The Art of Love and Murder (32 page)

Her eyes met Chance’s, and she spoke calmly to the professor. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” One tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped it away. All the while her gaze held on to his.

“I know you, what you are, who you are,” Sheffield crooned.

“Then tell
me
.” Her chin jerked to the right to confront her captor. “Tell me, Myles.” With each word, her voice grew stronger, and Sheffield grew paler.

He’d lost her attention, and her calm demeanor faded. Now, she focused on the professor.

His instincts fired on high. “It’s over, Sheffield. Put the gun down.”

“Over? Nothing is ever over, Sheriff. Art never dies, love never ends.”

“Save the philosophy for your lawyer. Drop the gun.”

“Myles, tell me.” Her nostrils flared. Her steady voice demanded to be answered. “Who am I? Are you—?”

Her strength scared Chance. “Drop it, Sheffield!” he barked. When he made his move, she needed to be out of the way—not daring to stand up to the madman.

“Together. We have to stay together,” the professor pleaded.

“I’m not staying anywhere with you.” She thrust her shoulders from him as far as his grip would allow.

“I thought you understood.” The gun dropped an inch. Sheffield’s face went slack.

The desire to put a bullet between the murderer’s eyes heated every molecule in his body.

“Understand what? That you murdered my mother?” Lacy moved her head with her words—closer to Sheffield then farther from him and back again.

“Lacy...” Chance sent the warning. He needed her to be still. His heart slowed, his nerves turning to steal.

“Tell the truth,” she shouted. “Who do you think I am?”

“You’re my redemption.” His chin dipped, and he swung her to face him.

Chance cursed, flexed his knees and concentrated on his aim at the bastard’s shoulder while his body raged with adrenaline.

“I’m not!”

Sheffield’s maneuver weakened his hold, and she jerked away and lunged toward Chance.

The scene slowed. Lacy moved nearer. The professor’s gun came up. The fire glinted off the barrel, as if a spark from the flame ignited the chamber.

“Lacy!” Chance caught her arm.

The cabin erupted with the shot, shattering the air and sucking it from his lungs. She screamed as he yanked her down and fired off two rapid shots into the professor’s chest.

Chance fell to his knees and hugged her to his chest. “Oh, Lacy.”

She moaned, limp in his arms.

Wetness warmed his hand.

Son of a bitch.

Blood.

Chapter Nineteen

So thirsty
.

Lacy swallowed. If only she could reach the glass of water she always kept on her nightstand.

“Mom?”

August?

“Lacy?”

Phoebe? What in the world?

A dream. She needed to wake up, to get some water.

“I think she’s waking up.”

“Good. We need her to. How are you doing, Ms. Dahl?”

Cold fingers pressed against her wrist.

“Go ahead and encourage her to wake.”

“I love you, Mom.” August’s voice. She smiled at her daughter’s hug. “Wake up, Mom.”

“I am, honey.” She snuggled her chin into August’s neck. “What are you doing here?” Her lids rose slowly, heavy from sleep. Such a good night’s sleep. Her friend came into focus beyond her daughter’s hug. “Phoebe?”

Her daughter pulled away, took her hands and leaned her hip on the bed.
Not my bed
. She blinked to clear her vision. A glance from side to side took in the light green walls, a long, horizontal window looking out onto a hallway and other doors and a television overhead hanging from the ceiling.

A hospital room?

Her last memories came crashing around her. “Oh God.” She made a move to sit up, but a pain pierced her shoulder. He’d shot her. And then more gun shots.

Chance. Where was Chance?

“No, you don’t, lady.” Phoebe’s hand shot to the other shoulder and stilled her.

An unfamiliar, gray-haired woman leaned close to her face. “You’re doing great, but no sudden movements, especially of your arm.”

“Where’s Chance?” she croaked, then tried to swallow, the dryness in her throat nearly choked her.

“Oh, the sheriff. He’ll be back. Just relax. You took a bullet to the shoulder. It’s not as bad as it sounds. You’ll be mended like new before no time. But right now, lie still and visit with your family.” She lifted a cup of ice to Lacy’s lips. “Have some ice chips. Good. I’ll be back later.”

“Oh, Mom.” Tears streamed down August’s face while her daughter’s hands massaged her fingers.

She shivered, but not from the room temperature, and the shivers wouldn’t stop. Her fingers trembled when she wiped at her daughter’s face. The last few moments in the cabin played in her mind. The sudden pain, then Chance shooting Myles. And holding her. Her heart beat with remembered fear.

Phoebe touched her knee. Thankfully, the shivers succumbed to her friend’s touch.

She looked from August to Phoebe, grounded herself in their presence, and concentrated on breathing.

“You might not feel okay, but you are, Lace.” Her friend’s voice spoke softly.

Tears came. Okay didn’t describe her condition.

“The doctor said there wouldn’t be any permanent damage.” Phoebe stepped to the other side of the bed and patted her good shoulder.

Lacy nodded, but the tears didn’t stop. Something inside heaved, and she shook with the sensation.

“Oh, hon.” Her friend buried her face on one side of Lacy’s neck. Her daughter sobbed and buried her face against her head on the other.

She melted into the women’s embrace, her body quaking with emotion—her own, her daughter’s and her friend’s. She inhaled their concern and let go of her pain for them to absorb until calm dried her tears.

“Okay, okay.” She patted their backs. “We’re all good now.”

August squeezed her hand so tight, she winced.

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Are you sure? Are you really okay?”

“Yes, kiddo. Not perfect, but at least okay.” The trembling stopped. “When did you two get here? In fact, how long have I been here?”

“I waited for August to get to Scottsdale last night. We drove up together and got in before midnight. They’d already worked on you, and we knew you’d be fine, so we slept in the family waiting room. Their coffee stinks. And we haven’t had breakfast yet.”

Her daughter leaned close. “Phoebe makes light, but she’s been as worried as me.” She brushed hair from her mom’s forehead. The sweet gesture almost brought tears to her eyes again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Your mom is a tough lady. Right, Lace?” Phoebe kissed her cheek.

“I just might be.” She extricated her hand from her daughter and motioned to the tissue box. Face wiped, she looked from one to the other. “It’s over.” She drew in a breath, confidant when the air came smoothly and sighed. “Help me sit up a little bit, okay?” A dull ache in her shoulder subsided when she rested back against her pillow. “I don’t know where your art treasures are, August, but we’ll get them back for you eventually.”

“Mom—”

“Hey, mission accomplished.”

Phoebe climbed onto the foot of her bed, drew her long skirt around her legs and crossed her feet. “I’ve got to echo August’s question. Are you
sure
you’re okay?”

“Why?” She crunched more ice chips. “Because I’ve declared the investigation over?” Phoebe could always see through her bravado; no use trying to hide the truth from her. “I said I didn’t feel perfect.”

Her friend leaned in, her long, blonde-gray braid falling from her shoulder onto the sheet. Gold-hooped earrings reflected the ceiling light. “Do you want to talk about—?”

“Not really.”

Sniffling noises from August and the tinkling of her friend’s bracelets when she resettled herself answered her refusal to elaborate. She held her free hand out and each of them grasped her. The whine of a siren barely breached the quiet of the room. Lacy listened to the blood pulse in her ears, to her daughter’s occasional sniff and to her thoughts. Jumbled thoughts. Her daughter would have her grandmother’s art when the police completed their case. Muuyaw’s true identity would be revealed...but too late for the museum curator.

She remembered the last words Chance said to her:
Myles Sheffield is dead
.

And once again, she’d escaped death. This time alive because of Sheriff Chance Meadowlark.

“Did you see Chance?”

“He was here when we arrived last night.” Phoebe’s half-smile and glint in her eye gave away her impression of Sheriff Meadowlark. “He introduced himself, but didn’t hang around to make small talk. He told us what the doctor said and excused himself to take care of business or some such phrase.”

“Oh.” A hollow sensation filled her chest.

The sheriff had done his duty; rode in and saved the lady in trouble, then left to return to his life. She ached. Her stomach turned.

Yes, she’d been shot, and the man that could be her father was dead, yet her pain and nausea somehow had more to do with Chance.

Phoebe continued to pat her leg. August brought her hand to her lips then her cheek. Now, she had to return to her life.

She squeezed her daughter’s then Phoebe’s hand. “I’m a very lucky person.”

“If you mean having me as a friend.” Phoebe laughed.

“Yes, that, too. Although I thought more along the lines of being alive.”

August reclined against her, half on the bed with her legs hanging off and an arm around her waist.

“Twice lucky in one lifetime, makes a gal think.” The extremes of love and hate had riddled her mother’s life. Twice Lacy had been delivered from the drama. “I don’t need anything more than that.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I thought we needed to know more about our bloodline, August...but we don’t.”

“I’m fine with that.”

Phoebe smiled.

“They’re all part of us, blood or otherwise. What we are and what we’ll be is up to us.” She sighed, yet the hollowness lingered. Survival had its scars.

“We can take you home as soon as the doctor checks you out one last time.” August snuggled closer.

“How long did I—” Her attention drifted to the hall out her window where a Paul Bunyan-sized man in a familiar White Wolf Spirit shirt strode into her line of vision.

His gait slowed when their gazes locked, and her heart slowed with him. Another figure materialized behind him, started to dart past him, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her. The angry woman resisted for a moment before he folded her into his arms. The hollowness deepened, spread and left Lacy floating in a void.

“Judas Priest.” Phoebe’s muttered exclamation brought her back. “Who the hell is that?”

August sat and turned toward the window then looked back at her mother, confusion on her face.

“Kitty. Chance’s lady...or something.” Seeing the woman in his arms once was too much, but twice? Whatever she meant to Chance, this last scene confirmed her gnawing doubts. The sooner she got out of Flagstaff and away from the sheriff, the better.

The ache started deep in her heart and migrated across her chest, nearly choking her.

****

“What are you doing here, Kitty? Are you following me?”

She didn’t answer, but breezed past him, in the direction of Lacy’s door. He grasped her arm, whirled her to face him and held her firm with both hands.

“Word travels. And besides, it’s a public hospital.” She pushed against him so their thighs touched. “Tell me you’re here on official business.”

Tears filled her eyes, but he read more anger than hurt. Good. He didn’t want to hurt her. He did, however, want to get her the hell out of the hospital. “I think you know the answer. We’ve been over this.”

She fell into him. “It’s her fault, Chance. Her fault.” Her sobs vibrated against his chest.

“You know that isn’t exactly the truth.” He glanced through the window separating Lacy from him. He wanted
her
in his arms, not Kitty.

“If she’d never come to town, none of this would’ve happened. And I want her to know what she’s done.” Another sob.

“She’s done nothing.” Except steal his heart, disrupt his solitary existence and make him ache with the want of her. “And now she’s lying in bed recovering from being shot. She could’ve died, Kitty. All for being the daughter of a woman she never knew.” His stomach churned at the memory of her lying in his arms, bleeding.

“Good. Someone needs to pay for what’s happened to Clark.” Her fist thumped his chest. “He’s going to prison.”

“Yes, he probably is.” For assaulting Chief, theft and whatever else they pinned on him, he deserved punishment. “And Clark is the only one that needs to pay for what Clark’s done.” Unless Ranclin found cause to dish something out to Carol. That opinion wouldn’t help Kitty right now.

“You know your son, Kitty.” He pushed her from his chest and stared into her tear-streaked face. “And you knew this would happen eventually. If you aren’t honest with yourself, you’ll never be able to help him.”

She sobbed, choked back a second one and pleaded, “I need you, Chance. I need you to help me.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a strong, independent woman. And you don’t want someone around who can’t give you one hundred percent.”

“It’s
her
, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He wanted to shout it. He stole a glance at Lacy and ached with the need to get to her, hold her and say what he felt. Could she see his face, read his feelings from there?

“God, I hate her.”

“Don’t. Hate will eat you alive.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, Kitty.” His palms held her shoulders, and he leaned close to her ear. He softened his voice, but remained firm. “We’ve never been more than friends of a sort. You know that. Now, go home and take care of your family.”

****

August held Lacy’s hand and Phoebe patted her leg while the scene in the hall played out. Kitty glared at Lacy through the glass. Chance rubbed her shoulders and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, turned and left. He watched in the direction she walked until he seemed satisfied, then turned to Lacy’s door.

She couldn’t help it; the joy pattered in her chest. She grabbed her cup of ice chips and filled her mouth; the cold against the inside of her hot cheeks helped to clear her head. He belonged to another. He might characterize Kitty as a long-time friend, yet friendship didn’t explain the clutches she’d witnessed. She’d had one glorious, magic night with him, but it was obvious he had honesty issues. She’d already been down that road, and now she had to walk away.