CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SECOND FLETCHER noticed them, he pushed away from his car and walked over. Again, he spoke only to Maxi when he said, “I apologize for being rude. Since she moved away, any talk of Anna sets me off.”
Possessiveness prodding him, Miles kept his arm around Maxi but said nothing. If Fletcher would confide in her, he could handle that. Maybe.
“I’m sorry,” Maxi said. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I didn’t think you had.” Other than that barb, he ignored Miles. “Believe it or not, Maxi, I don’t want to see you hurt. And no, you don’t have to say anything. I get it, I really do. So if it’s what you want, I’ll arrange for another officer to take over.”
Hell no, Miles wouldn’t let him put her on the spot like that, not when he could shoulder the blame for the decision. “It’s what she wants.”
Finally, he looked at Miles. “I don’t like it, but in your position I’d probably do the same.” Seconds ticked by while Fletcher’s jaw flexed and his gaze hardened. “I guess you’re going to be around awhile?”
Miles answered with his own hard, anticipatory smile. “You guessed right.”
“Now wait a minute!” Maxi tried to step in front of him, but Miles held her back, so she aimed her cannon at Fletcher. “Whether he’s here or not, I’m the one making the decisions.”
Her misunderstanding earned her a squeeze. “He wasn’t questioning your independence.”
Standing her ground, she said, “Sure sounded like it to me.”
Miles actually laughed. “He’s just hopeful that my time here is coming to an end.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment burned her cheeks, and she studiously kept her gaze on Fletcher. “Miles is here to help me until—”
Miles snorted. “Your first assumption was right.” Hell, Maxi might not want to go there yet, but he wouldn’t hesitate, not with Fletcher all but salivating over the idea of having a chance.
“She doesn’t seem convinced.”
No, she didn’t. “It’s true all the same.”
Maxi threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know what you guys are talking about.” Still with heat in her cheeks, she turned and stalked away.
Fletcher hadn’t moved, but his gaze tracked Maxi’s every step. More precisely, it followed the angry swish of her ass.
Miles saw red. He took a step closer and warned, “Don’t.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Fletcher gave up the view and instead raised a brow at Miles. “One way or another I’m going to have to deal with you, aren’t I?”
“That’s right.”
Fletcher smirked, turned his back on Miles and went to his car.
Miles didn’t move until Fletcher was in his Suburban and driving away. Then his gaze located Maxi, already seated in the SUV, seat belt on, arms folded, mouth tight.
He sighed.
It would have been easier if she’d accepted that they had a relationship, a real relationship, based on more than compatibility in the sack.
He’d given her an opening—but she hadn’t taken it.
Carrying his own irritation now, Miles got in the SUV and closed the door without a word. He fastened his seat belt, started the car and pulled away.
After two minutes of silence, she asked, “We’re heading home now?”
He was just pissed enough to specify, “Your house, yeah.” Then he felt like an ass. It wasn’t like he wanted to take her house from her. Nothing like that.
But he did want to be included.
She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes, but her cell rang before she could ask anything. She glanced at the screen and groaned.
“Who is it?”
Long suffering, she confessed, “Gary.”
Damn it, how many men did he have to put up with? Holding the steering wheel with one hand, he thrust out the other and demanded, “Let me talk to him.”
“Ha, no.” She held the phone closer. “You’ve done enough talking, thank-you-very-much.” With a press of a button, she put the phone to her ear. At least she made it clear that she didn’t want to talk to him with her snapped “What is it, Gary?”
Miles kept his gaze on the road, but he was so attuned to Maxi, he sensed her frown without seeing it.
She listened, then said, “Do whatever you want...No, it truly doesn’t matter to me...Yes, it does sound like a terrific opportunity.” She paused, nodded. “Harlow must have a lot of faith in you...Of course...All right, and, Gary? No more calls. Ever. There’s no reason.”
Satisfaction settled into his bones, but Miles resisted the smile that came with it. Maxi was too bristly right now and he didn’t want her thinking he was amused by her surly attitude.
When she disconnected the call, she started to shove the phone into her purse, and a text message dinged. Grumbling, she held the phone up again and laughed.
“Can I get in on the joke?”
“Sure.” She half turned in the seat to face him. “Gary called to let me know that Harlow has offered him a manager’s position in a second location that’s brand-new, opening in about a month.”
“Where?” Hopefully in Timbuktu.
The smile twitched on her lips. “Indianapolis. He was concerned because, given the distance, it’ll truly mean the end of us.” With an eye roll, she added, “As if that wasn’t already a done deal.”
“He’s an idiot. Good riddance.”
“An idiot who apparently called me in front of Harlow, wanting my blessing before he accepted her job offer.” She turned the phone so he could see the screen. “The text was from Harlow.”
It said only: You’re welcome.
Miles laughed. “I have to admit, I wasn’t a fan at first, but your sister is growing on me.”
“That’s good.” She fussed with putting her phone away, then stored her purse on the floor before saying, “Because she sort of endorsed you.”
Better and better. “Yeah?” he asked, still being cautious with her prickly mood.
“Says you’re a keeper.”
He grinned. “Smart woman.” Would Maxi want to keep him?
“She told me not to screw it up.”
Miles nodded in understanding. “That’s good advice.”
Laughing, relaxing a little, Maxi swatted his shoulder. More mellow now, less on edge, she asked, “Did you mean what you said to Fletcher?”
“Every word—but which part are you talking about?”
Her gaze searched his face. “That you’d be around?”
Deep satisfaction settled into his bones. “Definitely that part.” He spared her a glance. “Does that work for you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Very much so.”
Tonight, Miles decided, he’d tell her that he wanted a chance to make things work, to see where the relationship took them. And he wouldn’t let her distract him. Not this time.
After he told her how things would be, then he’d show her...and that’d help to win her over.
Just as they were pulling down the long, wooded drive to her house, dark clouds rolled in, obliterating the usual vivid sunset. They didn’t see Sahara’s car until they pulled into the clearing.
She had her phone in her hand but smiled and put it back in the pocket of a flared pink skirt with a bold flower print.
As both Miles and Maxi got out of the SUV, Sahara said, “I was just about to call you.”
She approached, pressing forward a small man in a business suit that had to be sweltering in the summer heat.
Miles had no idea who the guy might be, but he looked nothing like a bodyguard.
As usual, Sahara’s sense of style didn’t entirely mesh with farm life, though he realized she’d “dressed down” for the visit. Or as down as she could be.
She’d paired the feminine skirt with a silk tank top and black sandals. Her brown hair was up in a loose knot on top of her head, sexy little tendrils floating along her face. She wore no jewelry, but then, she didn’t need any.
The poor fellow she dragged along appeared to be smitten, given the way he kept gazing at her in worshipful awe.
She didn’t bring him to Miles but steered him to Maxi instead, saying, “This is Mr. Delacroix. He’s from the local historical museum and he’d like to obtain your grandmother’s kitchen. They’ll reenact it as is, even down to the tiles on the floor and wall. Not all of the tiles will survive, of course, but they’ll salvage what they can and replicate the rest. They want all the appliances and some of the dishes, and—”
“Ahem.” Finally finding his voice, Mr. Delacroix held out a hand. “Ms. Nevar, thank you for meeting with me.”
Maxi, who’d been momentarily shocked into silence, took his hand and said, “You haven’t even seen the kitchen yet!”
“We peeked through the windows,” Sahara confided. Lower to Miles, she said, “No doubt you’ll see us on your surveillance cameras.”
“It’s a wonderful room,” Mr. Delacroix gushed. “Quaint and homey, and so original. I can almost picture your grandmother standing in front of the cast-iron sink, wearing an apron, listening to an old radio—”
“She has an old radio in the basement.”
Mr. Delacroix looked ready to swoon. “Oh, but I must see it, as well.”
He appeared so hopeful that Maxi grinned. “I’ve got all kinds of things to show you. Some stowed in the attic, most in the basement. A lot of the furniture I’m actually using, but you’re welcome to any that I’m not.”
“You don’t plan to sell it?”
“To a stranger? No.”
Pleasure showed in his grateful smile. “We would truly cherish each piece if you can find your way to part with such sentimental mementos.”
She glanced at Miles. “What do you think?”
Knowing what that kitchen meant to Maxi, hell, what the radio probably meant to her, too, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Since you’re living here, I think you’ll be happier with a fully functioning kitchen, especially if you know the pieces are appreciated. But it’s up to you, honey. If you can’t bear to let them go, I understand.”
The very idea left Delacroix stricken—until Maxi nodded.
“I think it’s an excellent compromise. I would like to update the kitchen, I just couldn’t bear the thought of disposing of her things.” She smiled at Sahara. “Thank you for thinking of such a great alternative.”
Sahara put her hands together. “I just love being instrumental to a happy ending.” And with that, she gave Miles a long look.
Maxi and the curator started for the house, their heads together in conversation, so Miles felt safe saying to Sahara, “I can handle my own happy ending, thank you.”
“Of course you can. But let me remind you that I knew right off there was real danger, and that the two of you were meant to be.”
“Meant to be, huh?” Sure felt that way to him. “I don’t recall you using those exact words.”
She waved that off. “Admit I’m excellent at what I do.”
“At whatever you do,” he agreed, gesturing for her to precede him. “It’s going to start raining any second now. Let’s get inside.”
And hopefully her prediction would come true.
* * *
EVEN IN HIS coat and wide-brimmed hat, the rain soaked him through to the skin, running in icy rivulets down the back of his neck. It stung his face and made visibility even more difficult. He didn’t dare use a flashlight, not with all those damned cameras around.
They thought he was a fool, that he’d blunder into view and they’d catch him. They were the fools, and when they were dead, they’d know it.
He frowned over that warped logic; how could they know anything as corpses? Shaking his head, he continued picking his way forward. It was a miserable night, perfect for what he had to do.
But do I really have to do it?
Yes, she’s left you no choice.
Aloud, he agreed, “No, she hasn’t.” Neither has he.
He could have handled her on her own, but Miles was like a guard dog, keeping him from getting too close with all his suspicions.
And all the damned renovations. Why wouldn’t she leave well enough alone?
He had to kill them both. Everything else had failed. Not even a bomb had chased her away. This is on her. She forced you to it.
“But to kill her?” he asked of the silent woods. “Isn’t that a little much?” No choice, damn it.
A great bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. With his heart in his throat, he lurched back, banging his elbow against a gnarled tree.
After he finished cursing, he drew a deep, calming breath. Here beneath a canopy of trees, the worst of the rain couldn’t reach him. “Maybe I’ve gone off the deep end.” His heavy boots slipped in a muddy patch of wet moss and he almost fell. The deep end? He snorted.
He was as clearheaded as he’d always been, doing what needed to be done.
The binoculars hung around his neck, his rifle sling over one shoulder and the strap to his utility lamp over the other. The lamp, with its multiple functions, would be critical to his success, as were the police-issue metal handcuffs in his pocket.
He’d come prepared. Tonight was the night.
You’ve done it before, you can do it again.
This is different. She’s a nice girl.
“Not nice enough to leave!”
His own voice, so loud in the darkness, startled him again, so he clamped his lips together.
The last of their guests had finally left and the house was quiet now. Who knew she’d be a damned partyer, constantly keeping people around? It made his job a lot harder—but not impossible.
While he waited, he peered through the binoculars, wondering if he’d catch another show. There was too much rain to see clearly, and they’d pulled down their new blinds, too, like they thought he was a pervert.
Like they thought he wanted to see them going at it.
He locked his jaw.
I’m not a pervert.
I know it.
Just do what you have to do.
“Damn it all.” If he waited any longer, he’d lose the advantage with the rain.
He stuck as much to the shadows as he could. When he had to step out in the clearing, he kept his head down so the cameras wouldn’t be able to make out his features. Unlike the other times, his heart beat too fast now that he knew they were watching for him.
Cats scattered as he stepped inside the dim interior of the barn. They didn’t know him well—but they knew not to trust him.
It had been a hot day and now the rain sealed all that heat inside, turning the barn into a sticky sauna. He pulled off his hat, slapping it against his leg to remove some of the rain.
His boots had left muddy prints behind. So what? By the time it’s noticed, it’ll be too late.
Familiar with the barn, he set the rifle in a corner next to a sharp pickax where it wouldn’t be noticed, and then put the binoculars on top of the food barrel.
Finally, he would end this.
So what are you waiting for?
For you to shut up.
“Go to hell.”
The cats stared at him with wide glowing eyes, suspicious of his presence. A wonderful idea occurred to him, the perfect excuse needed to get Miles to the barn. He looked from the cats to the pickax and back again.
Smiling, he knelt down and said, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”
* * *
THE SUDDEN POUNDING on the front door startled Maxi so badly she almost dropped her bottle of water as she left the kitchen. Miles had settled on the couch after his shower and she was about to join him. He’d said he wanted to talk. Despite common sense, she was hopeful he’d say what she so badly wanted to hear.
But now they had more company.
Scowling, Miles bounded off the couch. “I’ll get it.”
She nodded but followed closely behind him. “It’s probably Fletcher, worrying about the lights going out again because of the storm. Be nice, okay?”
“No.” He lifted aside the curtain covering the window in the door. “Damn. Not Fletcher.”
“Who is it, then?”
Miles jerked the door open. “Woody, what the hell? What are you doing out in this rain?”
Hands on his knees, breathing hard, Woody said, “I saw someone in the woods headed here. I followed...” His gaze went past Miles to Maxi, then warily back again. He cleared his throat. “You gotta come quick. He went into your barn.” Lower still, he said, “I, uh, I think he’s doing something to the cats.”
Miles’s expression turned into a thundercloud. “Stay here.”
“Miles!” Maxi held herself tightly. If that madman hurt a single animal, I’ll kill him myself. Right now, though, her biggest concern was Miles. He couldn’t just charge out there without a plan or—
Already shoving his feet into his shoes, Miles said, “Not now, Maxi.”
The horrified look on Woody’s face scared her half to death, but Miles was so different from her, so confident, that he likely saw this as an opportunity.
Oh God, what if he got hurt?
“At least take your gun.” She could tell he didn’t think he’d need it. True, he had lethal fighting skills, but they were no match for a weapon. Insisting wouldn’t do her any good, so instead she tried a heartfelt “Please.”
One look at her face—which no doubt showed her upset—and he relented.
He was in and out of the bedroom in five seconds. “Lock the door behind me. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call Sahara. No matter what you hear, you stay inside with the door locked. Understand?”
Maxi nodded. The last thing he needed to do was worry about her. “I promise.”
Woody said, “I’m going with you.”
“I’d rather you stay with Maxi.”
“But you’ll need me! You don’t know what I saw—”
“Woody.” That single word, accompanied with Miles’s dark warning expression, silenced him.
Maxi covered her mouth with her hand. What had he seen?
“I need you to stay here with Maxi. I don’t want her to be alone. Can you do that for me?”
“I can’t come in. My boots are too muddy.”
Maxi knew exactly what Miles was doing—giving Woody a purpose so he’d feel useful. But what about her?
It was her property, her cats.
Her problem.
No, she knew that wasn’t true. Not anymore. Miles had stepped in and accepted half responsibility for everything. It wasn’t his job, but he didn’t complain.
“Your boots are fine,” she promised. “I can clean up later.”
Reluctantly, Woody stepped in, staying on a rug in the foyer.
Miles immediately slipped out the door, pulling it silently shut behind him.
It almost killed her to see him walk out there alone. She locked the door and drew a deep breath, but it didn’t help.
Nothing would help until Miles was back inside with her, safe. Unharmed.
“It’ll be okay.” Woody rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she trembled all over. Finally, needing to do something, she made a decision. “I have to call Fletcher.”
“No,” Woody said, catching her arm, full of solemn regret. His face almost crumpled and his voice cracked when he said, “You can’t do that.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Maxi pulled away, a hand in her hair. “Miles suspected, but I didn’t believe it.” And now he’d have to face Fletcher alone. One on one, he’d annihilate Fletcher. But Fletcher wasn’t a dummy. He wouldn’t engage in a physical fight.
She remembered that rifle shot that hit her barn, and she knew without a doubt that he’d be armed. So was Miles, but he wasn’t a killer, not like—
“I’m sorry,” Woody said, walking farther into the house. “Sorrier than you know.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Feels like it is.” He lifted the collar of his jacket and slammed the hat back on his head. “I’m going out. I have to.”
She wanted to argue with him, but Woody looked so set, she nodded. “Please be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back, okay?” This time he headed for the back door. “Don’t lock me out.”
Hurrying after him, stepping around the muddy footprints, she said, “I’ll watch for you.” The second he was out the door, she grabbed her cell phone off the table and, standing at the door, divided her time between staring at what she could see of the barn and dialing Sahara.
Please let her be home. Maxi knew she had to do something to help.
And she couldn’t wait ten minutes to do it.
* * *
MILES APPROACHED THE barn cautiously. From around the cracks of the closed shutters over the windows and the loosely closed doors, he could see lights flashing.
What the hell? He felt the mud sinking into his athletic shoes but paid it no mind. The rain, softer now, dampened his hair and torso. He moved up next to the barn wall and inched closer to the door.
The screech of a panicked cat made his blood run cold.
Glock held close to his chest, he eased up next to the barn doors and tried stealing a glance inside.
The crazy strobe of bright lights made it impossible to see anything. That was a tactical light, possibly police issue, meant to disorient. He’d need to locate the source of that light and distinguish it first. Using the toe of his shoe, he edged the door wider. A few cats shot out, running like hell.
The screeching came louder.
Muddy footprints went in and out of the barn, reminding him of the time Fletcher had tracked mud up onto the porch.
But in weather like this, Woody’s feet had been mud-covered, too. He paused, thinking about that, but the sounds of the cat regained his attention. He had to do something.
He glanced in again, this time with a hand mostly covering his eyes, concentrating on the floor and corners of the barn. He didn’t see any feet, and other than the frenzied cat, he heard nothing. Another look, and he realized the light sat on a post.
Gaze averted, he shot in low and fast, arm extended, and knocked it to the ground. It hit with a clatter and died. At the same time Miles swept the room with his gun, searching through the sudden darkness for any movement.
The only thing he saw was Hero, the black cat Maxi had renamed. Fury erupted when he realized why the cat was so upset.
His tail was tied to a post.
“Hang on, baby,” he said softly, but the cat was inconsolable. No one had ever mistreated it and it didn’t understand.
He searched every corner of the barn, but the muddy prints showed clearly on the dusty, hay-strewn floor. They trailed in, around the floor, then back out again. No one had climbed the ladder to the loft, and the prints didn’t lead behind any of the equipment.
Fletcher had already come and gone.
Cautiously, Miles came forward. The cat was pissed, hissing and snarling, ready to lash out, but it calmed as Miles slowly got closer. Rough rope that had hung on a nail in the barn was now tied brutally tight around the cat’s tail, then high up on a cross post so that the cat couldn’t get all four paws on the floor.
I’ll kill the fucker. Trying to disguise his fury, he murmured, “Easy, baby. Easy now. I’m going to help you.”
Carefully he lifted the cat to his shoulder to relieve the tension. Wincing from claws that pierced his shirt and dug into his skin, he worked to loosen the knot. When the cat was finally free, Miles stroked his back, whispering reassuring words. The cat panted but was otherwise passive—until suddenly it hissed and launched away.
In the next second pain exploded in the back of Miles’s skull. He fell forward to his knees while the world spun around him, darkened and slowly closed in.
Well, fuck.
He’d been knocked out before during fights, so he recognized it for what it was—and did his best to fight it off.
If he lost consciousness, who would protect Maxi?
Something cold and hard clamped around his right wrist. Years of conditioning, of muscle memory, had him automatically shifting to a defensive position on his back.
His legs could be a deadly weapon.
Still seeing stars, he kicked out but only managed a glancing blow.
“Bastard! Try that again and I’ll kill you now, to hell with the consequences.”
Woody? It was difficult to think with his head still pounding so painfully.
A chain rattled and yanked his arm tight, wrenching his shoulder and making his throat burn with the need to puke.
Through bleary eyes he saw Woody picking up the Glock that must have fallen from Miles’s waistband when he hit the floor. Just as quickly, Woody backed up and out of reach.
If Woody was here, where was Maxi? If he’d hurt her...
He must have spoken aloud, because Woody said, “I’m getting her now. Be right back.”
“No, wait—” But Woody was already gone. After two slow, deep breaths, Miles forced himself more upright. It relieved a little of the tension on his arm, but not the turmoil in his brain.
Had Maxi already called Sahara? God, he hoped so. He knew Sahara, knew she wouldn’t take chances. Backup would be on the scene in minutes.
But did they have minutes?
He hadn’t suspected Woody—and neither would Maxi. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she would follow him out.
He had to do something.
Recovering by the second, he ignored the pain in his skull and instead stared in disgust at the metal handcuffs, one tight around his wrist, the other fed through a chain wrapped around the same post that had held the cat.
He had to get free.
Every movement sent pain slicing through his head, but it was nothing compared to the fear for Maxi. Bracing his feet against the post, he pulled as hard as he could. The cuffs were solid, but the chain might give. All he needed was for one of the rusted links to open. The muscles in his arm and shoulder complained, but he didn’t let up.
Not until Woody walked in with Maxi. At first, she only looked confused, but then her gaze landed on him and she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Miles?” She started toward him in a rush.
With a hand twisted in her shirt, Woody roughly jerked her back, then gave her a shove in the opposite direction.
“Stay away from him,” Woody ordered.
“But he’s hurt!”
“Yeah, and next time I hit him, I’ll cave in his skull.”
Shock, confusion and then outrage all flashed over her face. She rounded on the older man in a fury. “Don’t you touch him!”
Jesus, Miles thought, the last thing he needed was for her to do something reckless.
“Maxi,” he said sharply, to cut through her anger, “I need you to calm down, okay? I’m fine.” The link would give. It had to. “It’s going to be okay.”
Woody leveled a rifle on her. “Yeah, listen to him.”
It chilled Miles’s blood to see the weapon trained on her. “Woody, what are you doing?” Look at me, you bastard, not her.
“For now I’m just separating you two,” Woody said, and then to Maxi, “Back up there. All the way back to the corner. That’s it. Now sit down, legs out. If you try to get up, I’ll shoot him first, and then you.”
With a threat like that, Maxi sat. “You told me it was all clear, that the cats needed me.”
Woody chuckled. “One did, but looks like Miles already freed it.”
In a low, mean voice, she asked, “Did you hurt one of my cats, Woody?”
“More worried about that damned rodent than your boyfriend?” All the menace left his expression when he smiled with a memory. Once again he spoke to them like they were his friends, instead of his captives. “Just like your grandma. She loved those critters, too. I remember when she found kittens once. She was so sweet and excited.”
Miles stared at him. The obvious insanity made him even more unpredictable. Why was he doing this?
Different cats tried creeping in, wanting to get closer to Maxi. Even Hero now peered around the barn door. The cat still looked wary, body arched, fur standing on end, teeth showing.
Miles couldn’t blame him, but he hoped Hero didn’t give Woody another chance to abuse him. Maxi might well lose it if he did, and she needed to stay calm.
He silently strained against the chain.
“Let me get this out of reach, before you do something stupid.” Woody carried his Glock to a ledge on the opposite side of the barn.
Hoping to send Maxi a silent message, Miles glanced at her, but the second their gazes met, she flashed up the hem of her shirt to show the small revolver tucked into the waistband of her shorts.
No. Hell no. Woody was certifiable and Maxi’s aim still sucked—a very bad combo. If she tried to shoot Woody, she was as likely to hit Miles...if Woody didn’t turn his rifle on her first.
Miles gave a small, stern shake of his head, warning her against any spontaneous action.
But she’d already looked away to Woody, her dark eyes pinning him. Mixed with her obvious fear was pure, red-hot rage. He understood, because he felt the same.
Unfortunately, that emotion could make her impulsive.
However this went down, he had to be ready to act.
He loved her. No way in hell could he lose her now.
* * *
GOD, PLEASE DON’T let Miles be seriously hurt.
It worried Maxi, seeing the blood in his hair and on his shirt, knowing he’d had concussions and that Woody had likely given him another.
To buy herself some time, she asked, “Why are you doing this, Woody?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Miles straining against the chain. Did he honestly think he could break it?
Yes, she knew he didn’t want her to take matters into her own hands, and she wouldn’t—if she could avoid it. But Miles was already hurt, and by God, she wouldn’t let Woody touch him again.
If she had to, she’d shoot Woody, and this close, surely she’d be accurate.
When Woody glanced at him, Miles went still. Her heartbeat skipped, then blasted into overtime as Woody turned to face him, his gaze suspicious.
She had to draw his attention away, so she demanded, “Did you kill my grandma?”
“What?” Genuinely baffled, Woody glared at her. “I don’t kill innocent people!”
Maxi noted the qualification on “innocent.” Had he killed bad people, then? More to the point, she and Miles were innocent. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. We’re here, after all. You’ve wounded Miles, and with the way you keep aiming that rifle, am I supposed to assume you just want to visit?”
Chagrined, he growled, “I loved that woman. I tried to get her to marry me! If she weren’t so cursed stubborn, saying we could just carry on as we had been, she wouldn’t have been living alone. I’d have been there with her when she fell.”
Relief briefly closed her eyes. “So she did fall, like you said?”
Woody’s hold on the rifle loosened. “It about killed me, finding Meryl like that. It’s true that I wanted to marry her so this place would be mine, but I loved her, too. Her dying not only broke my heart, it ruined everything.” Suddenly he brought the rifle back around, now pointed at Maxi. “If your grandma had just given in, it’d all be fine and no one would’ve ever known. Hell, if you’d given in...” In a blast of irritation, he asked, “Why didn’t you just sell the place to me? Stubborn, just like your grandma. Now I have no choice but to kill you.”
Between worried glances at Miles, Maxi watched Woody closely. He chatted about loving her grandmother in one breath, and murdering her in the next. How should she deal with him?
If he decided to shoot her, she’d charge him first. She’d go down fighting—for herself and for Miles. “I didn’t know it was that important to you. Now that I do know, I’ve changed my mind. We could still work out a deal, right?”
Woody snorted. “It’s too late now. You already know.”
“Know what?”
The barn door shifted and Woody swung around, the rifle aimed.
Fletcher froze in the doorway.
For the first time it occurred to Maxi how much grandfather and grandson looked alike. They shared the same height, and although Woody had lost some muscle tone, it was clear he’d once been as fit as Fletcher.
Tension held them all silent as Fletcher’s steely gaze took in the scene, lingering on Miles for a moment before settling on Woody.
He said calmly, “Granddad.”
“Fletch.” Slack-jawed, Woody blinked at him. “What’re you doing here?”
“I came to help, of course.” He gave Maxi a look before his mouth lifted in a strained smile. “I think I know what happened, but it’s okay now.”
Maxi glared at him. So Fletcher was in on it after all? And to think she’d defended him! “What happened?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“He doesn’t know shit,” Woody protested, backing to the side so he could keep all three of them in his sights.
Showing a healthy respect for Miles’s ability, even when chained to a pole, Fletcher stayed out of his reach as he answered Maxi. “My sister got in with a bad crowd. Drinking, drugs, armed robbery...it almost killed her. My guess is that Granddad did what he always did.” He looked at Woody. “You protected her, didn’t you?”
Woody straightened with pride. “Damn right I did!”
“But...” Maxi frowned at Fletcher. “I thought it was you who beat up the men—”
“I did,” Fletcher confirmed. “But that wouldn’t have fixed things. So many times we’d get her turned around, but then the addiction would steal her away again.”
Woody’s face went red, his eyes bulging. “That miserable dealer and his cronies were to blame!”
Fletcher agreed. Almost as if it didn’t matter, he asked Woody, “What happened to them?”
“I killed them.”
Silence weighed heavy in the barn.
“I had to! I couldn’t let them ruin Anna and you both.” He hitched his chin. “After that beating you gave them, they were going to press charges against you. And I couldn’t defend you without telling the world that Anna was an addict.”
Recovered, Fletcher said softly, “I understand.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What did you do with the bodies?”
Now Woody grinned. “Buried the worst one of the bunch in the ground—and put a pond on top of him.”
Bile rose in Maxi’s throat. “My pond?” she choked out.
“I told you not to swim in it!”
Her skin crawled. Hull and Armie and...dear God, Miles...they’d all been in the pond—with a dead body beneath them. “You said there was a turtle!”
“There was.”
She stared at him, taken aback by his insulted tone. “You didn’t make that up?”
“I’m not a liar.”
In his twisted mind, Woody thought a liar was worse than a murderer? He seemed so volatile she didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare breathe.
“What else did you do, Granddad?” Fletcher asked, which gave her a chance to gasp in air.
Smug now, Woody said, “Buried one of the others to the side of the barn and just told Meryl I was replacing some of the wood.”
The answer surprised Maxi enough that she almost forgot her fear. “That’s why you didn’t want me to add on to the barn for the goats?”
“You wouldn’t leave well enough alone, girl.” As if he spoke only truth, Woody said, “This is your fault,” and again he pointed the rifle at her.
“Anyone else?” Fletcher asked, trying to distract him again.
Woody narrowed his eyes. “What does it matter?”
“How else can I help you unless I know everything?”
Woody shrugged his chin at Maxi. “Why don’t you ask her? She was probably ready to build something on it.” He muttered, “A dock for the pond, goats, for God’s sake. Anything else, girl?”
While Woody looked at her, Maxi saw Fletcher reach into his pocket, then toss something small toward Miles. It landed in the hay near his hip.
To keep Woody looking at her, Maxi said, “That willow tree in the side yard. It blocks my view of the pond, so I—”
“Goddamn it,” Woody exploded, stomping in a circle until he could glare at Fletcher. “Didn’t I tell you? She’d have dug up the last one!”
The suddenness of Woody’s violent fit sent Maxi’s heart hammering, but then his words sank in. “You’re not joking?”
He raged, “Who would joke about a thing like that?” as if she were the lunatic.
She’d only been making conversation, meant to keep him preoccupied, yet she’d blundered into a third site for a victim? “Dear God.”
He used the rifle to gesture at her again. “Why the hell can’t you leave well enough alone? This place was perfect as is. I’d have loved it here.” He swung the barrel toward Miles next. “You helped her to change so much, but I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
“Except to add a few more grave sites?” Maxi asked, deliberately provoking him. She’d do anything to keep that rifle off Miles. Anything.
And yeah, Woody gave her a killing glare. “Only three...until I add you two.”
Miles said in soft command, “Maxi.”
But the warning came too late. “You are such a little bitch, aren’t you? I’d thought you were a nice girl, so I hadn’t wanted to hurt you. I tried everything else I could think of to avoid this.”
Everything... “You drugged me!”
Petulant now, Woody shrugged. “Didn’t do me any good, did it? You’re still here.”
“You carried me outside.” She shuddered with revulsion. “How did you do it?”
“Meryl had given me keys. I snuck in the house a lot.”
“I knew I heard things!”
“I’d watched you enough to know your routine, so that night I put the drug in your glass. You never noticed when you poured in the wine.” He grinned. “It worked faster and better than I figured. I only had to hide for a little while. Then when you went out, I got that wagon from your barn and took you down to the pond.” He turned his head to study her. “I thought for sure that’d spook you enough to get you packing. Didn’t count on you moving in a man.”
Fletcher whispered, “You drugged her, Granddad? After what Anna had been through?”
“This was different. I didn’t do anything to her. Just put her outside. I even laid her down real gentle instead of just dumping her out of the wagon.”
Maxi stiffened. “You bastard. How dare you? You put me through hell!”
“I never hurt you...then.” Woody reacted to her antagonism with equal resentment. “Now I just might enjoy it.”
Miles growled, “You won’t hurt her, Woody.”
“I’ll do what I have to do.”
The chains rattled loudly as Miles tried to fight loose, but he quieted again when Fletcher stepped forward...and in front of him. “Tell me the plan,” he said while blocking Miles from view.
“I’m going to bury them both here.” Woody nodded as if to convince himself. “They’ve done enough digging that no one will think anything of a little more loose dirt.”
Being reasonable, Fletcher said, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. No one is going to believe she just up and moved away without selling the place.”
“Most folks will think someone else got to them. The whole town’s heard about her being hassled.”
“By you,” Maxi accused.
“Doesn’t matter. No one knows it was me. Fletcher could say he saw a truck driving away with both of you. He’s a cop, so they’d believe him.” He asked Fletcher, “You remember telling me how many missing people are never found? It’d be like that.”
Maxi watched in frustrated horror while they discussed murder as if it held no importance at all.
Fletcher nodded. “I remember, but we weren’t talking about homeowners in the area. It’s different from the idiots who’d sold dope to Anna.”
“They pushed it on her, wouldn’t let her get clean. With them around, she didn’t stand a chance.” Woody frowned. “You know that, right?”
Fletcher came a few steps closer. “Yeah, I’d had the same thought, which is why I almost beat them to death.”
Satisfied, Woody took a stance in front of Maxi. “Sometimes, there’s no other choice.”
With one big step forward, Fletcher reached his grandfather and pressed the barrel down and away. “This time, there is. We don’t have to hurt anyone.”
“You said you came to help me.”
“I did, but not like this.” Fletcher tried to ease the rifle away.
“Lies!” Woody pushed him away. “They’ve turned you against me.”
“No, Granddad.” Fletcher caught himself and came forward again. “You know that’s not possible.”
“He does love me,” Woody said...to himself? “But not enough? He doesn’t understand. I’ll make him see.”
Puzzled, Fletcher said gently, “Granddad, are you okay?”
“I have to shoot them both.”
“No.” Fletcher’s gaze never wavered from his grandfather. “That’d be too messy.”
Maxi glanced at Miles. He appeared to be holding the chain in both hands now, his expression hard, alert.
Was there more slack in that chain?
“The blood will be on the hay,” Woody argued, “and that’s easy to burn.”
“I have a better idea. Let’s talk about it.” Again Fletcher reached for the rifle.
“No!” Woody jerked it away, then slammed the stock against Fletcher’s face. “I’m done talking.” It was such a brutal hit that Maxi let out a short scream. Poor Fletcher staggered back, blood already gushing from his nose.
Woody took aim at Maxi.
He looked so dead set on shooting her, she froze.
“No.” Miles suddenly launched forward, leaving the chain and handcuffs behind.
Woody turned to face the new threat, the rifle exploded—and Maxi’s heart stopped.