Carnal Innocence

a good man. And if you’d known Tuck as long as I have, you’d know he could no more work up the gumption to kill a person than he could fly. Not that he doesn’t have his faults, God knows, but to take a knife to a woman?” The idea made her laugh despite the horror of it. “Truth be known, he’d be too busy trying to get under her skirts to think about anything else.”
    Caroline’s mouth went grim. “I know the type.”
    “Believe me, honey, you’ve never known anyone like Tuck. If I wasn’t a happily married woman with four kids, I might have taken after him myself. He’s got a way about him, Tuck does.” She slanted Caroline a look. “Odds are he’ll come sniffing your way before too long.”
    “Then he’ll end up with a foot in his nose.”
    Susie let out a peal of laughter. “I hope I’m around to see it. Now then.” She set the last plate aside. “You and me have work to do.”
    “Work?”
    “I won’t feel right leaving you here until I know you’re protected.” After drying her hands on the flowered tea towel, she walked over to pick up her purse. Out of the straw bag, she pulled a deadly-looking .38.
    “Jesus Christ” was all Caroline could think of to say.
    “This is a double-action Smith and Wesson. I like the feel of a revolver rather than an automatic.”
    “Is that—is it loaded?”
    “Why, sure it is, honey.” She blinked her big blue eyes. “Hell of a lot of good it would do me empty. I won the Fourth of July target shoot three years straight.Burke can’t decide whether to be proud or embarrassed that I can outshoot him.”
    “In your purse,” Caroline said weakly. “You carry it in your purse.”
    “Since February I have. Have you ever fired a gun?”
    “No.” Instinctively, Caroline linked her hands behind her back. “No,” she repeated.
    “And you think you can’t,” Susie said briskly. “Well, let me tell you, honey, if someone was coming after you or yours, you’d fire quick enough. Now, I know your grand-daddy had a collection. Let’s go pick one out.”
    Susie set her .38 on the kitchen table and started out.
    “Susie.” Baffled, Caroline hurried after her. “I can’t pick out a gun the way I would a new dress.”
    “It’s just as interesting.” Susie strolled into the den, and tapping a finger against her lips, studied her choices. “We’re going to start with a handgun, but I want you to practice loading that shotgun. It makes a statement.”
    “I bet.”
    Her eyes bright, she curled a hand around Caroline’s arm. “Listen here, if someone comes along and bothers you, you step outside with this dove duster on your shoulder, point it mid-body, and you tell the sonofabitch you don’t know diddly about shooting. If he doesn’t hightail it fast, he deserves a load of buckshot.”
    With a half laugh Caroline sat on the arm of the easy chair. “You’re serious about this.”
    “Down here we take care of ourselves. Now, this here’s an old beauty.” Susie opened the case and took out a handgun. “Colt forty-five, army issue. Bet he used this in the war.” She broke open the gun with a finesse Caroline had to admire, and spun the empty chamber. “Clean as a whistle, too.” After snapping the barrel back into place, she pointed it at the wall and pressed the trigger. “Good.” Pulling open the drawer, she gave a satisfied cluck of her tongue as she saw the ammo. She tucked a box in her back pocket, then grinned at Caroline.
    “Let’s go kill some cans.”
    · · ·
    Special Agent Matthew Burns wasn’t doing cartwheels at the prospect of working in a dusty little delta town. Burns was an urbanite born and bred, one who enjoyed an evening at the opera, a fine Châteauneuf, and a quiet afternoon strolling through the National Gallery.
    He’d seen a good deal of ugliness in his ten years with the Bureau, and preferred to cleanse his emotional pallet with a taste of Mozart or Bach. He’d been looking forward to the end of the week, which would have included tickets to the ballet, a civilized dinner at Jean-Louis at the Watergate, and perhaps a tasteful and romantic interlude with his current companion.
    Instead, he found himself driving into Innocence with his field kit and garment bag tucked into the trunk of a rental car that had a faulty air-conditioning pump.
    Burns knew the case would create a media hullabaloo, and he certainly never doubted he was the appropriate man for the job. He specialized in serial killers. And with