Confessing to the Cowboy (19 page)

“I have a feeling your boyfriend, the sheriff, would take him on, raise the kid as his own. And every time he looked at Matt he’d think of you and what a failure he was as a sheriff. You’ll haunt him until the day he dies.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I haven’t decided how to play that out yet.”

Tears blurred Mary’s vision as once again she looked around frantically, seeking escape and praying that the blow to Junior hadn’t killed him.

The only thing she saw that might provide her any help at all was the switch to the security lights. If she could reach it before he attacked, then at least for a few seconds the place would be plunged into complete darkness and those precious seconds might allow her the time to get something to use as a weapon.

She fought back the need to vomit as her stomach clenched tighter and tighter. Where was Cameron? Shouldn’t he be finished with the traffic accident and be here to pick her up?

Hearing the sleet still pelting the windows, she realized she couldn’t depend on Cameron. The weather could keep him busy for some time.

And she was out of time.

With a twitch of his eye and a roar of rage, Jason lunged toward her. She had a split-second sight of the knife raised above his head when she threw herself at the switch and the café was plunged into darkness.

Chapter 17

“I
t’s just my ankle,” Cameron’s dad said and muttered a curse beneath his breath as Cameron helped him to his feet. Thankfully the sleet had slowed as Cameron’s mother stood beside the two men. She wore no coat, only a face of worry as she watched the two men maneuver to a standing position.

“Get inside before you freeze to death, Mom,” Cameron said. “I’ve got him now and I’ll get him inside.”

As she hurried to the front door, Jim Evans leaned heavily on Cameron’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming,” he said gruffly.

“That’s what good sons do,” Cameron replied while the two began to slowly make their way toward the house. “They come when their fathers need them. Are you sure I don’t need to take you to the hospital to get that ankle x-rayed?”

“Nah, I know the different between a break and a sprain. I just twisted it on the ice and went down so fast I didn’t know for sure what had happened.”

“You shouldn’t have been out here in this weather at all,” Cameron said with a touch of censure. “And don’t tell me that you had to go out and check on the livestock because Bobby isn’t around to do it anymore. Even Bobby would have told you it was foolish to venture out on a night like this.”

“You’re right.” Jim shot him a quick glance. “Bobby would have told me the same thing.”

Cameron helped his father up the stairs to the slippery deck and then into the living room where he deposited him into his favorite easy chair.

He knelt down and removed his father’s ice-encrusted work boot, then slid off his sock and raised his jean leg up enough that he could take a look at the ankle.

It was slightly swollen, definitely sprained rather than broken in his nonprofessional opinion. “Mom, get the ice bag. Fifteen minutes with ice on and then fifteen minutes with ice off and if it’s not better in the morning call your doctor and get it checked out. Hopefully by then the roads will be in better condition and if you need to get it x-rayed, you can.”

Before Cameron could stand, his father’s hand came to rest heavily on his right shoulder. Cameron closed his eyes and held his breath, reveling in the simple touch from a man who had scarcely even acknowledged his existence since Bobby’s tragic death.

“You’re a good man, Cameron,” his father said softly. “I don’t tell you that often enough.”

Cameron’s heart expanded painfully tight in his chest but before he could reply his cell phone rang. He stood and grabbed the phone from his jacket pocket.

“Evans,” he said curtly, hoping this wasn’t another accident call.

“Cam, it’s Bev.” Beverly Berlin always identified herself even though she’d been his secretary-dispatcher for the past seven years and he would have known her high-pitched, slightly breathy voice anywhere.

“What’s up, Bev?”

“The oddest thing, I just got a 911 call from Junior Lempke’s cell phone but he’s not saying anything. The line is open but all I can hear is somebody yelling and screaming in the background.”

“Did you call Lila?” Cameron asked, already heading toward the front door. Lila had given Junior’s cell phone number to all the deputies and workers at the sheriff’s office just in case Junior accidentally called.

It was quite possible Junior was tucked safely in his own bed at home and had accidently punched three for 911. Cameron was vaguely surprised it hadn’t happened before.

“Lila is frantic,” Bev continued. “She told me Junior left his cell phone at the café earlier today and despite the nasty weather he went back to get it.”

Every muscle in Cameron’s body froze solid as for a moment he forgot how to breathe. Junior going to the café, not speaking on the phone, the sounds of screams and yelling in the background—Mary was in trouble. The words screamed in his head.

“Thanks, Bev,” he finally managed to choke out. He hung up the phone. “I’ve got to go,” he said to his parents.

“Go do what you do best,” Jim said.

The words warmed Cameron as he raced to his car, but the warmth instantly disappeared as Bev’s words rang in his ears. Normally from here he would be no more than fifteen minutes away from the café even without the use of his siren. But under these road conditions, it would take longer.

Too long.

And Mary was in trouble.

The words reverberated through his head as his hands tightened on the steering wheel and his stomach rocked with frantic fear.

Who had been screaming and if it had been Mary, then who had been making her scream? He couldn’t believe that he’d misjudged Junior after the debacle in the abandoned cabin. He’d believed Junior’s story about wanting a place of his own. Had he misjudged that whole situation? And yet if Junior was the killer, then why would he have dialed 911?

No, not Junior. So who?

He thought of the first victim, Candy Bailey, her throat slashed. Shirley Cook suffered the same fate, killed in her bed. Finally there was Dorothy Blake, her face chalk-white from having pretty much bled out from the slash in her throat.

Not Mary. Please not Mary. Hadn’t he lost enough when Bobby had died? He’d not only lost his brother...his best friend, but had also suffered the alienation from his father.

Not Mary. He couldn’t survive without her.

As the back of his car fishtailed, forcing his foot off the gas, his fear of losing Mary strangled him, threatening to stop his breath.

Too late. Was it already too late? No, he couldn’t think that way. He’d lose his mind right here and now if he didn’t think he had a chance.

He had to get there in time to save her. He couldn’t let another murder take place, especially not Mary’s murder. She might not love him in the way he’d wanted her to, but he couldn’t live with her death.

Bobby’s death had nearly killed him, but Mary’s death would destroy him at his very core. He’d expected her to be safe in the café until he picked her up to take her home. What had gone wrong? Who was there with her and how did Junior get into the middle of it all?

Even the crumb of acknowledgment he’d just gotten from his father could do nothing to ease the restricting labor of Cameron’s breathing, the slide of his wheels on the icy roads and the aching fear in his heart that no matter how fast he drove, he was already too late.

* * *

The moment the lights went out Mary fell to the floor and crawled across the back of the counter, opening doors to cabinets, but knowing that these lower cabinets contained mostly linens and aprons, napkins and official T-shirts, nothing that could be used to ward off Jason’s rage or the slice of his knife.

Small sobbing sounds filled the silence and she was appalled to realize they were coming from her, the sound of terror escaping without her volition.

“Come out. Come out.” Jason’s voice was a singsong of anticipated pleasure. “Come on, sweet Samantha, it’s time to pay your dues.” The security lights came back on and a new sob escaped her as she scrabbled across the floor in an effort to get away.

He advanced toward her and she jumped up to her feet, grabbing the glass coffee carafe from a nearby coffeemaker. She wielded it before her as if it had the magical power to make Jason disappear.

But he didn’t disappear, rather, he drew close enough to loom like a monster before her. In frantic desperation she threw the coffee carafe at him. It hit his shoulder and glanced off him like a fly swatted away at a picnic.

It was at that moment that all hope abandoned Mary. She would never again see that slow sexy smile curve Cameron’s lips. She would never experience the wonder of his strong, warm arms around her.

And Matt. She nearly fell to her knees as she thought of the son who was her sun, her moon, her very reason to get up each morning with such happiness in her heart. She would never see him grow to be a man.

She could only hope that when her murder was investigated Jason lost custody of Matt for she knew that Cameron would stay true to his promise to her and raise Matt as his own son.

Without hope, she had no fight. Yet when Jason grabbed her by the arm and tried to force her toward him, the fight she’d thought gone returned tenfold.

She wouldn’t be a helpless victim for him again. She was no longer a naive, vulnerable young woman, but rather a strong woman who had survived him once and was determined to somehow survive him again.

She flailed her arms, kicked toward his groin, anything to keep him from advancing close enough to use the knife on her throat. A white-hot pain shot across her forearm and began to bleed at the same time she managed to connect a hard kick to his thigh.

He grunted in pain and then laughed, the laughter of a man who knew he had won and it was just a matter of time before he claimed his prize.

At that moment a crash sounded from the front door. One of the large flower pots Mary kept on either side of the entrance flew through the glass, followed instantly by Cameron, his gun drawn and his eyes holding a killing rage.

In the split second of his appearance and Mary’s stunned surprise, Jason grabbed her and pulled her tight against him, the edge of his knife at her throat.

A sharp sting marked the area where tip met skin and a warmth of blood trickled down her neck. She scarcely breathed, knowing that by the simple act of swallowing she could be hurt more severely.

“Put the gun down, Cameron,” Jason said. “Put your gun down or I slit her throat right now.”

Hesitation tempered the rage that darkened Cameron’s eyes. She wanted to tell him not to listen, that if he was just patient he might be able to get off a shot that wouldn’t kill her, too.

But Jason pressed the knife a little tighter against her skin and she could tell more blood seeped from the superficial wound. “Don’t think I’m bluffing,” Jason said.

“You know you’re a dead man.” Cameron laid his gun on the counter where he and Mary had sat for so many nights over the years to talk. “It doesn’t matter if you kill her or not, you won’t leave this building alive. I’ve already got deputies on their way.”

“Then I guess I’d better hurry,” Jason replied.

“I punched three for 911.” Junior’s voice came from the floor, momentarily startling Jason who eased his grasp on her. As the knife floated away from her neck, Mary slumped down and threw her weight to one side.

She hit the floor at the same time Cameron launched himself at Jason. As the two men began to grapple, Mary scooted around to where Junior had sat up, his eyes filled with the same horrifying fear that froze Mary’s heart.

She placed an arm around his shoulder and watched in terror the two men fighting. Cameron appeared to have no respect for the knife Jason possessed. He threw himself at Jason and the two of them hit the floor.

Sobs began to escape her as Jason sliced Cameron’s arm and then attempted to stab him in his leg. They rolled and tussled and finally Cameron sat on Jason’s chest. One hand held Jason’s wrist and the knife gleamed between them, the tip of it pointed at Cameron’s chest. Their hands shook with their efforts to overwhelm and sweat beads popped out on Cameron’s forehead as blood ran down his arm from the wound Jason had inflicted earlier.

Jason’s neck muscles were taut, the amused smile that had been on his face now gone, replaced by a fierce concentration and an ugly sneer.

The knife shook violently between them and Mary’s heart nearly stopped when it moved closer to Cameron’s body. He was losing the battle, she thought frantically. She realized that in the scuffle that had taken place between them Jason’s knife had done more damage than she’d thought.

There wasn’t just the slice on his forearm that was bleeding profusely, but his jeans had darkened with blood on his upper thigh where obviously Jason had gotten beneath his defenses for a quick stab.

Cameron was losing blood, losing strength and she didn’t know what to do, how to help him. Junior clung to her like a frightened baby monkey, his long arms nearly engulfing her as his heartbeat tattooed against her own.

A scream ripped from her throat as Jason won the physical battle for the knife and plunged it into Cameron’s chest. Cameron listed to the side and fell to the floor beside Jason.

Jason rose to his feet, prompting Mary to untangle herself from Junior. “Dial three, Junior, and tell them we need an ambulance.” Her voice sounded high-pitched, hysterical to her own ears. He couldn’t be dead. Cameron couldn’t be dead.

And then she spied the gun.

Cameron’s gun on the countertop. She grabbed it and pointed it at Jason, who stopped in his tracks and smiled at her, that crazy, condescending smile that had always frozen her blood.

“You don’t have the guts,” he said with a laugh.

In a hundred million circumstances he was right. She would never have the guts to shoot to kill a man. But with the sound of Junior’s soft sobbing and the sight of Cameron’s unmoving body on the floor nearby, she didn’t hesitate.

She aimed and fired, the bullet exploding Jason’s left knee. He screamed in pain and before he fell to the floor she squeezed off another shot, this one smashing his right knee.

He was on the floor, writhing in pain. Primal screams mixed with curses and her name, Samantha...the name of the woman she’d once been, the name of a woman she’d never be again.

She dropped the gun to the counter as Adam Benson, Ben Temple and several other deputies rushed inside. She was at Cameron’s side before the others reached the counter. She threw herself to the floor next to him and grabbed his hand.

His breathing was labored and as he opened his eyes to look at her, everything else fell away. Jason’s screaming, Junior’s sobbing and the noise and chatter from the deputies all became white noise that didn’t matter. All that mattered was Cameron and the distant sound of a siren approaching that she hoped and prayed was an ambulance.

“Help is on the way,” she said, tears misting her eyes and falling down her cheeks. “You hang on, Sheriff Evans. You hear me? You hang on because this town needs you.”

His eyes fluttered closed and she thought he’d become unconscious. “Please, Cameron. Stay with us. We all need you. I need you,” she whispered.

Before she could say anything more, the ambulance arrived and chaos reigned. She was grateful to see the ambulance not only load up Cameron, but also a handcuffed, still-screaming Jason.