"But ... why would whoever killed Jessie want to kill you? And me?"
"I don't know," he said in frustration.
"I've gone over and over everything that happened before Jessie died, and I can't think of anything. I didn't know she had a lover until Booley told me she was pregnant when she died, but why would he have killed Jessie? It would have made sense if he'd tried to kill me, but not Jessie. And if Jessie was killed because of something else she was doing, there wouldn't be a reason for the killer to come after you and me. We don't 35 7
know who he is, and after ten years he should feel safe from discovery, so why take the risk of starting it all again?"
"So you don't think her lover is the one?"
"I don't know. There's no reason for it. On the other hand, if I'm the real target and have been all along, that means Jessie died because she was my wife. I thought she might have surprised the killer, the same way you did, and he killed her so she couldn't identify him. I made sure it's common knowledge that you can't remember anything about the night you were attacked, so he wouldn't have that as a reason for coming back. But when your brake line was cut, I knew it had to be more than that. Tampering with your car was directed specifically at you."
"Because we're getting married," she said, feeling sick inside.
"But how could he have found out so fast? We just decided yesterday morning!"
"You started making arrangements yesterday," Webb said, shrugging.
"Think of the people you called, all the people they must have told. News travels. Whoever it is must hate me a lot, to go after first Jessie, then you."
"But Jessie's death had to be unplanned," Roanna argued.
"No one could have known that y'all would argue that night or that you would have gone to a bar. Normally you would have been at home." "I know," he said, exhaling hard in frustration.
"I can't think of a reason for any of it. No matter how I look at it, some of the details don't fit."
She got up from the bed and went over to him, needing his closeness. He put his arms around her and hugged her to him, tucking the afghan more securely around her shoulders. She laid her head on his chest, softly breathing in the warm, musky scent of his skin. It was unthinkable that anything should happen to him.
"Why do you think he'll come back tonight?"
"Because he's made several attempts in a short period of time. He keeps coming back, trying something different. Loyal is watching from the stables. If he sees anything, he'll call me on the cellular phone, then notify the sheriff."
"Are you armed?"
He tilted his head toward the dresser.
"There."
She turned her head and in the dimness could see a darker shape lying on top of the dresser. Abruptly she knew what was different about his mood. This was how he must have been when he'd tracked the rustlers into Mexico: the hunter, the predator. Webb was a man not normally inclined to violence, but he would kill to protect his own. He wasn't excited or on edge; the thud of his heart beneath her head was steady. He was coolly, ruthlessly determined.
"What if nothing happens tonight?" she asked.
"Then we'll watch again tomorrow night. Eventually, we'll get him."
She stood with him for a long time, staring out at the moonlit night until her eyes ached. Nothing moved, and the crickets chirped undisturbed.
"You're sure the alarm is on?"
He pointed to the code box beside the veranda doors. A tiny green light was steadily shining. A red light flashed if a door was opened, and if the code wasn't entered within fifteen seconds, the alarm sounded.
Webb appeared to have the patience of Job and the stamina of a marathoner. He stood unmoving, keeping watch, but Roanna couldn't manage to stand still for that length of time. She paced slowly around the dark bedroom, hugging the afghan around her, until Webb said softly, "Why don't you lie down and get some sleep?"
"I have insomnia, remember?" she shot back.
"I only sleep after-" She stopped, and he chuckled.
"I could say something crude, but I won't. I kind of like this strange type of insomnia," he teased. "It gives me incentive."
"I haven't noticed that you needed any."
"After we've been married thirty years or so, I might-" He broke off, every line of his big body tensing.
Roanna didn't hurry to the window, though that was her first urge. She was wearing a white nightgown; her appearance at the window might be spotted. Instead she whispered, "Do you see someone?"
"The son of a bitch is slipping up the outside stairs," he murmured.
"I didn't see him until just now. Probably Loyal didn't either." He took the cellular phone from his pocket and punched the numbers for Loyal's private line. A few seconds later he said quietly, "He's here, coming up to the veranda by the outside stairs." That was all. He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket.
"What do we do?" she whispered.
"Wait and see what he does. Loyal is calling the sheriff, then he's coming over as backup." He shifted his position a little, so he had a better angle to watch the silent intruder. The moonlight slanted across his face. " He's going around to the front ... He's out of sight now."
A red light blinked, catching Roanna's attention. She stared at the code box.
"Webb, he's in the house! The light's blinking."
He swore softly and moved across the room to get the pistol from the top of the dresser.
Still watching the light, Roanna said, startled, "It's stopped blinking. It's green again."