The Cowgirl in Question Part 18

He carefully folded the note and put it in his shirt pocket. "I'll take this note to Cash. Maybe you shouldn't go home tonight."

"I'll be fine."

"I don't like the idea of you staying at your place alone tonight."

What was he suggesting? Whatever it was, it was with obvious hesitation.

"Why don't you come with me?" he suggested, not sounding thrilled by the idea. "I'm staying out at the family cabin on the lake. There are two bedrooms but I don't use either-"

"Don't be ridiculous. It was just a silly note. Like you said, whoever is doing this isn't serious." There was no way she was going to his cabin. She'd promised herself she wouldn't fall for Rourke all over again. Ultimately, he would break her heart. Look how he kept defending Blaze. No matter what he said, he wasn't over her. And Ca.s.sidy wasn't going to let the two of them break her heart again.

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself," she said. "Anyway," she added, glancing toward Antelope Development Corporation, "I have a pretty good idea who is behind this."

"You aren't suggesting that this is Blaze's doing?"

"No, I'm not suggesting. I'm telling you this has Blaze's style written all over it," Ca.s.sidy snapped. She felt her temper rise, angry at Blaze, at him. "You still have illusions about her." Ca.s.sidy shook her head and looked away, wanting to shake him. "Men." She got in and started her car.

He hadn't moved. He seemed unsure what to do next. He motioned for her to roll down her window.

She sighed and did, telling herself she was d.a.m.ned glad the kiss hadn't gone any further than it had. The man was an idiot. Why had she thought, when Rourke got out of prison, he might have matured, might finally see Blaze for what she was?

"Here's my cell-phone number in case you need me." He reached in and plucked the pen and pad from her uniform pocket and scribbled down his number. He handed the pen and pad back to her. "Be careful."

"Good night, Rourke," she said. "When you see Blaze, tell her to b.u.t.t out of my life. I'll do anything I d.a.m.ned well please-including helping you." She drove off before he could say anything more. Probably because she had the feeling he was going to tell her he didn't want her help anymore.

When she glanced back in the rearview mirror, he was still standing there, looking after her. She thought of the kiss. It had been so tender, so... Her body demanded to know why she hadn't taken Rourke up on his offer.

Maybe he really was just offering you his bedroom. Or maybe he was offering you a night of pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. Good thing you aren't the kind of girl who is interested in a one-night stand.

Right.

"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE touched it," Cash said as he bent over the piece of plain white paper and dusted it for prints.

"I wasn't thinking," Rourke said, and realized he'd been too upset both times he'd found the notes. This time, he'd been too shaken by the kiss.

Cash looked up at Rourke as if to say, when are you ever thinking? when are you ever thinking?

He paced as he watched Cash dust the paper and check it against his own prints, which of course were on file. "Well?"

"It appears there is only one set of prints on the note, yours. The paper is white copier paper, the most common paper around."

"What about the handwriting?"

Cash shook his head. "Obviously disguised. Could have been written by a right-handed person using his left hand."

Rourke let out a sigh. "But it proves that I'm on to something."

Cash shook his head. "It proves someone doesn't want you bringing all this back up."

"Someone put a live rattler in a burlap bag behind my pickup seat my first day back in town," Rourke said.

Cash looked startled, then upset. "Dammit, Rourke, this is exactly what I was afraid of."

"Who do we know who sells rattlers?"

Cash chewed at his cheek for a moment. "Cecil Danvers for one."

"Easton Wells used to have a fondness for snakes," Rourke said.

"Have you seen him since you've been back?"

"No, but I'm thinking about paying him a visit."

Cash shook his head but saved his breath.

"Forrest had a wad of cash on him that night at the bar," Rourke said. He'd forgotten all about it until he'd talked to Kelly.

"It wasn't on him when he was found dead," Cash said.

"Exactly. And you didn't find it on me. So if he had it when he left the bar but didn't when he was found, then the killer had to have taken it."

Cash nodded. "You're wondering where he got it and if anyone was a little richer after his murder."

"You know me so well," Rourke said with a grin.

"Sorry, bro. I have no idea what happened to the money. Nor did the state guys come up with anything. As for after his murder-" Cash was shaking his head "-there was a lot going on around here, but I don't remember anyone flashing any money around. Would have been a fool to."

Rourke knew he was just grasping at straws, but now that Ca.s.sidy was getting the notes, he felt pressure to find the killer before the threats possibly escalated.

Cash sighed and looked at his watch. "It's late. Why don't you let me talk to Cecil and Easton about the rattlesnake tomorrow?"

Rourke stood to leave. "No, I'd rather not let them know that I'm suspicious of them at this point. Easton used to be my best friend. We'll run into each other sooner or later." He didn't mention to Cash that he'd had him investigated and come up with something interesting. Cash would find out soon enough. The whole town would.

Ca.s.sIDY WAS SURPRISED by how exhausted she felt. She didn't even bother to turn on a light as she followed the path of moonlight streaming in the old farmhouse windows to her bedroom.

She couldn't believe how late it was. She shrugged out of her uniform, so tired she just tossed it aside. The blouse landed on the old trunk by the window and fell to the floor.

She stared at it for a moment, then tiredly went to pick it up. The letters. Now, more than ever, she didn't want Rourke finding out about them. She would build a fire in the fireplace and destroy them tonight.

She shoved aside the uniform blouse and opened the trunk. It was nearly full of the carefully addressed envelopes. She picked up one and stumbled back to sit on the edge of her bed. What had she been thinking?

She started to open the envelope. A thud outside the window startled her. She froze as she saw a shape move past, skulking along the side of the house. An instant later, she heard someone jiggle the back doork.n.o.b.

Her heart in her throat, she rose as if sleepwalking and inched her way toward the phone as she heard the lock on the back door break in the sharp splinter of wood.

She hurriedly dialed 9-1-1 and locked the bedroom door. She was surprised when Cash answered the phone instead of the night dispatcher.

"Cash, it's Ca.s.sidy. Someone is breaking into my house."

"Where are you, Ca.s.sidy?"

"In my bedroom at the house."

"Lock the door, push whatever you can against it and the windows, we're on our way."

We're? She could hear someone moving through the house. She hung up and got behind the large bureau and pushed with all her strength. For a moment, it didn't move. She could hear the intruder on the other side of the door, trying the lock. She could hear someone moving through the house. She hung up and got behind the large bureau and pushed with all her strength. For a moment, it didn't move. She could hear the intruder on the other side of the door, trying the lock.

The bureau slid with a lurch. She shoved it across the worn wooden floor to block the doorway, then looked toward the window. It was large and paned. Anyone who wanted to get to her could come through it without any trouble.

She grabbed the mattress off the bed and pulled it over to the window, then did the same with the box spring, standing it up, shutting out the moonlight.

She could hear the intruder trying to break down her bedroom door, angrily slamming against it again and again.

Then silence.

The silence terrified her. Where had he gone? She stood in the middle of the room, then rushed to the trunk and began to shove it toward the window. She stumbled over the mattress and almost fell, hitting her head on the box spring frame. Stars glittered in the darkness and she felt light-headed. She touched her forehead, her fingers coming away wet and sticky with her own blood.

The sound of shattering gla.s.s brought her out of her stupor. She pushed the trunk against the mattress and box spring, then she leaned against it, putting her weight into it, but she could tell it was a losing battle.

He was stronger than she was. She felt the mattress being forced into the room. She could hear his ragged breathing now, smell his sweat.

Then his hand found her hair. She let out a scream as he grabbed a handful of it and said her name.

Chapter Twelve.

As the wail of the siren died off in Ca.s.sidy's yard, Rourke leaped from the patrol car and ran toward the house. He could hear Cash calling after him to wait.

The front door was locked. He ran around to the back.

The first thing he saw was the broken bedroom window and the crushed bush outside. From inside the house, he heard soft sobbing.

"Ca.s.sidy?" It was half call, half cry. He practically dove through the window.

She was slumped on the floor in the shaft of moonlight coming in through the window. She looked up at the sound of his voice. And the next thing he knew, he had her in his arms.

"He would have killed me if the siren hadn't scared him away," she whispered.

"Who?"

"Cecil Danvers."

Rourke held her in his arms, telling himself this was all his fault. He'd gotten her into this. She pressed her face into his chest for a moment, but when she heard Cash at the bedroom door, she stepped away, gathering a strength that he couldn't help but admire.

He shoved the bureau away from the door, unlocked the door and turned on the bedroom light. She stood, hugging herself, looking away from the window. There was a small cut on her forehead, but she was all right, he told himself. But he still wasn't leaving her alone again. He'd take her back to the cabin. He wouldn't let her out of his sight until Forrest's killer was caught.

He'd hesitated earlier because he'd been afraid of what people in town would think, her staying with a known criminal. Now he didn't give a d.a.m.n. And while he was being honest with himself, he'd been afraid to take her to the cabin, unable to trust himself around her, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he hadn't been with anyone in eleven years. He was determined not to hurt her again.

"Are you all right?" Cash asked as he went to Ca.s.sidy.

Rourke stood back, watching the two of them for a moment. Did Ca.s.sidy care for his brother? It was obvious Cash cared for her. But not like a lover. More like a sister. Cash was still hung up on that woman from college.

She was telling Cash that it had been Cecil Danvers. Rourke started to turn away when he spotted something on the floor. A cream-colored envelope. What caught his attention was the name and address on the envelope. Rourke McCall #804376, 700 Conley Lake Road, Deer Lodge State Prison, Deer Lodge, Montana.

He leaned down and picked it up. His gaze shot up to the left-hand corner. The return address was Ca.s.sidy's.

He stared at it in confusion. He'd never received a letter from Ca.s.sidy while he was in prison. Obviously she had never mailed it.

He glanced back toward her and saw the large old trunk she'd pushed up against the mattress and box spring. The lid on the trunk was partially open, an envelope the same color as the one in his hand was sticking out of the opening.

Another letter? He stepped to the trunk and lifted the lid. He caught his breath, never expecting to find the trunk full of letters. Dozens and dozens of them. All addressed to him. All never mailed.

He heard the soft gasp and turned to find Ca.s.sidy staring at him, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with a different kind of fear than what he'd witnessed earlier.

"I didn't mean to pry. It was lying on the floor."

She closed her eyes and nodded.

He stared at her. "What is this?"

Cash glanced at the trunk full of letters.

"I can explain," Ca.s.sidy said.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Cash said to her, then shot Rourke a warning look as he walked out of the bedroom. "I'll call in an APB on Cecil. He couldn't have gone far."

"What are these?" Rourke asked again after Cash was gone.

"Letters." Obviously. "I wrote you every Sunday for eleven years," she said, tears shining like jewels in her eyes.

He was flabbergasted. "Why didn't you mail them?"

She shook her head and looked away. "It's hard to explain." He waited. "I wanted to tell you how I felt. I guess I thought it would make a difference."

He couldn't believe this.