The Marshal's Hostage. Delores FossenЧитать онлайн книгу.
and scrawny at that. Webb had been a hulk of a man. A brute and a grown-up bully who had no right or reason to assault any of the kids at Rocky Creek.
But Webb had done just that.
And often.
That day, he’d had Dallas beaten within an inch of his life. A strong motive for murder. It didn’t look good, either, that Webb had gone missing that very night.
“Owen witnessed the threat you made to Webb,” Joelle continued. “And he insisted I include it in my report to the governor.”
“Of course he did.” Dallas added more profanity. “Owen’s a snotty-nosed tattletale. But hell’s bells, tell me you aren’t marrying Owen because of that?”
“No.” Joelle needed another sip of water before she could continue. “When I started the report, I requested background checks on all persons of interest. Including Owen. One of his disgruntled business associates tipped off my investigator that Owen might not be the upstanding citizen he claimed to be. I personally did some digging and uncovered a few things, including some shady land and business deals.”
Dallas didn’t give her the surprised look she’d expected. “Yeah. Owen’s dirty,” he agreed. “I’d bet my favorite mare on that. And he’s used the money that he inherited from his late wife and in-laws to do plenty of things I wish I could arrest him for. If you’ve got anything of a federal nature that I can use, I want it.”
“I can’t give it to you.”
That earned her a flat look. “We’re going to the hospital. Obviously, the drug has affected you pretty bad if you’re covering for Owen.”
“I’m not covering for him.”
The flat look got flatter. “If it quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
And with that smart-mouthed reply, Dallas came across the room, set her water aside and lifted her to her feet. The dizziness returned with a vengeance, and Joelle had no choice but to lean on him. This time she took in his scent. And the feel of the muscles in his arms and chest.
Heck, she took him in, too, because all the memories came flooding back. Not of the fight with Webb or the miserable times they’d had at Rocky Creek but other times, when she’d been in his arms for a completely different reason.
He made a sound, a sort of grunt, and she hoped that didn’t mean he was remembering things best forgotten.
Like the last night they’d had together at the creek.
No.
Best not to think of that.
“The hospital,” Dallas growled. He yanked out his phone, no doubt to call either the hospital or one of his brothers, but he looked at the screen and grumbled something about not having service. It made sense because the cabin wasn’t exactly on the beaten path.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “After I drop you off at the hospital, I can arrest Owen for trying to intimidate you into withholding evidence. Last time I checked that’s called obstruction of justice.”
“It’s the same as what you want me to do for Kirby by killing that report,” she reminded him.
“Yeah,” he readily admitted.
Dallas didn’t have to say more. He would put himself in the line of legal fire for Kirby—real fire, too—for the man who’d saved him from Rocky Creek. And that’s why Joelle dug in her heels when they made it to the door. She’d fought too hard for Dallas to throw himself under a bus that he didn’t even know was headed his way.
“There’s more,” she said, still leaning against him. Still taking in his scent. But she eased the memories onto the back burner. Way back. Because she couldn’t have that playing into what else she had to tell him.
Dallas didn’t roll his eyes, but he came close. “There’s nothing you can say that’ll stop me from going after Owen.”
“Yes, there is.”
That halted him for just a moment, but then he huffed and opened the door. He glanced around, those lawman’s eyes checking for any sign of Owen or his men. Joelle tried to check, too, but her main focus was getting Dallas through what she was about to tell him.
It would change everything.
“Owen has a knife locked away in a safe-deposit box,” she said. Dallas made a mild sound of interest and scooped her up, taking her toward the shed. “He said he got it from Webb’s office the night he disappeared,” she continued. “That it was lying on the floor and he took it.”
“Good, now I can add petty theft to the charges I’ll file against Owen,” Dallas mumbled. He opened the shed and climbed onto the four-wheeler with her, positioning her in his lap.
“The knife has Webb’s blood on it,” Joelle added. “And fingerprints. Yours.”
That stopped him from starting the engine. Even though everything was still swimming in and out of focus, Joelle tried to catalog every bit of his reaction. He blinked, drew in his breath and then shook his head.
“Owen’s lying,” Dallas concluded.
Joelle had had the same reaction when Owen had first dropped the bombshell on her. “He’s not. Not about this, anyway. I had the knife tested. It’s your prints, all right. Webb’s blood, too. His DNA was in the database because his wife had provided a hair sample to the cops when he went missing.”
With her arm and shoulder against his chest, she could feel his heart thudding. Hers was, too. But she could also see the wheels turning in his head, and Dallas no doubt knew what conclusions she’d reached.
She hadn’t wanted to go there, but the evidence was pretty damning.
“I had a friend run the tests,” she explained. “It’s all under wraps, and it’ll stay secret—”
“Owen somehow faked the prints,” Dallas interrupted. “Maybe the blood, too.”
Joelle shook her head. “My friend was thorough, and the prints were badly smeared, but they have the pressure impressions consistent with the knife being in your hand.” She had to pause again. “And the blood, well, it’s consistent with the blade being plunged into Webb’s body.”
She didn’t have to remind him that there had indeed been knife marks found on Webb’s ribs.
Dallas cursed. “You think I killed Webb.”
Joelle hated that she even had to ask the question. “Did you?” But she didn’t wait for an answer, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it anyway. “Webb was a horrible excuse for a human being. He deserved to die, and if he’d lived, he would have eventually killed you or one of the others.”
Dallas grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her up so they were facing each other. “I did not murder Webb.”
Everything inside her went still, and she stared at Dallas, trying to figure out if that was true.
“I have no reason to lie to you,” he added.
He did indeed have a reason because she would be duty bound to report his confession to the authorities. But she saw nothing in his eyes, his expression or his body language to indicate he’d killed Jonah Webb.
“Oh, God,” she mumbled.
“Yeah. Let me guess—Owen said if you married him that he’d keep the knife hidden away, that I wouldn’t be arrested for murder.”
She managed a nod.
But Dallas only managed a stare. He looked at her as if the moon had just come crashing down on her head. “Why the hell would you have done that for me?” he asked. But as she’d done, he didn’t give her a chance to answer. “You left me sixteen years ago without so much as a word as to where you were going or why I was no longer good enough for you.”