Читать книгу Loaded - Joanna Wayne - Страница 10

Chapter Four

Matt slid from behind the wheel and stood by the side of his truck, his gaze fixed on Shelly. Her face and eyes were shadowed, her features blurred in the early-evening darkness. She looked pale, but her shoulders were squared and her mouth was set in hard lines as if she was determined not to let the situation get the better of her.

An unexpected protective urge surged inside him as his focus moved to her bandaged arm and then to the bullet-battered car.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she quipped, but her attempt at humor lost its effect to the eerie screech of an owl hidden in the branches of a nearby tree.

Matt looked around, expecting to see Hank standing nearby. He didn’t. The place was completely deserted except for Shelly.

“What are you doing here after hours?” he asked.

Shelly brushed her bangs to one side and propped her right hand on her hip almost defiantly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was looking for you,” he admitted. “I tried your motel. When you weren’t there, I drove here to see if Hank had heard from you.”

“How did you know I’d left the hospital?”

“The sheriff called me. Apparently you told the nursing staff you were going to Jack’s Bluff tonight.”

She shrugged and looked backed to the car as he stepped closer. “I didn’t exactly tell them that. They just surmised it and I didn’t set them straight. It seemed the easiest way to walk out of the hospital without causing a major ruckus.”

“Why not just wait until the doctor released you?”

“I hate hospitals and I didn’t see any point in running up a big hospital bill when I didn’t need to be there in the first place.”

Matt scanned the quiet parking lot. “How did you get here?”

“I walked. It’s not that far.” She slapped at a mosquito that was buzzing around her ear. “I’m fine, Matt. And I don’t hold your family responsible for any of this, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried at all.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t exactly true. Pretty much everything about Shelly Lane worried him—and puzzled him—especially the fact that she was standing on a deserted street alone at night after being shot at just hours ago.

He didn’t trust this whole situation, wasn’t at all convinced that Shelly didn’t know who’d tried to kill her. Yet if she did, that would give her all the more reason not to put herself at risk like this.

He stepped between her and the car. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Shelly?”

“No. Why would you ask that? You were there when some crackpot roared in from nowhere and used my car for target practice.”

“The other possibility is that he’d come to town looking for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even know anyone around this part of the country.”

“Maybe someone followed you from Atlanta. Maybe a jealous boyfriend? A jilted lover?”

“The last boyfriend is engaged to be married to a fashion model. He forgot me at the first sight of my replacement—who I introduced him to, no less.”

Matt doubted that any man had found Shelly that easy to forget, but he wasn’t going there now. He pressed a hand on the top of the car and leaned into it. “Do you always carry a loaded gun in your glove compartment?”

She turned to look at his truck and the shotgun riding the rack behind his seat. “Obviously there’s no local law against carrying weapons in a vehicle.”

“Touché.”

“Actually, one of my friends insisted I buy it before leaving Atlanta. She kept stressing how it wasn’t safe for a woman to drive so far by herself, said I might have car trouble and get stranded in a dangerous area. Who knew the danger would be in Colts Run Cross?”

Which is what made this so difficult to buy into. He watched as the breeze teased her bangs, blowing wispy strands of hair about her forehead.

“I’m shaken, Matt. I won’t deny it. My first instinct was to go running back to Atlanta. But running from random violence is like trying to get out of the path of a tornado. It can strike anywhere.”

“But both are more likely in some places than others.” The owl screeched again and mosquitoes were starting to treat the back of his neck like a buffet. Whatever was going on with Shelly Lane, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it tonight.

Matt rocked back on the heels of his boots. “No point in hanging around out here,” he said. “I can give you a ride back to your motel.”

“Thanks.”

And on the way he’d tell her that her plan to move to the ranch tomorrow had been put on hold.

They walked back to his truck in silence and he opened the door for her. He circled the vehicle, climbed behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine. The beams of his headlights illuminated the damaged side of Shelly’s car as he backed from the lot.

His hands tightened on the wheel as the reality of the situation settled into a grim knot in his stomach. If the attack on her was personal, the guy wouldn’t just give up because the first try didn’t work. The shooter might even be a hired hit man biding his time until he could get to her again. Maybe waiting for dark, when she was alone in a motel at the edge of town.

A spray of gravel shot from the back wheels of his pickup truck as he sped away from Hank’s. He couldn’t take her to the ranch when no one knew for certain she was on the up and up. But he couldn’t just dump her to fend for herself if she was in real danger.

So where did that leave him?

SHELLY SAT UP STRAIGHTER, staring at the neon sign identifying the rambling wooden roadhouse whose parking lot they’d just pulled into as Cutter’s Bar and Grill.

“Why are you stopping here?”

“I could use a cup of coffee,” Matt said.

“I don’t drink coffee this late,” she said.

“Then how about a beer?”

“I can’t drink alcohol. I’m still feeling the effects of the pain medication they gave me at the hospital. Besides I’m not dressed for going out.”

That wasn’t exactly a valid argument since she had on the same jeans she’d had on at lunch today. Topping them was the crimson cami she’d had on under the bloodied blouse that Matt had cut the sleeves out of. There was a blood stain on it, but it so closely matched the color of the shirt, it looked more like fabric shading. Her attire would likely be the same as half the women in the bar.

“You look fine,” Matt said, “and I could really use the coffee.”

She hesitated, then pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the small lighted mirror. “I at least have to put on some lipstick,” she said, already reaching in her handbag for a tube. She’d have never gone out in D.C. looking like this, but she wasn’t in the nation’s capital and this wasn’t a date. It was her job. This might be the perfect opportunity to start winning Matt’s confidence.

Matt took her arm as they crossed the parking lot and walked through the open doorway. Shelly took in the sights and the atmosphere.

Cute cowboys in Western shirts, jeans and boots perched on worn wooden barstools and drank beer from bottles and whiskey and Tequila from shot glasses. Couples filled the dance floor, two-stepping to a slow country ballad.

Matt exchanged waves and greetings with some of the patrons as he led Shelly to the left side of the main room, away from the bar and dance floor. Couples and small groups were enjoying late dinners. Odors of fried onions and peppery spices hung heavy in the air; there was a refreshing absence of stale cigarette smoke and Shelly assumed Cutter’s Bar had followed suit with many other Texas restaurants and bars and allowed smoking only outside the building.

Most of the patrons were in their early to mid twenties, but there were some older customers as well, including a group of six women who looked to be their late fifties.

They seemed to be having the most fun of all, laughing and talking loudly. One of the older women caught Matt’s eye and waved him over. The other women at the table seemed equally as delighted to see him as Shelly and Matt maneuvered through the maze of tables and mismatched chairs.

Shelly knew from her research that all the Collingsworths were not only well-liked but respected throughout this part of Texas. Watching Matt, it was easy to see why. He wore his wealth the way she might wear a pair of old jeans. Easy. Comfortably. Free of even the slightest pretension.

“This table looks like solid trouble,” Matt said, leaning over to kiss the cheek of the one who’d initially spotted him. “What are you gorgeous hens doing out without the roosters?”

“They’re all over in Austin at a cattle auction, so we decided to hit the town.”

“Look out, cowboys,” Matt said.

“Land sakes, we don’t want them,” one woman said.

“Right,” another agreed. “We just got rid of our own. We’re just here to eat someone else’s cooking.”

“And have company that doesn’t moo.”

They all laughed again and Matt introduced Shelly to the rancher’s wives. She felt an unexpected twinge of guilt that they accepted her so readily when she was here under false pretenses. But how could these women, or anyone else in this town possibly know the traitorous paths that the Collingsworths had followed?

Make that had allegedly followed, but the evidence against them was overwhelming—just not indisputable as yet.

Matt spoke and waved to several more people before they finally stopped at a table near the back, where it was only slightly quieter. He held her chair for her, then took the seat opposite hers. She was keenly aware that in a bar full of sexy cowboys, he still stood out.

It wasn’t his looks that set him apart, though he certainly held his own in that department. It was his self-confidence, Shelly decided. He was a man who knew who he was and what he was about.

A waitress sashayed over, and true to his word, Matt ordered a black coffee.

“If you’re hungry, they have great burgers here,” he said. “Good chicken-fried steaks, too.”

Shelly had learned quickly that battered and fried steak—as big as the plate and covered in thick cream gravy—was a staple of every restaurant in this part of Texas. She’d tried it, and loved it. Then promptly gave it up before she gained too much weight to fit into the new jeans she’d purchased for this assignment.

“I can bring you a menu,” the waitress said. “Kitchen’s open until midnight.”

“Thanks, but I won’t need one. The burger sounds good.”

“With cheese, jalapenos, onion rings?”

“Just cheese. And a glass of iced tea, unsweetened.”

Shelly wasn’t hungry, though she’d barely touched her dinner at the hospital. But picking at food would be less awkward than having nothing to do but stare at Matt, while he bombarded her with questions that she’d be forced to answer with rehearsed lies.

She was certain that’s what this coffee date was about. He was obviously suspicious of the day’s events and determined to check her out. That convinced her even more that neither he nor his family had any idea who she really was. All she had to do was play this cool and she’d soon be living inside the gates of Jack’s Bluff Ranch.

“Don’t you drink beer?” she asked when the waitress walked away.

“Occasionally. Mostly I’m a whiskey man, but I had a drink after dinner and I figure that’s enough. I have an early day tomorrow”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Cows don’t know that. Besides, I’m helping out with one of Mom’s do-gooder events tomorrow.”

“What does that entail?”

“This is her Turnaround Project where she brings a group of inner-city preteens out to get a feel for ranch life. They’re kids who’ve been in trouble in school and sometimes with the law. Behaviorally something or other.”

“Behaviorally challenged?”

“That’s it. Or as Jeremiah says, undisciplined brats. They usually come in with huge chips on their shoulders, but by the time they leave, most are strutting around and grinning like rodeo champs.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“For the most part.” The waitress returned with Matt’s coffee and Shelly’s tea. “Tell me about you,” he said, once the waitress walked away.

“What do you want to know?”

“Guess we should start with the basics.”

“Name, rank and serial number?”

“I was thinking more along the line of why a woman from the big city is looking to work in Colts Run Cross?”

“A thirst for adventure, though today’s excitement wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Were you giving private, live-in care in Atlanta?”

“No, I worked for a rehab center.” She told him something about the setting and the work, all verifiable if he checked.

“I take it you’re not married,” Matt said.

“No. I came close once. It didn’t work out. What about you?” she asked, though she knew he was single.

“Never came close.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Why?”

He stared at her with his steely gray, almost brooding eyes, and a tingle that felt far too much like anticipation zinged along her nerve endings. This was completely unlike her—and too dangerous and unprofessional for words.

She forced herself to picture Matt with huge warts on his nose and thick bushy eyebrows that jutted out like porcupine quills.

“It’s just that most men have either been married or had a close call or two by the time they reach your age,” she said, going for an easy nonchalance.

He smiled, and the warts vanished. “I have a few more years before Medicare kicks in.”

She blushed in spite of herself. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

“It’s okay. The truth is, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Tell me about Jeremiah,” Shelly said, hoping to get the conversation on safer ground. “Your mother indicated he can be a bit difficult at times.”

“She said that, did she? Let’s just say that dealing with my grandfather on a daily basis will make this afternoon’s trouble seem like a bad dream.”

She grimaced. “That bad, huh?”

Matt worried the handle of his mug. “Before the stroke, my grandfather was the CEO of Collingsworth Enterprises and went into his Houston office five days a week. The only concession he’d made to aging was that he’d hired a driver a few years back to fight the traffic for him while he read the morning paper and made phone calls.

“Now he refuses to set foot in the building. He claims he’s not interested, but we all know that he just doesn’t want to go back there and have his former employees see him hobbling around and relying on the cane.”

Jeremiah’s stroke had caused a few problems for the CIA, as well. As CEO and with a reputation for being a hard-edge and aggressive businessman, he’d been the focus of their initial investigation. They’d suspected that he might be totally responsible for the terrorist funding in exchange for favorable business deals and that the rest of the family might not even be aware of his illegal dealings.

But when he’d suffered the stroke and disappeared from the picture, the illegal and traitorous activities had actually surged, making it obvious that at least one other member of the family was in on the illegal scheme, perhaps even Lenora Collingsworth who’d replaced Jeremiah as CEO.

“So lots of luck with the old codger,” Matt said.

“Thanks. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

The waitress returned and placed the burger in front of Shelly. The mammoth toasted bun spilled over with leafy green lettuce and thick slices of the bright red, home-grown tomatoes Shelly had gotten used to since arriving in Colts Run Cross.

Not surprisingly, her appetite sprang to life. Halfway through the burger, she let her gaze scan the row of men and women seated at the bar. A tall, lanky man on the end was staring back at her.

He was in his late twenties, she’d guess, with light brown hair that crawled into his shirt collar. No visible tattoos, but his nose had a slight crook to it as if it had been broken and not reset properly. Still, he was cute enough in a rugged sort of way.

When their gazes locked, he tipped his beer in her direction as if they might have met before. He was probably just one of the locals she’d crossed paths with over the past few days. Still, a wary tremble of foreboding slithered up her spine. She couldn’t afford to have someone from her distant past show up and recognize her as shy little Ann Clark from Biloxi, Mississippi.

But he’d seemingly forgotten her now and was flirting with a young woman who’d just sidled in beside him at the bar. Shelly pushed the rest of the burger away. “Do you mind if we go now, Matt? My arm is starting to throb a bit.”

“No problem.” He motioned to the waitress for their check.

“Do you know what time Lenora is picking me up tomorrow?” Shelly asked. “I’d like to be packed and ready to go when she arrives.”

Matt propped his elbows on the table and leaned in closer. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight change in plans.”

Her guard went up. “What kind of change?”

“I’m going to give this to you straight, Shelly. My brothers and I aren’t totally convinced you’ve been on the up and up with us.”

Acid trickled and burned along the lining of her stomach. If she handled this wrong, the whole assignment could go up in smoke. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Just that the kind of random violence we saw today has been previously unheard of in Colts Run Cross.”

“So you think that he had to be targeting me?”

“That makes more sense.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Matt, but I don’t have those kind of enemies. And if I did know who’d shot at me, why on earth would I lie about it?”

“You tell me.”

She feigned an indignant expression and straightened her back and shoulders. “What difference does it make what I say if you think I’m a liar?”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Having you checked out by a private investigator is just a reasonable precaution. It’s not personal.”

“Really? It sounds extremely personal to me.” But it was not a problem for her. You go for it, Matt Collingsworth. Check all you want. The CIA has me covered.

“In all likelihood, we’re only talking a couple of days here,” Matt said. “I’ll cover your expenses at the motel or, if you’d prefer, I can drive you into Houston and book you a room in a more luxurious hotel.”

Why not? Money was no object for the Collingsworths.

“The motel’s fine. I can wait around there until you decide if I pass muster,” she said, “as long as it doesn’t take too long.” She stood to go, grabbing her handbag from the back of her chair and slinging it over her shoulder.

“There is one more thing,” Matt said.

“Let me guess. You want me to stay handcuffed to the bed in the motel until you’re sure I’m not luring evil into your quaint little Texas town.”

He smiled again, a kind of taunting, half smile that tightened her chest. Not attraction, she told herself. She had that totally under control.

“Handcuffs sound interesting,” Matt said, “but I was thinking of something a little less dramatic.”

“Such as?”

“Until we know why someone tried to kill you today, I don’t think you should stay alone.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. I’m staying with you.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. A man like Matt Collingsworth didn’t put himself out for a prospective employee whom he suspected might be a blatant liar. But then she wouldn’t have expected one of the richest men in Texas to be sitting across from her tonight in a Texas roadhouse, either.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“On the off chance that the guy who shot you today was looking to kill you specifically, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“And you’re planning to serve as my bodyguard?”

“Why not? I’ve never gone up against a killer before, but I’ve handled some bulls that were looking to leave my kidneys scattered over the rodeo ring.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Actually, it is. Family tradition, the cowboy code and all that. A real man never walks away from a woman in danger, even one with a loaded Smith & Wesson in her possession.”

He’d walk away fast enough if he knew she was CIA—here to put him and his family away for life. But he didn’t know, and for now, it would apparently be only her and Matt in a slightly shady motel on the edge of town. Breathing the same stale air stirred by the whirring ceiling fan and overworked air conditioner. Perhaps close enough she’d hear the rustle of sheets when he shifted positions.

She should be thanking her lucky stars for this entrée into the inner sanctum of the world she’d come to infiltrate. But only one word came to mind and it seemed to be shouting inside her head and echoing through every cell of her body.

Help!