She's Gotta Be Mine (41 page)

“I never decided that. You did.”

“You’re the one who claimed he was thinking about making things right with Beau.”

Infighting was good. Another advantage. But how to use it when her hands were tied behind her back? With her head hanging down, her eyes began to water and her nose to run.
Please don’t sneeze, please don’t sneeze
, she chanted.

But oh God, she felt it building, unstoppable. She held her breath in the sudden silence, hoping, praying the tingling in her nose would go away.

Too late.

Footsteps padded toward her across the floor, then the braided rug.

Bobbie started to shake, squeezed her eyes shut. Did a bullet in the brain hurt a lot?

Rough fingers tugged her head up. “Stop pretending. Open your eyes.”

His voice curdled her stomach juices. She was too afraid not to look at him. Blazing eyes, flared nostrils, his mouth a grim line, he bore almost no resemblance to the man she’d met at Nick’s. No, the guy ripping her hair out by the roots was no friend of Nick, not ever.

Kent gave her head a shake, then let go. Her scalp screamed.

“It’s time. He’ll be here any minute. Make sure you keep the gun on her every second I’m gone.”

Cookie stood by an ancient sagging sofa. Strappy high-heeled sandals on her feet and a brilliant fuchsia sweater dress accentuating her slender figure, she’d dressed for a garden party instead of a killing. Hands pressed to her cheeks, her eyes darted from the gun on the coffee table to Kent’s inflexible face.

“I can’t kill her.” Thank God for Cookie’s lack of spine. Maybe, just maybe...

Kent tugged another gun from his waistband. “That was the deal, Cookie, I do him, you do her. We’re in this together, we were from the moment we killed
Jimbo
.”

“I didn’t kill him. You did.”

“I might have been holding the damn shovel, but you sent him out there to meet me knowing exactly what I was going to do.”

“Kent—”

He pointed at the gun on the table. “Pick it up and be ready when I get back.” He shot Bobbie a look. “And don’t talk to her.”

Then she was alone with Cookie. And the gun.

* * * * *

Nick knew he was walking into a trap. But what choice did he have? Punching the accelerator, the Charger leapt forward. Dark forest flashed by the windows. His life rushed past. Bobbie’s life, too.
Please don’t let her be dead
. He wouldn’t let her be dead.

Maybe he could do a trade. He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, pain jolting up his arm. They weren’t out to make a fucking trade. They wanted both Bobbie and him dead. That’s what this was all about.

Who the hell was helping Cookie? The possibilities were limitless. His options weren’t. Hell, he didn’t have an option except to show up at the appointed place.

Then they’d kill him. Bobbie was probably already dead.

But if by some miracle she wasn’t, then he needed a freaking plan. Something, anything, besides just walking in there and offering his head on a platter. He didn’t even have a weapon. Except his brain, which he would have bet against Cookie’s any day. Her cohort, however, was the unknown quantity.

Christ, he should have turned that bitch Cookie in the minute she started moaning her cockamamie story about
Jimbo
beating her.
Brax
might not have been able to put her away for anything, but
Jimbo
would have been warned. And
Brax
could have—

Brax
.

He’d been at odds with
Brax
since Mary Alice Turner aborted
Brax’s
kid using Nick’s cold hard cash. Right now, Nick didn’t give a flying fuck about Mary Alice, about the animosity, about
Brax’s
suspicions, his questions. He cared only about Bobbie.

He slammed on the brakes. The Charger fishtailed across the road, coming to rest in the gravel. Reaching into the glove box, he yanked the cell phone out. Where was the card, the goddamn card, the one
Brax
gave him that day at the
minimall
right after
Jimbo
got whacked? He shuffled the junk, then threw it all on the floor mat, scrabbling through it.

Christ, there it was.

He punched in the numbers, his hand shaking as he held the phone to his ear. The momentary delay strung out his nerves, and he could have smashed the damn thing against the wheel. Then it started to ring.

“Braxton here.”

“It’s Nick.”

A soft chuckle, then, “Nick who?”

“Don’t give me shit,
Brax
. I need your help. Now.”

“Got a shovel you want to turn over, a pair of shoes maybe?”

Screw the
fricking
shoes. “Did you drop Bobbie off somewhere after your date?”

“Drop her off? She wasn’t with me. Our date’s for tomorrow.”

She’d lied. Dammit. With that weird crap she’d been spouting about
lynchings
, he should have known something was up. She’d probably gone killer hunting and stumbled into something. “She’s missing.”

Brax’s
voice turned businesslike. ”Give me the details.”

“I got a rock through my window telling me she’d die if I didn’t go to
Jimbo’s
fishing lodge ASAP.”

“Shit,”
Brax
said on a breath. “Who was it?”

“How the hell should I know? I didn’t see who threw the damn rock. But that Beaumont bitch has something to do with it. Spivey was having an affair with her. She wanted him to kill
Jimbo
for her.” He took the chance and told
Brax
everything. “And someone put the shovel that killed
Jimbo
in my shed. It’s still there.”

“Why are you only now telling me this shit?”

“It wasn’t my business before.”

“Shit. Shit.” He could hear
Brax
pounding something. “What’s Bobbie got to do with it?”

“She’s been asking questions. Someone got scared.”

“Someone?”

“Cookie’s not doing this alone. I think that unidentified footprint you found is her accomplice.”

Brax
cleared his throat. “There was no footprint.”

“What?”

“I thought I’d spread a little misinformation around and see if I got any bites.”

“Fuck. You got a bite all right.” They’d both screwed up. But Nick was the one who’d walked away and left her alone tonight. “Christ,
Brax
. They’re
gonna
kill her if I don’t get out there.”

“Where are you?”

“A mile or so down the road from the lake turnoff.”

“You sit tight, don’t go in there without me. I can line up some guys in a matter of—”

“I’m going in now,
Brax
. You just make sure you back me up or I’m screwed.
So’s
Bobbie.”

Brax
shouted, “Goddammit, don’t—”

Nick punched the End button and rammed the Charger into gear. He couldn’t leave Bobbie alone for the length of time it took
Brax
to get there. Without him, she might not have that long.

* * * * *

“It’s very apparent you didn’t kill
Jimbo
. Kent did it.” Bobbie tried to sound reasonable and nonjudgmental. But she wanted to jump out of the chair she was tied to and rip Cookie’s face to shreds.
You stupid, dumb blonde.

“I’m not listening to you.” Like one of the three monkeys, Cookie covered her ears with her hands. At least she hadn’t picked up the gun.

“You better listen.
You
haven’t killed anyone yet. You can still get out of this. Just tell them he did it.” Bobbie didn’t care who’d actually killed
Jimbo
. She just wanted to turn Cookie against Kent.

“La-la-la,” Cookie
singsonged
. The woman had gone crackers.

“Listen to me, Cookie.” Bobbie used her most soothing voice, the one that placated irate vendors demanding immediate payment. But her stomach had sunk to her toes, and she couldn’t even feel her fingers anymore. “I can help you, Cookie. I can tell them he grabbed me out of my car and hit me over the head. I can tell them you said you didn’t want to do it. He insisted. You don’t want to go to the gas chamber, do you, when it was all his idea?”

Cookie paced, rubbed her fists against her eyes, sniffling, moaning. Then her arms slashed to her sides. “This is all your fault.”

“Mine?” Bobbie squeaked. She’d miscalculated, pushed too hard and lost the woman.

Cookie charged forward three steps. “Yes, all your fault. If you hadn’t come to town, Warren would have done what I wanted him to. He was weakening. But then you”—she stabbed her finger at Bobbie’s face—“started making him doubt me.”

And she’d been right. That didn’t stop Bobbie’s mouth from going dry. Cookie backed up, her calves hitting the coffee table where the gun lay. “Without you, Warren would have played his part the way he was supposed to.”

Bobbie clamped down on the panic, fear wrenching her belly. Anger was the only emotion she couldn’t hold back. Like a tidal wave, it washed over her. A litany of curses crowding her head, all she said was, “Warren’s not a murderer.”

“It wouldn’t have been murder. He would have been protecting me. Justifiable homicide.”

No one would have believed
Jimbo
beat her. Bobbie decided not to harp on that. How to get control? Her head ached piecing together the right words, keeping emotion out of it. Emotion was as deadly as the gun lying on the table. “It’s still Kent who killed
Jimbo
. You shouldn’t have to pay for something you didn’t do, Cookie.”

“But I don’t have an alibi. He could say I did it.” Cookie was breathing too quickly. A sign of weakening?

“But he can’t say you killed me if you don’t do it. You don’t have to play along.” She held her breath, then dove in. It was her only chance. “What’s his plan, Cookie?”

“It’s simple. Everyone knows Nick’s a serial killer. Kent’s going to make it look like Nick killed you, then disappeared.
Kent’ll
make sure no one ever finds his body.”

Please don’t mean that Kent’s going to kill Nick outside. If she could talk Cookie round, they had a chance. But not if Kent shot Nick before returning. Her mind worked furiously. No, no, that wouldn’t work. Kent couldn’t kill Nick here. The police would find
his
blood, when they were supposed to find only hers. They had to kill her first, then take Nick somewhere else. A ray of hope still shone.

“You know, two murders in a small town like this is going to look way too coincidental. The sheriff’s going to know they’re connected somehow. He’s not stupid, you know.”

“But that’s why Kent put the shovel in Nick’s shed, so
Brax
would think Nick killed
Jimbo
, too. If Warren, you know...” Her eyes shifted, almost as if she felt a prick of guilt. “If Warren says he didn’t do it.”

Bobbie forced a breath through her lips and rolled her eyes. “That’s really a dumb plan, Cookie.”

“Why?”

“First of all, Nick got rid of that shovel.”

“No, he didn’t. Kent says he was down buying a lock. Why else would he need one except for that shed of his? Nick tried to make me think he’d ditched it, but he was lying.” She pointed to her chest proudly. “I saw right through him.”

“All right. How about this?” Bobbie had to punch holes in every aspect of the plan, make Cookie doubt they could get away with it. “Everyone knows serial killers rape, mutilate, and strangle. They don’t use a gun.”

“They don’t?”

“No. Everyone will know Nick didn’t do it.”

“They will?”

“Yes. And there’s that footprint down at the crime scene.”

Cookie’s brow shot up. “Footprint?” she echoed.