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Stuart came out of the back room with an armload of blankets. Jody ran to him. “Whatcha doing, Stuart? It’s too hot for blankets.”
Stuart leaned down and whispered, “We have a female prisoner and I’m fixing her some privacy.”
“Oh.” Before Wyatt could stop her, Jody darted down the hall to the jail. He was instantly on his feet. But Dolittle was in the way and he almost tripped over him.
Jody stared though the bars at Ms. Ross. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Stop gawking, little girl,” the woman said. “This isn’t a sideshow.”
Jody’s face puckered into a frown. “I’m not a girl. I’m Jody.”
“You look like a girl to me.”
“You’re a girl,” Jody said.
“Well, Jody-with-a-gender-issue, go away and leave me the hell alone.”
Jody put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, you said a bad word.”
“Like I care. Go away, brat.”
Jody placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not nice and I hope my daddy lets you rot in here.”
“Do you not understand the meaning of ‘go away’?”
Jody stuck out her tongue. Wyatt pulled her away and led her back into the office. “You know you’re not supposed to speak to the prisoners.”
“What did she do, Daddy?” Jody pulled free of his hold and looked up into his face.
Wyatt didn’t plan on answering that question. Jody didn’t need to know. He glanced at the clock. Almost four. Time to get in a little fishing.
“Stuart, my daughter and I are going fishing.”
“Yay!” Jody jumped up and down.
“If anyone calls about Ms. Ross, call me on my cell and I’ll come back and sort it out.”
“You gonna leave me here with her?” Stuart’s left eye twitched, which always happened when he was nervous.
Wyatt reached for his hat. “Is that a problem?”
“No…well…” Stuart held his hand over his mouth so Jody couldn’t hear. “What if she attacks me when I hang the blankets? I don’t want to hit a woman.”
Wyatt glanced at his watch. “Lamar’s shift starts at five so wait until then. Surely the two of you can handle one woman.”
Stuart nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
Wyatt pointed to the bail book. “Leroy’s and Leonard’s wives are coming in with bail money, so let them go then.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Stuart winked at Jody. “Catch a big one, little bit.” Everyone in town called Jody that.
Wyatt shook his head as he walked out the door. One feisty blonde had his office turned upside down.
Hopefully her powerful mother would show up soon with a lawyer and Ms. Ross would be out of his hair.
For good.
FOR THE FIRST TIME in years, Wyatt wasn’t enjoying the fishing. He kept wondering what was going on at the office. And he wondered about Peyton Ross. Why was she so defiant and angry? She seemed to have class and beauty, but on the inside she was like rebellious teenager determined to prove something. He wondered what.
At dusk he drove Jody home and went to check on things at the jail. Jody wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t let her. She spent too much time there, too. Soon he’d have to set rules for his child—and enforce them—or she was going to be the wildest kid in Horseshoe.
Lamar was at the desk when he went in. He immediately jumped to his feet. In his early twenties, Lamar was somewhat overeager. He always tried to please and at times it could be a little tiring. But Lamar was dedicated to his job, and Wyatt trusted him completely.
“How’s it going?” Wyatt asked, sinking into his chair.
“Okay, I guess. Leroy and Leonard are gone. Zeke is a pain as usual, demanding to be released.”
“And Ms. Ross?”
Lamar scratched his head. “She refused supper. Said she doesn’t eat garbage. She had a few choice words to say about you, too. That woman has a bad attitude, but she’s real easy on the eyes.”
Wyatt ignored that. “Has anyone called about her?”
“Not a soul.”
Damn. Where was this powerful mother? He got up and made his way to her cell. Blankets were hung haphazardly from the bars, but none over the door. He could see inside. She sat on the bottom bunk in pink capris, a sparkly tank top and sandals. She’d changed her clothes, but the expression on her face was the same—rebellious.
“Would you like to try your mother again? We haven’t heard from anyone.” He was as cordial as he knew how to be, just as his parents had taught him.
“Don’t worry, you will,” she replied with a lift of a finely arched brow. “And you can kiss that shiny badge on your chest goodbye. My mother will have you for breakfast.”
He rubbed his jaw, feeling a five-o’clock shadow. Again he wondered what had happened to make her so bitter. “Have you ever heard that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”
“Sorry, I’m not up on your little country sayings, but you might try catching some of these roaches in here. I’m sure locking me up in such a dump is breaking several laws, not to mention some health violations.”
His cordial attitude went south. Wyatt tipped his hat. “Good night, Ms. Ross.”
“Go to hell,” she shot back.
THE NIGHT WORE ON and Peyton kept glancing at her watch. Quinn will come. Quinn will come. By ten o’clock she knew he wasn’t coming. A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly slapped it away. She wouldn’t cry. That Mayberry sheriff would not make her cry.
The tiny lightbulb cast depressing shadows in the cell. This couldn’t be happening to her. She’d planned to drink and party with her sorority sisters until she could no longer see her beautiful mother with that man. Oh, how could she marry Garland Wingate!
He was so different from her scholarly, gentle father. Garland owned an oil company and wore cowboy boots. So uncouth. Much like the sheriff of this one-horse town.
What was she going to do? Quinn would probably let her stew overnight and be here in the morning. But what if he didn’t? He was angry with her and had a right to be. She needed to talk to her mother and apologize. Then this terrible nightmare would end.
She still had her phone. The sheriff had forgotten to retrieve it. Ignoring her brother’s warning, she punched in her mother’s number. It rang once and went to voice mail. Of course. Her mother was on her honeymoon.
Anger flashed through Peyton and she fought it. There was nothing she could do now. Her mother had married Garland. She started to leave a message, but what would she say? How could she excuse her behavior? She couldn’t even explain it to herself.
Good manners. Good behavior. She’d left those behind the moment she’d decided to run.
Slowly she placed the phone on the cot and glanced around at her dismal surroundings. Ohmygod! She was in jail—locked up. It suddenly hit her like a slap in the face and it stung. She had to find a way out of here. She wasn’t a criminal.
“Hey, fancy lady, ya sleep?” the man named Zeke called.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“Ya got a fella?”
Could she be in any more of a backwater? “Shut up.”
“I got a place on the river, even got runnin’ water.”
Was this idiot for real?
“I wanna marry up and I’d be good to ya, might even put in a bathroom for ya. Whaddaya say, fancy lady?”
“The only thing I want is to get out of this jail.”
“I git ya outta here.”
That caught her attention. “How?” She immediately wanted to snatch the word back. Had she completely lost her mind?
“I got ways.”
“Just leave me alone, okay?” The last thing she wanted was to get involved with this crazy person. She felt something touch her ankle and she jumped, tucking her feet beneath her on the cot. It was probably a roach. Her skin crawled with revulsion. How was she going to survive this night?
“Hey, Lamar,” Zeke shouted. “I feel sick.”
“Go to sleep, Zeke,” The deputy shouted back.
“I’m gonna throw up. The food must a been bad.”
“You’re trying my patience tonight.”
Loud thuds echoed on the concrete. The deputy was coming to the cell.
She got to her feet and peered out to see what was going on. She had a feeling the man wasn’t sick. What was he up to?
“I got a fever, too. Feel me.”
The deputy stuck in his hand to touch Zeke’s forehead. As he did, Zeke’s thick arm snapped out and grabbed the deputy around the neck, yanking him up against the bars. The deputy jerked, coughed, sputtered and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Ohmigod! What did the man do? Peyton wondered if Lamar was alive. He was so still. She swallowed back a scream.
Zeke crouched down and through the bars reached for the keys on the deputy’s belt. A sly smile crossed his bearded face as he withdrew them. Then he reached for the gun and stuffed it into the waistband of his worn, dirty jeans. Quickly he inserted the key into the lock and opened the door.
He stepped over the deputy’s body and, to her horror, unlocked her door. No! No! She took a couple of steps backward and looked for something to use as a weapon. There was nothing but her high heels. As he advanced on her, a glint in his bloodshot eyes, she bent down to pick one up.
Before she could reach it, he grabbed her around the neck and jerked her up against his body. “I told ya, fancy lady, I git ya outta here.”
Her scream wedged in her throat and she couldn’t breathe. The man had a foul body odor and he smacked his lips in glee. His shaggy, grayish beard brushed against her cheek like a Brillo pad, and chills skipped across her skin.
He dragged her toward the door and she realized he was taking her with him. She kicked back with her feet and connected with his shins, but it didn’t even faze him.
“Let me go, you beast!”
“Ya want outta here, so I’m taking ya to my place. Ya belong to me now.”
“What?” Her body grew weak with fright. She wanted out of here, but not like this.
“The sheriff won’t find us, might not even look. He’ll be glad to see the back of ya, fancy lady.”
Her breath came in shallow gasps as he lugged her struggling body to a back door.
Where’s the sheriff? went repeatedly through her mind like a prayer before a disaster. He was her only hope. Just moments ago she never wanted to set eyes on the man again, but now he was the only person she wanted to see.
And she didn’t even know his name.
The door came open easily and Zeke hauled her outside into the sultry summer night. The scent of crepe myrtles wafted on the soft breeze, the delicate fragrance pleasant and embracing, a sharp contrast to the terror that gripped her. She blinked at the bright floodlight that illuminated a parking area. To the left, her car and a rusty old truck were enclosed inside an eight-foot-high chain-link fence.
Zeke dragged her toward the double gates. She tried everything she could to slow him down. She dug in her heels and then bit his arm, but to no avail. His heavy arm around her neck was strong and suffocating.
When they reached the gates, he yanked out the gun and fired at the chain. Her pounding heart jammed against her ribs at the sound and her ears rang. She held on to her composure, though. Barely. Hysterical screams were right there at the edge of her throat. Someone would hear the shot and come, right?
She held on to that thought.
Zeke kicked open the gate and jogged toward the truck, still tugging her along. She realized this was her last chance and she gave full rein to the screams.
He clamped a filthy hand over her mouth while opening a door and lifted her onto the seat as if she weighed no more than a rag doll.
“Let me go, you maniac!”
“Stop it.” He pointed the gun at her. “Or I’ll shoot ya.”
Her throat closed up.
“Git over,” he growled.
In a moment of clarity she realized this really was her last chance. She quickly scooted over torn upholstery to the passenger’s side, intending to open the door and run like hell. The truck was strewn with trash and stank of rotted food and urine. Paper cups, newspapers, dirty clothes littered the floor and the seat.
She held her breath against the stench as she searched for the door handle. There wasn’t one—just a hole where one used to be. No! No! Frantic, she ran her hand over the inside of the door one more time. Nothing.
“Gimme yer hands.”
She twisted around and saw he was in the truck and the door was closed. In his big hands was a small rope. She froze.
