Roan swore colorfully, but only inside his mind. Aloud, he prompted in the same quiet, implacable way, And then?
Then? She shrugged, and he saw her scrape her teeth carefully across her swollen lower lip. He left. As she turned back to the sink she drew a breath, and it was the only thing that betrayed her bodys trembling.
He waited a moment, steeling himself. Then asked the question he hated to have to ask: Mary, do you own a gun?
Chapter 3
He waited patiently in the silence while she puttered around the sink, doing what looked to him were totally unnecessary cleaning chores, and it occurred to him only then how out of place this woman looked in that particular kitchen. He hadnt known its former owner, Queenie Schultz, all that well, except to say hello to when hed dropped off Erin or picked her up from her monthly trip to the beauty shop, but he sure did remember her big-toothed smile and big brassy laugh, and the pinkish-tinted platinum blond hair she wore teased up and lacquered into a bouffant the size of a basketball. That, and her short but big-busted shape she liked to squeeze into smocks that were just a wee bit too small, so she always put him in mind of a little strutting pigeon.
Her he could see in this kitchen, with its pink and yellow flowered wallpaper, ruffled curtains, potted sweet potato vine on the windowsill and potholders shaped like kitty-cat faces. Miss Mary Owen didnt fit, like the one kid who hadnt gotten the word it was supposed to be dress-up day, and he wondered if that might account for some of her awkwardness.
He felt a strange desire to reassure herput her at ease. Hed almost forgotten the question hed asked, when she gave him the answer he didnt want to hear.
Yes, I do own a gun. She threw him a quick defiant look over one shoulder. I have a license for it, too, in case youre wondering. Then she turned and leaned against the sink and folded her arms with an air of weary acceptance as if answering his questions was an unpleasant task shed decided to get over with as quickly as possible. I got it several years ago. For protection, since I live alone, and I often work late.
Mind if I ask what kind it is?
Its a Ladysmith, she replied without hesitation. Thirty-eight caliber.
Again, it wasnt the answer hed hoped for. He lifted his eyebrows. Thats a lot of gun for a woman. Know how to use it?
Her lips flirted with a smile that made him aware of how hed sounded-like a bad John Wayne imitation. Yes, Sheriff, I do. I practice at a firing range at least once a month.
So youre a pretty good shot?
Watching him, she hitched one shoulder in a wary shrug. I usually hit what Im aiming at.
How longs it been since you went shooting?
Behind the ugly glasses he saw her eyes kindle again as she countered softly, I went this last weekend.
Convenient alibi, Roan thought, in case a weapon turns out to have been fired recently.
Wheres the gun now? Mind if I take a look at it? He asked it in a friendly way, smiling. Take it with me, run a few tests on it?
The smile she gave him back was a lot less friendly than his. Dont you need a warrant for that?
I do if you make me get one, Roan said, still showing his teeth, or, you could agree to give me the gun of your own free will. Save us both some unpleasantness.
While he waited for her reply, it struck him that it was an odd sort of conversation to be having with a murder suspect. More like a verbal fencing match than an interrogation-rapid and light in tone, almost playful, but with an underlying tenseness, each of them concentrating with laser-like focus on the other, both of them warypoised to thrust or parry for real at an instants notice.
Excitement raced through him as she lifted her chin and threw at him in direct challenge, I couldbut youd have to tell me why you want it.
The tension rose again to a screaming pitch while he pondered his optionswhile he wondered what kind of a lawman he was to be playing this kind of game with a suspect in a murder investigation. Finally, he drawled, Oh, I think you know why.
She sighed and her lips curled, but not with a smile this time. You think I shot Jason Holbrook with it.
Did you?
No. It was a quiet but vehement explosion.
Roan narrowed his eyes. He wasnt conscious of movement, but the distance between himself and the woman seemed to shrink. But didnt you say you got the gun for protection because you work lateprotection, Im assuming, against just the sort of thing that happened to you last night?
She stared at him and didnt answerdidnt confirm it, or deny it, either. But he could see shadows of what might have been fear or pain, or maybe both, flit across her eyes.
So, if you didnt use the gun last night when Jason attacked you, he went on, scratching his chin in a puzzled way, my question would be, why not? It would make sense to me if you had shot him-might even be considered self-defense. He knew damn well it hadnt been, but handed it to her like a gift, just to see what shed do with it.
Again she didnt bite, just looked at him with eyes green and deep as the sea and quietly said, Do I need a lawyer?
He folded his arms and gave her an ambiguous little nod. Not if your gun checks out.
Again she didnt bite, just looked at him with eyes green and deep as the sea and quietly said, Do I need a lawyer?
He folded his arms and gave her an ambiguous little nod. Not if your gun checks out.
She let out a breath, then pushed abruptly away from the sinkstalked across the darkened living room with a long and panther-like stride. And as he picked up his hat and hurriedly followed, Roan was conscious once more of the womans unexpected grace. And something else. Something he couldnt put his finger on, but that stirred up a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. Something about that walk
When he caught up with her she was pulling out her purse from underneath a small table beside the front door. His stomach lurched when she opened it and took out a slim, lethal-looking handgun, but she merely handed it over to him, butt first.
Id like it back as soon as possible, she said, and this time there was no mistaking the flicker of fear in her eyes.
SoI guess maybe she wasnt lying when she said she needed this thing for protection, Roan thought as he carefully wrapped the weapon in his handkerchief. The lady was definitely afraid of something-or someone. Not for the first time, he wondered where shed come from and what she was doing here, a couple of hundred miles from nowhere, and if it was the usual domestic abuse thing she was running from, or something more sinister.
One thing for sure, he was going to be running a check on Miss Mary Owen the minute he got back to the shop. Maybe hed call in from his vehicle, get the ball rolling even before that.
I guess youll be wanting something with my DNA.
He looked up and found her gazing at him, head held high and bruised jaw set at a proud angle, eyes fathomless now, behind the glasses. Since he was juggling his hat and the gun, about all Roan could do was nod. He was doing that, getting ready to say the usual things hed say to a viable suspect he wasnt quite ready to arrest yet, when he came close to dropping everything in his hands and just about jumped out of his skin.
Something brushed across the back of his legs.
He did a clumsy sort of pivot, swearing under his breath, adrenaline hitting him like a blast of buckshot. Then, with an embarrassed snort, he bent and scooped up the big orange tomcat busily doing figure eights around his ankles. Jeez, cat, he muttered, you damn near scared me out of my growth. The animals only reply was a raspy purr as he butted his big head up underneath Roans chin hard enough to make him see stars.
He lifted his eyebrows and shifted his gaze back to Mary Owen. This monster belong to you?
But she seemed to be in some sort of trance, staring at the cat as if it had just sprung full-grown from his chest, like an alien birth. Roan had to repeat her name twice before she twitched her eyes back to his and words came gasping out of her already open mouth.
No-I mean, yes-buthes Queenies-he came with the house. But hes never let me get near him, much less pick him up. What on earth did you do?
Cats are funny about who they decide to like, Roan said, and the cats purring was so loud and ratchety he had to raise his voice to make himself heard over it. He chuckled as he gave the cat a good scratch along the edge of his jaw and the purring rose to a snarl of pure ecstasy. Hes sure a big ol boy-seems friendly enough now. Here, maybe hell-
He was about to hand the cat over to her when the beast lunged out of his grasp and, hissing and spitting, vaulted off Marys unprepared arms and hit the floor with a heavy thud. From there he surged upward in one fluid leap to the back of the sofa where he crouched, eyes round and glowing, fur rippling, tail twitching, growls coming from low in his chest.
Well, now you see what I mean, Mary said as she gazed dispassionately at the bleeding scratches on her forearm. She reached into the pocket of her smock, pulled out a crumpled tissue, pressed it against the scratches and handed it to him. That should do it for DNA. If not, you know where to find me.
She groped for the doorknob, her jerky movements telling him she didnt have it together as well as she wanted him to believe. If theres nothing else, Sheriff She hitched in a breath as she pulled the door open and held it, gazing at him and waiting.
It was too dark for him to see the color of her eyes, but hed have bet theyd gone that fiery greeny-gold again.
Thinking about that, remembering those eyes and that curiously electric fire, he felt a stirring on his skin, as if something had flown close enough over it to disturb the fine hairs there.
And then he thought of an old horse trainer hed once known, a member of the Blackfoot tribe, whod told him about spirit power, and how he must listen to the messages given him in dreams by the spirit animals, which might be a bird or a wolf, or even a buffalo. And that he must obey them, because one day when he needed help he could call on the spirit animal and be answered. Why he should remember this now he couldnt imagine, but that stirring across his skin did seem to him like a warning of some kindcall it instinct, call it a gut feeling, but something was telling him that something about this lady wasnt right.