Читать книгу One Hot Forty-Five - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 7

There were no cars in the parking lot other than Lantry’s pickup and the deputy’s beat-up old Mazda, both covered with snow. The blizzard Lantry had been warned about on the news had finally blown in.

“Just a minute.” Dede reached into his coat pocket and dug out his cell phone and keys. She hit the automatic lock release, the lights of the pickup flashing on.

As Dede walked him to his pickup, wind whirled the large, thick flakes around them as if they were in a snow globe.

He could imagine how ridiculous the two of them looked. Him in handcuffs tethered to his belt and a petite woman in a Santa costume holding a gun on him.

But unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone around at this hour—and in the middle of a blizzard—to see them.

“You don’t want to do this,” Lantry said as they reached his pickup. “This is only making your situation worse.”

“A hotshot lawyer like you? I’m sure you can get me off without even any jail time,” Dede said, keeping the pistol pressed into his back.

“You can’t possibly think that I can make all of this go away. You pulled a gun on a sheriff’s deputy and escaped from two mental hospitals and a jail cell.”

“I did what I had to do,” she said, pressing the gun barrel into his back. “When the time comes, I know you can make a judge understand that. Anyway, what would you have done under the same circumstances?”

He didn’t know. He thought of his brother Dalton’s criminally insane first wife. The law didn’t always protect people. Oftentimes it was used against the person who needed and deserved protection the most.

Dede took him around to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Get in and slide across the seat. If you think about doing anything stupid, just think about your part in helping Frank take everything—including my freedom from me—in the divorce.”

He climbed in and slid across the seat, keeping what she had said in mind. He had helped put this woman away—just not well enough, apparently.

She followed, never taking the gun off him and leaving him little doubt that she really might shoot him if he tried to escape.

Shifting the weapon to her left hand, she inserted the key and started the pickup, then hit the child locks and reached over to buckle him in. “Just in case you’re thinking about jumping out.”

As if he could reach the door handle the way she had him hog-tied.

The wipers swept away the accumulated snow on the windshield. The glow of Christmas lights on the houses blurred through the falling snow, a surreal reminder that Christmas was just days away.

Dede turned on the heater, then shifted the truck into gear and, resting the pistol on the seat next to her thigh, drove away from the sheriff’s department.

Her composure unraveled him more than even the gun against her thigh. This woman must have nerves of steel. For just a moment, though, he thought he saw her hands trembling on the wheel, but he must have imagined it given the composed, unwavering way she had acted back in the jail.

They passed only one vehicle on the way out of town. A van with a state emblem on the side, but the driver was too busy trying to see through the falling and blowing snow to pay them any mind.

Lantry consoled himself that the deputy would soon be found in the cell and a manhunt would begin for the escaped prisoner and her hostage.

“You’ll never get away with this,” he said, his throat dry as she took one of the narrow back roads as if she knew where she was going.

He recalled that she’d spent the past twenty-four hours before her arrest with Violet Evans, a woman from the area. It was more than possible that Dede had gotten directions from the local woman.

“I suppose all this seems a little desperate to a man like you,” she said quietly.

“A little desperate?” He looked over at her, then out at the storm. He could feel the temperature dropping.

The weatherman had forecasted below-zero temperatures and blizzard conditions. Residents had been warned to stay off the roads because of blowing and drifting snow and diminishing visibility.

Lantry had little doubt that the roads would be closed soon, as they had been earlier in the month during the last winter-storm warnings.

“You know, it’s funny,” Dede said as she drove. “Thanks to Frank, I’ve been forced to do things I wouldn’t have even imagined just months ago. I suppose that is nuts, huh?”

Lantry studied her, not wanting to know what had pushed her over the edge. “Would you have really shot that deputy?”

“Of course not. What do you think I am? That deputy never did anything to me. Unlike you,” she added. “You helped Frank get me locked up in a mental ward.”

Lantry didn’t want to go down that road. The wind rocked the pickup. Snow whipped across the road, forcing Dede to slow almost to a crawl before the visibility cleared enough that she could see the road ahead again.

The barrow pits had filled in with snow. Only the tops of a few wooden fence posts were still visible above the snowline.

“My brother will be combing the countryside searching for me,” he said. Outside the pickup window he could see nothing but white. There were no other tracks in the road now. No one would be out on a night like this. No one with a brain, he amended silently.

“Shane will call in the FBI since kidnapping is a federal offense,” he continued. “This time they’ll lock you up and you’ll never get out. Do you have any idea where you’re headed?”

He glanced over at her when she didn’t answer. Her angelic face was set in an expression of concentration and determination.

“The best thing you can do at this point is turn around and go back,” he said. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you get a fair hearing.”

“I’m touched by your concern, Mr. Corbett. But I’m crazy, remember? If I get caught, they’ll just put me back in the looney bin and throw away the key, and then the men after me will kill me. By then, they will have murdered you, so you’ll be of little help.”

She shifted down as a gust of wind rocked the pickup and sent snow swirling around them.

“But if we don’t get caught,” she continued, “I might be able to keep us both alive. So in the grand scale of things, kidnapping you seems pretty minor, don’t you think?”

He hated that her logic made a bizarre kind of sense. She wasn’t going to turn around and take him back, that much was a given.

In the rare openings between gusts, blurred Christmas lights could be seen along the eaves of ranch houses. But soon the ranch houses became fewer and farther between, as did the blur of Christmas lights, until there was nothing but white in the darkness ahead.

They were headed south on one of the lesser-used, narrow, unpaved roads. Between them and the Missouri Breaks was nothing but wild country.

“What now?” he asked as the wind blew in the cracks of the pickup cab and sent snow swirling across the road, obliterating everything.

“You’re going to help me save our lives—once I convince you how much danger you’re in.”

It wasn’t going to take much to convince him of that, Lantry thought as he noted the gun nestled between her thighs and the Montana blizzard raging outside the pickup.

DEDE GRIPPED THE WHEEL AND fought to see the road ahead. Mostly what she did was aim the pickup between the fence posts—what little of them wasn’t buried in snow on the other side of the snow-deep barrow pits.

Between the heavy snowfall and the blowing fallen snow, all she could see was white.

She didn’t need Lantry Corbett to tell her how crazy this was. But given the alternative …

Nor did she want to admit that the lawyer’s arguments weren’t persuasive. There was a time she would have believed everything he said and been ready to turn her life over to him, thinking he would save her.

But this wasn’t that time. Too much had happened to her. And too much was at stake. A part of her wished she’d been honest with Lantry back at the jail, although she doubted it would have swayed him anyway.

She couldn’t let herself forget who this cowboy was or the part he’d played in bringing them both to this point in their lives.

This Lantry Corbett, though, looked nothing like the man she’d only seen on television. This blue-eyed cowboy hardly resembled the clean-shaven, three-piece designer-suited lawyer who she’d been told would eat his young.

She’d thought she had the wrong Lantry Corbett when she’d rolled over on her cot in jail earlier and had seen the cowboy standing outside her cell. This man wore a black Stetson, his dark hair now curled at the nape of his neck—not the corporate short haircut he’d sported in Texas—and he’d grown a thick black mustache that drooped at the corners and made him look as if he should have been from the Old West.

Maybe even more surprising, he looked at home in his worn Western attire. This was no urban cowboy, and the clothing only made him more appealing, accentuating his broad shoulders and slim hips. Even the way he moved was different. Tall and lanky, Lantry had walked into the jail with a slow, graceful gait in the work-worn cowboy boots and Wrangler jeans that hugged those long legs.

He had been nothing like that ultraexpensive lawyer she’d seen stalking across the commons of his office high-rise with a crowd of reporters after him.

No, for a moment in the jail, she’d been fooled into thinking she was wrong about the cutthroat divorce lawyer turned cowboy—until he opened his mouth.

Only then did she know she had the right man.

She kept her attention on the road—what she could see of it—and the blizzard raging outside the pickup, wishing there was another way.

VIOLET EVANS ALWAYS KNEW SHE’D come home one day. She’d thought about nothing but Whitehorse since she’d been locked up.

True, she had planned to come home vindicated. Or at least have everyone believe she was cured. But that hadn’t happened.

In the passenger seat of the stolen SUV, Roberta began to snore loudly.

Violet knew everyone in four counties was looking for her. She’d become famous. Or infamous. Either way, she liked the idea of her name on everyone’s lips. They’d all be locking their doors tonight.

She smiled at the thought, imagining the people who’d wronged her over the years. They would be terrified until she was caught. Once, they’d just made fun of her. But now they would have new respect for her.

Still, it bothered her that they all thought something was wrong with her. No wonder they’d been quick to send her away to a mental hospital after that unfortunate incident with her mother. How different things would have been if they had believed her when she’d tried to explain why she’d tried to kill her mother that day.

She shoved away the disturbing images from the past. But one thought lingered. If Arlene loved her … If she’d saved her from her awful grandmother … If she’d tried to help her with the scary thoughts in her head …

A mother is supposed to save you. Arlene Evans had failed to save her oldest daughter, so what right did Arlene have to get married and be happy?

“No right at all,” Violet’s dead grandmother said from the backseat. “Her idea of saving you had been to marry you off.”

Violet thought of the humiliation and embarrassment when no man had wanted her—and worse, the disappointment she’d seen in her mother’s face.

“If Arlene hadn’t tricked my son Floyd into marrying her and had you three kids—”

“Can you just shut up?” Violet said, wishing she could cover her ears. She’d heard this from her grandmother since she was a girl. Grandmother always causing trouble, stirring things up between them, then standing back and saying, “See? See what I mean about this family?”

Roberta stirred in the passenger seat. “What’s going on?” She glanced in the backseat, then at Violet, frowning. “You aren’t talking to your dead grandmother again, right?”

“I was talking to myself. I need you to run a little errand for me,” Violet told her as she parked near Packys, a convenience store on the edge of town.

She had skirted Whitehorse, which wasn’t difficult since the town was only ten blocks square and she knew all the back roads.

The first thing she needed to do, though, was find out everything she could about her mother’s upcoming Christmas wedding. It wasn’t like she’d gotten an invitation.

“You’re going to run in and get me the local newspaper and the shopper—those are the area bibles when it comes to what’s going on,” Violet told her.

Roberta groaned and complained, but finally got out and went in. She was wearing a pair of blue overalls and a flannel shirt and looked enough like a local that she shouldn’t have any trouble, Violet figured.

Getting a change of clothing had been easy since Violet knew which residents would be gone this time of year and which ones locked their doors. They’d tossed out the Santa costumes after tossing out Dede Chamberlain.

It had amused Roberta to dump Dede on the main street of Whitehorse wearing the Santa suit.

When Roberta returned from inside the convenience store with the newspaper and free shopper, Violet drove down the street the few blocks past town. She pulled over in front of Promises bookstore, gift shop and antique store—closed now—and took the papers from Roberta.

Snapping on the dome light, she scanned for what she knew had to be there. Whitehorse, Montana, was so small that weddings, baby and wedding showers, and birthday parties were advertised in the paper and open to everyone. Her grandmother had already said that Arlene would invite the whole town to show off the fact that she’d caught another man.

To her dismay, Violet didn’t find anything about the wedding and was about to give up when she saw the wedding shower announcement.

There was no address as to where the shower was being held, since it was unnecessary. Instead all that was listed was the name of the person who was hosting the get-together. Pearl Cavanaugh. If you didn’t know where the Cavanaughs lived, then you had no business at the shower.

“What the hell?” Violet said, thinking she must have read it wrong. “Pearl Cavanaugh is throwing a shower this afternoon for my mother? This has to be a misprint.”

“I thought you said nobody in town liked your mother.”

Violet shot Roberta a look that shut her up. Maybe it was a pity shower. Still, it seemed odd. Violet couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that everything had changed since she’d been gone.

She read it again and noticed something she hadn’t seen before. It said in case of bad weather, the shower would be held at the Tin Cup, the restaurant out of town on the golf course.

Violet had heard about the winter-storm warning on the radio. She couldn’t imagine worse weather.

Her thoughts returned to her mother and the shower. It was amazing enough that her mother had found another man when Violet hadn’t even found one. And he was a man with money, from what she’d heard. She consoled herself with the assurance that Hank Monroe couldn’t be much of a man.

“So, are we going to your mother’s shower?” Roberta asked, reading over her shoulder.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But first there’s somewhere we have to go.”

ARLENE TOUCHED THE WEDDING dress hanging from her closet door.

She felt like Cinderella about to go to the ball. She closed the closet door as the phone rang. All morning she’d feared that Pearl would cancel the shower. After all, with this storm coming in … “Hello?”

“Hi, beautiful.”

She melted at the sound of Hank’s voice. That she’d been given a second chance was such a blessing. He’d changed her. Not that she didn’t have a long way to go.

She still had to bite her tongue not to gossip or have uncharitable thoughts. Hank laughed at her attempts to be the perfect woman.

“Arlene, I love you exactly as you are.” That alone amazed her. But she wanted to be better for Hank. His love had already made her a better person.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Hank said now.

“No, I was up admiring my wedding dress.” Hank had bought it for her, saying she deserved her dream wedding. She and Floyd, her first husband and the father of her children, had gotten married by the justice of the peace. A shotgun wedding because she’d been pregnant with her first born, Violet.

Looking back, it was clear Floyd had never wanted the children. Nor did he care about them even now. He hadn’t even been to see his own grandson.

Arlene was so thankful that Hank loved the baby and had gone out of his way to help her daughter Charlotte and son-in-law, Lucas, make a home for their son.

“Then you haven’t seen the news,” Hank said, dragging her from her thoughts.

Arlene felt her heart drop. “No, why?” Her first thought was that the shower was cancelled. But from the sound of Hank’s voice, she knew it was more serious than that.

Her worry intensified. Instinctively she knew it must have something to do with Bo. In the past, most news, especially bad news, was often about her son, Bo. But Bo was gone.

She still couldn’t believe what he’d done to bring about his own death. For months now, she’d mourned his loss, knowing she had failed him by spoiling him, just as she’d failed her daughter Violet by not spoiling her enough.

“Honey, it’s Violet. She’s escaped from the state institution. There were three of them. One has already been caught, so I’m sure—”

“Ohh.” She sat down hard in the middle of the floor, the phone clutched in her hand. “Violet?”

Her oldest daughter. The culmination of all her mistakes as a mother. Hank kept assuring her that she hadn’t made Violet what she’d become. That there had been something wrong with Violet, something genetic. Just as she couldn’t blame herself for the way Bo had turned out after growing up without a father present.

Arlene couldn’t help but feel that if she’d been a better mother, if she’d insisted Floyd take more of a part in raising the kids, if she’d been able to stand up to Floyd’s horrible mother and not let that old woman near her kids …

“I want you to come stay with me until Violet is caught,” Hank was saying.

Caught? How was it possible to raise a child that would one day have to be caught like a rabid dog?

“Hank, what about Charlotte and the baby?” Little Luke was a year old now, but still Arlene thought of him as a baby.

“Violet won’t hurt her sister or her nephew, and Lucas will be home from his ranch job up north. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“You don’t know what Violet’s like. She’s so angry. She blames everyone for her unhappiness.” She realized she was crying.

“If you’re that worried, I’ll have Lucas, Charlotte and Luke move in here with us. There’s plenty of room.”

Arlene felt sick. “You know why she escaped now, right before the wedding. She—”

“I won’t let her stop the wedding.”

She loved Hank more than life and knew how capable he was of taking care of her. But he didn’t know Violet and what she was capable of. Arlene did. “Maybe we should put off the wedding.”

“No,” Hank said. “If she isn’t caught before the wedding, then I’ll see that security is stepped up. I just want to make sure that you’re safe until then. I’ll be down to pick you up. Pack just what you need until the wedding. Has the storm hit there yet? It’s snowing really hard up here. I think it’s moving south in your direction, so bundle up.”

“Hank—”

“Arlene, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m on my way there now.” He hung up.

Not that it would have made a difference to argue with him. She knew she couldn’t talk him out of it, and maybe it would be best if she and Violet didn’t cross paths right now. If Violet was upset about the wedding, there was no telling what she might do.

Arlene prayed that one day Violet could get well and live a normal life. But if she kept getting into trouble, she would never be released.

Going into the living room, Arlene walked over to the drapes and drew them back so she could look across the prairie as the sun crested the horizon—just as she had done for almost forty years.

AS DEDE DROVE THROUGH THE swirling snow, Lantry realized they were following the brunt of the storm south. The wind had kicked up, the temperature on the thermometer between the visors showing five below zero. He could no longer tell if it was snowing or if the snow in the air was being kicked up by the wind.

He hadn’t seen a light for miles, and the secondary road she’d taken was getting progressively worse. The pickup was bucking drifts. If it wasn’t for catching sight of the top of an occasional fence post on each side of the barrow pit along the narrow, unpaved road, he would have doubted they were even still on a road.

“I’m curious,” Dede said, breaking the silence. “What made you become a divorce lawyer?”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t you feel guilty taking advantage of two devastated people who are fighting for their lives?”

He growled under his breath, but settled back into the seat. “Don’t you mean trying to kill each other over their assets? Not exactly their lives.”

She shot him a scowl.

“Watch the road!” he said as the pickup hit a drift, snow cascading over the windshield.

“You’ve never been married, have you?” she said as visibility improved a little. “So you don’t know what it’s like to get divorced.”

“Do we have to talk about this now? You really should be keeping your attention on the road.” She had shifted into four-wheel low, the pickup slowly plowing its way through the snow. All he could figure was that she planned to cut across to Highway 191 once she was far enough south.

“Divorce is heartbreaking—even if you’re the one who wants out of the marriage,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken. “When you get married, you have all these hopes and dreams—”

“Oh, please,” Lantry snapped. “You married Frank because he was rich and powerful.”

The moment the words were out, he regretted them—and not just because she touched the gun resting between her thighs. He had seen the wounded look on her face. He didn’t want to be cruel, but he also couldn’t take much more of this.

“I married Frank because I loved him,” she said quietly.

“My mistake.” He was glad when she put both hands back on the wheel.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t believe in love,” Dede said, still sounding hurt.

Lantry warned himself to treat this woman with kid gloves. Who knew what she’d do next? And yet, she was so annoying. This whole situation was damned infuriating.

“It isn’t love I don’t believe in, it’s marriage,” he said into the hurt silence that had filled the pickup cab. “Any reasonable person who’s seen the statistics would think twice before getting married, except that people in love always think they’re going to be the ones who make it.”

“But if you never gamble on love—”

“Marriage isn’t a gamble. It’s like playing Russian roulette with all but one of the chambers full of lead. Do you realize how many marriages end in divorce? Fifty percent of first marriages, sixty-seven percent of second marriages and seventy-four percent of third marriages.”

“Have you always been this pessimistic?”

“Statistics don’t lie,” he said. “Most first marriages end after seven years. So do second marriages. Only thirty-three percent reach their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Half of all married people never reach their fifteenth anniversary. Only five percent make fifty years.”

“I believed I was in that five percent.”

“Even after what you’d been through?” He looked over at her as if she’d lost her mind, then remembered she had. “You thought Frank was the right person, which proves how blind love is. That’s the reason why I am never getting married. My life is much safer without a spouse, and so are my assets.”

She shot him a sympathetic look. “That’s pitiful.”

“I consider it intelligent.”

“I still believe in marriage,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve always loved those stories about married couples who die of old age within days of each other because the spouse can’t stand to let the other one go without him or her.”

He stared at her profile in the dash lights. “I’m astounded after your marriage to Frank that you can still wax romantic about marriage.”

“When he put that gold band on my finger, I planned to wear it to my deathbed, the ring wearing thinner and thinner with the years.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. But that doesn’t mean that the institution of marriage is doomed.”

He couldn’t believe her, given what Frank had put her through. She actually had tears in her eyes.

“Come on, tell the truth. You pawned your engagement and wedding ring as quick as you could after the divorce without a second thought.”

“I never even considered the monetary value.”

“So where’re the rings?” He saw her expression and burst out laughing. “You did pawn them.”

“I had to use the rings to get out of the mental hospital in Texas. It was all I had to offer at the time.” She glanced over at him, then back at the road. “Why can’t you believe that I loved Frank?”

That was the problem. He did believe it. What amazed him more than anything was that she still loved the man.

THROUGH THE FALLING AND BLOWING snow Violet could barely make out Old Town Whitehorse. The wind whipped the fallen snow into sculpted drifts, and the air outside the stolen SUV had an icy-cold weight to it that made it hard to breathe.

Violet cut the engine and stared down the hill at her mother’s house. The day had turned bright with the earlier dawn and the falling snow.

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here,” Roberta said. “Aren’t the roads going to blow in? Maybe we should find some place to stay for a while.”

“I’m going down to my house to get us some warmer clothes, food and money.”

“What if your mother is home?” Roberta asked. “Maybe it’s a trap.”

That was the problem with hanging out with a schizophrenic.

Violet watched a large SUV pull into the drive. She picked up the binoculars she’d stolen along with clothing from one of the houses they’d visited earlier.

She watched a large man climb out and go into the house. A few minutes later, he came out with a suitcase, went back in and came out with a long garment bag and carefully put that into the backseat. Her mother’s wedding gown?

A few moments later, her mother came out. She saw Arlene look around as if she knew Violet was close by. Maybe her mother knew her better than she’d thought.

Arlene seemed to hesitate as if she didn’t want to leave. Finally, she got into the SUV and the two drove away. Violet had seen the man driving. The fiancé, no doubt. He looked … nice. Bigger and better looking than she’d expected.

Violet started to get out.

“You sure no one’s home?” Roberta asked, looking down at the house through dim winter light. The temperature had dropped quickly inside the SUV while they’d been waiting.

Violet rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you just see them drive off?”

“Still …”

“All the lights are off. They’re gone, okay?” she snapped. She’d come to regret bringing Roberta along. “Stay here.”

“What should I do if you don’t come back?” Roberta asked.

“I will be back.” Violet pulled the key from the ignition and climbed out. She was going home.

LANTRY WATCHED THE ROAD ahead—what little he could see of it—and listened to Dede talk about her marriage, trying to distract himself from thinking about what this woman might have planned for him.

“Frank changed,” Dede was saying. “One day I just woke up, and I was lying next to a stranger.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” he said.

“I’m sure you got more than a dollar every time you heard it.” The pickup broke through another large drift that had blown across the road. Fortunately, the roads out here were fairly straight since it was getting harder and harder to see where the roadbed lay between the fences.

“It made me wonder why Frank married me,” she said.

That sexy body, Lantry thought but was smart enough not to say anything as she drove deeper into the storm and farther from civilization.

The snow was piling up. At least a foot had fallen and was still falling. The weather conditions were worsening to the point that he was becoming even more anxious. Where the hell was she taking him?

“You’re going to love this,” she said, “but I think Frank married me because I was so normal.”

“Funny,” he said. “You know you really don’t seem like a woman who is running from killers.”

“Because I made one little joke?”

“Little is right.”

“Oh, I would have bet you had no sense of humor in your line of work.”

“I’m a lawyer, not an undertaker.”

“Right, you bury people alive.”

“Could we discuss the reason you’ve kidnapped me instead of my chosen profession, please.” He was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation. Snowflakes thick as cotton were blowing horizontally across the road, obliterating everything.

Dede had slowed the pickup to a crawl and now leaned over the steering wheel, straining to see.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath. “You don’t even know where you are.”

He’d been watching the compass and temperature gauge in the pickup. The temperature outside had been steadily dropping as she drove south toward the Missouri Breaks—into no-man’s-land—and the road was nearly drifted in.

If she planned to hook back up with Highway 191 south, she’d missed the turn.

“Dede—” He’d barely gotten the word out when a gust of wind hit the side of the pickup as the front of the truck broke through a large drift. The drift pulled the tires hard to the right.

Lantry felt the front tire sink into the soft snow at the edge of the road. Dede was fighting to keep the snow from pulling the pickup into the deeper snow of the barrow pit, but it was a losing battle.

Snow flew up over the hood and windshield as the truck plowed into the snow-filled ditch.

Lantry had seen it coming and braced himself. The pickup crashed through the deep snow, coming to an abrupt stop buried between the road and a line of fence posts and barbed wire.

He heard Dede smack her head on the side window since the pickup didn’t have side air bags.

The only other sound was that of the gun clattering to the floorboard at his feet.