“Marie, I need to talk to you.”
Marie turned around. “Sorry, I know I overslept. But I left the place clean last night and I’ll be good to go by the time we open.”
“No, that’s fine.” Stella waved a dismissive hand, showing off her freshly lacquered blood red nails. “This is about something else. Sit down.”
Marie lowered herself to a chair. Nervous hands pulled her shirt over her knees, fingers bunching the hem as she waited.
“Cigarette?” Stella held out the open pack and her lighter.
“Thanks.” Marie accepted the offering, taking a cigarette and lighting it. Stella, an expert at reading people, noticed the flicker of hope in her dark eyes. Did she think she was about to get another chance to prove herself? Poor, foolish girl.
“I’m about to do you a favor,” Stella said. “I owe you this for what you did to clear Nicky of that murder charge.” She paused to light another cigarette, giving her words time to sink in. She was playing now, like a cat with a mouse, enjoying the game.
“What I’m giving you is a warning,” she said. “I got a call from the sheriff. That old man who was shot on the Tyler place got his memory back. He’s claiming it was you who pulled the trigger, and that it was no accident. The Tylers and your cousin Sky are backing him up.”
Marie swore and took a long drag on her cigarette. “I was hoping the old fart was dead. I’d have finished him off with another shot, but the dog kept getting in the way. I couldn’t shoot a dog.”
“You should’ve shot them both,” Stella said. “Abner wanted me to make sure you’d be here this afternoon. He’s planning to come by with his deputies and arrest you for attempted murder.”
The look of panic that flashed across Marie’s scarred face gave Stella a rush of satisfaction. She reached for her purse, which she’d left on the bar. “Here,” she said, taking out a fistful of bills. “This should be enough to get you wherever you need to go. I’m sorry things didn’t work out here, but what happened happened. The sooner you’re on the road, the farther away you’ll be when the sheriff shows up.”
“Tha
nks.” Marie rose, dropped her cigarette in the ashtray, took the money, and without meeting Stella’s eyes turned and walked toward the stairs.
“You’re welcome, you double-crossing bitch,” Stella murmured as she disappeared. “I’ll see you in hell.”
Marie pulled on her clothes and crammed Stella’s money into her pockets, along with her cigarettes and the new lighter she’d bought. Glancing around the room, she grabbed the few small possessions she’d left out and stuffed them in her backpack. After checking the load in her KelTek P3, she shoved the small pistol into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled the hem of her T-shirt over it.
Without bothering to put on socks, she yanked on her boots. Marie was no fool. She knew Stella hadn’t warned her or given her money out of gratitude. Stella Rawlins didn’t have a grateful bone in her body. The last thing the woman would want was for her to be arrested and strike a plea deal with the court. Whatever Stella’s motives, there was only one thing to do—take the money and run. Maybe if Lute had done that, instead of getting greedy for more, he’d still be alive.
No need to say good-bye. Marie raced down the back stairs and found her Harley under the lean-to where spare chairs and empty crates were stored. The bike was old but well maintained. She’d put gas in the tank a few days ago. A quick check showed that it was still full—no scumbag had siphoned it out like the last time.
Stowing her backpack, she sprang onto the seat, switched on the ignition, and opened up the throttle. The bike rumbled to life, shot out of the parking lot and down the street toward the main highway.
The wind caught her hair, blowing it out like a black banner behind her. It felt good to be leaving this garbage dump of a town behind—even though she was also leaving behind some big-time dreams. She’d blown her chance to be rich and powerful like Stella. But things could be worse. At least she wasn’t in jail. At least she wasn’t dead. She could go someplace else, start over, maybe find a decent man who wouldn’t mind the scar—or better yet, would pay to have it removed. She had a good figure. With her face fixed, and some pretty clothes, she’d be a woman any man would be proud to have on his arm.
She’d turned onto the highway and was headed west when a black SUV pulled out of a side road behind her. The big vehicle was following too close. That was nothing new. A lot of drivers behaved as if motorcycles on the road were invisible. Still it was annoying. Marie was tempted to give the jerk behind the wheel her middle finger. But if he was prone to road rage, that could be a bad idea.
Giving the old Harley full throttle, she roared ahead. She’d outdistanced the SUV by a quarter mile when she heard it coming up behind her again, gaining fast. Cold terror clutched her as the truth struck home—this wasn’t just any vehicle or any driver. She’d been played. Stella had sent somebody to kill her.
Did the driver mean to run her down or shoot her? With no time to think, Marie’s survival instincts kicked in. Swerving left, she rocketed off the highway and headed across the scrub-dotted landscape. On the paved road she wouldn’t stand a chance. But running loose amid rolling hills, clumps of mesquite, and sandy washes, she might be able to outmaneuver the lumbering SUV, either keeping out of sight or leading the big vehicle into a spot where it could high center or get stuck. She had her pistol, but the driver—she’d glimpsed a lone man in a dark hat—was bound to have a more powerful weapon. She couldn’t risk letting him get a clear shot at her.
The SUV had turned off, too, and was coming after her. With its off-road tires and four-wheel drive, it would be hard to stop. Marie cut a zigzag route, keeping to the lowest path she could find. The long, yellow grass that carpeted the ground was so dry that it crumbled beneath her wheels, raising a plume of dust that trailed behind her in the wind. She could no longer see her pursuer, but she knew he was close on her trail and that he wouldn’t give up the chase until she was dead.
The lay of the land looked familiar. She’d been here before. This was the eastern boundary of the Tylers’ ranch, the area she’d cut across on the way to Coy’s camp.
Not far ahead there should be a narrow wash with a sandy bottom. Marie’s shifting mind calculated what little she recalled of its width and depth and the upward slope leading to its edge. Did her bike have enough power to make the jump to the other side?
If she tried and failed it would be all over for her. Either she would die in the crash or the man coming from behind would finish her off with a single shot to the head. But it was the best chance she had, maybe her only chance.
She scanned the horizon in a frantic search for the dip that marked the rim of the wash. The SUV was gaining on her, its engine blasting in her ears. If she didn’t find it soon . . .
Suddenly there it was, a straight shot, not fifty yards ahead. Rising off the seat like a jockey, Marie opened up the aging bike to the limit of its power. The Harley roared forward and upward, passed over the rim of the wash, and went airborne.
The breathless sensation lasted only an instant. Then she felt the shock of solid ground beneath the wheels. Incredibly, she was unhurt, the bike still speeding forward. Without looking back, she made a beeline for a nearby rocky outcrop. The driver might be slowed down by the wash, but if he had a long-range rifle and a good aim, he could still climb out of the vehicle and drop her with a shot.
Protected for the moment by the rocks, she let the bike idle while she checked it for damage. From the wash behind her came the sound of a racing motor and spinning wheels. Evidently the driver had tried to go through the shallow wash and become stuck in the sand at the bottom. But with those big tires and that powerful engine he wouldn’t be stuck long. Over time and distance there was no way she could outrun him. There had to be something else she could do to stop him and get away.