A Bullet to the Heart by Kathy Wheeler (most read books of all time .TXT) 📕

“I-I think so.”

“Who?”

“I-I don’t know.” Her voice, her limbs, shook violently.

Heavy-booted footsteps crashed through the brush. “Jo. Jo, what the hell is going on? I heard a gun fire.”

Jackson was ripped away and Wyn was crouched beside her, his arm wrapping her shoulders. “You’re under arrest, Montgomery.”

Frizzle shot through the brush, knocking Wyn to his backside. In a split second, Frizzle was licking Jo’s face. She checked Frizzle’s face and head, ran her hands over his neck, his chest, his front legs. “You’re okay,” she whispered, slumping. “You’re okay.” She wrapped her arms around his massive neck.

“I didn’t shoot at her, you fool. I heard the shot, too. I came from the cliffs,” Jackson said.

Frizzle planted himself next to Jo. She looked up at Jackson. He stood with his feet apart, his fists clenched at his sides, braced for an attack, ready to defend himself.

Wyn flexed his hand, then squared his shoulders, seeming to get hold of himself. “Who, then?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson bit out.

Wyn turned to her. “Jo?”

She shook her head, unable to string two coherent words together.

“Can you stand?”

She let Wyn pull her to her feet. He steadied her, then glanced over his shoulder and back again. “Jackson, you gotta help her to the manor house. I need to see if I can find anything the perpetrator might have left behind.” He leaned in, eye level to her. “Will you be all right walking with him?”

Swallowing hard, she looked at Jackson. Would she? Walking the cliffs where Victor had been shot and fallen? Belligerence radiated from him. It was enough to convince her. “Yes. If…if he doesn’t mind.” A whisper was all she could manage. “Besides, I have Frizzle.”

“There’s that,” he muttered.

Jackson shot her an undisguised wolfish grin. “I don’t mind. Come on, then.”

Jo stepped forward and stumbled back to the ground, wincing at the pain that shot up her leg. “I must have twisted my ankle,” she said through a voice fraught with more emotion than she’d thought she’d possessed.

Jackson lifted her to her feet, eyeing Frizzle with a wariness that normally would have made her laugh. She was afraid if she started, it would quickly shift to hysteria and she’d be the next one sent to Auburn.

Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist. “Go on, Sheriff. I’ve got her.”

Wyn clenched his jaw and watched as Jackson shuffled away, carrying most of Jo’s weight, knowing there was nothing he could do, jealousy eating through him like acid. He turned on his heel and strode back down the path toward town, abandoning the sight of Jackson Montgomery’s arm around his woman. He wasn’t even sure Jackson hadn’t killed Penelope Knox fifteen years ago. But, like it or not, Wyn was now forced to trust his old nemesis.

Someone had taken a shot at Jo. The knowledge had his stomach roiling in sickening whirls. But who? Who would shoot at Jo? She wasn’t a threat to anyone…Wallace Hayes—something hard beneath his foot didn’t crinkle like a crisp autumn leaf. Wyn bent down and eyed the piece of metal. Brass. A bullet. Fired from a .22. He dug a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully wrapping it before he stuffed it into his pocket.

12

T

he path along the bluffs was uneven and slow going. “How’s your ankle?” Jackson said.

“It’s throbbing. I’ll put ice on it, stay home a day or two and it will be good as new.”

“I was awake all night thinking,” Jackson said. “You need to be careful of Wyn.”

Every hackle Jo possessed rose to Wyn’s defense. “Don’t you start—”

“—why would someone shoot at you?” Jackson demanded.

Jo tried hard not to lean on her cousin, but that proved impossible. “Maybe they were shooting at you.”

“I wasn’t anywhere around,” he pointed out. “For an ice princess, I’ll admit my surprise at you raising someone’s passions enough to incite such an incident.”

She gasped, stung. “That’s really mean.” The air whooshed out of her. “I-I can’t imagine why you would say such a thing. I-I raise passions.”

Jackson had the audacity to laugh. After a moment, the arm holding her up tensed. “You must have heard about Penelope Knox.” Jackson’s voice turned hard.

Just like that, her suspicions were on full alert. “Of course, I have,” she snapped. “You can’t be on this island two minutes without hearing about it. Wyn didn’t hurt that girl.”

“You don’t know that.” It felt good putting him on the defensive for once.

But she did know. She’d seen Wyn that night. “Neither do you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said in a low tone that sent had her quivering in her boots.

Jo pulled up, almost tripping them both with her abrupt halt. “Jackson Montgomery, I’ve heard enough. Do you hear me? Not another word.”

He stared at her for a long minute. His frustration sputtered out but to her relief, he changed the subject. “What were you doing in town?”

She had no desire to respond to his question, but she also had no desire in trying to make it all the way back to the manor house by herself. Well, she did have Frizzle. She had no doubt her dog would drag her by the scruff of the neck all the way home, if need be. At last she said, “I took a position at the Cobblestone Café. Melinda needed help.”

A burst of laughter erupted from him, surprising her. “You? A waitress? Stone City should get a roar out of that.”

“I had a job in New York City,” she said, unable to keep from sounding defensive.

“Yeah, at a museum. What exactly did you do there, anyway? Smile and wave old biddies inside?”

“Not a museum. The museum. The MET.” Resentment seared her. “At least I had a job.”

“That’s low, even for you.”

All right, she’d concede that point to him. Everyone in town knew Jackson’s troubles with alcohol and his inability to hold a job. “Sorry.” Jo breathed in through her nose and let the air out in a steady stream. “I was an educator. I conducted