Texas Hustle (26 page)

“Nice to meet you.” She looked at Mallory. “What’s the problem?”

“I need to get out of here. Now! This asswipe says I have to stay another night.”

“Some of your burns are quite serious,” Dr. Salvie said. “Not to mention the two broken ribs. This asswipe thinks one more night is in order.”

“You have broken ribs?” Porchia cried in alarm. “How…never mind. We can talk about it later.” She turned to Dr. Salvie. “I’ll do what I can to make her stay, even if I have to tie her down.”

He gave them both a bright smile. “Great. I’ll leave you here to do your magic. And you…” he pointed at Mallory, “…I’ll see you in the morning.”

“In your dreams,” she shouted at his back as he was leaving.

The second the door was shut, Mallory pulled off the hospital gown to reveal a tank top. She pushed her bedcovers to the foot of the bed to reveal jeans and socked feet.

“I’m out of here,” Mallory said. “Help me get some shoes on.” She stood and gasped.

“Sit,” Porchia ordered, pointing to the bed. “And talk.”

“I have to get somewhere safer.”

“You’re worried about the guy who did this.”

“Damn straight. He had crazy eyes. I’ve seen vets like that. People who have totally gone over the edge, and, man, that was him.”

“The guy from the beater truck?”

Mallory’s gaze flashed to Porchia but she remained silent.

“Was it the man from the truck?”

“You know who that guy is, don’t you?” Mallory said.

“Maybe. Probably. Describe him.”

“Tall. Blond. Crazy eyes. Prison tat on his neck.”

Porchia shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying and failing to calm her racing heart.

“What did you tell the deputy?”

“Nothing about the guy. Only that there was someone and he had your safe open and was shoving money into one of our paper sacks when I walked into your office.”

“Why didn’t you describe the guy?”

“I don’t know. I knew from our phone conversation that you knew this guy, or I figured you did. I owe you, Porchia. You weren’t looking for a night baker when I came to you. But you saw what I needed. You adjusted the bakery hours for me. You helped me. I didn’t want to put you in a bad spot with the cops if you and this guy were somehow involved.”

Porchia staggered and sat heavily in the only chair in the room. “You think I burned down my own bakery?”

Mallory retook a seat on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know. I saw people do stuff in Afghanistan that I would never have thought possible. But until I got a chance to talk to you, I wasn’t saying anything to the cops.”

“Well, let me assure you that I didn’t burn down my own bakery. But you’re right that I know who the guy is. And I do think he’s dangerous.”

Porchia pulled her phone from her pocket and stopped. “Mallory. I am so, so sorry you got hurt. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine something like this would happen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You couldn’t have stopped this if you’d been standing in the office instead of me.”

“Thank you. Somehow, I’ll make it up to you.”

Porchia dialed the sheriff’s department.

“Hi, Marc,” she said when he picked up. “This is Porchia Summers.”

“Porchia. What’s going on?”

“I need you to come to the hospital. Room two-thirty-seven. We need to talk.”

“Okay. I’m assuming this is about the fire.”

“It is. And about the guy who started it. I think I know who it is.”

“And you’re just now telling me?” His voice was thick with agitation.

“Just come. Oh, bring a deputy to leave on Mallory’s room. If the guy is who I think he is, he’s dangerous.”

“On the way. And Porchia?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay there. You’ll be safer. There is already a deputy watching her door.”

“So you knew I was here?”

“Yup. See you in a few minutes.”

“Why did you call the cops?” Mallory asked, her lips tight across her teeth. “They’re useless at best and will probably just make the situation worse.”

“Because without them, you and me are in big, big trouble.”

Marc was there so quickly Porchia wondered if he’d been in the area, or even in the hospital. But given that a deputy was already stationed on Mallory’s room, he might have started to head over when he got the report that Porchia had shown up.

Marc dragged another chair into Mallory’s room and took a seat. “Okay, ladies. It’s time to come clean.” He pointed toward Mallory with a pen. “I don’t believe for one minute that you can’t describe your attacker. And…” he pointed at Porchia, “…you know more than you’ve told me. So who’s first?”

“Me,” Porchia said. “It all starts with me.”

Marc poised his pen over a notepad in his lap. “I’m ready.”

“I think, from what Mallory has told me, the guy is Slade Madden. He got out of prison in the last couple of weeks.”

He wrote down the name. “How do you know him?”

“We went to school together. One night when I was fifteen, I left a party in his car. He was drinking. A lot. I should have known better. I still can’t believe I got into his car. But you have to understand. Slade was so popular. He was a senior and captain of the football team. Every girl wanted him. He was so handsome.”

“Just keep to the story,” Marc said.

“Okay. Anyway, he was drinking beer. I didn’t realize how drunk he was until after I got into the car and he drove off. I asked him to take me back to the party. He laughed and grabbed another beer. When I insisted he take me back, he got mad. Called me a baby. He turned around and floored the gas. I think he was just trying to scare me. He took a corner, and I swear, it felt like we were on two wheels. He lost control and jumped the curb and hit an old woman in her yard. He backed up and drove off.” She paused, the horror of the night as fresh as if it’d happened only yesterday. “She died. He got a total of eighteen years for negligent homicide and leaving the scene of an injury accident. Plus, a misdemeanor count of driving while intoxicated. Oh, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. That would be me.”

No one spoke as she shut her eyes to regroup her emotions. “I was taken down to the station but released to my parents. No charges were filed against me since I wasn’t drinking and had no control over the car. I testified against him. It was horrible. My friends deserted me. No one at school would have anything to do with me.”

Porchia clasped her hands together to stop the shaking. It didn’t work.

“When the trial was over,” she continued, “I moved to Texas to live with my grandmother, my mother’s mother. It was supposed to be for a few months, just until all the brouhaha died down, but after a year, I decided to stay.”

She looked at Marc. “A lot of the kids and their parents blamed me for Slade going to jail. I didn’t have a choice, not really.”

When she stopped speaking, Marc cleared his throat. “Why do you think the guy who was in your place was Slade Madden?”

“He contacted me a couple of weeks ago. He’s served his entire sentence and is out. He wanted me to give him money, which I don’t have. But I promised him I’d give him something in a couple of weeks. I needed to buy some time until I could figure out what to do.”

“And you didn’t call me because?” Marc asked.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. He asked me for money. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Marc said with a lift of an eyebrow. “He thought you’d be such a great sport as to hand over money? No threat?”

She flinched. “Just that he’d tell everyone in Whispering Springs about my history and ruin my name and my business.”

“Isn’t that blackmail?” Mallory asked.

Marc glanced at Mallory as though he’d forgotten she was in the room. “At this point, it probably doesn’t matter. Arson, burglary and attempted murder are enough to send him back. Your turn, Mallory.”

Mallory told him about seeing this strange guy hanging around the bakery while Porchia was gone and how she’d called Porchia about it. Then she went over discovering Slade in Porchia’s office with the safe open and how they fought.

“How did you get away?” Marc asked.

“I didn’t. He pushed me into the side of Porchia’s desk and then slammed my head on the top. I think he thought I was dead when I slumped to the floor. The fire was at the door by then, and I guess he decided that if I wasn’t dead, the fire would finish the job. As soon as he was gone, I made it to the bathroom and climbed out the window into the back lot. I crawled as far as I could and I guess I passed out. That’s where your deputies found me.”

Marc glared at both women. “You two ladies are in a peck of trouble.”

Chapter Twenty

After reading them the riot act over not coming forward sooner, Marc left a deputy at Mallory’s door.

“Sorry, Porchia. I should have known you had nothing to do with that guy.”

Porchia hugged Mallory gently so to not hurt her broken ribs and then pushed her shoulders back on the mattress. “You will stay here,” she said. “That’s an order.”

“I will. I promise. I won’t even give Dr. Asswipe any problems.”

Porchia laughed. “He’s kind of cute, you know.”

“Not happening.”

“Well, you never know. I’m headed out. Grocery shopping and then home. There’s nothing in my house to eat.”

“Think you ought to have asked the sheriff to put a deputy at your house?”

“No. I know Marc. There’ll be a deputy near my house, but I don’t think Slade will come there. If he’s smart, he’s long gone.” She scooped up her purse off the window ledge. “I’ll check on you later. Since I’m going to the store, you need anything?”

Mallory shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

It was close to dusk by the time Porchia pulled into her drive. Parked down the street was a patrol car. She’d waved as she’d passed. With all the trouble Slade had gotten himself into while in Whispering Springs, she didn’t believe he’d dare to approach her. She felt a little guilty about that poor deputy sitting outside for nothing. Maybe she’d bake some cookies to take out to him.

She was later getting home than she’d expected. She’d had to go by the bakery again and just look. Her insurance was good, thanks to her father’s advice, but she doubted it would completely cover her losses. The image of her burned-out bakery was branded into her brain, just as the loss had dug a deep hole into her soul.

One of the first items on her to-do list was to help any brides find replacement bakeries, especially those with wedding dates near. It was possible she could make a few of the cakes at home, but she’d have to talk to the other ladies who worked for her to compile a complete list of weddings and dates…if they could remember them all.

All the lights were off at her house, which was comforting since that was how she’d left it. She collected her grocery bags, her purse and the mound of mail that’d been waiting on her at the post office. Balancing it all was quite the juggling act, but she made it to the front door before pieces of mail began sliding off. She left a few envelopes on the porch and let herself into the house. Quiet and still.

After putting away the foodstuffs, she went back to the porch to retrieve the lost mail. A gun greeted her when she opened her door.

“Get back in,” Slade said and pushed her backward.

She stumbled, landing across the arm of the couch. She struggled back to her feet. Fear and anger battled to be the emotion in charge. Unfortunately, her fear of Slade was much, much stronger.

“This is a bad idea, Slade. You need to leave before the police get here.”

“Nobody’s coming, Kat.”

“What about the deputy sitting right outside, or did you miss that car with Whispering Springs Sheriff Department on the side? The car with the big blue lights on top?”

He sneered. “I’m not stupid.”

She thought he was probably wrong on that account.

“That deputy won’t be reporting in anytime soon.”

His words made her gasp as her stomach dropped. “What did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m leaving town, and I want that money you promised me.”

“I told you it’s going to take a while to get it together. I have a little in savings. Maybe a thousand or so. I can get that tomorrow.”

He slapped her, sending her face first into the back of the couch. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain. She pushed up, trying to focus on him and what he might do next.

“You have a trust fund. You think I don’t know about that?” He jerked her upright by her hair. “You bragged about it enough when we were growing up.”

“I…I…I can’t get to it yet,” she gasped out. “It’s restricted until I reach thirty-five or get married. I couldn’t get a dime from it if I wanted to.”

“Fuck,” he shouted and threw her by her long hair onto the floor. “I should kill you for leading me on.”

“You took the money from my safe,” she said. “That had to be enough to get you away somewhere safe.”

He snorted. “That wasn’t enough to get me out of the country. I need big money. Enough to set me up in South America. Somewhere with no extradition treaty with the US.”