Jane looked at Joe. He gave a little nod, and she answered, “Doe.”
Garland’s eyebrow ticked upward.
“She has amnesia,” Joe said.
Both Garland and Lowell stiffened at his words. Garland’s hand dropped to his hip holster as he exchanged a look with his partner.
“I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands up against the wall, ma’am,” Garland said, motioning toward the wall by the fireplace.
“What’s this about?” Joe asked, taking a step forward. Lowell put out his arm, blocking him. Joe turned toward the deputy, his face flushed with anger. “You don’t know what you’re doing here. This woman is not who you’re looking for.”
“How do you know? You said she had amnesia,” Lowell responded, drawing his weapon.
Joe held up his hands. “I’m a cop, that’s why. Let me get my identification out of my pocket.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a new voice interrupted from the doorway.
Jane’s body stiffened at the familiar tone, her heart lurching to a stop before skittering into hyperdrive. She forced her gaze upward.
A tall, sandy-haired man in a black overcoat moved unhurriedly into the cabin, his gaze seeking Jane’s. He locked eyes with her, a slow, satisfied smile creeping over his full lips as he saw that she recognized him.
“Hello, Sarah,” he said.
He was clean-shaven and well-dressed now, but she’d remember those cold blue eyes till the day she died.
He was the man who’d killed Angie.
Chapter Eight
Joe looked from the newcomer to Jane, taking in the look of horror on her face. The hair on the back of his neck rose. “Would someone like to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
“Mr. Holbrook, you were supposed to wait in the car,” Deputy Garland gave the man a stern look, but Holbrook didn’t even look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Jane’s pale face.
Joe stepped between Jane and Holbrook, blocking her from his view. “Who’s Sarah?” he asked.
Holbrook looked at him through narrowed eyes. “This woman. My wife. I’m Clint Holbrook, Sarah’s husband.” His voice softened. “She’s not a stable woman. You realize that, don’t you?”
“That’s enough, Mr. Holbrook.” Deputy Lowell moved in close, taking Joe’s arm. “Sir, we’re taking Mrs. Holbrook in for questioning. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to come in with us, as well.”
“On what charge?”
“Right now, it’s just for questioning,” Garland answered in a soothing tone Joe knew well. It only served to irritate him.
“I’m a policeman. I know how this works, and I want to know what this man told you to get you out here in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning.” And how had he found them? Had Jane’s friend Doris spilled the beans?
“Sarah has already shown herself to be a flight risk,” Holbrook answered smoothly. “Haven’t you, darling?”
Joe felt the heat of Jane’s body as she moved up behind him. She curled her fingers in the back of his shirt, just above where his Colt nestled in the waistband of his jeans.
“He’s the one who killed Angie,” she said, her voice low and strangled.
Joe looked up at Holbrook, trying to square him with the description Jane had given to Hank Trent. Add a beard, mustache and a baseball cap, put him in all-black clothing-
“My wife is delusional, Mr.-?” Holbrook paused, waiting for Joe to supply his name.
Joe didn’t bite, pretty sure that Holbrook, whoever he was, already knew Joe’s name and probably a whole lot more about him. He turned to the two deputies. “Mr. Holbrook is wanted in Trinity, Idaho, for questioning in a murder.”
Garland and Lowell exchanged glances. “He told us you’d say that.”
“I’m afraid the man has been infected by my wife’s paranoia.” Holbrook’s voice was tinged with a hint of sadness. He met Joe’s gaze, a triumphant light burning in the blue depths of his eyes. “You see, she’s a very sick woman. Paranoid schizophrenia. She needs to be in a hospital, not in a cabin in the wilderness.”
Jane’s fingers tightened their grip on Joe’s shirt.
“I suppose you have proof of what you’re saying?” Joe asked, fairly sure the man would produce papers to support his statement. Clint Holbrook looked like the kind of man who tied up all his loose ends.
“Of course. I’ve shown them to the deputies.”
“We don’t want a mess here,” Lowell said, looking warily from Joe to Clint Holbrook.
“We can’t go with them.” Jane’s voice trembled. He felt her scoot closer to him.
The two deputies exchanged a look, and Joe realized how out of proportion Jane’s fear probably seemed to them. It made her seem irrational. They probably thought he was just as irrational for indulging her fears.
They were wrong. He had a gouge in his side to prove it. And he’d seen Angela Carlyle’s body. Jane couldn’t have slit her throat that way, but Clint Holbrook could’ve.
Proving it, however, was another matter altogether. And in the meantime, there were two suspicious sheriff’s deputies looking for a reason to truss him up like a turkey and run him in.
He turned to Jane. “We have to do this.” He tried to communicate calm through his gaze and in the tone of his voice, but the panic in her eyes remained. “The deputies will help us sort things out.”
Jane’s expression hardened to a cold mask. “Nobody can help me,” she murmured. Her voice sounded distant, as if she weren’t even here in the room with him anymore. It sent another shudder rippling down his spine.
Suddenly, she wheeled and ran for the back of the cabin, catching everyone by surprise. Joe started after her, but behind him, Holbrook shouted, “Gun!”
Someone hit Joe from behind, slamming him into the cabin wall. He gasped as pain rocketed through his injured side, robbing him of breath. He felt an arm press against his neck, pushing his face into the wall.
“Don’t you move!” Deputy Lowell growled in his ear. He reached under Joe’s shirt and pulled the Colt from his waistband, laying it on the side table next to them.
“I told you I’m a cop!” Joe protested.
“Just hold still-”
Joe heard Jane cry out from the back of the cabin. “Jane!” he called, his own panic starting to rise. Where was Holbrook? Was he back there with her?
Joe tried to turn his head to locate the man, but Lowell pushed his face back into the wall. “I said hold still!”
“She tried to bite me!” Garland’s indignant voice rang out in the hallway, followed by the sounds of a struggle.
“Jane!” Joe called out, needing to hear her answer.
“Touching, your concern for my wife,” Holbrook murmured, his voice close.
Joe stopped resisting Lowell as cold anger swamped him, driving out the worst of the panic. “Deputy, it’s bad procedure to try to make an arrest with civilians in the line of fire.”
“He’s right, Mr. Holbrook,” Lowell said. “You should’ve stayed in the car.”
“If it will make things easier…” Holbrook’s footsteps retreated.
Joe heard the cabin door open and close. He waited a moment, then asked the deputy, “Is he gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I realize you have every reason to believe that guy. But he’s lying to you. He is a suspect in a brutal murder in Trinity, Idaho-”
“I’ve seen the BOLO on that murder,” Lowell said, referring to the Be On The Lookout message Sheriff Trent had issued to surrounding law-enforcement agencies. “It was for a guy with a beard.”
“It was a disguise!” Joe pressed his forehead against the wall. “I helped write the damned thing, so I know it said the guy might be wearing a false beard. Look, just let me go and I can explain exactly what’s going on-”
