ANGEL MEETS THE BADMAN Read online

  "In favor of what?"

  He shrugged, and once again the music spilling out of the barn swelled louder. "One last night of normalcy before I turn myself in and let justice take its course?"

  She stared up at him. "Would you really do that?"

  Would he? It was a damn good question. He was certain of only a handful of things right now, and they were all confused and conflicting in his mind. One was that he didn't want to spend another day behind bars. Not ever. Another was that he was right and she was dead wrong: there was no way he could ever fit into her world. But she was making him wonder, making him question his own certainty. Making him doubt things he'd always been sure of before. Making him question the kind of man he was, when he'd never doubted it in his life. He didn't like that. It scared the hell out of him, in fact, because he knew that doubting the only truths he'd ever known would only result in a crushing letdown. In heartbreak. In disappointment. He didn't want to taste that kind of thing again. It was worse than the sound of the cell door banging shut on him.

  He knew Sara Brand was in danger and that she would only be safe when he got her back home to Texas and into the bosom of her overprotective family. And he knew she wouldn't go, no matter what he did, unless she had no choice. If he ran, she would run with him. If he tried to give her the slip, she would probably try to hunt him down. And she would be liable to get killed doing it.

  And there was one other thing, the scariest thing of all: the way he felt about her. The odd little hitch in his breathing whenever he met her eyes. The fluttering in his chest, the twisting in his belly. It was more than just lust. He'd been lying to himself for a while now about that. It was bigger and more ominous than anything he'd ever felt before. It was louder in his head than the memory of the prison cell doors banging shut behind him twenty years ago. It was more frightening than the final blow of the judge's gavel. Every instinct in him was telling him to get away from her now, before it was too late.

  Or … right after tonight.

  "It's the right thing to do, Jake," Sara said. "I know it will work out all right. I know it will."

  "One night," he said. "Without thinking about any of this. Consider it the condemned man's last request."

  "You're not condemned," she began, but he held up a finger and wiggled it back and forth. "Okay," she said, lowering her head. "We're a pair of ordinary people with no warrants hanging over their heads and no cops or killers hunting for them."

  "And no Brands hunting for them, either," he said with a slight smile. Then he got to his feet, held out a hand. She took it, and he pulled her up.

  "So where are we going?"

  "You're kidding, right?" he said. "There's a party going on, chère. We'd be crazy not to join in."

  Jake led her into the barn and a sea of warm bodies, all of them moving, clapping or singing along. There was sawdust an inch deep on the floor, which was littered with other items it was too dark to make out clearly. Sara took this to be a good thing. Toward the rear, a massive plank rested atop several sawhorses, its surface lined with mugs and bottles of various shapes and sizes and platters of steaming shellfish. The scents that filled the room were of mingled beer, jalapeno and seafood. And the band played and hooted, from a clear spot in the floor off to the left. Old men, bopping like rock and roll superstars, with fiddle, banjo, accordion, nose harp, washboard and spoons.

  No one asked who Jake and Sara were or what they were doing there. People only smiled a welcome if they happened to meet their eye or bump their elbow, as Jake swept Sara into his arms for the fastest slow dancing she'd ever attempted. The ceiling swirled above her as he spun her around, but it was his arm around her waist and his hand clasping hers that she focused on. His body, tight to the front of hers, warm and hard, close … so close. Her hand rested on the back of his neck, and she did her best to follow his lead. But it didn't matter, because when she stumbled, he just scooped her up off her feet, then set her down again.

  Her hair flew, they moved so fast, and the music had a way of working its way under the skin and singing there. She heard herself laughing out loud, felt her blood rushing headlong through her veins and her heart pounding excitedly with the thrill of it all.

  Finally the music stopped, and Sara begged for a rest as a new song started up. Smiling down at her, Jake clasped her around the waist, keeping her close to his side as he guided her back toward the plank-and-sawhorse bar. He helped himself to two beers, a paper plate and heaping scoops from several of the pots of food. Setting everything down, he fished some bills from a pocket and tossed them into a big bowl full of money.

  Sara blinked and looked up at him as he gathered the food and drinks up again and made his way back through the crowd.

  "It's on the honor system," he explained.

  "How do they keep from going broke?" Sara asked.

  Jake smiled. "These kinds of people are more likely to overpay than shortchange the till."

  "Like you just did?" she asked.

  He only shrugged. Sara was thinking he was one sad excuse for a criminal, and she thought he knew it, but she didn't say anything. She had promised. Besides, it was fun, pretending, just for a little while, that things were normal. That she was on a date with Jake, not on the run with him. Although, the way she saw it, the "with him" part was the only part that mattered. Not where they were or what they were doing or pretending. Just so long as she could be with him.

  Jake found a bale of straw in a corner and sat down on it, so Sara sat beside him. He handed her the beer, and she was hot and sweaty, so she took a long drink. Then she sampled some of the delicacies on the plate that Jake had perched on his lap.

  "Crawdads," Jake said, when she tasted a nasty-looking little beggar that turned out to be mouth-wateringly delicious—but coated in spices that made her throat feel as if she'd swallowed a flamethrower. She drank more beer to wash away the burn, but it didn't help much.

  That was pretty much the pattern of the next couple of hours. Dance until she was too hot and sweaty to dance anymore, then eat until her throat and her tongue caught fire and then drink until she no longer cared that all her tastebuds had been seared away.

  By the time the party started breaking up, Sara was having a bit of trouble standing up straight. But her head was still clear. Clearer still when Jake led her out of the barn and she looked up to see a black velvet sky glittering with a thousand stars and no hint of moonlight. She walked close to his side. He kept his arm around her, to steady her. Or maybe just because he liked being close as much as she did.

  "Are you really going to turn yourself in tomorrow, Jake?"

  She felt him stiffen beside her. "Do I have a choice?" he asked in return, not missing a beat.

  "Of course you do." She tipped her head up. "Was that your way of avoiding the question?"

  "I thought we weren't going to talk about this anymore tonight?"

  Turning Jake's wrist, she glanced down at his watch but couldn't see its face in the dark. "I think it's morning."

  "It's still partly dark," he said. "Therefore, it's still night."

  "Logical."

  "So where are we going to sleep?"

  He pointed at a crooked shack down the dirt road a bit. "There are a donkey and an old cat in residence, or there were last I knew. Hope you don't mind sharing."

  "What, no rooster?" she asked.

  He frowned at her.

  "The Brementown Musicians. One of my class's favorite stories."

  "Ah. Sorry, I haven't read it."

  "I'll read it to you sometime." They reached the shed, and Jake opened the door, led her inside, into inky darkness. She heard the donkey breathing, smelled him and felt his heat. But she didn't see him. Too dark. Jake closed his hands around hers and guided her to a ladder attached to one wall. "Go on up," he said. "We'll sleep up above, so the donkey doesn't step on us."

  "Okay." She found the bottom rung with her feet and thought it took her an abnormally long time to climb up. But once she got
there she stretched out in the hay, not a hint of fear about what might be up there with her entering her mind. No wonder they called it liquid courage, she thought.

  Aah, but it wasn't the beer making her feel power over her fears. It was Jake. Being near him. Being with him. She was going to have this thing beat by the time she got back home. She knew that now. This time with him had been … healing. For her.

  A second later Jake was near. She felt him, reached out and closed a hand on what turned out to be his thigh.

  She could almost hear the smile in his voice. "What are you looking for, Sara?"

  "A lamp," she said.

  "A lamp?" He sounded puzzled.

  "Yeah. You told me to fight the lamp and set it in the window. That's the signal, remember? And here I am with no lamp."

  He was quiet for a long moment. "You've … had too much beer."

  "I didn't have any beer that night, Jake. And I was about to strike the match when you turned your light out and went to bed. I was about to light the lamp then. And if I had only done it a little sooner, none of this would be happening to you right now. You'd have come to me. You'd have been with me when Vivienne—"

  "Shh." He pressed a finger unerringly to her lips. "Don't even try to convince yourself this is your fault."

  "And I didn't have any beer when you made love to me out in the bayou, either. But I haven't felt you inside me since then, Jake. Not even once. And I—"

  "For good reason, Sara. You said it meant something to you when we were together out there. And if we— It would mean something to you now, too. You can't deny that."

  "Yes. It would mean a few hours of heaven." She leaned closer, found his mouth with hers and kissed him long and slow. She kept kissing him, over and over, even as she tugged off her clothes and began to work on his.

  Jake responded after only minuscule resistance, kissing her back just the way she wanted him to. He pushed her down on her back in the hay, and he pressed his bared chest to hers and ran his hands up and down her thighs as he tasted her mouth's deepest recesses.

  For a long time they kissed and touched, and then Jake lifted his head. "Hours?" he whispered. "I don't know if I can live up to that."

  "Sure you can," Sara whispered. "I'll help you."

  "Sara…"

  She reached down to unfasten his jeans and then she touched him. The breath stuttered out of him when her hand closed tight, and when she moved it, he trembled deliciously. "Make love to me, Jake," she whispered. And then he did.

  And as they lay there afterward and the sun came up slowly outside, the rooster in the barn below them began to crow his welcome to the day. "So there was a rooster after all," Sara whispered. She burrowed closer into Jake's arms and fought to keep her eyes open just a little bit longer. Just long enough to tell him what she might not have the courage to tell him sober.

  What she might not have the chance to tell him again. She sensed that very strongly.

  "I love you, Jake."

  "Sara … Sara, I—"

  "No. No, don't say anything. I know you didn't want this. Didn't ask for it. Did your damnedest to scare me away and warn me off and everything else you could think of to protect my tender heart. But there's no help for it, Jake. I have fallen hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you. And I'm not going to get over it. I don't want to get over it."

  "Oh, Sara." He stroked her hair. "Dammit, I only hurt the women who love me. Don't you realize that?"

  She shook her head. "Not true. And even if it were, it wouldn't matter. You don't have any choice about who you fall for, you know. And I didn't have any choice at all. The first time I saw you sitting on that porch, sipping … whatever it was you were sipping…"

  "I thought you were an angel."

  "I thought you were the devil," she whispered, closing her eyes.

  "Yeah. Well, we were both right."

  "Mmm." She surrendered to sleep, burrowing more closely into Jake's arms.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

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  Jake was in trouble, and he knew it. Lying there, as the sun came up and spilled its golden touch over Sara's face, her hair. He knew it. He cared too much about her, so much that he'd been seriously thinking about doing what she wanted—giving himself up and letting the overinflated wheels of justice have a blowout all over him. Ridiculous.

  But he couldn't just leave her, not knowing she could be next on the killer's list. So he had to take a risk he never would have taken for anyone else. Any one … except maybe his mother, if she had still been with him.

  He slipped out early, while she was still sleeping off the effects of too much beer and not enough sex. Not enough for him, anyway.

  She hadn't been wrong about her estimate of hours. It had been hours. The best hours of his life, as far as Jake was concerned.

  While Sara slept, Jake went back to the ramshackle barn and located the telephone in the back. The place wasn't locked. It was, in fact, still occupied. Partly conscious bodies were relaxed in most of the shadowed corners. It sure was a party town.

  With a sigh, Jake dialed.

  Uncle Bertam answered the phone.

  "It's me," Jake said.

  Bert's voice, when it came, was quiet. "The phones are tapped, son. I'll likely get in trouble for saying so, but you're family. And I know you didn't do this thing."

  "Thank you." Jake had to swallow the lump in his throat. "Are you okay, Bert? And what about Flossie, how is she doing?"

  "She'll be doing a lot better when we get at the truth," Bert said. "Trent's been talking to lawyers, Jake. You'll have the best defense we can find, if you decide to come back and fight this thing. And we'll stand by you. All of us."

  "That means more to me than you can imagine," Jake said softly. "Bert, I need to talk to Garrett Brand. Is he there?"

  "Yes. Right here, son."

  A second later, a deeper voice came on the line. "Nash?"

  "Yeah, it's me. Your niece tells me you're an honest man, a man of your word. Is that true?"

  "I try to be."

  "I'm going to have to trust that you are. I want you to turn off the taps. I want to talk to you privately. About Sara."

  "Is she all right, Nash?"

  "She's—" Jake had to clear his throat "—she's incredible," he said softly, then shook himself. "Yes, she's all right, and she'll be back with you within the hour if you'll just do what I ask."

  Garrett sighed, then there was a click and then Brand said, very, very softly, "call 555-7281. My cell phone. Got it?"

  "Yes."

  "Call me in five."

  There was a click as he hung up. Jake licked his lips, nodded slowly as he checked his watch. He hadn't been on long enough for the call to be traced.

  He managed to locate a coffeepot beyond the reaches of the makeshift bar, but he couldn't find any coffee to put in it and had to settle for a drink of water. He looked uneasily out at the shed where he'd left Sara. It only had one entrance, and that had never been out of his sight. No one had gone in. She hadn't come out. Still sleeping, he hoped. Hell, as much beer as she'd had, she ought to sleep for hours.

  Again he glanced at his watch. Then he went to the phone and dialed once more.

  Garrett answered on the first ring. "Garrett Brand," he said.

  "It's me. Are we private now?"

  "Yes," Brand said. "I shut off the tape before, but I couldn't guarantee they'd have stopped tracing the call even if I'd told them to."

  "I appreciate your honesty."

  "Appreciate this, Nash. I love my niece, and I want her back. She was taken from this family for a long time. We only just got her back, and I'm damned if we're gonna lose her again now."

  Jake nodded slowly. "I know. She told me."

  "She told you?"

  "Listen, I don't have much time, Brand. She could wake up any minute, and I don't like being this far from her."

  "She's unconscious?" Garrett barked.

  "She's sleeping off too
much beer." Jake was offended, but he knew he shouldn't be. The guy was just worried about his innocent niece, and he had no idea what was really going on. Then Jake realized that if Garrett did know what was really going on, he would probably be just as hostile. Maybe more so.

  "Sara? Drank beer?"

  Jake sighed heavily. "Now you're not going to believe a word of this, Brand, but I'm asking you to please treat what I'm going to tell you as if it's the truth. You can hang me from a cottonwood tree later. After you make sure Sara's safe. Okay?"

  "Safe from what, Nash? You?"

  "Sara saw the killer that night, Garrett." Maybe using the guy's first name would help shut him up, make him listen. "Not enough to identify him. Just in silhouette. But the point is, he looked back at her, and he saw her clearly. He thinks she can identify him."

  "And you're telling me all this … why? So I'll have a doubt in my mind that you killed your cousin yourself?"

  "I'm telling you all this because the killer is after Sara. That's why I brought her with me in the first place. I heard him in her bungalow that night."

  "And you didn't think telling the police would do any good?" Garrett snapped.

  "The police would have had me in jail the next day no matter what I told them, Brand, and I think you know it. Even if by some miracle they listened to me, investigated my claim, they'd have done it with me behind bars and Sara sitting at Sugar Keep with no protection."

  Finally, it seemed, the sheriff had run out of comebacks.

  "I need to catch him, Brand. I don't plan to live my life on the run. I … thought I could, but … things have changed. I want my name cleared. I want my life back."

  "So you're coming in?"

  "You're kidding, right? If I come in, no one will be looking for the real killer. I'm my own only hope, Brand. But I'm damned well not going to risk Sara's getting hurt to do this. I want you to come and get her. Just you and you alone."

  "Just tell me where," Brand said quickly.

  "First I want your word. You'll come alone." Then Jake bit his lip. "No, wait. Not alone. Bring the mean-looking SOB with you. Just in case anything happens."