Confessing to the Cowboy - By Carla Cassidy Page 0,84

and then fifteen minutes with ice off and if it’s not better in the morning call your doctor and get it checked out. Hopefully by then the roads will be in better condition and if you need to get it x-rayed, you can.”

Before Cameron could stand, his father’s hand came to rest heavily on his right shoulder. Cameron closed his eyes and held his breath, reveling in the simple touch from a man who had scarcely even acknowledged his existence since Bobby’s tragic death.

“You’re a good man, Cameron,” his father said softly. “I don’t tell you that often enough.”

Cameron’s heart expanded painfully tight in his chest but before he could reply his cell phone rang. He stood and grabbed the phone from his jacket pocket.

“Evans,” he said curtly, hoping this wasn’t another accident call.

“Cam, it’s Bev.” Beverly Berlin always identified herself even though she’d been his secretary-dispatcher for the past seven years and he would have known her high-pitched, slightly breathy voice anywhere.

“What’s up, Bev?”

“The oddest thing, I just got a 911 call from Junior Lempke’s cell phone but he’s not saying anything. The line is open but all I can hear is somebody yelling and screaming in the background.”

“Did you call Lila?” Cameron asked, already heading toward the front door. Lila had given Junior’s cell phone number to all the deputies and workers at the sheriff’s office just in case Junior accidentally called.

It was quite possible Junior was tucked safely in his own bed at home and had accidently punched three for 911. Cameron was vaguely surprised it hadn’t happened before.

“Lila is frantic,” Bev continued. “She told me Junior left his cell phone at the café earlier today and despite the nasty weather he went back to get it.”

Every muscle in Cameron’s body froze solid as for a moment he forgot how to breathe. Junior going to the café, not speaking on the phone, the sounds of screams and yelling in the background—Mary was in trouble. The words screamed in his head.

“Thanks, Bev,” he finally managed to choke out. He hung up the phone. “I’ve got to go,” he said to his parents.

“Go do what you do best,” Jim said.

The words warmed Cameron as he raced to his car, but the warmth instantly disappeared as Bev’s words rang in his ears. Normally from here he would be no more than fifteen minutes away from the café even without the use of his siren. But under these road conditions, it would take longer.

Too long.

And Mary was in trouble.

The words reverberated through his head as his hands tightened on the steering wheel and his stomach rocked with frantic fear.

Who had been screaming and if it had been Mary, then who had been making her scream? He couldn’t believe that he’d misjudged Junior after the debacle in the abandoned cabin. He’d believed Junior’s story about wanting a place of his own. Had he misjudged that whole situation? And yet if Junior was the killer, then why would he have dialed 911?

No, not Junior. So who?

He thought of the first victim, Candy Bailey, her throat slashed. Shirley Cook suffered the same fate, killed in her bed. Finally there was Dorothy Blake, her face chalk-white from having pretty much bled out from the slash in her throat.

Not Mary. Please not Mary. Hadn’t he lost enough when Bobby had died? He’d not only lost his brother...his best friend, but had also suffered the alienation from his father.

Not Mary. He couldn’t survive without her.

As the back of his car fishtailed, forcing his foot off the gas, his fear of losing Mary strangled him, threatening to stop his breath.

Too late. Was it already too late? No, he couldn’t think that way. He’d lose his mind right here and now if he didn’t think he had a chance.

He had to get there in time to save her. He couldn’t let another murder take place, especially not Mary’s murder. She might not love him in the way he’d wanted her to, but he couldn’t live with her death.

Bobby’s death had nearly killed him, but Mary’s death would destroy him at his very core. He’d expected her to be safe in the café until he picked her up to take her home. What had gone wrong? Who was there with her and how did Junior get into the middle of it all?

Even the crumb of acknowledgment he’d just gotten from his father could do nothing to ease the restricting labor of Cameron’s breathing, the slide of his wheels on the