Callie's Cowboy (21 page)

And what was this thing about a greenhorn at the ranch? It sounded as if Callie was using her experiences on Roundrock as the basis for a feature story, something to lure the
Post
into hiring her, perhaps.

Sam felt like he'd entered the Twilight Zone, where nothing was as it seemed. If Callie planned all along to continue her career, why hadn't she told him up front? Why all this nonsense about a wedding that would never take place? How had they gotten their wires so hopelessly crossed?

Privacy be damned. He wanted to listen to the message again. He pushed the appropriate button on the answering machine. It rewound for a long time, and when the messages began playing—including the calls that had come in before Sam's arrival—all he could do was stare in openmouthed shock.

“This is Mel Weston from the
Dallas Morning News.
I received your résumé, and I'd be interested in …”

“This is Allison Henson from the
Detroit Free Press.
I'd like to talk to you about a reporter's position we have coming open.…”

“Hi, Ms. Calloway, this is Leona Black from the
Miami Herald.
…”

Sam felt like he'd been kicked in the gut by a mule. Good God Almighty. Callie was a hot item. Her career was about to soar. No telling how far she could go.

And he absolutely couldn't marry her now.

If he took all these possibilities away from her, she
would never know what could have been. And she might very well grow to hate him for forcing her to give up the work she was obviously meant to do.

Then came a message from Callie herself, to him. “Unavoidably detained.” He didn't even want to think about what she might be up to, but obviously lots of things had priority over him and Deana. The
I love you
at the end of the message was not at all comforting. If she truly loved him, how could she keep all these secrets from him?

Nicole's Cadillac pulled into a neat residential area. Although the houses were older, they were well maintained. Large shade trees on every lot gave the neighborhood a lazy, small-town feel. Callie didn't turn onto the same street. She pulled past, then slowed to see what Nicole and Tamra would do.

The Caddy pulled right into a driveway in the middle of the block. Tamra's Escort, some distance behind, slowed, then drove past Nicole's driveway and turned right at the corner.

Callie didn't believe for a minute that Tamra would now drive away, not after such a determined pursuit. Following her instincts, Callie drove to the next street parallel to Nicole's, turned right, and came out on the same street Tamra had turned on, though she was a block away.

Sure enough, Tamra had stopped around the corner. The engine was running. Nothing was happening. Callie imagined that Tamra was weighing her options.

Callie's cellular phone beeped, making her jump.
She was a bundle of pure nerves. It took her a moment to realize the sound was a “low battery” indication. Damn. She hoped she could get one more call off. She tried to remember Sloan's cellular number, which she'd just dialed a few minutes ago, but suddenly her brain was paralyzed. So she called and left a message on her own answering machine, just in case.

“Sam? If you're there, please pick up. I'm on a cellular phone that's about to go dead, so I don't have time to explain, but if Sloan Bennett happens to call there, I'm at the corner of Woodland and Douglas. I think maybe Sloan should meet me here. I have a feeling we might have an ugly confrontation. Bye, Sam. I love you.” She said it again, still reveling in the words and the meaning behind them.

She'd no sooner hung up than the phone rang. “Hello? Hello?”

“Callie? It's Sloan. What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, Sloan, I'm so glad you called. Tamra is following Nicole, sneaking around like she was up to no good.” As she explained things to Sloan she kept her eye on Tamra's car. The driver's door opened, and Tamra climbed out.

“Listen, Callie,” Sloan said, “you be careful. I'll meet you as soon as I can. Don't try to get any closer or confront either of those women, you understand?”

“I won't.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm at—” That's when she spotted the shiny object in Tamra's hand. “Oh, Jesus, Sloan, she's got a gun!”

“Who?”

“Tamra! Oh, Sloan, come quick, I'm scared.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm at Douglas and Woodland.…” Callie realized the phone was no longer working. Her battery had gone dead.

Sam paced Callie's living room like a pent-up wild animal when the phone rang. He expected it to be another of the newspaper editors determined to hire Callie, so he didn't move to answer it. But when he realized it was Callie's voice coming over the answering machine, he lunged for the phone, intending to get some answers from her. But he wasn't fast enough.

He rewound the tape and listened to the message. What? Sloan Bennett again? Her ongoing association with this character was more than getting on his nerves. The jealousy rose up in him like an angry red tide.

When he listened to the message again, he noticed something else. Callie sounded worried. No, scared. And Sloan was a cop.

Dammit, if Callie was in trouble, why didn't she dial 911 like everyone else?

Sam quickly tamped down his frustration with Callie as another, more primitive emotion took over. Someone or something was threatening the woman he loved, and
he was by God going to protect her. Douglas and Woodland, she'd said? He'd find the intersection, and he'd find her. He started for the door, then paused.

Deana. What could he do with Deana? He wasn't about to take his baby girl into a dangerous situation. The solution came with a knock on the front door. Sam ran down the stairs and opened it. Millicent Jones stood on the porch.

“Hi, Sam, I came over to see if I could help Callie with her—”

“I don't have time to explain,” he said, cutting her off. He could apologize for his rudeness later. “Can you watch Deana for a few minutes? An emergency's come up.”

“Well, of course, but—”

“Thanks a million, Millicent. I'll make it up to you.” With that, he flew out the door, not even telling Deana good-bye.

Callie dropped the useless phone onto the passenger seat. Now what was she going to do? Tamra swiveled her head toward Callie's car, and Callie ducked down. Had Tamra seen her? Please, don't let her see me, she prayed.

After a few moments she risked a peek over the dashboard. Tamra was no longer carrying the gun in plain sight. She was walking determinedly down the sidewalk toward Nicole's house.

Callie had to stop her. She jumped out of the Nissan, careful to stay hidden behind the car. But Tamra
didn't even look in Callie's direction. She was too full of purpose.

Callie sprinted to the house on the nearest corner, breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the front porch without being seen. A large forsythia bush shielded her from Tamra's view. She rang the doorbell and, when she didn't get an immediate response, pushed the button several times.

No one answered.

Tamra had reached Nicole's front door. Callie ran to the next house. No one answered the doorbell there, either. When a middle-aged woman answered her knock at the third house, Callie did all but drop to her knees and kiss the woman's feet.

“Hello, ma'am, could you please dial nine-one-one?” she asked in her calmest voice. She didn't want the woman to think she was a wacko. “There's an emergency taking place at that house right there.”

The woman squinted in the direction Callie pointed. “Which house?”

“The yellow one. I think Nicole Johnson lives there.”

“Oh, well, there's no telling what kind of trouble she's up to. What kind of emergency?” the woman asked dubiously.

“Someone with a gun,” Callie said. “Please, hurry.”

The woman's eyes grew large. “An angry wife, no doubt. No more'n she deserves. But I'll call the cops if you want.”

“Please. And tell them to hurry!”

That taken care of, Callie considered her options. Tamra had entered Nicole's house. At least, she wasn't
on the porch anymore. Either Nicole had let her in, or she'd forced her way. Callie figured that whatever was happening behind those four walls, neither woman would be looking out the window. She decided to risk moving closer.

She zipped from bush to tree to parked car like some half-baked spy, all the while knowing any idiot with half an eye would spot her. She was just hoping that if bullets started to fly, she would have something to duck behind.

But so far all was quiet. It was only when she came right up to Nicole's yellow frame house, flattening herself against the wall, that she could hear the angry voices through a window that had a BB hole in it.

“You got some nerve,” Nicole was saying in her nasal Texas accent, “trying to bleed more money out of me after what's happened. I only let you get away with it before because I didn't want Johnny humiliated. But he's dead, now. I don't care. So you just go ahead and tell the world I was sleeping with Johnny, even though I wasn't. And I'll tell the world your husband killed him.”

Oh, Lord, Callie was thinking, hardly daring to breathe. Don't threaten her, Nicole. Didn't she realize Tamra was dangerous?

A charged silence followed Nicole's declaration. “Murder? What are you talking about?” Tamra asked, sounding not in the least convincing in her bewilderment. “Johnny committed suicide—probably over his guilt for getting involved with you.”

“Hah! Not likely. I knew from the very beginning that Johnny hadn't killed hisself. I even went and talked
to Callie Calloway about it, when she was still at the paper.”

Callie cringed upon hearing her name.

“Johnny was happier than he'd been in a long time,” Nicole continued. “So I knew something was up. But it wasn't until I saw the crime-scene photos that I figured out what it was.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Havin' a daddy who's a police chief comes in handy, sometimes. I asked him to let me see the pictures, even though it liked to kill me seeing Johnny all laid out like that. It didn't take me long to figure out what was wrong—aside from the fact that his office was torn to pieces and he'd never leave this world with a mess like that behind him.”

“So what did you ‘figure out'?” Tamra asked with false bravado. “What did you see that the police and Callie and everyone else missed?”

“It was real simple. His right hand was wrapped around the shotgun's trigger. But he was left-handed.”

Callie closed her eyes. Of course. Damn, it
was
simple. How could she have missed it? The police might not have known to question whether he was left- or right-handed, but Callie had known he was a lefty. That's what had seemed out of kilter, but she hadn't been able to put her finger on it.

“That doesn't mean anything,” Tamra said.

“To the police, it would. I've learned a few things about murder investigations, being the chief's daughter and all. And when the police figure out it was a murder, guess who their prime suspect will be? Who was at the house, alone with him? Who's going to benefit from
that insurance money? And who's got a criminal record, hmm?”

“Will didn't kill his stepfather,” Tamra said flatly.

“Maybe not. But if you say one word to anyone about my friendship with Johnny, I'll have a talk with my father about Johnny being a lefty, and I might let it slip that you was blackmailing me. And we'll see where the chips fall. Now, you get outta here before I call the cops and report you trespassing.”

A long silence followed. Callie prayed some more. Please, Tamra, do what she says.

Finally Tamra spoke. “I don't think so.”

Callie could hear Nicole's heels clicking across a hardwood floor. “You don't think I'd do it?”

“Don't touch the phone.” Tamra's voice was low, almost a growl, and it gave Callie chills.

“Tamra? For God's sake, honey, put that thing away. What are you doing?” Nicole's voice shook.

Callie whispered a curse. Tamra had obviously taken out her gun. Callie was itching to peer through the window, but she didn't dare. Still, if Tamra really intended to shoot the thing, Callie had to do something to prevent it. She couldn't stand by and let Tamra commit cold-blooded murder.

Why didn't the police come?

“I'm protecting what's mine,” Tamra said in answer to Nicole's question. “I worked too hard for this. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for the payoff?”

“Good God, you're admitting that Will murdered Johnny?”

Tamra laughed without humor. “Will? He was always
such a talker, claiming how he was going to be an important, wealthy man someday. And I fell for it. You shoulda seen those letters he wrote to me from prison. But when it came right down to seizing an opportunity, he was a big fat zero. He wouldn't have anything to do with blackmail—too afraid of going back to prison. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“Don't tell me you killed Johnny,” Nicole said, challenging.

“You bet, and a damn good job I did of it, too, making it look like suicide. After the first shot stunned him, I wrapped his hand around the gun for the second shot so there'd be powder residue on his hand. Wrong hand, though,” Tamra muttered.

“But …” Nicole faltered. “He was alive when you and Beverly went to the store.…”

“Huh-uh.
I
started up the printer so Beverly would hear it and think Johnny was working.”

Callie slowly released her pent-up breath. Everything was exactly as she'd theorized—except she'd pictured Will as the murderer, not timid little Tamra.

“But the note—” Nicole objected.

“The note was something I dreamed up later, to hedge my bets. That worked out well, too, don't you think?”