Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

"Psychiatrists still favor using a couch for their sessions. I guess you decided to take it a few steps further."

She gave the bed another shake, but turned her back to it the instant her imagination began to picture Savannah there with her wrists bound.

Annie Gerrard had been bound by her wrists too.

She settled her right hand on her pocketbook and pressed the pocketbook against her hip, imagining that she could feel the outline of her Lady Smith through the glove-soft leather.

"Do you know what I think of men who have to tie women up in order to feel superior to them?" she asked, giving Baldwin the same look that had cracked more than one defendant's story. "I think they're spineless, twisted, despicable scum."

A muscle ticked in Jimmy Lee's cheek. In his pockets he balled his hands into fists. His temper strained with the need to use them. "I told you, I've never had anything to do with your sister sexually. Only the Lord can decipher what might go on in a mind like Savannah's. I don't doubt but that she's capable of saying-of doing-anything at all. But I'm telling you, as God is my witness, I have never laid a hand on her."

"God is a very convenient witness," Laurel said dryly. "Difficult to cross-examine."

Baldwin's tawny brows scaled his forehead. He all but raised a finger and declared her a blasphemer. "You would doubt the Lord?" he gasped, incredulous.

The act was lost on Laurel. "I would doubt you," she said. "I came here to ask if you've seen Savannah in the last couple of days, but I can see I'm wasting my time waiting for a straight answer. Perhaps Sheriff Kenner will have better luck."

She hadn't taken three steps past him when his hand snaked out and caught her by the shoulder. Laurel twisted around, chopping at his arm as she had been taught in self-defense class, breaking his hold. He glared at her, but made no move to touch her again.

"I haven't seen your sister," he said, struggling to maintain a facade of calm. "That's God's honest truth. No need to drag the sheriff out here."

Laurel took another step back toward the door and inched her hand into her purse. Her heart was thumping. Her palms were sweating. She hoped to hell she would be able to hang on to the gun if the need arose.

"Why don't you want him out here? Skeletons in your closet, Reverend?"

"Scandal is deadly in my position," he said, following her retreat toward the door. "Even though I've done nothing wrong, people tend to believe where there's smoke, there's fire."

"They're usually right."

"Not in this case."

"Save your breath, Baldwin," she sneered. "You couldn't win me over if you turned water into wine right before my very eyes. You're a charlatan and a fraud, and if I didn't have better things to do with my time, I'd make certain the whole damn world found out about it."

She could ruin him. The thought hit Jimmy Lee like a brick in the belly. His stomach twisted into a knot. His shot at wealth and glory could be dead in the water. No one would believe her sister, but people would at least pause to listen to Laurel Chandler. They might dismiss what she said after, since she had a reputation for crying wolf, but the damage would be done.

The press would focus on him. Despite the pains he had always taken to disguise himself, some whore would recognize him on the news and sell a juicy story to the Enquirer. Christ, he wished he'd never set eyes on a Chandler woman in his life. Bitches and whores, both of them. He wanted to choke the life out of this one, the pompous little do-gooder.

As the picture flashed like a strobe in his brain, his hold on his temper broke with a snap. He opened his jaws in a snarl that was made only more eerie by the white of his too-perfect caps. A red haze filmed across his eyes, and he lunged toward her, growling, "You little bitch."

Heart catapulting into her throat, Laurel stumbled backward to give herself room. Staying just out of Baldwin's reach, she jerked the Lady Smith from her purse and held it chest-high, with both hands wrapped around the grip.

Jimmy Lee's eyes bugged out at the sight of the gun. "Jesus Fucking Christ!"

"Amen, Revver," Jack drawled.

Adrenaline was searing his veins. He wanted nothing more than to throw the door open, tackle Baldwin, and pound the life out of him for whatever he had done to spook Laurel, but he held the machismo in firm check. Laurel and her purse pistol had the situation under control. Sort of. Her hands were trembling badly.

With deliberately, deceptively lazy movements, Jack drew open the screen door and propped himself up against the jamb.

"And if you think she can't use it, you better think again, Jimmy Lee," he said. "She'll shoot your balls off and feed 'em to stray dogs."

Jimmy Lee glared at him with a look of pure, unadulterated hate. "I didn't ask you in, Boudreaux."

Jack arched a brow in amusement. "Oh, yeah? Well, you gonna do somethin' 'bout that, Jimmy Lee? Ms. Smith amp; Wesson might have somethin' to say 'bout that."

"Isn't that just like you-hiding behind a woman," Baldwin sneered. He raised an impotent finger in warning. "You take my word for it, Boudreaux. You won't be able to hide much longer."

He had a card up the sleeve of that cheap suit. Jack could tell by the gleam in his eyes. He couldn't imagine what it was, but he couldn't imagine that he'd give a damn, either. He blinked wide in mock fear and splayed a hand across his heart.

"Did you hear that, Miz Chandler? Why I do believe the good reverend just threatened me." With the same casual grace, Jack reached out and gently pushed her hands and the gun down so the barrel pointed at the floor. "Sugar, mebbe you could wait outside for me. I think Reverend Baldwin and I need to clear up this little misunderstanding."

Laurel looked up at him, more curious as to why he had shown up than what he was going to do to Jimmy Lee Baldwin. She probably should have stood her ground or made him leave with her. After all, assault was against the law, and she was sworn to uphold the law. But she glanced over at Baldwin and felt a surge of something primal and angry, and for once turned her back on rules and regulations. She didn't like the things Baldwin had intimated about Savannah-even if she knew deep down they may well have been true.

She slipped the Lady Smith back into her pocketbook and without a word turned and left the bungalow.

Jack settled his hands at the waist of his jeans and waited for the echo of the screen door slamming to fade away before he turned fully toward Jimmy Lee. Jimmy Lee, who believed the best defense was a good offense, snatched up the mostly empty bottle of E amp;J brandy off the three-legged coffee table and brandished it like a big glass club.

"Get the hell out of my house, Boudreaux."

"Not before we have us a little chat." Jack circled Baldwin slowly, moving in on him by imperceptible degrees. He didn't appear threatening. He scuffed his boots along on the gritty linoleum, his head down, as if he had nothing better to do than count the cigarette burns in the floor. "Now, Jimmy Lee, I don' know what you did to make Miz Chandler pull her little peashooter on you, but it had to be somethin' bad-her being such a law-abiding sort and all."

"I didn't do shit to her," Jimmy Lee snapped, turning, turning, to keep Boudreaux in front of him. His fingers flexed on the neck of the brandy bottle. "She's unbalanced. She was in an asylum, you know. She's nuts, just like her sister."

Jack shook his head in grave disappointment, still shuffling along, still turning, still moving in a little at a time. "You're impugning the character of a fine, upstanding woman, Jimmy Lee. Even I have to take exception to that."

Jimmy Lee made another quarter turn, wondering dimly at the way the floor seemed to dip beneath his feet. "I don't give a rat's ass what you take exception to, you coonass piece of shit."