Chapter Nine #2
But he did believe Amy Sue saw Marshall murder a woman—just as she’d seen the man on her ranch threatening her. Which meant she was also right about there not being any way to go back. It was why Russ would continue jeopardizing his job, because he couldn’t back off, either.
What bothered him was the other reason he didn’t want to quit.
There was something about this woman that made him want more than anything to be her hero.
He wanted to save her and put the bad guy in jail.
It wasn’t exactly why he’d worked to become a police detective, but then he’d never met a woman quite like Amy Sue Brand.
Getting involved with her, though, wasn’t part of the job, he reminded himself. Lunch had probably been a bad idea, but he’d had to keep her from confronting Marshall—at least temporarily. Also he had wanted to know how intent she was in bringing the killer to justice. Now he knew.
There was no stopping either of them. He was already involved for the right reasons and maybe for one wrong one.
He liked her, admired her for not going home and hiding under her bed.
She wanted justice as badly as he did. They were both risking a lot, but with him, it was only his job. With Amy Sue, it was her life.
Watch yourself, he warned himself. “I’m going to do everything I can to find out the truth about that night,” he had told Amy Sue before they’d parted company. Against all odds, he believed she had seen Jack Marshall commit murder. More than ever, he wanted to bring the man to justice.
But the moment he walked into the police department, his partner called him over. “The chief wants to see you,” Hanson said, adding under his breath, “I warned you.”
Russ didn’t have to ask what it was about as he made his way to the chief’s office, tapped on the door and heard a grunt of reply for him to enter. Opening the door, he stepped in.
“Detective Tate,” the chief of police said without looking up and motioned him into a chair in front of his desk. It wasn’t until Russ had taken a chair that the man finally looked up. “I understand you’re still investigating the man I told you not to even mention in my office.”
There was only one answer to that question. “Yes.”
“Why would you do that when there is no case?”
“There was an eyewitness, sir.”
The chief leaned back in his chair, pinning him with a warning look. “There is no case because Jack Marshall was out of town and there was no evidence of a murder. The end. What about that don’t you understand?”
“The eyewitness was very credible, sir,” Russ said. “I believe she saw a murder.”
“You’re new here, Tate. I’ve done my best to cut you some slack,” the man said as if finding it hard to spit out the words. “The department is not investigating Mr. Marshall. Period.”
“I know he’s a friend of yours but—”
The chief was on his feet, his big hands slamming down on the papers on his desk as he lunged forward.
He bit off each word, his face reddening, spittle coming out of his mouth.
“I’m going to pretend you never said that.
If you want to stay a detective in this department, you will move on to something else to investigate. Is that understood, Tate?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now get the hell out of here,” he said, and dropped back into his chair breathing hard.
Russ rose, nodded and walked out the door.
The chief’s glare was like a target on his back.
He tried to rein in his own anger, his own determination.
He became a lawman to catch bad guys, and damned if that wasn’t what he was going to do.
The chief refusing to even let them investigate further proved what he had feared the moment he’d heard Amy Sue’s statement.
Jack Marshall had killed that woman.
It should have been the perfect murder, Jack kept telling himself.
That it had gone awry because of one five-foot-five blonde drove Jack to distraction.
How was it possible that Amy Sue Brand just happened to be there?
Some fool had rented her an unfinished apartment and taken her money.
If he could get his hands on whoever had done that—
He pushed the thought away. He had enough problems with the cops continuing to ask questions because of that one small complication.
The police hadn’t made a connection between him and Whitney Clark.
Nor were they going to unless someone filed a missing persons report on her with the cops and they discovered a connection between him and Whitney.
Which had him worrying that the woman could have left something incriminating behind in her rental house.
So far, the cops knew nothing about her, but he couldn’t take the chance, the way things were going.
Before there was an eyewitness, he hadn’t given it a thought.
But now he had reason to worry. Detective Russell Tate was still investigating the non-murder.
Jack hadn’t liked the way the cop had looked at him.
Surely the detective didn’t believe Amy Sue Brand.
Then again, he’d just seen the two of them leave together.
As he planned his visit to the house Whitney rented in Laurel, he couldn’t help thinking about the day he’d seen her standing beside her broken-down VW Bug.
She’d been too young for him but so beautiful.
She’d told him she was twenty-four. Turned out she was much older, but he hadn’t known that until he went through her purse before he got rid of it and her.
She’d told him she came from a family with money and was getting her master’s degree in psychology. She had only one friend in the area, an old college roommate, but otherwise no family and few friends. Instantly, he’d known that she was his kind of woman.
The day he’d seen her beside her VW on the highway with her thumb out, once he’d seen her, he’d wanted her.
She was young and beautiful with long dark hair, big green eyes and a body that would stop traffic.
He was lucky he spotted her before anyone else did and pulled over to help. He’d thought it would be a one-off.
She hadn’t recognized him, and he found that quaint.
In hindsight he now knew that she’d only pretended she didn’t know who he was.
He hadn’t offered his name even when he asked if she could use a ride.
She’d eyed the suit he was wearing and the luxury car he was driving and hopped right in.
He should have seen the dollar signs gleaming in her eyes, but he was breathing in her sweet scent and trying hard not to look at the gap in the tight buttoned-up shirt barely covering her full breasts.
He’d driven her to a small house outside of Laurel and offered to have her car towed. She’d asked him in and inquired about a good cheap mechanic. He’d called one for her on her phone. When he finished, she said, “Thank you,” and held out her hand. “Whitney Clark.”
“Jack Marshall,” he’d said, and she’d pretended the name hadn’t registered.
Within minutes, they were in her bed. He’d planned to drive away and not look back.
But as he was leaving, she came to the door in only her bra and panties and, smiling, waved goodbye.
She’d known he would be back, and she’d been right.
He glanced at his watch now. He’d waited as long as he dared to do this.
Checking his rearview mirror to make sure he hadn’t been followed, he took the Laurel exit.
He couldn’t help being paranoid after the cops had made him give them a statement.
Were they watching him? He didn’t think so, but he didn’t trust Detective Tate, a new detective on the force.
Tate didn’t know how things worked in this city, the largest in Montana, Jack told himself.
But the cop would learn if he crossed Jack Marshall, he thought.