cursed again. Egan definitely wasn’t going to approve of Court storming out here to see her, but his brother also couldn’t ignore the evidence that Rayna had shot their father. There was definitely something else going on though.
“My father’s alive,” Court told her. “You didn’t manage to kill him after all.”
She looked down at his shirt. At the blood. And Rayna glanced away as if the sight of it sickened her. Court took advantage of her glance and knocked the gun from her hand.
At least that was what he tried to do, but Rayna held on. She pushed him, and in the same motion, she turned to run. That was when Court tackled her. Her gun went flying, skittering all the way into the living room, and both Court and she landed hard on the floor.
Rayna groaned in pain. It wasn’t a soft groan, and while holding her side, she scrambled away from him. Court was about to dive at her again, but he saw yet more blood. This time on the side that she was holding.
That stopped him.
“What’s wrong with you? What happened?” Court snapped.
She looked around as if considering another run for it, but then her shoulders sagged as if she was surrendering.
Rayna sat up, putting her weight, and the back of her head, against the wall. She opened her mouth as if to start with that explanation, but she had to pause when her breath shuddered. She waved that off as if embarrassed by it and then hiked up her chin. It seemed to him as if she was trying to look strong.
She failed.
“When I came in from the barn about an hour ago, there was someone in my house,” Rayna said, her voice still a little unsteady. “I didn’t see who it was because he immediately clubbed me on the head and grabbed me from behind.” She winced again when she rubbed her left side. “I think he cracked my ribs when he hit me with something.”
Well, hell. Court certainly hadn’t expected any of this. And reminded himself that maybe it was all a lie, to cover up for the fact that she’d committed a crime. But those wounds weren’t lies. They were the real deal. That didn’t mean that they weren’t self-inflicted.
“I got away from him,” she continued a moment later. “After he hit me a few more times. And I pulled my gun, which I had in a slide holster in the back of my jeans. That’s when he left. I’m not sure where he went.”
That didn’t make sense. “If someone really broke in an hour ago, why didn’t you call the sheriff’s office right away?”
Rayna lifted her head a little and raised her eyebrow. For a simple gesture, it said loads. She didn’t trust the cops. Didn’t trust him.
Well, the feeling was mutual.
“I passed out for a while,” she added. She shook her head as if even she was confused by that, and she lifted the side of her shirt that had the blood. There was a bruise there, too, and what appeared to be a puncture wound. One that had likely caused the bleeding. “Or maybe the guy drugged me.”
“Great,” he muttered. This was getting more far-fetched with each passing moment. “FYI, I’m not buying this. And as for not calling the cops when you were attacked, you called Egan when you saw me,” Court pointed out.
“Because I didn’t want things to escalate to this.” She motioned to their positions on the floor. “Obviously, it didn’t work.”
He huffed. “And neither is this story you’re telling.” Court got to his feet and took out his phone. “Only a couple of minutes before my father was gunned down, a waitress in the diner across the street from the sheriff’s office spotted you in the parking lot. There’s no way you could have been here in your house during this so-called attack because you were in town.”
She quit wincing so she could glare at him. “I was here.” Her tone said I don’t care if you believe me or not.
He didn’t believe her. “You must have known my father had been shot because you didn’t react when I told you.”
“I did know. Whitney called me when I was walking back from the barn. I’d just gotten off the phone with her when that goon clubbed me.”
Whitney Goble, her best friend. And it was entirely possible that Whitney had either seen his father get shot or heard about it shortly thereafter because she worked part-time as a dispatcher for the sheriff’s office. It would be easy enough to check to see if Whitney had indeed called her, and using her cell phone records, they could possibly figure out Rayna’s location when she’d talked to her friend. Court was betting it hadn’t been on Rayna’s walk back from the barn. It had been while she was escaping from the scene of the shooting.
“This waitress claims she saw me shoot your father?” Rayna asked.
He hated that he couldn’t answer yes to that, but Court couldn’t. “She was in the kitchen when the actual shot was fired. But the bullet came from the park directly behind the sheriff’s office parking lot. The very parking lot where you were right before the attack.”
Judging from her repeated flat look, Rayna was about to deny that, so Court took out his phone and opened the photo. “The waitress took that picture of you.”
Court didn’t go closer to her with the phone, but Rayna stood. Not easily. She continued to clutch her side and blew out some short, rough breaths. However, she shook her head the moment her attention landed on the grainy shot of the woman in a red dress. A woman with hair the same color blond as Rayna’s.
“That’s not me,” she insisted. “I don’t have a dress that color. And besides, I wasn’t there.”
This was a very frustrating conversation, but thankfully he had more. He tapped the car that was just up the street from the woman in the photo. “That’s your car, your license plate.”
With her forehead bunched up, Rayna snatched the phone from him and had a closer look. “That’s not my car. I’ve been home all morning.” Her gaze flew to his, and now there was some venom in her eyes. “You’re trying to set me up.” She groaned and practically threw his phone at him. “Haven’t you McCalls already done enough to me without adding this?”
Court caught his phone, but he had to answer her through clenched teeth. “We haven’t done anything.”
She laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in it. “Right. Remember Bobby Joe?” she spat out. “Or did you forget about him?”
Bobby Joe Hawley. No, Court hadn’t forgotten. Obviously, neither had Rayna.
“Three years ago, your father tried to pin Bobby Joe’s murder on me,” Rayna continued. “It didn’t work. A jury acquitted me.”
He couldn’t deny the acquittal. “Being found not guilty isn’t the same as being innocent.”
Something that ate away at him. Because the evidence had been there. Bobby Joe’s blood in Rayna’s house. Blood that she’d tried to clean up. There’d also been the knife found in her barn. It’d had Bobby Joe’s blood on it, too. What was missing were Rayna’s prints. Ditto for the body. They’d never found it, but Rayna could have hidden it along with wiping her prints from the murder weapon.
