“What woman?”
“One of your old girlfriends.”
“Lauren Shellinger moved shortly after we did. I checked when I first came to town. She’s the only one I’d feel comfortable asking. You wouldn’t allow me to keep in contact with any of my friends, remember?”
“The therapist said to make a clean break.”
So much for that. Now she was back in Whiterock, and nothing had changed. Even her attraction to trouble.
“I’ll bet Pastor Wayne would offer you a room,” her mother said. “We still exchange Christmas cards every year.”
Pastor Wayne was probably the one who’d wind up telling her mother that she’d lost her virginity to Cain at sixteen. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mom. Wish Leanne luck with the baby.”
“I will.”
“What a scare you gave us,” her father muttered.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay, honey.”
Her mother spoke again. “We’ll call you when Leanne goes into labor.”
“I’d appreciate that. Love you both,” she said and disconnected. Then she sat in silence, wondering how she was going to find someone who’d already gotten away with murder and eluded detection for twelve years. Especially when she wasn’t strong enough to get around on her own.
Had she overestimated what she’d learned about police work at The Last Stand?
Doubt was as big an enemy as fear. She had to do what she could—figure out some way to bring the culprit out in the open. She owed it to Jason, to Cain, to herself.
“Are you coming back?” she called.
Cain made no response. Careful not to fall, she moved into the living room, where she found him standing to one side of the window, peering through the blinds.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Someone’s here.”
“Why aren’t the dogs barking?”
“That’s what I want to know,” he said. Then he went to his room and brought back a rifle.
Amy had dog biscuits in her pocket, but she didn’t need them. As far as she could tell, Cain’s hounds weren’t in their pen. Which was good. Before Sheridan was attacked, Cain hadn’t been particularly quick to come running every time the dogs barked. There were too many coons, skunks and possums in the area for that. But he was apt to be more vigilant now.
The constant jealousy Amy lived with jabbed her sharply as she thought about Cain looking after Sheridan so conscientiously. Mary Martinez had mentioned just this morning that Cain had told her he was taking a week off, so she’d have to take her cat to Peter Smoot.
Cain never took time off because his job wasn’t like a regular job. It was his life. He did what he loved, what he’d do even if he wasn’t getting paid for it. But for Sheridan, apparently, he’d stop the earth from spinning.
Grinding her teeth, Amy crept up to the back of the house, then around to the side to squint through the window into Cain’s bedroom. His neighbors lived so far away he rarely bothered to lower his blinds. He’d come into his room, peel off his shirt and jeans, flop onto the bed in his boxers and turn on the TV. She loved catching him in those unguarded moments. Somehow it was enough just to watch him.
But he wasn’t in his room tonight. The light spilling in from the hallway illuminated an empty bed.
Amy was creeping past the deck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sheridan or Cain through the kitchen windows, when she heard the rattle of a chain-link fence—and froze.
Was it the dogs? She didn’t think so. She didn’t hear so much as an accompanying whimper. But she couldn’t see them inside the house, either. What was going on?
Planning to check their pen, she came around the corner—and ran right into Cain. With a yelp of surprise, she jumped back. She would’ve darted away but he’d already seen her.
“What’re you doing here?” he growled.
Calling up every ounce of nerve she possessed, she straightened her police uniform, which she’d donned for just such an eventuality. “Making sure the man who attacked Sheridan isn’t paying you a return visit. What do you think? Jeez, you scared the shit out of me, Cain.”
He hesitated, seemed to consider her response. “So you didn’t shoot the dogs?”
“Shoot the dogs?” she echoed, shock in her voice.
“Someone put them to sleep, and I’m guessing it was with my own tranquilizer gun. There aren’t a lot of those around.”
“They’re not dead—”
“No.”
“Why would anyone want to put them to sleep?”
Cain was no longer looking at her. His eyes were scanning the darkness around them, checking the shadows, the trees. “To take them out of the equation. The real question is why whoever it was didn’t just shoot them and be done with it.”
“Maybe we’re dealing with an animal lover.”
“More likely we’re dealing with someone who knows a tranq gun is quieter. Whoever it was didn’t want to alert me too soon.”
There was a loud crack, then something whizzed past Cain and struck the side of his cabin with a thwap. Amy knew instantly that it was a bullet, but she didn’t have time to check. Cain jerked her down and pulled her over against the shed, where they had some cover. “We have company. Do you have your gun?”
“Y-yes.” Amy had her police-issue firearm. After what’d happened to Sheridan, she wasn’t about to go skulking through the woods without it. But she’d never dreamed she’d actually have to use it. She’d been on the police force for six years and hadn’t fired it once—except at paper targets hammered to a post in her brother’s yard.
Rustling in the trees made Amy’s heart skip a beat. There really was someone out there, trying to kill them.
“I’m going to flush him out,” Cain murmured. “You go inside and stay with Sheridan. Don’t let anyone get in. And keep low to the ground.”
Amy nodded, but she had no intention of protecting Sheridan. Despite the adrenaline that made her legs as unreliable as if she’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey, she managed to stay on her feet as she headed around the front as Cain expected. Then, when he plunged into the foliage, she hurried around the dogs’ pen instead. Moving close to the fence, she could see their inert bodies, which sent another chill down her spine.
Her car was parked about a mile away by road, near the Matherleys’ cabin. She cut across state land, already planning what she’d say if Cain caught her. She’d tell him she’d left her keys in the car and was afraid the gunman might get away in it. Why should she huddle in the cabin with his real target? The sooner someone shot Sheridan, the better.