but the goofy expression on his face stopped her. He wiggled his eyebrows.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “You masher, you.”

He groaned and grabbed the offending elbow. “Now that’s a word I didn’t think anyone used anymore.”

“Must have come from my grandmother’s vocabulary.” The woman who’d instilled certain values in her, like those of home, family, and fidelity. Well, her mother had, also, but she was a bit more relaxed about today’s sexual mores. “About that commitment thing, I didn’t mean marriage. I meant being able to know that there would even be a relationship. I can’t have sex with a man and not know if we’ll be alive the next day.”

His lips touched her forehead. “I know, sweetheart. I respect that about you, and commitment is important to me, too. Not to say I wouldn’t jump in the sack with you at a moment’s notice, but it’s not a common habit for me.”

She turned in his arms to face him. Her fingers brushed over the short hair at the back of his head as she pulled him closer. Their lips touched, lightly at first, easy, sampling. So sweet, yet the need for more was there waiting beneath the surface. But now was not the time. She whispered against his lips. “Soon.”

Chapter Fifteen

Susan snuggled down under the covers. Sleep eluded her tonight. Thoughts of being curled against Carson’s warm side invaded her thoughts. How she wanted to give in to her desire for him, let him into her bed, but desire wasn’t enough. She needed to know there would be more than the moment. She’d fallen in love with him, wanted him beside her for the rest of her life, but it would kill her to endanger him even more by making him an easy target for Dewayne. Carson’s offer to help her already had him in the madman’s focus. If Dewayne learned of her feelings for Carson, he’d kill him just to see Susan suffer. No, she couldn’t expose him further.

She sighed and stared at the ceiling. A sound from the rug by the door had her turning to see what had disturbed Hans. He stood, the ruff on his neck standing on end, as he peered at something near the fireplace. A gray mist whirled and morphed into Mr. Riley. A rumble started low in Hans’s throat and blossomed into a ferocious growl. She jumped from the bed and laid a hand on the dog’s back. “It’s okay, boy. Meet Mr. Riley.”

Hans quieted but cut a wide berth around the figure as he raised his nose to breathe in the ghost’s scent. Shannon caught the light scent of tobacco. “No smoking in here, Mr. Riley.”

The aroma instantly dissipated. Hans, hair still raised on his back, plunked down on his haunches between her and Mr. Riley. He no longer growled but stood guard.

“Mr. Riley, why are you visiting me? Why aren’t you over there disturbing Carson’s sleep?”

He chuckled. “You are more responsive to my presence.” His gravelly-voiced words softly invaded the room. “You are the one who can find the Zuni treasure and return it to its rightful place.”

She was more receptive?
Hmmm. Wonder why?
“So you agree it belongs with the Zuni people?”

“Yes.”

“Well, where is it, then? I’m sure Carson will see it gets back to where it belongs.”

“It is hidden in the mantel.”

Shannon walked to the fireplace. Hans, against her legs, edged her away from Mr. Riley. She ran her hand along and underneath the heavy wood. “Where is it? I don’t feel anything.”

His image and voice faded. “I will come again.”

“Why can’t you show me now?”

“Patience, daughter.” He reached toward her and a deep growl rumbled from Hans’s throat. Mr. Riley chuckled. “The dog is good protection, but don’t allow yourself to become complacent. It is good to see you wear White Bear. He will help you.”

She clasped the fetish and, as usual, her hand warmed. Mr. Riley watched her and nodded.

“Help me what?”

“Fight the one who means you harm.”

She gasped and released the bear. “How do you know about him?”

“The same way White Bear knows. We listen when the spirits talk.” His voice faded into nothingness.

He was gone. Hans relaxed and padded back to his rug, where he plopped down, head on his large paws.

Susan climbed back into bed. Why did he leave without telling her where exactly in the mantel to find the treasure? Maybe his energy was restricted. Her knowledge on ghosts was limited to her childhood and what she’d seen on television. She certainly didn’t believe all she saw there. Tomorrow she’d research the topic online.

The café was a hive of activity the next morning. Leona and Buck had returned from their Nashville trip. Leona rolled her eyes as Buck imitated the vocals of George Strait’s “All My Exes Live in Texas.” Shannon had to admit the man couldn’t sing. He grabbed Leona and swung her into his version of the two-step. She pushed away and moved out of his reach. George and Carson stood behind the serving counter laughing as Buck wiggled his hips in invitation. Trying to keep a straight face, Leona swatted at him with an apron. “Get this apron on, you old fool. Let’s give the kids a day off.”