The Protectors. Beverly BartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
God!” He shoved Deborah aside, drew his 9mm handgun and rushed outside.
The female officer who’d been listening to the conversation rushed over to Deborah and followed her when she headed for the door. Looking up and down the street, Deborah didn’t see the truck. She leaned against the doorpost.
“Are you all right?” the woman officer asked.
“I will be.”
The male officer let out a long, low whistle when he saw Deborah’s Cadillac. “Good thing they didn’t get a lucky shot or you’d be dead, ma’am.”
“They’re gone, aren’t they?” Deborah asked, realizing they wouldn’t have hung around, making it easy for the police to arrest them.
“Yes, ma’am, looks that way.” He walked toward her, shaking his head. “Just where did this murder take place?”
“Out past some cotton fields, somewhere off Cotton Lane.”
“Don’t suppose you recognized either man in the truck or the man you say they murdered?”
“I only recognized one of them,” Deborah said. “The killer. He’s one of Buck Stansell’s gang. I remember seeing his picture in the paper when he went to trial a few months ago on drug-related charges.”
“Lon Sparks?” the officer asked. “You saw Lon Sparks kill a man?”
“Yes, if that’s his name…I saw him kill a man. Shot him in the head. Blood everywhere. All over the dead man. All over the killer.” Deborah trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
“Damn, ma’am, I sure wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. Lon Sparks is a mean bastard, if you’ll pardon me saying so.” The officer returned his gun to his holster.
“Shut up, Jerry Don, can’t you see she’s already scared out of her wits.” Putting an arm around Deborah’s shoulder, the female officer led her back inside the station. “We’d better get hold of the chief and then call the sheriff. If the killing took place out past Cotton Lane, then it’s a county matter.”
“Everything will be all right,” Jerry Don said. “You’re safe here with us, Miss…er…Miss…?”
“Deborah Vaughn.”
“Come on over and sit down, Miss Vaughn, and tell me exactly what happened,” The female officer said.
“May I use your phone first?” Deborah picked up the telephone on the officer’s desk. “I’m expected at home for dinner and my mother will worry if I’m late.”
Her hands trembled as she dialed the number. “Mother, I’m afraid I’ll be running a little late. You and Allen go ahead and have dinner without me. No. No, everything’s all right. I just ran into a little car trouble out here in Leighton. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Nothing she couldn’t handle. That’s right, Deborah. You’re tough, aren’t you? You can handle anything that’s thrown your way. You don’t need anyone to take care of you. You’ve been taking care of everyone else for so long, you wouldn’t know how it felt to admit you needed someone.
Well, it looked like the time had come. If the police wanted her to live long enough to testify against a cold-blooded killer, someone was going to have to protect her from Buck Stansell’s outlaws.
Chapter One
He had sworn he’d never come back to Sheffield, Alabama. But never say never. Ashe McLaughlin had discovered that anyone so absolutely certain often wound up eating his own words. And in his case, the taste was mighty bitter.
He had been gone eleven years, and little had changed. Except him. He had changed. He was older. Smarter. Harder.
He chuckled to himself. Harder? Hell, folks in northwest Alabama had considered him a real bad boy, one of those McLaughlins from Leighton, his daddy nothing but a white trash outlaw. But Ashe hadn’t been as tough as everyone thought. He had hated the legacy of poverty and ignorance his family had given him. He’d wanted more. He’d fought long and hard to better himself. But Wallace Vaughn had destroyed Ashe’s dreams of being accepted in Colbert County.
Eleven years ago he’d been told to leave town or else—or else he would have done jail time.
Now, here he was returning to a town that hadn’t wanted his kind. He couldn’t help wondering if anyone other than his grandmother would welcome him home. He supposed Carol Allen Vaughn would be glad to see him. After all, she’d been the one who’d asked him to take this job. He was probably a fool for agreeing to act as Deborah’s bodyguard.
Deborah Vaughn. No amount of time or distance had been able to erase her from Ashe’s memory.
He parked his rental car in the circular drive in front of the old Allen home, a brick Greek Revival cottage on Montgomery Avenue. His grandmother had once been the housekeeper here for the Vaughn family.
Walking up to the front door, he hesitated before ringing the bell. He’d never been allowed to enter the house through the front door but had always gone around to the back and entered through the kitchen. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework, sharing milk and cookies with Deborah, and sometimes her older cousin Whitney. That had been a lifetime ago.
He rang the doorbell. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he allowed Carol Vaughn’s dare to goad him into returning to a town he hated? Deborah needs you, she’d said. Are you afraid to see her again? she had taunted him.
He was not afraid to see Deborah Vaughn again. After ten years as a Green Beret, Ashe McLaughlin was afraid of nothing, least of all the girl who had betrayed him.
A plump, middle-aged woman opened the door and greeted him with a smile. “Yes, sir?”
“I’m Ashe McLaughlin. Mrs. Vaughn is expecting me.”
“Yes, please come inside. I’ll tell Miss Carol you’re here.”
Ashe stepped into the gracious entrance hall large enough to accommodate a grand piano as well as a large mahogany and gilt table with an enormous bouquet of fresh flowers in the center. A sweeping staircase wound upward on the left side of the room.
“If you’ll wait here, please.” The housekeeper scurried down the hall toward the back of the house.
He’d been summoned home. Like a knight in the Queen’s service. Ashe grinned. Better a knight than a stable boy, he supposed. Why hadn’t he just said no? I’m sorry, Mrs. Vaughn, but whatever trouble Deborah has gotten herself into, you’ll have to find someone else to rescue her.
God knows he had tried to refuse, but once he’d heard that Deborah’s life was in real danger, he had wavered in his resistance. And Carol Vaughn had taken advantage of the weakness she sensed in him.
“Ashe, so good of you to come, dear boy.” The voice still held that note of authority, that hint of superiority, that tone of Southern gentility.
He turned to face her, the woman he had always thought of as the personification of a real lady. He barely recognized the woman who stood before him. Thin, almost gaunt, her beautiful face etched with faint age lines, her complexion sickly pale. Her short blond hair was streaked with gray. She had once been full-figured, voluptuous and lovely beyond words.
She couldn’t be much more than fifty, but she looked older.
Caught off-guard by her appearance, by the drastic change the years had wrought, Ashe stared at Carol Vaughn. Quickly recovering his composure, he took several tentative steps forward and held out his hand.
She clasped his big, strong hand in her small, fragile one and squeezed. “Thank you for coming. You can’t imagine how desperately we need your help.”
Ashe assisted Carol down the hallway and into the living room. The four-columned entry permitted an unobstructed view of the