Chapter Twelve
Amy Sue Brand was back in his showroom talking with one of his oldest and most loyal employees. They had their heads together as if George Harper was filling her in on all his boss’s secrets. Unfortunately, he suspected old George might know a few.
Jack tried to catch his breath. First walking in to find the cop waiting for him yet again.
He felt as if he were stuck in a nightmare.
Why wouldn’t Whitney just die? He couldn’t believe how his planning had gone so awry.
But he’d covered his tracks, so how was it that the police were still asking questions?
It galled him that he’d come into work to find Detective Tate waiting to see him at his office yet again.
He’d thought that he’d more than satisfied the authorities’ inquiries and found himself getting testy that this one particular cop was still bothering him.
He knew he had to hold it together, but he was losing his patience. He kept telling himself that the woman couldn’t hurt him any more than she had, yet her determination had him losing his mind. Didn’t she have something better to do?
“Is everything all right?” his wife had asked him this morning as he was getting ready for work.
“I’m fine,” he’d snapped. “The commercial shoot is this morning. I always get a little nervous.”
“That’s not true at all,” Christine teased. “The camera loves you, and you love being in front of it.”
He had tried to laugh it off, but the worried look she’d given him warned him that his anxiety was starting to show. True, he had been running scared, but he thought he was holding things together well enough. He’d flashed his wife his famous smile and drew her in for a kiss.
Jack couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
He needed her by his side, and not just for her family money or their heritage.
Christine ran their private as well as social lives, making it look easy.
He didn’t kid himself that he wouldn’t be where he was now in life without her.
That’s why he could never make a mistake like Whitney Clark again.
“Sorry, just a lot going on right now,” he’d said. “But everything’s fine.”
A lie. Nothing was fine, and that was the problem. Cops crawling all over him, a damned eyewitness he needed to deal with and now Whitney’s best friend Liz to worry about. He shook his head.
On top of that, sales were down right now, he reminded himself.
It was why he had a big sale coming up and a huge advertising campaign.
He needed to get his head into the game, but he found himself glancing around every morning when he walked into work, expecting to see Detective Tate, Amy Sue or Liz—or all three waiting in his office.
His phone buzzed. The film crew were waiting on him back in the media room to shoot his commercial. He looked out the glass around his office at the shine of the new cars in the showroom to where Amy Sue Brand was getting an earful from George.
As he reached for his cowboy hat, he told himself to play it cool. What was Amy Sue Brand doing back here? She was as relentless as that blamed detective.
Shoving his hat down on his head, he left his office and walked over to where she and George were standing next to a large, very expensive shiny new car on the showroom floor. It was exactly the kind of car a farm woman from Dry Gulch, Montana, wouldn’t be interested in buying.
Over the years, he’d gotten where he could tell if a prospective customer was really in the market for a car—especially one of the expensive ones that sat on the showroom floor.
This woman wasn’t here to buy a car. Nor had she ever purchased one from his dealership, which meant there was only one reason she was here.
“Looking for a car,” Jack said cheerfully as he approached and shifted his gaze to her, his smile faltering.
“Once you get behind the wheel, you won’t be able to walk away from this one,” he said as he ran his hand over the smooth surface of the hood.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Too bad I don’t have time to take you for a test drive. ”
“Nice car, but I’m not shopping for a new car, Mr. Marshall.
George and I were just visiting. He said he’s your oldest employee, been here since you took over the dealership.
That’s a long relationship. You can learn a lot about a man in that length of time.
” She was smiling and so was George. “Bet he knows all your secrets.” She chuckled, and George joined her, unaware of who she was or how dangerous this woman was.
“I wasn’t surprised to hear that you have your pilot’s license and your own private plane, but no small jet although you’ve been shopping for one.
I’m shocked you have any time to use it as busy as you are. ”
Jack managed to chuckle and smile even though he was fuming inside, his blood thundering in his ears. How dare George tell this woman anything about him, not that it was a secret. George was probably just making conversation, thinking she was doing the same.
But enough was enough. He had to end this right now. His gaze shifted to the older man. “George, sorry to break this up, but I need you to see to that trade-in that just arrived out back. I’ll take care of this young woman.”
George nodded and quickly hurried off, leaving him alone with Amy Sue. The moment the older man was gone, Jack turned on her. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but—”
“Just waiting for my car to be serviced,” she said. “Your service manager seems nice and well meaning. Don’t take it out on him just because he’s been with you for a long time and is proud of your success. He still thinks you’re a nice guy.”
“I see what you’re doing,” Jack said, keeping his voice low.
He looked away from her, fighting to rein in his temper.
He’d built this business, this life, all of it because he could be calm, cool and collected when he needed to.
He needed to right now as he stepped closer to her.
“You should leave, and if you’re smart you won’t come back,” he whispered.
The front door opened on a gust of wind.
Stepping back from the petite blonde, he smiled and said, “Let me call the service department. I bet your car is ready.” With that he turned and walked away before he did something he would regret.
Once he had the service manager on the line, he said, “Amy Sue Brand’s car. Get it ready and get her off the lot.”
Amy Sue tried to still the way her insides quaked, her heart a pounding drumbeat of both fear and exhilaration as the man walked away.
It was the first time she’d stood close to a murderer, let alone spoken to him the way she had.
The man had an air about him of importance and power that she knew wasn’t just air.
She didn’t have any doubt that he could crush her in all kinds of ways—not to mention kill her as he had the woman the night of the murder. It was no wonder he terrified her.
She had looked into those intense pale blue eyes of his and felt as if she were locking gazes with the devil.
How could he be so handsome, so rich, so powerful and yet so evil, that others didn’t see past his smile?
He had everything, yet he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have a mistress, let alone kill her.
She reminded herself that his need for a mistress was his weakness, his Achilles’ heel, his fatal flaw.
If it didn’t bring him down, then she would have to.
As her pulse slowed, she told herself that Jack Marshall wasn’t all-powerful. He hadn’t committed the perfect murder, and he wasn’t going to get away with it. She had to believe that. Otherwise, what was she doing other than merely upsetting him? How could she bring down the man?
She considered going to his wife, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. What did she think? That by destroying his marriage she could make him confess what he’d done?
No, what she had to do was find evidence to force the police to act.
It angered her that when he’d spotted her from behind the glass of his office window, he’d recognized her at once, which was damning enough since he’d lied to Detective Tate saying he’d never laid eyes on her.
He’d been startled to see her, maybe even shocked to find her standing in his showroom talking to one of his salesmen. It had definitely upset him. He had no longer looked quite so arrogant. She’d scared him. It was small comfort.
So what had been her plan? She had wanted to shake him up.
She’d also wanted him to know she was coming for him.
But when she’d stood toe to toe with him and looked into his ice-chip-blue eyes, a chill had rattled through her as she was reminded of just how dangerous this man was.
She’d done her best to cover her fear, but knew she’d failed when he’d quirked a mocking smile.
He thought he could use her fear against her.
That was the worst part. Jack Marshall wasn’t worried about her doing real harm to him.
This was a man who believed he was untouchable.
Just as he knew he was even better-looking up close than on television.
Who better than an arrogant con man when it came to selling especially women anything he had to offer?
She watched him go toward the back of the building, ignoring her, thinking he had gotten the last word.
She tried to find satisfaction in the fact that Jack had recognized her, which meant she’d caught him in another lie.
It made him look guilty since he’d told the police he hadn’t been on her ranch, didn’t know her name or where she lived, and wouldn’t know her if he saw her.
But she knew that if she went to them with this they’d laugh in her face.
She felt her anger bubble up even more. He’d apparently believed that he’d scared her enough out at the ranch that she wouldn’t dare talk to the police again, let alone show up at his car dealership.
Scaring her had only had the opposite effect.
As much as he terrified her, she wasn’t going to let him get away with what he’d done.
After a moment to catch her breath and stop shaking inside, she followed him and the sound of voices down the hallway.
They’d left the door to the room open. As she peered in, she saw Jack step up onto a small stage decorated for spring with pots of different colored tulips.
A mural of a country road cutting through new green grass under a Montana blue sky hung on the wall behind him.
Jack took his place, adjusting his cowboy hat. He appeared nervous. Seeing her definitely had upset him. “Give me a moment,” he said to the cameraman. She watched him apparently shake it off.
After a moment, he looked up at the camera, then gave his spiel in a folksy Western accent nothing like the man she’d just met. Today, though, it seemed to lack his usual exuberance.
“Let’s do a couple more takes,” he told the cameraman, and looked past the lights to see her standing in the doorway.
Eyes widening, a thunderstorm of an expression filled his suddenly flushed face.
He kicked over one of the pots of flowers as he bound off the stage and strode toward her as if he wanted to kill her.
She hadn’t expected him to move so quickly.
Her breath caught. Her feet felt rooted to the floor.
She started to raise a hand to protect herself when Jack grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it in her face.
She heard him lock it. On the other side of the door, she heard him snap at the cameraman, “I’m ready now. Let’s just get this over with.”
When she could breathe again, she turned and walked down the hall. She’d half expected him to chase her out to her car. She saw George look at her almost apologetically as she pushed open the large glass doors and stepped out into the cool June day. She sucked in air as he walked toward her.
“Your vehicle is ready,” George said, and handed her the keys. “I brought it right around for you.” He pointed to her SUV parked out front. “Have a nice day.”
She thanked him before he could hurry away. She’d gotten a little information out of him, less out of the service manager. She wondered if anyone really knew the real Jack Marshall. Unlocking her car, she slid behind the wheel and looked back at the showroom.
The sun glared off the glass front of the building. She didn’t see Jack. She’d seen enough of him today, and she figured he felt the same way. However, several of his salespeople had come outside and were watching her with naked curiosity.
As she started the engine, she thought of her sister’s warnings—and Detective Russell Tate’s as well. She’d poked the bear. She wondered what he would do now, if anything.
He couldn’t call the cops since she hadn’t done anything wrong.
How could he explain that he’d recognized the woman who’d made the false statement about him?
He couldn’t. There was no reason for Jack to even know who she was unless he saw her the night he killed his mistress.
Not to mention the day he’d passed her on the ranch road and pretended to shoot her.
She feared next time he pointed a gun at her, it would be the real thing.
But then again, she thought, remembering the night of the murder, Jack Marshall seemed to like knives.