Scared? Whos scared? If I seemed upset, maybe you should have called first.
Right. Give you time to roll out the welcome mat. His passenger laughed.
The driver rubbed his brow where the scars from his accident should have been. Then he took another sip from the flask. Not too much. He didnt want to alarm his passenger by acting any more nervous than he had to. Slowly he dropped his hand back to the seat. He had to focus. He had to concentrate.
No. You didnt want me here, his passenger insisted, again in that hateful, kindly, yet all-knowing tone that the driver loathed.
The moon broke out of the cloud cover, and instantly the driver wished it hadnt. The bloodred globe was huge and obscene and ringed with flame. Strange-looking, crimson-stained clouds scudded beneath it.
Hed never seen anything like it. Was it even real? Or was it just the mad, blistering fury throbbing in his temples that made it seem so ominous? Was he that charged on adrenaline?
No sooner had it appeared, than the livid moon vanished, leaving the night blacker than pitch again.
His lips felt dry, as did his throat. Every cell in his being screamed with the need to drain the whole damn flask. But he didnt dare take even the shortest pull. He knew he was close to some fatal edge.
Later he could drink all he wanted.
Later. When it was over. When he felt brave and strongwhen he was safe again. Later he would gloat about tonight, about how smart hed been when hed played this hand. Later he would review his clever revenge plot, too.
Later, after drinks and sex. Lots of sex with a woman who was good at it. Thinking about sex with her, thinking about what she would do to him with her hands and lips, cooled his temper just enough.
Of course I want you here, he lied smoothly, whipping the steering wheel to the right so fast the car skidded and spit gravel. Its just that Ive got a lot on my mind.
Slow down. The voice in the shadowy car was razor sharp now.
All right. The driver slammed on the brakes, and the car spun crazily in the gravel, throwing them toward the dash, before it stopped.
Where the hell are we? his passenger demanded.
The Double Crown Ranch.
I dont believe you. Wheres the house?
Over there. He pointed. See the light? Just through the trees.
The juniper and oak were a solid mass of darkness. Still, a faint glow of silver had been visible seconds before.
What are you trying to pull this time?
He dug under the floor mat. Grabbing the big automatic, he pointed it at the other mans belly. Shut up and get out of the car!
What?
Now!
I want to talk to Ryan Fortune.
All in good time.
I came here to help you. I told people where I was going and whom I was coming to see.
Sure you did.
The driver was smiling and yanking out the keys and opening his own door all at the same time. The other man lunged, grabbing the hand that held the gun.
Bastard! The driver threw him off and catapulted out of the car onto the sharp, limestone rocks. Vaguely he was aware of cicadas singing in the trees, aware too of the warm, sultry, summer heat.
The other man sprang on top of him and wrapped his wide hands around the wrist that held the gun and squeezed. Still, somehow the driver managed to lift the automatic and smash it onto his assailants brow.
The other man collapsed, blood pouring down his face. His body sagged to the ground as limply as a heavy bag of feed.
The driver bent over him. Always acting nice when all youve ever wanted was to destroy me.
II came here to help you.
Holding the gun close to his assailants head, the driver smiled. Thanks. He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice.
And then again, just to make sure. He shot him right between the eyes the last time, eyes that were soft and pleading and almost the same color as his own.
The other man lay where hed fallen, soundless, still. The driver rolled away from the body to avoid the awful rush of blood that flowed from the back of his head and drenched the hard, dry earth.
Slowly the killer pulled himself to his feet. Funny, how the suffocating night smelled sweet and woodsy again. Funny, how the cicadas never let up. Summer bugs. How he loved summer bugs.
Suddenly he felt light-headed, dizzy. A strange weakness in his muscles made him fall to his knees again. Shock? Revulsion?
In the next moment his stomach heaved, and he threw up all over his expensive shirt and slacks. For a long moment he was too weak to stand.
Visions of the dead man when hed been a boy bombarded his mind. He remembered the cool, bright day theyd learned to ride bikes together. He never would have gotten the hang of it if the dead man hadnt encouraged him.
Dont think about the past.
His mind raced. He had to get out of here.
But the body
He couldnt leave the body at the Double Crown Ranch. He had to dump it somewhere.
Where? Where? His mind raced in panic-stricken circles.
He grabbed his flask out of the car and drained the last of the vodka. He threw it down. Then he picked it up and tossed it into the car.
Lake Mondo, he thought dully. Water destroyed evidence. Hed wash himself off there, too, before any body saw him.
His heart was thundering in his chest and throat as he got up, still weaving drunkenly. When he caught his breath, he grabbed the body by the legs and began tugging it over the rocks toward the trunk of his car.
When a band of coyotes began to yelp, the driver laughed out loud along with them, and once he started hooting, he couldnt stop, even after the coyotes did.
Suddenly he was aware of a listening, knowing presence. He stopped laughing and stared at the dark trees that surrounded him.
If thered been a light in the trees, it had damn sure gone out now. Whoever or whatever had been there couldnt have seen much.
He threw the body in the trunk, inspected the ground with a flashlight and then drove off in a hurry, little caring that his tires spun gravel. The stench of fresh vomit was so powerful he had to roll all the windows down to keep from gagging.
There was no one to stop him now. Now he could focus on his clever plan to topple that self-serving, arrogant bastard, Ryan Fortune, who saw himself as the king of Texas.
One
Austin, Texas
W hy do people visit graves when theres nobody here?
Amy Burke-Sinclairs long, slim fingers involuntarily knotted around the steering wheel of her Toyota Camry.
Lush green lawns peppered with neat tombstones stretched into the hazy distance as Amy followed the familiar, narrow lane that wound through cedar and oak. At this early hour the sun that could be brutal by midday was no more than a soft orange ball peeping timidly above the horizon, sending long, purple shadows across this perfectly manicured, emerald patch of earth.
Not that its sleeping inhabitants knew or cared.
Not that Lexie cared.
Amy imagined Lexies gray face inside her casket and flinched. Again her hands tightened as she fought for some happier image.
She saw Lexie galloping beside her on her colt, Smoky, her red hair flying behind her as she leaned forward. She saw her slow dancing in skintight jeans with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other on the deck of her parents lake house that last night.
Amy swallowed a deep, ragged breath. As always, memories of Lexie alive brought even more guilt than thoughts of her in her grave.
Amy hadnt seen any other cars or even pedestrians in the cemetery. Which was good. She couldnt have endured another accidental meeting with Robert Vale, Lexies father.
Last year theyd come at the same time. Hed seen her and walked over to her car, stiffly handsome in a pressed black suit. Hed smiled, but his silver eyes hadnt.
Im sorry, shed said, unable to look at him. So sorry.
The hell you are. Ill call and tell your mother I saw you here. Then youll be sorry.
Please
Robert Vale had given her a single, killing glance before hed stridden over to his own car and started it. Hed called her mother, and her mother had called her.
Why cant you just do as youre told? shed said. Just stay away from that grave. How difficult is that?
II didnt even get out of my car.
Thats something I suppose.
Rebellion at her mothers criticism had flared briefly inside Amy. Then her mother had said, Dear, youve got to let this go.
Eight years. Today all Amy felt was numbness and coldness. She was like a robot instead of grief-stricken as she should be. Never once since the accident had she shed a single tear.
She didnt think she ever would. It was as if something in her had died that wild night eight years ago. And yet she hadnt died. Lexie had.
Shed been the lucky one.
When Amy reached the gate to Lexies grave, she braked. Rolling down the windows, she gave a long, hollow sigh. Her heart ached. A minute passed before her shaky fingers managed to touch the icy keys. With an effort she forced herself to cut the engine.
Instantly the air felt dense and close. The cars interior warmed up fast as the awful stillness of the cemetery wrapped around her.
Amy, who was an events planner, had back-to-back meetings all day. The powerful, demanding man whose account she was representing right now had an incredibly active personal life and career. Sometimes she felt as if she was his number-one gopher.
She twisted a strand of her long, blond hair around a fingertip. Being busy and keeping herself surrounded with people were her drugs of choice. Constant work and constant people kept the real demons at bayat least, most of the time. Her number-one client called her night and day. That was a good thing.
On nights when she hadnt pushed herself to the point of exhaustion, her demons attacked her full force. Sometimes she saw Lexies face in a deep pool of water with her red hair flowing all around her. Sometimes she heard Lexies laughter. Sometimes she dreamed she was riding endlessly over dark water, calling Lexies name.
As she had so many times in the past, Amy tried to pray. She squeezed her eyes shut, but her heart felt too numb. Instead of forming coherent thoughts, her mind went blank.
God, please hear my silent cry, she finally whispered in despair as her hopelessness consumed her.
Opening her eyes, Amy caught the funereal scent of roses. She sighed again and let go of her hair. Eight lush, velvety red blossoms wrapped in pink tissue lay on the leather seat beside her cell phone. The flowers had been expensive. Shed meant to give them to Lexie. This time shed really meant to get out and walk up to her grave.
She still meant to, only when she leaned across the seat and lifted the bouquet, a thorn pricked her through the tissue paper. Then just as she touched the door handle, her cell phone rang. She picked it up.
She tensed when she read Carole Burke in vivid blue.
Mother.
Amy frowned and set the phone back down. When it finally stopped ringing, she touched the door handle. Again her hand froze, just as it always did, and her throat went tight and scratchy.
Folding her hands in her lap, she just sat there for several more minutes and endured the silence and the heat that intensified the sickly fragrance of the roses, until finally she tossed them onto the backseat. They would wilt and turn black before she noticed them again.
As she started the Camry, she was almost glad about the long, stressful day ahead of her, almost glad she was going out to dinner tonight with Betsy. At least she wouldnt be home alone on this night of all nights, her thirtieth birthday.
Thirty. She was thirty.
Eight years ago Lexie had given her a wild birthday party on Lake Mondo. Amy hadnt had another birthday party since. She never even let her parents bake her a cake.
Even so, she had to go out tonight, not to celebrate, but to avoid her mothers calls, to avoid the empty walls of her apartment and the awful silence, as well. And the dreams. She couldnt face her dreams.
Thirty. She was thirty.
She was aliveand yet in some ways, she felt less alive than Lexie.
Damn! Steve Fortune knew he wasnt much of a cook. Hell, he was supposed to be the owner of this establishment, not the cook. Try telling that to Amos, who hadnt shown up on the busiest night of the week.
Steves left forefinger throbbed where hed just burned it frying hamburger patties. He needed a beerfastto soothe his frayed nerves.
It was ladies night at the Shiny Pony Bar and Grill on Sixth Street in Austin, Texas, and so, as usual, his trendy bar was jammed with beautiful women seeking cheap booze and the admiration of urban cowboys who showed up to amuse them.
Men like me, he thought cynically. Steve was thirty-six, too old for this sort of mating game. Too smart, too. After all, he was the smart triplet. At least, thats the story he tried to sell his brothers.
The girls with their long, satiny hair and their slim hips encased in skintight jeans looked young as they stood at the sturdy wooden bar beside all the liquor and fancy glasses that were stacked sky high. Hell, these girls looked way too young and naive for what he had in mind.
Madison.
Why the hell had Madison chosen to show up this morning on Cabots arm when they met to sign the formal papers? Shed had that wounded look in her eyes that carved out his heart and made Steve wonder if Cabot was taking care of her.
Shes not your responsibility anymore.
Sucking on his blistered finger, Steve sank into an out-of-the-way booth where he could watch the action in the shadow-filled room charged with an overload of testosterone and estrogen. The dark lighting, high ceilings, huge beams and scuffed, wood floors made for a cozy, casual atmosphere.
He should have fired Amos for being late again. It was the third time in thirty days. But Steve had been desperate to have a night off, so hed merely nodded when Amos had finally shown up. Hed ripped off his grease-spattered apron and tossed it at the redheaded kid with too many piercings. Then Amos had mouthed the usual apologies for oversleeping again. Hell, Steve was a softie when it came to firing people.
Dont make it a habit, Steve had warned, barely holding on to his temper before hed slammed out of the swinging doors of his kitchen.
Steve hated calls on his cell at the end of a long day at his ranch to come pinch hit at the Shiny Pony Bar and Grill. He hated being dependent on irresponsible kids like Amos. He wanted out of the restaurant/bar business. The sooner, the better! Not that the Shiny Pony didnt coin money, but it took management. Hell, he wouldnt have a ranch if it werent for this place. There was big money in a trendy bar, but if Steve wasnt here all the time, his help got creative. Real creative. Either they didnt show or cash, booze and food evaporated into thin air.