The Marshal's Hostage - By Delores Fossen Page 0,54

but a heart-to-heart with Kirby would have to wait. There were actually more pressing things.

Like Lindsey.

Dallas tugged off his Stetson and hooked it on the peg. He also set the security system. “The sheriff tested Lindsey for gunshot residue,” he told a waiting Joelle. “And they didn’t find a gun on her or anywhere else in the woods.”

Joelle’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “But she was there, and someone shot Rudy.”

Both of those things were one hundred percent true. Rudy had indeed been shot. Well, sort of. A bullet had grazed his arm, but it wasn’t serious. He’d only needed a few stitches. However, none of the evidence was pointing to Lindsey as the woman who’d shot him.

If anyone had.

“Clayton said Rudy’s wound was superficial,” Dallas added in a whisper.

She stared at him a moment, processing that, and then groaned. “Are you saying Rudy could have shot himself?” But she waved him off before he could confirm that. “He could have done it to throw suspicion off himself, so that we wouldn’t believe he killed Webb.”

Bingo.

And the problem was, it was working. Yes, Rudy had been arrested for the standoff at the building, but he hadn’t fired at any police officers and hadn’t damaged any property that anyone could find. Coupled with the fact that he had no police record of any kind, and Dallas figured Rudy would be out of jail by morning.

Maybe earlier.

“The sheriff gave Rudy a Breathalyzer, and he was way over the legal limit,” Dallas continued. “I’m sure his lawyer will say that was the reason for his erratic behavior.”

Another soft groan, and she leaned her back against the door. “And what’s Lindsey’s lawyer saying?”

“She hasn’t asked for one, and the truth is, she might not need to. Unless they find a gun in those woods with her prints, the most the sheriff can charge her with is trespassing.”

And it was doubtful he’d even charge her with that since there weren’t any no-trespassing signs posted in that area of the woods.

She closed her eyes a moment, opened them and met his gaze. “Well, at least all the evidence is still intact.”

Yeah, but they both knew that evidence might produce nothing that they didn’t already have. It was Webb’s blood on the window frame and possibly the stairs, and the CSIs might even be able to guess at the height of the killer. But that wouldn’t give them a name.

But whatever was in that safe might.

“I did convince the sheriff to remove all the documents from Webb’s office,” Dallas explained to her. “The safe and its contents, too. They’ll be moved to the marshals’ office for now, but I didn’t want anyone destroying something that could catch a killer.”

She made a weary sound of agreement. “I’m betting Sarah and Rudy won’t like you taking those things.”

That was a correct bet. According to the sheriff, both had pitched hissy fits. They were too damn territorial for Dallas’s liking, especially since their insane need to preserve Rocky Creek could also be preserving the identity of the killer.

“I need a drink.” In fact, he needed several of them, but Dallas would settle for one and then crash because he figured tomorrow wouldn’t be any easier than today. “And I need to toss this.” It was the rest of their fast food dinner that they’d grabbed on the drive back to the ranch.

Joelle pushed herself away from the door and followed him into the kitchen where he dropped the bag in the trash. Judging from the exhaustion on her face, he’d expected her to say good-night and head for the guest room, but instead she motioned for him to hand her a beer when he took one from the fridge.

She twisted off the top, had a sip and made a face. Maybe beer wasn’t her usual drink, but she still had another sip of it. “Look, I know this isn’t something you want to hear, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

Hell. Dallas knew where this conversation was going, and he wanted no part of it. “Not now,” he warned. But he might as well have been talking to the air.

“I did what I thought was right at the time,” Joelle continued. And she didn’t just continue. When he started to walk out, she grabbed his arm. “You can be mad at me all you want, but you’re going to hear me say I’m sorry for keeping the pregnancy a secret.”

Dallas could have easily thrown off her hand and put