Lone Star Lonely (2 page)

“Is anyone else in the house?”

A brief pause. A shaky sigh that seemed to
catch in her throat. “I…don’t think so. Tell Garrett to hurry,
Adam. He could come back….”

Garrett came in from the back room, glanced
once at Adam and instantly frowned. Adam looked back, but his words
were for Kirsten, the woman he hated. And there was a big lump of
fear in his throat; fear that maybe she was none too safe right
now, and that maybe by the time he could get out there, she would
be lying on the floor beside the bastard she’d married.

“We’ll be there in two minutes, Kirsten. Stay
where you are, and don’t touch anything, okay?”

She might have nodded. He never knew. The
connection died with a click that was way too final and unannounced
for Adam’s peace of mind.

She’d heard an odd sound. Just once. A muted
“pop.” Nothing more. She’d been lying outside by the pool, soaking
up the sun in her designer swimsuit, wearing her Ray Bans. But the
odd sound had sent such a strange, creepy feeling up her spine that
she’d been unable to ignore it. And the silence that followed
seemed heavy. It had been quiet before. But this was different. The
birds had gone still. Even the bugs had stopped buzzing. And the
hum of the pool’s all but silent filter pump seemed suddenly
ominous.

She got up, pulled on her white terry wrap
and padded barefoot through the glass doors and into the sprawling,
cold house. But it was empty. Her voice only echoed from the walls
as she called out, and a coldness shivered up her spine.

She moved through the house, bare feet
curling reflexively against the cold Italian marble after the
warmth of the sunbaked tiles around the pool. She saw no one and
finally ventured into the study when she saw the light on in
there.

She rarely went into Joseph’s study. She
rarely went anywhere she was likely to run into him. She detested
the man. It was no secret—between the two of them, at least. He
knew it, and hated her in return. He’d ruined her life, forced her
into a loveless marriage, made her miserable. In return, she
focused her energy on making him just as miserable. Eventually he
would have all he could stand of her. He would let her go. Until
then, she would play the role he’d designed for her. She would be
the rich bitch who had dumped a fine man and run off with an old
geezer just to get her hands on his fortune. She would let the
entire town go on hating her. And she would keep her emotions
turned off for good.

“Joseph?” she called, stepping into the
study. The smells there were familiar…and yet there was something
different. Musty old books and hardwood, cigar smoke lingering in
the air. But what was that pungence? Sulphur and heat…and something
else….

Then she saw him, and her feet froze in place
as she felt her body heat drain away, leaving her cold and
immobile. He lay on his back on the floor. He wore forest green
silk pajamas and a matching robe, the sash still tied around his
ample middle. His favorite velour slippers, one half off his foot.
A large pool of blood was spreading slowly over the floor beneath
the back of his head and there was a neat dark hole the size of her
little finger, in the center of his forehead.

A jolt like an electric shock went through
her. Her spine went so rigid she thought it might snap, and a
scream leapt to her lips, but she bit it back. Swallowing the fear,
the shock, she forced herself to move closer. With one foot she
nudged his head, turning it slightly to see where all the blood was
coming from, then turning away in disgust. There wasn’t a lot left
of the back of her husband’s skull. She shouldn’t have looked. She
really shouldn’t have looked.

Nausea rose. She pushed it down. Tremors set
in. She fought them into submission. Dead? Was the bastard truly
dead?

“Joseph?” She forced herself to look at him
again, to look closely.

No answer. She nudged him again with her toe,
grimacing as she realized she was standing barefoot in the
spreading crimson puddle. Nothing. Finally, she bent down and
pressed her fingers to his limp wrist in search of a pulse. But
there was none. And he wasn’t breathing.

A small black revolver lay on the floor
beside him. The blood pool spread slowly to embrace it.

Kirsten felt no emotion. She hadn’t let
herself feel any powerful emotions since the day she’d married this
dead man on the floor. That day had been the beginning of a prison
sentence for her. And if she could have felt anything at all right
then, she supposed it would have been relief. But she’d grown too
wary, too cautious, too controlled, to allow herself to feel even
that.

She turned to the desk, picked up the phone
and placed her call to the sheriff’s office. Garrett Brand might
still dislike her for what she’d done to his brother two years ago,
but he was an honest man who took his job seriously. And he wasn’t
far away.

A small tremor of fear shivered up her spine
when the idea first occurred to her that Joseph wouldn’t have done
this to himself. That someone else must have done it. That they
might still be around. But she stamped the fear out. She was above
fear. She didn’t feel anything she didn’t want to feel.

Then Adam’s voice came across the line
instead of Garrett’s. Adam. Again something rocked her composure.
Again she fought it and won.

Unlike his brother, Adam didn’t dislike her.
He actively hated her. And she didn’t blame him. It occurred to her
that maybe now she would finally be free to tell him the truth. To
clear her conscience once and for all. He would hate her all the
more, but that didn’t really matter. He had a right to know. She
had a right to unburden herself. The secret had been kept for far
too long. She’d destroyed Adam Brand’s life in more ways than he
even realized.

But first things first. She told him Joseph
had been murdered. Then she hung up the phone.

There was a sound behind her.

She went motionless as her back felt suddenly
naked and under scrutiny. Calm. She had to be calm. It could be
Phillip, Joseph’s driver and all-around right-hand man. It could be
Sally, the housekeeper. It could be anyone.

It could be the killer.

She turned slowly, saw the masked figure
standing in the open doorway, fought the panic that made her entire
body begin to tremble. He was dressed in black and seemed like some
dark phantom, and for the first time she realized that her life was
in danger.

He took a step toward her, one hand reaching
out, mouth opening as if he was about to say something. Without
missing a beat, she dropped to her knees in the red slickness and
clawed the slippery gun into her hands. She lifted it. “Don’t come
any closer.” Her hands were shaking so hard that she would never
hit him if she fired a hundred times. But he wouldn’t know
that.

He kept coming, faster than before. Squeezing
her eyes tight, Kirsten pulled the trigger. The weapon exploded in
her hands, bucking backward with the recoil. When she opened her
eyes, the killer was gone.

A siren wailed outside, grew louder, then
stopped. She stood where she was, gripping the gun, watching the
door, chanting a mental mantra.
Control. Control.
Control.

Adam came in first. He stood in the open
double doors, looking as if he’d just stepped off the cover of some
special Texas issue of GQ. While she stood in a white bikini and
matching terry wrap and a whole lot of blood, with a murder weapon
in one hand. She always did know how to accessorize, she thought a
little crazily.

Adam just stood there, looking from Kirsten
to Joseph’s body, to the gun in her hand. She read his face. She’d
always been good at reading his face. His beautiful face. And that
was when she realized what she’d done.

He held up a hand. “Put the gun down,
Kirsten.”

She looked at it. Cold and black and evil,
wobbling heavily in her bloody hand. She lowered the barrel slowly,
then let the weapon fall to the floor. Adam came forward then. He
gripped her shoulders, looking her over with an urgency she didn’t
understand. Until she glanced down and saw all the blood. Smears
and streaks of a dead man’s blood on her hands, her arms, her bare
feet, her legs. It painted bright patterns on her Versace bikini
and once-immaculate white wrap.

“Where are you hurt? Where are you hurt?” he
kept asking.

“It’s not me,” she managed. “It’s Joseph’s
blood. He’s dead.” Control. She had to get control. She was going
to be a quivering mess soon if she didn’t get hold of herself.

Garrett was in the house. She saw him pass by
the doors in his big hat, weapon drawn, apparently going from room
to room. Searching for the killer, she guessed. He wouldn’t find
him.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Adam was
saying. Holding her arm, he drew her around the big desk she’d
always hated, and the blood made her feet sticky against the floor
tiles. Adam pressed her into a creaking chair that held the scent
of Joseph’s illegal Cuban cigars. “Damn, Kirsten, why did you pick
up the gun?”

Adam didn’t smell like cigars. He smelled
like fresh Texas sunshine and new leather. The band of the Stetson
he wore, maybe, or his belt, or maybe his boots. She liked a man
who smelled like leather. Texas men, real ones, usually did. She
lifted her head, met his eyes. Those eyes. She’d seen so much in
them once. But that was over. More over than he could even guess.
And there was nothing in his eyes for her now except speculation
and questions.

“The killer came back,” she said, and she
thought her voice sounded calm. In control. “He…came at me, and I
just…reacted.”

Adam’s face remained expressionless. “Did you
fire at him?”

She nodded. Adam swore.

Garrett came in then, pausing to shake his
head at the sight of Joseph, then reaching to check for a pulse
just as Kirsten had done.

“He’s dead,” she told him unnecessarily.

Garrett looked at her, worry in his eyes.
“There’s no sign of anyone else in the house. Are you all right,
Kirsten?”

She nodded. Then jerked a little as more
sirens sounded outside. Cars skidded, and men came charging into
the house. Several of them flooded the study, and Kirsten tugged
her wrap more tightly around her and sat still, not cringing, not
cowering, and forcibly not clinging to Adam Brand. She hadn’t
expected Garrett to notify the Texas Rangers right away. She’d
thought he would handle this himself.

“Kirsten Cowan?” one of them asked.

She nodded. Garrett stepped up. “I’m the
sheriff here, Ranger. I wasn’t aware you’d been called.”

“Well, we were. So as long as we’re
here—”

“It’s my town, Ranger.”

“It’s a capital crime, Sheriff.”

Garrett didn’t back down. “Looks like a
suicide to me. But time will tell. Who called you?”

The ranger shrugged. “Call came from this
number. Caller hung up without giving a name.”

Kirsten’s blood went cold. “I didn’t call
you,” she muttered. “And no one else was here…except the
killer.”

Garrett looked at her. The rangers looked at
her. She would have clarified the statement, but she had a feeling
her voice would come out weak and shaky if she tried.

Then Adam came to the rescue. “It was no
suicide,” he said. “Kirsten saw the killer.”

One of the rangers came forward with a
plastic bag and picked up the gun, dropping it in. Kirsten was all
too aware that her fingerprints were all over it. Closing her eyes,
she called the killer’s image to mind. Had he been wearing gloves?
Black gloves that matched the rest of his clothes? She thought
so.

“We’re going to want you to come back to the
El Paso station with us, Mrs. Cowan. Answer some questions.”

“Garrett….” Adam began.

Garrett met his brother’s eyes and nodded.
“Ranger, Ms. Cowan is in no state to be answering questions right
now. What do you say we let her get changed, give her some
time—”

The ranger eyed Kirsten. “No showers. And
we’ll want the clothes you’re wearing.” He glanced at Garrett. “If
you can assure me you’ll see to that, then I have no
objections.”

Garrett nodded. “You could question her right
here in town. My office is just—”

“I want her at the station.”

“Okay,” Garrett said. “Okay. I’ll bring her
in myself.”

The ranger nodded, then sent a pointed glance
at Adam. “Who’re you?”

Kirsten could almost hear the man’s
assumptions. That Adam was the “other man.” That this was all the
result of some sordid love triangle. It would have been funny if
the situation hadn’t been so dire. She almost laughed, and brought
her hands to her mouth to prevent it…then the would-be laugh became
a gag when she glimpsed the drying blood that coated her hands as
they hovered in midair near her face.

Her knees gave, just a little, before she
snapped them rigid again. Adam’s arm went around her waist.