Convictions (34 page)

He opened the stall door, and Olivia scrambled backward, but her bad knee gave out, and she instinctively reached out for something to stop her fall. She latched onto Ted's arm.

He caught her around her waist with a thick arm. "Are you all right, Ms. Kincaid?"

He was a cold-blooded killer, yet his concern for her was genuine. Olivia's hands shook, and as soon as she regained her balance, she moved away from him. Fear rose in her throat like burning bile, and she choked it back.

"What's wrong?" The distress in his voice was real.

"Uh, nothing." She backed toward the door, or where she hoped the door was. "I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

Ted suddenly frowned. "No wonder you're looking a little pale. A small woman like you needs to eat."

His worry for her contrasted sharply with that of a coldblooded killer. The situation was bizarre, and Olivia wondered if this wasn't another nightmare. But, no, this was real, too damned real.

She forced a laugh. "You're right. I am a little dizzy. I just need to go back to the house and have some food."

"I'll walk you over." Ted touched her shoulder, and she couldn't help but jerk away from him. He studied her, and his lips turned downward. "I thought you were like me. Like Hank."

Olivia stilled as her heart took another leap. "Hank?"

"He cares about the horses, too."

Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. "Does he take care of the horses like you do?"

"Not yet, but he will," Ted said with absolute certainty. "He's going to be my apprentice, and I'm going to teach him."

Although shocked, Olivia shook her head slowly. "The sheriff is coming to arrest him this morning for Mantle's murder; then Hank is going back to prison for a very long time."

Ted appeared dazed. "No. He can't."

"He is," Olivia said firmly. "Hank is going to prison for something you did."

"It wasn't murder," Ted insisted. "I was taking care of the horses."

"But the law doesn't see it that way. You need to tell them, convince them that it wasn't wrong." Olivia was surprised she could speak so coherently. Her muscles threatened to turn to oatmeal, and her heart pummeled her chest.

Ted curled his hands into ham-sized fists. "No. They won't understand." He took a giant step toward her and caught her arm before she could escape. "I thought you'd understand."

"I do," Olivia lied.

"No. I won't let you stop me."

Even though she knew it was futile, she tried tugging out of his grasp, but it was no use. In fact, Ted didn't even seem to notice her struggles. He dragged her back toward the tack room... where the leather straps were kept.

She opened her mouth to scream, but only a stuttered cry escaped before Ted slapped his huge palm over the lower half of her face. Memories of that night in Chicago, of not being able to breathe, of being helpless, besieged her. She fought to escape, but as before, she failed. Only this time she'd most definitely die.

Hank lifted his head from his arms, which rested on the truck's steering wheel. It was still dark, but he knew the sun would be rising soon. So why was he still sitting here, less than ten miles from the ranch? When he'd found the keys in the pickup, he figured it was destined that he make his escape. But with each mile he drove, more and more doubts clamored at him, until all he could hear was his conscience.

Judge Kincaid trusted him. Olivia trusted him. Even Sheriff Jordan trusted him. And what did he do? Like an animal caught in a trap, he tried to escape at all costs, including chewing off his own leg. Except instead of a leg, it was his sense of honor that he'd left behind.

But what good did honor do him in prison? That was one of the first things that was lost when a man entered those four walls. Honor. Integrity. Self-respect. All became liabilities in prison.

What about out here? All he had was his honor, integrity, and self-respect. If he continued on to Mexico, who would arrive there? Only the empty husk of Hank Elliott. Is that how he wanted to live the rest of his life? As a man with no principles?

How would Dawn remember him? And Olivia and the judge? As a coward who turned tail before the fight even began?

His shoulders shook with bitter regrets—of the six years he'd lost, the sister he'd deserted, and the woman he cared about. By running to Mexico, he might be escaping prison, but he was also losing everything. Was freedom worth it? Or was he only entering another kind of prison— a prison of his own design?
What about the murderer?

Hank clenched the wheel so tightly his fingers cramped. With the killer still free, Dawn and Olivia were at risk. What if one of them was murdered, found with a leather strap around her throat?

Hank blindly grabbed for the handle and shoved the door open. He stumbled out of the truck and fell to his knees as he retched. He vomited until there was nothing left but bile that burned his throat.

Falling back onto his butt, he sat there with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled within his hands. This wasn't who he was. Even though others may see him as a criminal, he
knew
he wasn't. The Hank Elliott he was— and who he wanted to be—possessed principles and integrity.

He dragged his sleeve across his mouth and struggled to his feet. After he got back in the truck, he turned the key in the ignition and started driving... back to the ranch.

Feeling a sense of urgency, he pressed harder on the accelerator, and the pickup kicked over the dirt road. The sun peeked over the eastern mountains, casting a coral-rose glow across the land.

The ranch came into view, and Hank knew he'd made the right decision. He parked the truck where he'd found it and was relieved to see it was early enough that he wouldn't have been missed yet.

Hurrying across the yard to his barracks, he heard a cry from the barn. He froze and listened, but no other call sounded. Had he imagined it? Or had the murderer chosen another victim?

He raced to the barn but paused before entering. Laying his ear against the wood, he listened and was rewarded with muffled movements. He opened the door slowly but didn't see anyone and slipped inside. Then he heard it again, a woman's cry from the tack room.

He dashed across the floor and through the doorway. Ted held Olivia with one arm around her waist. The other held the ends of a leather strap tight against Olivia's neck.

"Nooo," Hank shouted and charged.

Ted shoved Olivia aside and held up his hands as if surrendering, but Hank didn't try to stop his momentum. He plowed into the huge man, using his head as a battering ram. It was like running into a stone wall. He bounced off the farrier and fell backward, landing on the cold floor.

"What're are you doing?" Ted asked, his voice puzzled rather than angry.

Hank stared at him in disbelief. "You were going to kill Olivia."

He nodded, but it was with sad resignation. "She wants to stop us."

"Us?"

"You and me from taking care of the horses."

Hank shook his head, wondering if he'd sustained a concussion. He glanced at Olivia, and his bewilderment scattered at her lost look. She sat on the floor, her head drooping and her limp hands in her lap. She didn't seem to be aware of anything. Maybe he was too late—maybe the strap had cut off her oxygen for too long.

Hank scrambled to his feet. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, knowing he had to take care of Ted before he could help Olivia.

"Why are you so angry? I thought you cared, too." Ted appeared confused.

"Of course I care for horses, but I don't kill people."

"But they deserved it."

Even though a part of Hank knew as soon as he'd seen Ted with Olivia, full comprehension shocked him, driving the blood from his face. "You killed them? Mantle, Sandra, and the other woman?"

"Others, too. I couldn't let them live, not after what they did."

Hank had admired Ted, had even saved his life his first day on the ranch. To learn he was the killer staggered him, but another look at Olivia brought rage surging in his blood. "You murdered them, Ted. And you almost murdered Olivia." He cleared his throat. "You have to pay for what you've done."

"I took care of them. Like I was going to teach you."

That Ted planned on showing him how to strangle people made Hank's stomach churn. "I'm not a killer, Ted. I could never do that, not even if they hurt a horse."

Ted stared at him as if trying to determine if Hank was speaking the truth. The change, when it came to Ted's face, was horrifying to behold. No sign of the farrier Hank knew remained in his features. His eyes were cold, almost dead. "You were the first person I thought I could trust. The first one I thought wanted to help the horses, too. But you're just like everyone else. You'd turn your back and let them escape their punishment."

Hank held out his hands to try to appeal to the man, even though he suspected Ted was too far gone to save.

"He won't listen to you," Olivia suddenly said with a raspy voice.

Hank risked a glance at her, and she seemed aware of what was going on. "Stay back, Liv. He's crazy."

"No," Ted roared then rushed toward Hank, his arms outstretched in front of him.

Hank sidestepped and tried to run past him, but Ted caught him by the arm and swung him around. Hank crashed against a wall lined with bridles and halters, sending some to the floor. His shoulder was numb, and his head felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. He slumped against the wall as he tried to get his body to answer his commands.

Ted reached for him again, but Hank eluded him, ducking beneath the big man's arms. He scuttled away, but kept far from Olivia's position. "Get out of here," he shouted to her. "Get help."

Her eyes impossibly wide, she climbed to her feet clumsily.

Ted grabbed Hank and wrapped his massive arms around his chest. The farrier squeezed, and Hank couldn't draw air into his lungs. Ted's hold tightened even more, threatening to crush Hank's ribs.

Abruptly Ted released him, and Hank dropped to the hard floor. The farrier's howl of pain made him look up to see a pitchfork stuck in the back of the man's thigh. Olivia stood behind him, weaving like a drunk on a three-day binge. Her face was chalk white, and the bruises on her neck were already standing out in harsh contrast.

Keeping one arm around his ribs, Hank labored to his feet. A pitchfork wasn't going to keep Ted out of action for long. He reached out to Olivia and snagged her wrist. "Come on."

She stumbled after him, her limp more pronounced. Hank regretted her pain, but if they didn't get out of the barn, away from Ted, they'd both end up dead. They were almost to the door when Olivia was snatched away from him. Ted shook her like a rag doll.

"You spoiled everything!" he said to her.

Hank spotted a piece of twine on the floor and grabbed it. He threw himself behind Ted and wrapped the twine around the man's thick neck. Using every ounce of strength that remained, Hank held the rope tight.

Ted shoved Olivia away and groped at the twine. His movements lessened until he slumped, and Hank released the rope, allowing the farrier to drop to the floor. The up and down motion of his chest assured Hank he wasn't dead.

Hank lurched to Olivia's side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and the other around his ribs. "Let's get the hell out of here."

She gazed up at him and nodded.

Together, they wobbled out of the barn and into the amazingly bright morning sunshine.

Standing in the dining hall, Sheriff Jordan said, "I think you both need to see a doctor."

Although he tried to mask his concern behind a gruff tone, Olivia recognized it for what it was. She laid her hand on his forearm and shook her head. "We're fine." She knew, however, that her scratchy voice didn't reassure him.

Jordan merely shook his head in exasperation and pointed at Hank. "You could have some broken ribs."

"Nah, just cracked," Hank replied with a loopy grin.

Olivia couldn't help but smile despite the sore twinges in her neck. She was simply grateful they were both alive.

Buck had seen them stumble out of the barn and had taken command, getting some of the men to guard Ted. Then he called Sheriff Jordan, who called the FBI. Olivia and Hank were taken to the dining hall, where Connie proved she was as good at first aid as at cooking.

Special Agents Thornton and Bush had come and gone, taking Ted, who'd regained consciousness, into custody. Their first stop would be the hospital to have the farrier's leg treated—the pitchfork had left three nasty puncture wounds. The agents had gotten initial statements from Olivia and Hank, but Ted incriminated himself immediately, going on about protecting the horses. He'd obviously gone over the edge. Like most serial murderers, Ted would receive a psych evaluation. Olivia suspected the eval would reveal things in Ted's past that had turned him into a killer.

Olivia glanced at Dawn, who stood by her brother instead of Barton. The girl gazed at Hank with something akin to hero worship, but it was the love and contentment in Hank's eyes when he looked at his sister that nearly made Olivia cry. It seemed the healing between brother and sister was well under way.

Sheriff Jordan's cell phone rang, and he moved off to the side to answer it.

"I knew you couldn't have done it," Dawn said to Hank.

He smiled. "Thanks, Dawn. That means a lot to me."

She shuffled her feet and gazed at the floor. "I knew you would be here."

Olivia shot a confused look at her and Hank.

"What do you mean?" Hank asked.

"Even though I didn't keep in contact with you this past year, I called the warden asking about you. When I heard you'd be working here, I came to the area to look for a job. It really was sheer luck that I ran into the judge in Walden." A shy smile graced Dawn's lips as she shrugged. "I might have been angry with you, but I've always loved you."

Olivia's eyes filled with tears as Hank hugged his sister. She could imagine how much Dawn's confession touched Hank.

Dawn drew away from her brother. "Well, um, I need to help Connie in the kitchen."