Ingrid Weaver – The Angel and the Outlaw (страница 3)

With a nudge of his heel, the man rolled his chair to the left, placing himself between her and the room’s only exit. She would have to climb over him if she wanted to get out. “Relax, Hayley.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice. “You were passed out for three hours after I put you on that couch. If I’d wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it.”

That was true. He’d had plenty of opportunity to do her harm. For starters, he could have left her in the garden to be mauled by the dogs or caught by the guards. Or he could have taken her to the police. That would have been the ultimate injustice, to be thrown in jail while Oliver Sproule walked free. Instead, he’d brought her out of the rain and covered her with a blanket. He’d let her sleep. For three precious hours. Why?

She returned her gaze to his face. His change of position had put him directly in the cone of light from the lamp on the desk. For the first time she had a clear view of his eyes. They were ice-blue and framed by spiky lashes as black as his hair and the stubble on his chin. His gaze was compelling in the way of something deadly, like the bird of prey that rode his arm.

Awareness tingled down her spine. The way he moved, his voice, his gaze, everything about him was stirring a response in her. Was it recognition? Had she seen eyes like that before? “You know who I am and why I was at the Sproule place,” she said. “But you haven’t said why you were there.”

His gaze didn’t waver. And it gave nothing away. “That’s my business.”

“Do you work for them?”

“If I did, you wouldn’t be sitting here. You would already have had one of those handy accidents like the one that killed your brother.”

His tone was still mild. Hayley realized that he spoke about evil and the threat of death with the same casualness he displayed when he poured coffee. She wondered once more why she wasn’t afraid. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I told you, I’m a bartender.”

She made a sharp gesture. “What’s your name?”

“Cooper Webb.” He continued to watch her. “Mean anything to you?”

Was it a trick of exhaustion, or did that name spark something in her memory, something connected with those startling blue eyes of his? “Should it?”

He lifted one shoulder. He didn’t reply.

“Why did you bring me here, Mr. Webb? You didn’t really answer my question before.”

“Sure I did. I said we have to get some things straight.”

“All right. What?”

“I can’t let you run around Latchford like some avenging angel. Forget Sproule. He’s out of your league. You’ll never get him.”

“I won’t give up. Not about this. I’m going to bring him to justice.”

“How? With a bullet?”

Pride made her want to argue. Shame kept her silent. Lord knew, she’d been raised to tell right from wrong.

“The verdict pushed you to your limit, Hayley, and you snapped. I could see that. But you still couldn’t pull that trigger. You admitted it yourself when you threw down your gun. You don’t have it in you to kill anyone.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not, but I do know the kind of people who would pull that trigger, and you’re not one of them. You won’t get justice by getting yourself killed.”

“While I appreciate your concern and the way you rescued me earlier, I won’t—”

“My concern? Rescue?” His mouth quirked in another one of his half smiles. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m no do-gooder. I only made sure you got out of there in one piece because I didn’t want you screwing up my plans.”

“What plans?”

His smile faded. “Here’s the deal. I’m going to keep your gun, but I won’t turn you in to the cops or to Sproule as long as you give me your word you’ll stay away from him. Let it go. Will you agree to that?”

Hayley hesitated. It would be easy to lie. How would he know?

He regarded her carefully. “You should never play poker, Hayley, because what you’re thinking is all over your face. If you lie, I would find out. Trust me, I’m not someone you want to cross.”

There was definitely a threat in his words that time. She lifted her chin. “Fine. I won’t lie. You’re right. I can’t kill Oliver. I realize that now. So I can promise I won’t try to shoot him again.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t promise I’ll keep away.”

“Hayley—”

“One way or another, I’m going to find enough evidence to reopen the case. I’ll do whatever it takes to see him in prison for my brother’s murder.”

“Then back off and let me do the job.”

“What?”

“I intend to bring Oliver Sproule to justice myself.”

It took a moment for what he said to sink in. When it did, she surged forward and clasped his leg. She’d been right. She had found an ally. Maybe that’s why she didn’t fear him, and why she found him so…compelling. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? We can work together.”

His thigh muscles bunched beneath his jeans. He looked at where she touched him. “No.”

“Why not? I have my brother’s notebook. His last entry showed he was meeting someone at the nightclub who never showed up. Sproule killed him because he was getting too close. The D.A. said I didn’t have enough to prove anything in court but if you and I team up we could find more—”

“No.”

“Mr. Webb, please.” Her grip on his leg tightened. “We both want the same thing.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what I want.” He stood, breaking her hold. He shoved his chair backward. “This isn’t some personal vendetta for me. I’m going to see that Sproule ends up behind bars because I have no choice.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to. All you need to do is keep out of my way.”

She got to her feet too quickly. She staggered and grabbed his arm. “We can help each other. I don’t have much money left, but I’ll give you what I can.”

“I don’t want your money.”

She gave his arm a shake. “Adam was my only brother. Seeing his killer punished is all that my father lives for. I can’t quit now. I’ll do anything.”

“Careful what you promise, Hayley.”

“Mr. Webb, please.” She moved her grip to his shoulders, lifting herself on her toes so she could look into his face. “We’re on the same side.”

He regarded her in silence for a minute. A muscle in his cheek twitched as he brought his hand to her hair. He rubbed one mud-encrusted lock between his thumb and fingers until it softened. When he finally spoke, his voice had gentled. “We’re not on the same side, Hayley. We could never be.”

“Why not?”

He brushed her hair behind her ear, then grasped her wrists and pulled her hands from his shoulders. “If it was up to me, I’d let Oliver party on and enjoy his champagne.”

“But he murdered my brother.”

“Yeah.” Cooper let go of her and stepped back. “And your brother was the son of a bitch who put me in prison.”

Chapter 2

Hayley flattened her palms against the tiles, dipped her head and let the spray from the shower sluice down the back of her neck. She didn’t know how long she’d been in here. The water was already turning cool. But she was far from feeling clean.

There was a film of grit on the bottom of the tub. Puffs of dirty lather speckled with some kind of flower petals swirled around her ankles. The shampoo bottle she’d emptied bobbed against the drain. It was running slow again. She hoped it wouldn’t back up. She wasn’t any good at fixing things like that and she couldn’t afford to call in a plumber. She shouldn’t have used up all the shampoo, either. The brand she preferred didn’t go on sale very often, but it was the only kind that didn’t leave her hair too brittle to comb.

Oh, God. She dropped her forehead against her arm, feeling an irrational urge to laugh. She was worrying about a clogged drain and the price of shampoo. Well, it was easier than thinking about how she had gotten dirty.

The storm, the mud, the gun…. It all seemed like a bad dream now, as if it had happened to someone else.

She hadn’t held a firearm for years, hadn’t wanted to go near one, but the moment she’d felt the weight of her father’s old Winchester settle into her palms, the lessons had all come back to her.

Keep your eye on your target. Breathe slow and easy. Concentrate and squeeze.

She had never liked hunting. She hadn’t gone since she was thirteen and had thrown up at the sight of her father bringing down a six-point buck. Her squeamishness had disappointed him. Everything about her had been a disappointment to him from the minute she’d been born. It was a mercy neither Adam nor their father had been at Sproule’s to witness her failure…

Oh, God. What was she thinking? Her brother was dead. The stroke her father had suffered at the news of Adam’s death was killing him one day at a time. That’s why they hadn’t been there. That’s why she had.

But even if she had succeeded, if she had pulled the trigger, she would have failed. Her father would have been devastated if she had sunk to the very level of the murderer she wanted to punish. Both he and Adam had devoted their lives to upholding the law. There was no excuse for what she had attempted. She had been crazy to pick up the gun in the first place.