Official Duty. Doreen Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ leave me, I’ll hunt you down. I’ll mess up that pretty face of yours so that no man will ever look at you without shuddering.

      He raised his hand, holding the pointed blade of the knife just inches from her face. Light glinted along the razor-sharp edge as he brought it closer. You’re mine, Virginia, and you’ll be mine until the day we die. Longer, because if you have the guts to outlive me, I’ll come right back to haunt you. You will never be rid of me. Never.

      She tried to call out for help, knowing that none was there. And then she was awake, his mocking laughter still ringing in her ears. Her lunging hand found the lamp and light flooded the room.

      She sat up, hugged her knees and rocked until the perspiration on her forehead dried and her heart slowed to its normal beat. The nightmare was nothing new. She’d endured it over and over again.

      But then, as the fog of sleep cleared, memory returned. Brandon was dead. Things had changed after all.

      She had nothing to fear now. He could never hurt her again. She was finally free.

      Or was she? Three months and still the nightmares persisted. Why couldn’t she rid herself of the memories? Why couldn’t she just forget the past, put it all behind her and get on with her life?

      You will never be rid of me. Never.

      Shuddering, she lay back down and pulled the covers over her bare shoulders. He was right. He may well be dead but he still haunted her dreams and tormented her mind. God help her.

      Reluctant to go back to sleep, she finally crawled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. The digital clock on the wall told her it was a little past 5:00 a.m. Coffee would be awfully good right now.

      As the welcome fragrance filled the organized kitchen of her elegant town house, she made a determined effort to banish the last remnants of the nightmare. Even so, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had persisted ever since last night.

      At first, she hadn’t been too concerned when her phone call a few nights ago had gone unanswered. She had simply assumed that Jim and Mabel were out visiting neighbors, or were enjoying a barn dance in the drafty, beat-up old barn on the Ridgewood Highway, a mile out of Gold Peak.

      She filled her cup with steaming black coffee and carried it out to her living room. Sinking onto the sumptuous blue suede couch, she stretched out her legs and tried to still the tremors in her stomach.

      When she’d called the next day and still the Corbetts didn’t answer, the niggling worry had begun eating at her. She’d told herself that Jim was probably working in the yard, or fussing with the chickens. Mabel could be hanging out the wash, taking advantage of a stiff breeze to save electricity. Mabel was always looking for ways to save since Jim had retired.

      But then she’d realized that the answering machine had been turned off. And that wasn’t like Jim at all. He hated to miss out on anything. He made a point of stopping by the barber’s at least once a week to catch up on the local gossip. He would never intentionally turn off the answering machine.

      She’d tried to convince herself that the machine was broken and Jim was having it repaired. Or maybe waiting to buy a new one at Pitkin’s general store. He might even have had to order one from a catalog, or drive into Rapid City to get one. Perhaps that’s where he and Mabel had gone on a sunny afternoon. Shopping in Rapid City.

      She’d waited two long days before trying to call again. Still no answer. And now the worry had become a nagging ache.

      It had been many years since she’d last seen Mabel and Jim Corbett. When she’d finally found the courage to leave Brandon nine months ago, she’d changed her name and moved to the east coast. Fearing that he’d force her whereabouts from her former foster parents, she’d kept her new address and name a secret, even from them. When she called them, she used her cell phone. Brandon was devious. He had power. He had resources. She wouldn’t be that tough to find.

      After the news of his death, she’d thought about going back to Gold Peak to see Jim and Mabel. But the nightmares had been so invasive, so frightening, so realistic, she still hadn’t been able to venture from her safe cocoon—the new life she’d created, where no one knew her history, or her real name.

      She wasn’t Ginny Matthews from Gold Peak, Oregon anymore. She wasn’t Virginia Pierce, captive wife of Brandon Pierce. She was Justine Madison and for anyone who’d asked, she’d invented a family in California. The past twelve years had turned her into a city girl. She didn’t belong in Gold Peak now.

      Then again, maybe there had been another reason she didn’t want to go back. A compelling reason in the shape of a six-foot-one, dark-haired cowboy by the name of Cully Black.

      The moment his name popped into her mind she saw him, as clear as the day she’d told him she was leaving town for good. She’d searched his face that day, hoping in vain to see some kind of regret in his eyes. The color of charcoal, they’d stared back at her, cool and indifferent, killing all hopes she’d ever raised.

      He’d seemed so distant, so unapproachable, it was hard to believe they’d ever slept in each other’s arms after a reckless night of lovemaking—a night of crazy passion she’d never known before or since. No, the last person in the world she wanted to see again was Cully.

      Even so, she was worried about her former foster parents. For some reason, the urge to see them, talk to them, was overwhelming. Maybe she could talk them into flying to Philadelphia. She could show them the city, take them to see Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, The Franklin Institute. Buy them a cheese-steak. Jim would love that. And Mabel would adore Liberty Place, with its myriad shops and ethnic food outlets.

      Excited at the prospect, she glanced at the pendulum clock on her mantelpiece. It was two-thirty in the morning in Oregon. She would have to call when she got home from work. Her invitation would just have to wait.

      CULLY HAD WAITED all day for the coroner’s report. It came just as he’d locked the door of his office behind him and was halfway down the steps to the street.

      He was looking forward to getting home. Nothing eased the stress of a hard day faster than the snuffling sounds of welcome his horses gave him when he walked into his stables. Their earthy smell, their rough hair beneath his fingers, the nudge of a cold nose against his cheek, all of it was his reward for having made it through another day.

      Soon after he’d been elected sheriff, he’d bought the modest horse ranch in the hopes of escaping some of the pressure and the pain that haunted him. Having practically grown up in the small town buried at the foot of Oregon’s Eastern mountains, he’d been around horses most of his life.

      Next to his dedication to upholding the law, horses were his greatest passion. There were times when dealing with the tragic side of life weighed heavily on his mind. Particularly the last two days. His horses helped lighten the load. Considerably. Mabel had been right when she’d told him he’d always be a cowboy at heart.

      When his cell phone jingled he reached for it, hoping it wasn’t another call that would take him away from his supper. Lyla Whittaker, his housekeeper, usually stayed long enough to serve him up a hot meal, unless he was late getting home. Those nights he had to make do with warming something up in the microwave. He wasn’t in the mood for the microwave tonight.

      He answered the phone with a curt, “Sheriff Black.”

      It was the coroner and he listened intently as the mild voice told СКАЧАТЬ