Love Under Two Cowboys (24 page)

Michelle took another sip of her tea. “Matt came into the restaurant about an hour ago, ordered a coffee, and then just sat there. He barely drank it and seemed as if he was super wired, waiting for something to happen—like he was actually
on duty
. When Ginny asked him if he wanted anything to eat, he asked her if the back door in the kitchen was locked.” Michelle shrugged. “It always is, unless we’re getting deliveries, and he should know that.”

Carrie looked back over at Tracy, this time with one eyebrow raised. “That was one of our new policies,” Tracy said, “that we adopted after Kelsey was attacked by that wacko from her past. Matt
knows
she always keeps that door locked.”

The young pastry chef knew Matt better than she did, even if he was the cousin of the men she loved. “So I wonder why he would ask Ginny that?”

Tracy furrowed her brow and shook her head slowly. “I have absolutely no idea what—”

Carrie heard the door swing open behind her, not an unusual occurrence, but the flash of concern on Tracy’s face made her pivot around to face whoever had just opened it.

She met Chase’s gaze. A flash flood of panic swept her. Then she mentally sighed with relief when she saw Brian standing out in the dining room behind him, looking her way.

“Sugar, can you come on out here and sit with us for a bit? Adam needs to talk to you.”

Carrie couldn’t logically explain the sense of foreboding, but there was something in the way Chase’s voice sounded and in the look he gave her that put her on edge. She set aside the enormous bowl of meat, and covered it. She peeled off her latex gloves and then washed her hands, moving deliberately, bracing herself as she performed the mundane task.

Chase waited patiently for her, and she felt his eyes on her the entire time. When she stepped out into the dining room, he slipped his arm around her. Brian took up position on the other side of her as they led her toward the group that awaited her. Carrie sighed. She felt protected, and that eased the knot in her stomach, at least a little bit. She wasn’t surprised to see not only Lusty’s sheriff waiting for her, but her sister, too. Julián was there, as was one of Tracy’s husbands, Peter, along with Matt, Kelsey, and Ginny, of course.

Carrie sat down at one of the large family-sized tables. She had the sinking feeling that she knew what Adam was going to talk about before he said a word.

Adam took a chair almost directly across from her. “You had an apartment in Dallas, on East Armadillo Street? The building number was 1286?”

Momentarily confused, Carrie nodded. “Yes, apartment number 3C,” she said. “I lived there for a couple of years. I only moved from the apartment when I left Dallas to come here around the end of May. Why?”

Adam cocked his head to one side. “Did you register a change of address with the DMV at the time of your move, Carrie?”

She felt her face color. She hadn’t, and she didn’t understand why Adam would ask such a thing. She didn’t think the purpose of this meeting with so many people looking so very somber had anything to do with her tardiness in filing a government form.

“Actually, I only mailed the form off a couple of weeks ago. I had it and filled it out, but it totally slipped my mind to send it. I don’t have my new license yet. Adam, what’s this about?”

Chase picked up her right hand and threaded his fingers with hers. Brian sat close on the other side of her.

“Sugar, two nights ago, there was a break-in at your former apartment. The new tenant was a young man, about twenty-five years old, newly arrived in Dallas from Alabama.”

Carrie’s sinking feeling turned to nausea. She felt as if all the blood had drained from her face. “
Was
?”

“Don’t you pass out on us, sweetheart.” Matt’s commanding voice pulled her attention to him. “He’s not dead, honey, but he got beat up pretty bad. There weren’t any witnesses and the guy is still in a coma, but the cops processed the scene thoroughly and they came up with the fingerprints of a convicted felon.”

Adam ran a hand through his hair. “Despite our inquiries and duly processed request to be kept advised of any movement or change in the status of George Lockwood, he’s apparently gone missing. Went missing, in fact, a few weeks ago.”

“How could that happen?” Chloe turned to Chase. “Didn’t you tell me the man had been ordered to wear an electronic monitoring device? What the
hell
?”

Adam cleared his throat. “Miss Rhodes, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset?
Upset
? That sick son of a bitch is out there somewhere. He’s gone missing after getting out of prison? He’s attacked the new tenant at Carrie’s old place? You have to know that means he’s coming after my sister. Do you know what that bastard
did
to her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” Adam’s voice went quiet and Carrie thought he was probably angrier than all of them combined. She didn’t claim to know Lusty’s sheriff all that well, but she understood his anger was because of the situation, and the failure of the system to protect her, and not from anything Chloe had said.

Carrie was terrified and angry, but those emotions would only get in the way of dealing with this situation. They needed, all of them, to be calm.

“Chloe.” Carrie reached out her hand and her sister came to her, took it. Brian got up from his chair and stood behind her so that Chloe could sit beside her.

Carrie hadn’t had her sister to turn to the first time around. She hadn’t had anyone at all. And although, right now, she was scared down to her toes, it
was
different this time. She was different—older, smarter, and hell, meaner, too.

And she wasn’t alone.

She wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t going to hide. She was, by God, going to do something to bring this chapter of her life to a close.

No more hiding in the past, and no more hiding the truth from herself.

Carrie considered Adam for a moment. “You asked me about my driver’s license. I take it that means he somehow got his hands on the records at the DMV? Found out where I had been living through them?”

“That’s what the police think, yes. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Maybe you should tell us everything that’s happened—and everything you know about George Lockwood.” She paused and met first Chase’s gaze, and then Brian’s. “And then, I think we need to figure out what kind of a trap we’re going to set for this bastard.”

“Damn it, Carrie.” Chase looked ready to punch something. “If you think for one minute we’re going to let you offer yourself up like some kind of a red flag to an ornery bull, you’ve got another
think
coming.”

“I’m not offering anything.” She didn’t know where this resolve was coming from, but God, it felt so much better than the fear. “I’m trusting you, and the sheriff—hell, I’m trusting this whole damn town—to keep me safe. But if that bastard found me once through the DMV, he’ll find me again. Not if, Chase, but
when
. So let’s all put our heads together and see what we can do to catch this son of a bitch.” Because Chase still had her hand, she used it to bring his hand to her lips and kissed it. Then she brushed her cheek against Brian’s hand that rested on her shoulder.

“I want to get on with my life. Please help me do this thing.”

When he looked into the mirror, George didn’t recognize himself anymore. This was a good thing. If he didn’t recognize himself, sure as hell the cops wouldn’t recognize him, either. The hair dye he’d picked up before he left Dallas had done a good job turning his blond hair brown. The mustache he’d grown felt foreign to him, and the glasses, though clear, felt strange. But all in all, they worked.

The car he’d stolen in order to leave Dallas had gotten him as far as the rural area outside of Tyler before he’d ditched it in the dead of night.

He’d set fire to it, and watched as it burned, and felt confident that there’d be nothing left to tie the stolen vehicle to him.

George’s confidence was at an all-time high, because he continued to receive proof from God that his was a righteous quest. After burning the car, he’d set out walking but then the idea had come to him suddenly that he should thumb a ride into Tyler and see what he could do about putting his hands on a another car. He’d heard in prison how, if a dude just had the
dinero
he could buy damn near anything he wanted, under the radar. He certainly had lots of money, thanks to Pastor Jack.

George had no sooner stuck his thumb out, when a pickup truck had driven up, and then stopped. The man who’d given him a ride had been a rancher, one who had nothing good to say about the government. He was especially rabid in his views on regulations and licenses and what he called the interference of the godless bureaucrats in Austin and Washington in the everyday lives of God-fearing, hardworking patriots. George had quickly crafted a tale of how he’d lost his license because of a parking fine, and now he couldn’t even buy a car, even though he’d saved up money to do just that.

The rancher had dropped him off in town at the home of a “friend” who’d hooked him up with a nice, nondescript Ford Taurus. For an extra five hundred, the guy had also produced a fake driver’s license for him, photo and all.

Now he understood why he’d grown that mustache, and bought those glasses and that hair dye and applied it when such a thing had never occurred to him before. The hand of God was in everything that had happened to him since he’d left Dallas, and he believed more strongly than ever before that it was only a matter of time before he found his woman.

He looked in the mirror one more time. Now he was George Smith of Tyler, Texas—according to his new driver’s license. Everything was coming together for him.

Might not be a bad idea to get myself a gun, too
. He’d damn near busted his hand when he’d beaten the shit out of that little asshole he’d found in Carolyn’s apartment. He looked down at his knuckles. He’d split one, but it was healing. He’d iced his hands before he’d left that apartment, and then again as soon as he got himself this room in Tyler. He really didn’t mind the pain. A sense of satisfaction and pride filled him when he remembered what it felt like beating that little prick.

George had learned how to fight dirty in prison, and he’d learned it at the end of some fucker’s fists. He nodded once, jerkily. He’d had the punishment coming, then. He’d been stupid, before, going off on that little bitch so that he’d gotten his ass hauled off to jail in the first place.

He’d learned his lesson. He wouldn’t be stupid again.

He thought back on that kid who’d been at Carolyn’s place. Timmy. What kind of a real man called himself Timmy? He’d come to believe the weasel’s pathetic cries, just before he’d passed out for the last time. Timmy-boy said he had no idea who Carolyn was. George thought he’d have been able to get results faster if he’d had a good old nine millimeter pointed in that little bastard’s face. His hands wouldn’t be so fucking sore, either. George grinned. Maybe he needed the pain. He’d needed it to bring him to the next step. Yes! The pain was good, because he’d taken action, he’d battled, and he’d won. Soon, very soon now, he’d win it all.

It had been a few weeks since he’d left Huntsville, but George had been very careful with his money. He had enough to last him a good long time—at least until he found Carolyn, and got them settled somewhere. All he needed was his woman, and everything would work out. They’d get themselves a piece of land, grow crops and kids. No one would look for her—she was just a woman, after all. A woman who had no folks to take care of her. That was why God had given her to him. His sweet little innocent Carolyn needed him. He would take care of her. He would protect her and provide for her and in return she would honor him and obey him. She would be a dutiful wife.

But he had to find her, first.

Shame on her for moving and not filing a change of address notice with the DMV. Though of course, the problem could more likely be laid at the state’s doorstep. Maybe she did file it and they were just being lazy asses getting everything processed. Yeah, now that he thought about it, it likely was the fault of some lazy file clerk.

Now that he had this room at a motel that offered free Wi-Fi, and a part-time job working under the table, sweeping up and cleaning at the bar across the street, he could hunker down and find his woman.

George sat on the bed with the computer on his lap and started working. He’d learned a lot from the course he’d taken in prison. And he’d learned a lot from talking to another inmate, and making contact with a friend of his online.

He wondered if Bubba had figured out yet that he’d lied when he’d promised to help him get out early in return for all the help that con had given him?

Bubba had told him that where there were records and agencies, there could be manipulation, and that good ol’ boy had come up with a fine plan to work that particular kind of magic to his own advantage. Unfortunately for Bubba, since he’d been in prison for doing some of those very same things using a computer and the Internet, the authorities weren’t letting him anywhere near modern technology.

A soft “ding” sounded and George quickly brought up his e-mail account. His heart started to pound when he realized that one of the little alerts he’d set up had just paid off. He hacked into the state’s DMV database. A smile bloomed on his face as he read the file update just posted.