Down and Dead in Dallas, page 9
“But if the jerk is there, I need to be close enough to intercede.”
“I’d rather you not do it by running up Jackson’s tailgate with my Jag, Rose.”
She kept the gap between the Jag and Jackson’s truck what it had been. Barry, Mr. Perini’s sidekick in Dixie, had pushed her and Matthew hard on the driving obstacle course. Rose was more aggressive than Matthew, so Barry had taken her to the proverbial wall in the lessons.
Tall grass lined the lonely stretch of road. Miller’s curve lay just beyond the north-south crossroad. The curve was sharp, a wicked angle. She eased up on the accelerator.
“Black Lexus. Two o’clock!” Matthew’s voice boomed, startling her.
Jackson spotted the danger and accelerated. Rose punched the gas and the Jag took off like a shot. “Martin’s going to ram them!”
“Lord, I hope Caroline doesn’t shoot him,” Matthew said. “Maybe she’ll pop his tires.”
Closing the gap, Rose whipped over, straddled the center line. “If she does shoot him, we are not doing his funeral.” Another half-minute and he’d run Jackson off the road.
“Do something!” Matthew told her.
Rose slammed her foot down on the gas, ran up alongside Martin, and laid on the horn.
Surprised, he jerked left into the other lane. She cut harder, totally into the left lane, and he blocked her. Nosing toward him, she pushed him to let her back into her own lane. He kept pace, adjusting his speed to block her reentry. “Jerk.”
“Car!” Matthew shouted. “Oncoming car!”
The headlights shone right in her eyes. Martin didn’t slow down or back off, still blocking her. She assessed her options. The width of the soft shoulder to her left. She had one choice. Matthew would have a fit, but there was no help for it. She gauged the distance to avoid a T-bone.
“Don’t do it, Rose.” Matthew’s tone proved he’d come to the same conclusion.
“Sorry, babe.” Taking aim, she slammed into Martin’s Lexus.
The Lexus spun then slid into the ditch, rocking on the uneven terrain. Finally, it stopped.
“Perfect. Did you see that? Textbook perfect.” Rose checked her rearview then hit the brakes hard. She backed up and overshot him, then inched up to see inside Martin’s car. “Can you see him? Is he alive?” He should be, if he was wearing his seatbelt, he shouldn’t be injured. Maybe a little head tap on the steering wheel… unless his airbag deployed. But it shouldn’t have.
“Yeah, he’s moving. No airbag.” Matthew rubbed his shoulder. “I think he’s wearing the right side of my car. I told you not to do it, Rose.”
“No choice. There wasn’t another option.” She patted Matthew’s thigh. “Don’t worry. Billy Joe will fix it up in no time.”
Matthew glared at her. “I specifically told you not to intercede with my Jag, Rose Green.”
“I know, honey, but—is Martin out of commission?” She had to get her beloved refocused. The sooner, the better.
He sighed. “I’ll check.” Matthew opened his door and drew a weapon from his back at the waist, then made his way over to the Lexus.
Its engine was off. Headlights still on. Thin ribbons of smoke seeped out from under its hood. Martin sat still, slumped over the steering wheel.
“Hey, jerk. Are you okay?” Matthew asked, approaching the door. “You’ve got some explaining to do, man. Why wouldn’t you let us back into our lane? You trying to kill us?”
No answer. No movement. And no sign of weapons.
“He’s unconscious,” Matthew called to Rose then opened the Lexus’s driver’s door.
Martin Easton sat slumped over the steering wheel. He still didn’t move. His arms hung loose, his hands open. No sign of a gun.
Matthew pressed his fingers to Martin’s throat. “He has a pulse.”
“Should we call 911?” Rose called out from the Jag.
“I’ll handle it.” Matthew rushed back to the car, pulled out his phone, and reported a speeder losing control and hitting the ditch just west of Miller’s curve. He ended the call. “Dispatch is sending someone right out.”
“I guess we should wait.”
“Oh, yeah. We want to verify the man’s either arrested for reckless driving or in an ambulance inbound for the hospital.”
That was their assurance Jackson could get to Sampson Park with Caroline unimpeded. Rose’s phone rang. She checked caller ID. “It’s Jackson.” She answered. “Hello.”
“Don’t you hello me.” Anger shook his voice. “Are you crazy, sis?”
Where’s the gratitude? “He was about to ram you. What did you want me to do? Ask him real nice not to do it?”
“You didn’t have to sideswipe him with Matthew’s Jag. Man, I know he’s having a fit. How bad is she damaged?”
“The Jag will be fine. Minimal damage.”
“Minimal damage?” Matthew’s jaw dropped open. He clamped it shut, seething. He was absolutely livid. She lowered her voice to pull him away from his upset. “I couldn’t let him follow you to the Park, Jackson.” Hopefully, that remark would make both men pause to think. And they claimed women were emotional? She sniffed. Dealing with Jackson and Matthew at the same time could try the soul of a saint.
“You’re not hurt, right?”
The question got her hackles up. “Not at all, and Matthew isn’t either. Thank you so much for asking—after you asked about the condition of the car.” He was as crazy about the Jag as her beloved. “I do know what I’m doing behind the wheel, Jackson.”
“Why didn’t you just shoot out his tires?”
“Well, Jackson, I could have done that. But it would have escalated the risks. He likely would have lost control, and—“
“Forget him, Daisy,” Jackson cut in. “Taking out his tires would have spared the Jag and not risked your life and Matthew’s.”
Daisy? Rose stiffened, but reminded herself her brother was upset. He’d never slip and call her by her old name unless he was terrified. “Rose,” she reminded him and winced. “Tell me Caroline didn’t hear that.”
“Not a worry.”
If she had heard it, she’d probably just taken it as a sisterly endearment. Or so Rose hoped.
“Tell me why you wouldn’t keep a safe distance and shoot out his tires.”
Obviously, he’d been too upset to hear her loss of control rationale. Just as well. She’d prefer another tact. “Because it’d take Billy Joe a week to get a new set. I don’t want Martin Easton nosing around in Even for a week—and neither do you.”
Behind them, sirens pealed and red lights flashed atop two cars. Rose checked the rearview, noted Matthew turned in his seat, looking back over his shoulder. “Police are arriving,” he said.
She repeated that to Jackson. The two vehicles pulled up and parked behind them. The sirens stopped, but the lights continued flashing. A cop car and an ambulance. “Keep going, Jackson. Don’t you even think about coming back here.”
“What’s all that racket?”
“We called 911. Well, Matthew did. It’s their radios.”
“Why did he do that?” Jackson sounded surprised. “Is Martin dead?”
“No. He took a little bump on the head. Just a little one,” she said, hoping that proved right. “But big enough that the cops or the emergency medical team will detain him a while, checking him out. He’ll refuse to go to the hospital, of course.”
“Of course.” Jackson’s tone calmed. He understood the value of the detention. “Thanks, sis.”
Much better. “You’re welcome, brother dear. Now, put some miles between you and Even. Martin’s resourceful, giving Harry’s deputy the slip, and he is determined. That’s not a healthy combination for anyone on the receiving end of his ire, especially Caroline.”
“I will—if you’ll promise me you won’t do anything like ramming his car again. Good grief, Rose. I can’t lose you, too.”
Fear and pain stabbed her and squeezed her heart. Abandoned by their mother, never knowing their father… They’d only ever had each other. Some things even a grown man never forgot or got over. A grown woman, either. She cleared her throat. “Matthew and I were never in any real danger, Jackson. I promise. I just did a textbook maneuver Barry taught us at driving school. That’s all.”
She ignored Matthew’s grunt and his glare.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Jackson said.
“It’s the truth. Wait.” She passed the phone to Matthew. “Tell him.”
“It wasn’t exactly—“ Matthew started.
She cut him off and put a warning in her tone he couldn’t miss. “Do it, Matthew. He’s worrying.”
Matthew took the phone. “Hey, Jackson. She’s telling the truth, and we’re fine. The only casualty is my Jag—which your sister will pay dearly for by cleaning the kitchen every day for the next three months.”
She nodded, grateful it wouldn’t be longer and he’d still cook. Matthew was a chef of the five-star restaurant variety. At least, he had been until the mob bombed Jameson Court, his restaurant in New Orleans. Still, she objected because her beloved expected her to and she didn’t want to disappoint him. “Three whole months?” She grimaced. “That’s harsh, honey.”
He nodded a warning he wasn’t in the mood to negotiate. If she pushed him, she’d lose.
Matthew had reached his limit. Accepting it, she nodded. “All right, then.” It irked her to give in gracefully, but sparing Jackson worry was worth more than the fun of sparring with Matthew. Of course, if she hadn’t eased Jackson’s mind, Matthew would have done it. The men had been best friends since chef school. Knowing Matthew would do anything for her brother took the sting out of her being zapped with three months of kitchen duty just for doing what needed to be done. Family trumped cars in every case. When Matthew got over his snit, he’d agree. His whole life had always been about family. “Three months is reasonable.”
A deputy appeared at the driver’s window. Recognizing him relieved Rose, and she lowered the glass. “Evening, Punch.”
Dean Hester’s younger brother touched the brim of his hat. “Evening Rose. Matthew.” Punch bent low and hung an arm on the window opening. “Y’all all right?”
“We’re fine,” Rose said. “Does that road hog still have a pulse?”
Punch nodded. “And a bad attitude.” He shifted on his feet. “He says you ran him off the road.”
“I was passing and he blocked me in the left lane. There was a car coming and he refused to let me in.” She frowned. “He kept pace, Punch. The road hog tried his best to force us into a head-on collision.”
A muscle ticked in Punch’s jaw and his eyes narrowed, drawing his eyebrows into a pinch above the bridge of his nose. “Well, now. That’s a whole different story than the one he’s telling.” Punch focused on Matthew. “Is that pretty much what happened?”
“Pretty much.”
Punch took down a little more information then got sidetracked. Martin was on his cell phone, refusing medical attention and insisting Even Automotive get him a rental and send a tow-truck to pick up his Lexus.
Good luck with that. Rose bit back a grin. “We free to go?”
“Sure.” Punch shared a longing look warning he’d like to go with them. “You folks did a nice job on Carl Wooten’s funeral, by the way. His widow’s been bragging on the matching flower pots. He’d have been pleased.”
Her blue guest room drapes contribution. Caroline had pulled off a miracle. “Thanks, Punch.”
He dropped his voice, bent deeper into the window. “This hothead in the Lexus is the same Martin who wrecked your garden, right?”
“And my blueberry bushes.” She nodded. “He’s threatening Caroline.”
“Thought so. I like Caroline. From the first time, she remembered just how I like my coffee. Reminds me to eat something other than carbs, too.”
“She’s a wonder,” Rose said. The woman had jumped into Even residents’ lives with both feet.
“Well, no worries. I’ll be hauling him in. Can’t have a road hog endangering lives and wrecking property. Not in Even.” Punch hitched his pants. “Doesn’t much matter, really. Billy Joe Baker is not going to get out of bed to bring that man a car or tow his in, and it’d take Easton until tomorrow to walk all the way back to Even.”
“It’d serve him right, but I think it’d be safer to know where he is and what he’s doing.” Rose sent Punch a level look.
“I’m with you on that.” He straightened, stepped back from the window. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks. Night, Punch.” Rose drove on, and at the crossing after Miller’s curve, she turned around and then headed home.
“Lord, I love small town life.” Matthew smiled.
“Me, too.” Rose glanced his way. “I’m guessing that pretty much of yours cost me another month of kitchen duty.”
“Maybe two.” Matthew sniffed, still stiff-jawed. “Two’s reasonable.”
It’s just a little scrape, Matthew.”
“A scrape?” He wiggled a finger. “Front to back, Rose. The whole side needs work. The whole side.”
“I’m doing all that kitchen duty for a just cause and your nose is still out of joint?” She clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, then grimaced. “That’s just not right.”
“Not right?” He glared at her. “You better tread softly for a while, Miss Indy 500.”
“Good grief.” Rose blew out an exaggerated breath and drove on.
A wise woman knows when to hush and cut her losses.
Chapter 15
Christine sat silently, letting the truck eat up the miles and Jackson calm down. When he realized Rose was interceding and she sideswiped Martin’s car, Jackson had been horrified.
That was easy to understand. If Caro had been in the Jag, Christine would have been horrified, too. After he’d talked with both Rose and Matthew, Jackson had been relieved but, if Christine lived to be a hundred, she would never forget the fear or the anguish in his voice when he told Rose he couldn’t lose her, too.
The agony in those words struck a familiar chord. She’d felt it on learning her parents had been killed. Felt it again, and an overwhelming sense of loss, the Saturday after Christmas, when ten o’clock came and went and Caroline didn’t call. She felt that same agony each and every silent Saturday. And a simple truth bore responsibility for it.
If Caro could, she would phone. That she hadn’t meant she wasn’t capable. Due to interception, injury or death, she couldn’t call.
All bad. All the agonizing stuff of nightmares.
What he’d said flashed back to her. Daisy… Why had Jackson called Rose, Daisy? Christine considered asking him and decided against it, tucking that anomaly in her pocket. It could be nothing, but it could be something helpful or useful down the road.
“You okay?” Jackson glanced at her.
“The wreck shook me up a little,” Christine admitted. “Takes my mind places that aren’t good for me to go.”
“Mine, too.” He steadied himself. “It doesn’t help that there’s not much to look at out here.”
“It’s more than that, Jackson. I know Martin and how evil he is. I knew he’d come after anyone who helped me. I shouldn’t have involved any of you.”
“We helped you before,” he reminded her. “We were already involved.”
“Are you saying Martin might have found you and not me?” She hadn’t once considered that.
“I don’t know, but it’s possible,” Jackson said.
A chill rippled through her. “Why do you think it’s possible?”
Jackson spared her a glance, gauging her mental state.
“I’m fine, Jackson.” She forced a rise to her upper lip she hoped would pass for a smile of reassurance.
“Just checking.” He hesitated then decided. “When I drove you out of Dallas and brought you here, our exit wasn’t as clean as I hoped it would be.”
“What do you mean?” Had Caro been threatened? Christine’s heart beat faster.
“I tried to get you out under their radar. Steps were taken, but…” He paused, chanced a look to weigh the impact of his words, then continued. “His men located us on the outskirts of the city. There was a little scuffle, but I lost them.”
He had deliberately downplayed the incident, still afraid of upsetting her. But if the event had been more significant and she had been in serious jeopardy, he’d be tense and stiff, and he wasn’t. It had irritated him, but he hadn’t considered the incident a serious complication. Further proof her instincts were on-target was that his voice sounded guarded but relatively normal.
So it was possible Martin had gone to Even with no idea Caroline was there until he had seen her. Why that made her feel better, she had no idea. But it did relieve a little of the guilt, if not all of it. They had been helping her sister. Christine’s guilt was justified. “I should have done something differently. I shouldn’t have further jeopardized the three of you.”
Jackson shrugged. “Like I said, we were already in jeopardy.”
His remark released a sneaking suspicion and the truth dawned on her. She took in a sharp breath. “Martin’s been watching you since you returned to Dallas.”
His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Pretty much. But it’s definitely been no big deal.”
It had been a huge deal. She knew; she’d lived with it every single day. “Jackson, I—I’m so sorry.”
“No. Don’t, Caroline. I made my choices, and I’m fine with them.”
She’d turned his life upside down. What did you say to someone willing to put up with that for you? Anything, everything, was insufficient. “Thank you, Jackson.”
He winked at her. “I made them work hard.”
She chortled. “Me, too.” She looked out the windshield and relaxed. Jackson would have done what he did for anyone. Amazing. Taking on the likes of Martin for someone else’s benefit, he had to be a good man. Nothing nefarious about him, but plenty interesting. Intriguing. “Why do you take the risks?”
“Because they should be taken.”
