Lone Star Lonely (7 page)

“I suppose I could call the rangers and have
you thrown out.”

“I suppose you could. But you know damned
well I’d only come back.”

She stood glaring at him. He held her gaze
with barely an effort. Looking into her eyes was like staring at a
jigsaw puzzle and trying to find the missing pieces. He had a
feeling he could look forever and not see everything going on
inside her. Finally she sighed in defeat.

“Fine. Get the hell out of my room, then.
Leave me alone.”

He nodded. “I’ll do that,” he said. “But one
word of warning, Kirsten. Don’t try to leave this house. If you do,
I’m gonna know about it, I promise you that.”

She narrowed her eyes. He could see her
wondering just what the hell he meant by that. But she didn’t ask.
It would only prolong this conversation, and it looked as if she
was too relieved to finally see an end to it within reach. “Just
go. Just get out of here and leave me alone, will you please?”

He gave a brief nod, turned and walked out of
the bathroom, through the bedroom and out the door.

Kirsten followed him. She closed the door
behind him, and he heard the lock turn. He stood there for just a
moment, shamelessly listening, waiting.

Soft sobs came through loud and clear. And
then another sound. The sound of liquid being poured into a
glass.

He shouldn’t have made the remarks he had
about her father. He had hurt her. But he’d learned something. She
loved Max as much as she ever had. And her dad would have been
living with her if it had been possible. Adam figured Max Armstrong
might really be too weak to be out of the home, but on the other
hand, that might not be the case. There might be some other reason
why Kirsten hadn’t wanted her father here with her. Adam intended
to look into that—see if he could find out what the reason might
be.

He tried to remember the name of the facility
where Max Armstrong had been shipped right around the time of
Kirsten’s elopement. He’d heard it once. It would come to him.
Meanwhile, he reprogrammed the security codes on the alarm system.
He hadn’t been bluffing. He would know about it the second Kirsten
opened a door or a window. Or the second anyone else did.

When that was finished, he headed to the
kitchen. Not that he gave a damn or anything, but Kirsten was
running on empty. He hadn’t seen her put a crumb of food into her
mouth all day. She needed to eat or she would be in trouble. And he
was so hungry his stomach thought his throat must have been cut, so
he figured he might just as well fix enough for two.

The telephone shrilled while he stir-fried
chicken and vegetables. But he ignored it, figuring Kirsten would
prefer to get her own phone calls. Only when she hadn’t answered on
the fourth ring did he get nervous. Where the hell was she?

He snatched up the phone and barked an
impatient “Yeah?”

There was a brief pause. Then, “Who is this?
Where’s Kirsten?” The voice was belligerent—and male.

“This is Kirsten’s bodyguard,” Adam sort of
lied. “And she’s busy. Who’s calling?”

“Phillip–Mr. Cowan’s driver.”

Former driver,
Adam thought,
unless
you’ve got a hearse handy.
“She won’t be needing you tonight,”
he told the man instead.

“Is she all right?” The man on the phone drew
a breath. “Look, I heard about what happened, and I’m concerned
about her being there alone–”

“That’s why I’m here. Believe me, pard, no
one’s gonna get near her tonight. So you can quit worrying.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…reassuring.”

“I’ll bet. You and she have something going
on?”

There was a series of half-blurted words
followed by an indignant “Of course not!”

“Just curious,” Adam said, not sure he
believed the guy.

“Joseph Cowan has been like a father to me,”
the man said. “My God, I’ve been with him since I was—” He broke
off there.

“Go on. Since you were…?”

“It’s none of your business. Are you some
kind of cop, or–?”

“Where are you calling from, Phil?”

“It’s Phillip. And I’ve already explained all
this to the police. I’ve been out of town for several days. This
was my week off.”

“Sounds like a solid alibi,” Adam said. “I’m
sure the rangers will verify it.”

“I imagine they’re doing it as we speak,” he
replied, seemingly unruffled. “I didn’t even know about…about Mr.
Cowan’s death…until they contacted me here to question me.” He
sighed, and the breath was broken, as if he really was grieving
over this—or over something. “I’m coming back right away, of
course.”

“Of course. Look, I’m kinda busy here.
Anything else I can do for you?”

“No. I’d just…I’d feel better if I could
speak with Kirsten directly,” Phillip said.

“Yeah, well, I’ll pass that along.” The hell
he would. “If she feels like it, she’ll call you when you get back.
I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“All right,” Phillip said softly. “All
right.”

Adam hung up the phone.

So what was up with the driver? His interest
had seemed more than casual, that was for sure. Sighing, Adam
dropped a cover on the pan, turned the burner off and headed out to
find Kirsten. If she’d been in her room she would have answered the
damned phone. Wouldn’t she?

The good thing about not drinking often was
that it took very little time and effort to get completely blasted.
By the second shot of Jack Daniel’s, she felt the frayed edges of
her nerves begin to smooth out. After she downed the third her lips
were starting to go numb. Always a good sign.

She poured a fourth. She didn’t want to think
about anything. Not the fact that a killer was on the loose, or
that she was probably going to end up in prison soon. Or that the
man she loved—correction, the man she had once loved—hated her guts
and was doing his best to torture her now. Or that she was a
prisoner in her own home. She didn’t want to think about her dad,
either, sitting alone in that nursing home. Believing all the lies
she’d told him…so many lies. He should have been here, with her.
Adam was right about that. But she couldn’t bring him. She
couldn’t. Seeing her with Joseph would have killed him. Her father
knew her too well. He would have started figuring things out, and
once he realized the truth…no, his heart never would have taken it.
But God, now that Joseph was dead, she should be able to bring her
father home. But she couldn’t. How would he bear seeing her
arrested and taken away in handcuffs? How could he survive a
murderer skulking around the place? Not to mention finally learning
the truth about all the lies she’d told.

No. It would have to wait. Just a little
longer. She would find a way out of this. All she needed was one
chance, one opportunity. She would get away, collect her father and
head for the border. They could hide out in Mexico….

Her glass was empty. She tipped the bottle to
refill it, slopped the whiskey all over her hand, gave it up and
took a slug from the bottle. Then she walked over to her dresser
and pawed through the drawer full of designer swimsuits. She liked
her white one best. Where was it? Oh, yeah, it was all bloodstained
and stuffed into a plastic bag. The cops had taken it away. Shame,
too. It was her favorite. She yanked out several, finally found the
black one-piece with the zipper up the front, and then had to set
her bottle down to get into it. It took longer than it should. She
thought about doing without it, but decided that if the killer or
the cops showed up, she would rather be dressed. Besides, Adam was
still lurking around here somewhere, wasn’t he?

She got the zipper tugged up, grabbed her
bottle by the neck and took it with her. The hall floor wobbled a
little, but she managed to grip the railing to keep her balance.
She clung to it all the way down the stairs, and then turned and
walked through the long corridor to the very back of the house, and
through the big, ugly metal door there. This section housed the
indoor pool, which was smaller and plainer than the one outside.
Rectangular, Olympic sized. Not kidney shaped. No slides. Beyond
the pool was the hot tub, situated in a glass alcove so one could
get the feeling of being outside without the nuisance of mosquitoes
or inclement weather. Joseph had known how to live. The
bastard.

She slipped into the hot bubbling water,
hissing as she sank down until it reached her chin. Then she leaned
back. Took another drink. There would be no hot tubs in prison. And
if she ran to Mexico, she wouldn’t be able to afford one. She
figured she’d betted enjoy this while she could.

Kirsten was not in her room, or the bathroom
attached to it. But her suitcase was back in the closet. Adam had
taken a quick peek into the garage before coming up here, and both
Cowan Mercedes were still in place. His own Jag sat outside, where
he’d left it. So she must still be in the house.

He always operated with a careful plan, a
well-thought-out goal and a means to achieve it. So what the hell
was he doing here, playing baby-sitter to a murder suspect—one he
detested? He’d given this no forethought. He had no plan. He’d
acted on impulse. He had no idea what he was doing, where this was
going, or what route it would take to get there. He was flying by
the seat of his pants, and he didn’t like it.

He glanced at the mess she’d made of her
bedroom. A dresser drawer stood wide-open, its colorful contents
spilling from it. Several bathing suits were scattered on the
floor. The bed was rumpled, and the cabinet beside it stood
open.

Frowning, he walked over to that cabinet,
hunkered down and peered inside. A few bottles of expensive wine
stood in a neat row, unopened. But there was an empty spot in the
lineup. He closed the door and eyed the empty glass sitting in a
puddle on the polished top of the bedside stand. Leaned closer and
sniffed.

“Whiskey.” He sighed. “Hell, I can’t say as I
blame her.”

He glanced again at the bathing suits strewn
about the floor, the prim white outfit she’d been wearing tossed
carelessly down, as well. The pool? No. It was outside. She would
have set off the alarm if she’d opened the doors. What else?

Damned if he knew. Maybe she had a tanning
salon hidden in this monstrosity somewhere. Sighing, Adam resigned
himself to a long search. But it ended up being a lot shorter than
he’d expected. Because as soon as he headed back downstairs and
started moving through the house, calling her name, he heard her
off-key singing echoing through the place.

And for just a second, he smiled. Damn.
Kirsten had always loved to sing. The problem was, she usually
sounded like a wounded coyote, and that was sober. Right now her
imitation of Celine Dion would have brought tears to the
superstar’s eyes. But at least it guided him to where she was.

He found her in a huge room at the rear of
the house with skylights, a big pool and a gigantic hot tub
surrounded on three sides by glass walls that looked out onto a
starry Texas night. The ceiling directly above the hot tub was
glass, too. Kirsten’s arms were stretched to either side and
resting on the marble edge. She held a half empty JD bottle in one
hand. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed and she was
bellowing to the heavens. By all appearances, she was well and
truly snockered.

Adam walked over to the hot tub and waited
for her to run out of wind on the closing note—if it could be
called a note. She did, finally. Lowered her head and opened her
eyes to look directly at him.

“Found me, huh?”

“Looks like. So how drunk are you, hon?”

“Not drunk enough.” She looked at her half
empty bottle. “You want some?”

“Well, maybe I’d best stay sober tonight.” He
glanced at her hands. “Your fingers are starting to prune up. You
think you’ve been in there long enough?’’