Cowboy Commando

She knew from what Merlee had told her that he’d taken two bullets in that leg. She wondered if the stress she was causing him was making the wounds ache. She hoped not, but it couldn’t be helped.

“You’re not making a lot of sense, Linney. If there’s a beginning to this story, I suggest you start there.”

The beginning? Linney had no clue how far back the roots of the murder actually extended, but her first suspicion about Dane Colley went back to the day she’d met Amy. It had been the faculty’s first day of school last September. The fading bruise on Amy’s right cheek had caught Linney’s attention during the principal’s introduction of new staff members.

It had brought back bitter memories of the one and only time Alfred had slugged her. She’d packed her bags that night, left his overpriced, gaudily grandiose mansion in River Oaks and never returned.

The punch had done what years of unhappiness and feeling like the pseudo-princess of a bogus furniture kingdom couldn’t. It had knocked some sense into her and freed her to file for divorce.

Linney hadn’t asked Amy about her bruise that day, but she had asked her about several subsequent ones over the next few months as she and Amy developed a friendship. Amy had always made flimsy excuses—until last week.

“Are you going to talk or not?”

The impatience in Cutter’s voice pushed Linney to find a place to begin. “Amy and I both work at the Green’s Harbor Kindergarten and Early Learning Center,” she said, deciding basic background was all he really needed to know. “I’m a teacher. Amy’s a paraprofessional.”

“When did you start teaching?”

“Two years ago, right after I left Al. This was Amy’s first year and she’s come to work with bruises on her face and arms too many times to count.”

“Did she say her husband had caused them?”

“No. I think she was too embarrassed to admit it. She always came up with some ridiculous story about falling over a rake in the garden or walking into an open door.”

“Yet you seem sure he’s to blame?”

All too sure. Linney took a sip of the beer. “Amy called me last Thursday and asked me to meet her at the café on Bay Drive for coffee. It was the first time I’d heard from her since school had let out three weeks earlier for summer vacation and I was really looking forward to seeing her.”

“What happened?”

“When I arrived, she was already sitting at one of the outside tables near the water. The first thing I saw when she looked up was a violently purple bruise and a ball of swollen flesh beneath her right eye. That time when I asked her about it, she admitted that Dane had punched her.”

“Did she say why?”

“Does it matter why?”

“Call me curious.”

“He’d tried to reach her on her cell phone and couldn’t.”

“Sounds brutal.”

“It sounds criminal,” Linney said, “because it is. Amy told me she was afraid of him. She’d made up her mind to leave him, even though he’d threatened to kill her if she ever tried it.”

If Linney had suspected for a second what was going to follow, she’d have begged Amy to run away that very day. But who could foresee murder?

“And this was last Thursday before Amy Colley drowned on Friday?”

“Right. Dane must have found out she was leaving and made good on his threat.”

“That’s a big assumption, Linney.”

“Men kill their wives. I hear about cases like that all the time on those TV crime documentaries. And those are just the ones who get caught.”

“Maybe so, but thousands of women leave abusive husbands every year. Very few of those husbands resort to murder.”

“Then I guess Dane’s the exception.”

“Have you seen him since Amy’s death?”

“I saw him at Amy’s funeral, but didn’t get a chance to speak to him.”

“When was that?”

“Two days ago, on Monday afternoon.”

“The same day you went to the police.”

“Right. I attended the funeral with several of the other teachers from the school and more than one commented that Dane didn’t look like a man bereft because he’d just lost his wife. He didn’t shed a single tear. That added a lot of fuel to my suspicions.”

“You can’t accuse a man of murder based on the flow of his tears, or the lack thereof.”

“I’m not basing my accusation on any one thing. But when you put it all together, it’s obvious that the drowning was no accident.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I’d agree that the drowning raises a few questions. What I don’t see is how you think being arrested for kidnapping is going to improve the situation.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Almost anything is better than that, unless you’re ready to go to jail to prove your point.”

“Dane killed Amy,” Linney said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t get away with it. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

“All I understand is that you are in big trouble, Linney. How long have you had Julie?”

“Since four-thirty.”

Dane checked his watch. “It’s after eight now. I can’t believe Dane hasn’t tried to get in touch with you.”

“He doesn’t have my cell-phone number, and I haven’t been back to my house.”

“He’s a cop. He could get your number.”

“Then I don’t know why he hasn’t called. Maybe he’s just glad not to have his daughter around.”

“More likely, every cop in this part of Texas is out looking for you.”

Cutter reached over and laid his hands on top of hers. The touch was casual, almost incidental, yet it affected her in a way she hadn’t expected. It was as if his strength and support made her feel more vulnerable.

She was swimming in dangerous waters, not only in the situation with Julie but in her own conflicted emotions regarding Cutter. She wasn’t the naive, gullible, nineteen-year-old coed she’d been six years ago. She didn’t need another relationship on a fast track to nowhere—no matter how hot and thrilling their brief fling had been.