Every cop knew not to get in the middle of a domestic dispute. This wasn’t like him, he thought as he walked through the storm to the door of unit number seven and knocked.
At his knock, Austin heard a scurrying sound. He knocked again. A few moments later, Marc Stewart opened the door a crack.
He frowned when he saw Austin. “Yes?”
“I’m Austin Cardwell—”
“I know who you are.” Behind the man, Austin heard a sound.
“I forgot to give Rebecca her purse,” he said.
Marc reached for it.
All his training told him to just hand the man the damned purse and walk away. It wasn’t like him to butt into someone else’s business—let alone a married couple’s, even if they had some obvious problems—when he wasn’t asked.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to give it to her myself,” he heard himself say. Behind the man, Austin caught a rustling sound.
“Look,” Marc Stewart said from between gritted teeth. “I appreciate that you found...my wife and kept her safe until I could get here, but your job is done, cowboy. So you need to back the hell off.”
Rebecca suddenly appeared at the man’s side. “Excuse my husband. He’s just upset.” She met Austin’s gaze. He tried to read it, afraid she was desperately trying to tell him something. “But Marc’s right. We’re fine now. It was very thoughtful of you to bring my purse, though.”
“Yes, thoughtful,” Marc said sarcastically and shot his wife a warning look. “You shouldn’t be up,” he snapped.
She was pale and a little unsteady on her feet, but she had a determined look on her face. Behind her, he saw her open suitcase—the same one he’d found in the overturned car’s trunk. The scene looked like any other married couple’s motel room.
Even before Marc spoke, Austin realized they were about to pack up and leave.
“We were just heading out,” Marc said.
“I won’t keep you, then,” Austin said, still holding the purse. Rebecca Stewart looked weak as she leaned into the door frame. He feared her husband had gotten her out of the hospital too soon. But that, too, was none of his business. “I didn’t want you leaving without your purse.”
“Great,” Marc said and turned to close her suitcase. “We have a long drive ahead of us, so if you’ll excuse us...” Austin stepped aside to let him pass with the suitcase. “You should tell him our good news,” he called over his shoulder.
“Good news?” Austin asked, studying the woman in the doorway. He realized that even though her suitcase had been open, she was still wearing the same clothing she’d had on last night. That realization gave him a start since there was a spot of blood on her sweater from her head injury the night before.
“We’re pregnant again,” Marc called from the side of the Suburban, where he was loading the suitcase.
Austin was watching her face. She suddenly went paler. He thought for a moment that she might faint.
“Marc, don’t—” The words came out like a plea.
“Andrew Marc, our son, is going to have a baby sister,” Marc said as if he hadn’t heard her or was ignoring her. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca? I think we’ll call her Becky.”
Austin met her gaze. “Congratulations.” He couldn’t have felt more like a fool as he handed her the purse.
She took it with trembling fingers, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you for bringing my purse all this way.” Her fingers kneaded the cheap fabric of the bag. He saw she was again wearing the wedding band that her husband had put on her finger at the hospital. That alone should have told him how things were.
“No problem. Good luck.” He meant it since he knew in his heart she was going to need it. He started to step away when she suddenly grabbed his arm.
“Wait, I think this must be your coat,” she said and turned back into the room.
“That’s okay, you should keep it,” he said.
She returned a few moments later with the coat.
“Seriously, keep it. You need it more than I do.”
“Take the damned coat,” Marc called to him before slamming the Suburban door.
Austin shook his head at her. “Keep it. Please,” he said quietly.
Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.” She quickly reached for his hand and pressed what felt like a scrap of paper into his palm. “For everything.” She then quickly pulled down her shirtsleeve, which had ridden up. He only got a glimpse of the fresh red mark around her wrist.
Austin sensed Marc behind him as he helped her into his coat. It swallowed her, but the December day was cold, another snowstorm threatening.
“Well, if we’ve all wished each other enough luck, it’s time to hit the road,” Marc said, joining them. “Hormones.” He sounded disgusted as he looked at his wife. “The woman is in tears half the time.” He put one arm around her roughly and reached into his pocket with the other. “Forgive my manners,” he said, pulling out a crinkled twenty. “Here, this is for your trouble.”
Austin stared down at the twenty.
Marc thrust the money at him. “Take it.” There was an underlying threatening sound in his voice. The man’s blue eyes were ice-cold.
“Please,” Rebecca said. Austin still couldn’t think of her as this man’s wife. There was pleading in her voice, in her gaze.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the money. “You really didn’t have to, though.”
Marc chuckled at that.
“Have a nice trip, then. Drive carefully.” Austin turned and walked toward his rental SUV.
Behind him, he heard Marc say, “Get in the car.”
When he turned back, she was pulling herself up into the large rig. He climbed into his own vehicle, but waited until the Suburban drove away. He caught only a glimpse of her wan face in the side window as they left. Her brown eyes were wide with more than tears. The woman seemed even more terrified.
His heart was already pounding like a war drum. That red mark around her right wrist. All his instincts told him that this was more than a bossy husband.
He tossed down the twenty and, reaching in his pocket, took out the scrap of paper she’d pressed into his palm. It appeared to be a corner of a page torn from a motel Bible. There were only four words, written in a hurried scrawl with an eyeliner pencil: “Help me. No law.”
Austin looked down the main street where the black Suburban had gone. If Marc Stewart was headed for Helena, he was going the wrong way.
He hesitated only a moment before he started the engine, backed up and turned onto the street.
Bozeman was one of those Western towns that had continued to grow—unlike a lot of Montana towns. In part, its popularity was because of its vibrant and busy downtown as well as being the home of Montana State University.
Austin cursed the traffic that had him stopped at every light while the black Suburban kept getting farther away. What he couldn’t understand was why Marc Stewart was headed southwest if he was anxious to get his wife home. Maybe they were going out for breakfast first.
He caught another stoplight and swore. The Suburban was way ahead and unfortunately a lot of people in Bozeman drove large rigs, which made