Page 11

C HAPTER E LEVEN

L ila was at her desk, updating the stable accounts, when her cell phone rang. Her pulse cartwheeled as she saw Roper’s name on the caller ID. But it wouldn’t be like him to call her in the middle of a busy workday. Maybe something was wrong.

“Roper? What is it?” she asked.

“I’ll make this quick, Boss,” he said. “I just remembered something—thought I’d better pass it on, in case you haven’t made a decision about that woman’s baby.”

“I haven’t. What is it?”

“I saw her, in the jail when my brother got arrested. She was there to visit a boyfriend. From what I heard, I got the impression she was breaking up with him. But I could be wrong.”

“You’re sure it was her?”

“Positive. I recognized her jewelry from the photo. I know you told me the baby was Frank’s, and DNA doesn’t lie. But you need to know that there’s another man involved. He could be part of a scheme to get money from you.”

The news wasn’t surprising. A woman who looked like Crystal would be a magnet for men. That was one of the reasons Lila had insisted on a paternity test.

Was the boyfriend pulling Crystal’s strings? Had he been using her in a scheme to take advantage of Frank and get money? It was possible. But this information couldn’t be allowed to influence Lila’s decision. What really mattered here was the future of an innocent baby—Frank’s child. She was still torn.

“He may have mentioned something to my brother,” Roper said. “I can ask him.”

“Thanks. That can wait for now. But I should probably share this with Sam. He disappeared yesterday, but his car’s outside the bungalow this morning. I’ll find him later. Is everything else all right?”

“Fine. Fire Dance is performing like a champ. I should let you go.” He paused. “Boss, I just want to say—” He broke off as if he’d changed his mind.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. I need to get back to work.”

He ended the call, leaving Lila to wonder what he’d almost said to her. Had it been something tender, some hint that he might even love her?

But that would be too much to expect. It was too soon for love. She was still raw from Frank’s betrayal and death. And Roper was a man who guarded his heart behind a wall of stone.

Steeling herself against the memory of his mouth on hers, his arms clasping her close as his body filled her urgent need, Lila went back to work on the accounts.

* * *

Sam was making his second coffee of the morning when he got the call from Nick. “Surprise,” he said. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Have you got any news?”

“Yes,” Nick said. “The lab folks rushed it for me. I bribed them with a dozen donuts. Anyway, I’ve got good news and bad.”

“Go on.” Sam’s pulse kicked into overdrive.

“First the good. They found traces of fentanyl in the syringe. Given where it was found, there’s a good chance we’ve got the murder weapon.”

Sam exhaled. “And the bad news?”

“There were no fingerprints, DNA, or anything else that could ID the killer. Whoever it was, they were probably smart enough to wear gloves. The mud and other detritus from the creek bed didn’t help either. So we still don’t have anything that would hold up in court.”

“Thanks, Nick. At least it’s a good lead. My money’s still on Roper McKenna. If the lab finds anything else, let me know.”

“That’s not likely, but if they do, you’ll be the first to hear. Keep me posted.”

Nick ended the call. Lost in thought, Sam stood gazing down at the phone. Zeroing in on Roper too soon would be a mistake. He needed to consider anyone who might have a reason to frame the horse trainer and who would know where to toss the syringe.

Charlie? He was still a long shot, but Frank could have been holding a threat over him. And he would know where Roper lived. Even if he and Roper weren’t enemies, Charlie could have planted the syringe to deflect suspicion.

Darrin? He had already tried to frame Lila with a clumsily planted syringe in her car. Only Madeleine’s insistence that her son was acting on her orders had saved him from arrest. But he could still use a different version of the same trick to target a man he hated.

As for Simone, Sam knew better than to underestimate Darrin’s wife. Beneath her fluttery charm-school demeanor, the woman was strong-willed, determined, and possibly smarter than her husband. He couldn’t count her out—especially if the two were working together.

And then there was Lila . . .

Sam’s musings were interrupted by a knock. He opened the door. As if the thought had summoned her, Lila was standing on the porch.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

“Come on in.” He stepped aside. “Can I get you some coffee?”

She shook her head. “I’m good, thanks. I just wanted to give you an update. We can talk on the porch.”

“Sure.” Sam pulled the two Adirondack chairs into the morning shade and invited her to sit. He would listen, but he resolved to tell her nothing. The discovery of the murder weapon would remain a secret. He settled in the opposite chair.

Speaking in terse sentences, she told him about the paternity test results and Crystal’s ongoing demands for money. Sam kept his responses neutral, trying not to judge. It made sense that Crystal would need help, although it didn’t seem fair that Lila would be on the hook to support her late husband’s mistress.

Lila seemed uneasy, as if holding something back. But Sam knew better than to push her. He listened and waited.

“There’s something else,” she said. “Crystal’s got another man. His name’s Judd. He’s in the county jail. Crystal went to visit him, and Roper saw her. He didn’t realize who she was until later, when he remembered the photo you showed him.

“Is Roper certain that’s who he saw?”

“He said he recognized the rings on her hand.”

“And what was Roper doing there?”

“His brother was locked up for drug possession. Roper had gone to help him out. Roper said that Crystal and Judd were having a loud argument, like she was breaking up with him. Judd swore at her, and she went storming out of the jail. That’s all I know.”

Sam already knew about Roper’s brother. But the news about Judd opened up a world of possibilities. He needed to check the date of Judd’s arrest. If Crystal’s boyfriend had been free at the time of the murder, he could have killed Frank out of jealousy.

“Thank you, I’ll definitely look into this,” he told Lila.

“Would it be asking too much for you to tell me what you learn about him?” she asked. “I need to know. It’s important.”

“Important why?”

She glanced away before returning his gaze. “I need to know whether he and Crystal were involved in a scheme to get money from Frank—and then from me. I know you’re not allowed to discuss your case. But this is a separate matter.”

“I understand,” Sam said. “But I can’t make any promises. What I tell you will depend on what I learn.”

“Of course.”

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me? Anything at all?”

Again, there was a beat of hesitation. “No. Nothing.”

Her voice had taken on a chilly note. They weren’t friends, Sam reminded himself. In his line of work, making friends was against the rules—rules he’d broken in spades when he’d fallen in love with Jasmine.

His thoughts strayed to Jasmine as Lila left the porch and headed back to the house. Damn, but he missed her—her husky Liz Taylor voice, her mischievous laugh, and the heat of her silky, suntanned skin against his.

He remembered Nick’s warning. Until this case was closed, he mustn’t see her or even try to contact her. Even the burner she’d bought wasn’t completely safe. For now, the best he could do was find her father’s killer and hope that once he was free, she would still be waiting.

Lila had just brought him a new lead—and one more suspect to add to his list. The idea that Frank had been killed by a jealous boyfriend, one who’d have easy access to fentanyl, made sense. The murder weapon’s location didn’t fit the profile, but there could be an explanation for that—some connection he had yet to discover.

Meanwhile, he would start with a call to the court. The right person should be able to give him Judd’s last name and the date of his arrest. If Crystal’s paramour had been behind bars when Frank died, he’d have a perfect alibi. But that didn’t mean he was innocent of scheming against the Culhanes.

Keying in the number of the court clerk, Sam made the call. After several rings without an answer, a voice mail recording came on. The clerk wouldn’t be available until tomorrow. He would have to try again in the morning.

* * *

Jasmine’s fingers shook as she entered Sam’s cell number on her burner phone. She was about to complete the call when she realized she’d misdialed a digit. She deleted the number and tried again. But her grip was unsteady. The phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the kitchen floor.

Trembling, Jasmine retrieved the phone. What had she been thinking? She’d been told not to call Sam. Not even after what had happened tonight. The consequences of even one phone call could get him suspended or killed.

Her memory relived the events of the past hour. That evening, her mother and Louis had eaten a sunset dinner of coq au vin and champagne on the condo balcony before going to a music concert in downtown Austin. Madeleine had complained of a blinding headache that morning and spent the afternoon sleeping in her room. The nap had done wonders. For a terminally ill woman, she was radiant—laughing, tossing her abundant auburn hair, and flashing the diamond earrings Louis had given her for her recent birthday.

After the meal, they had left in Louis’s vintage black Lincoln Town Car, with his driver at the wheel. The driver was undoubtedly armed, the car chassis and windows reinforced against attack. Still Jasmine couldn’t help worrying about her mother—not only because of Louis Divino’s dangerous lifestyle but because of his character.

True, Louis seemed to care for her. He treated her like a queen. But he was a cold-blooded killer who dealt in drugs, weapons, human trafficking, and murder for hire. And under his influence, perhaps, Madeleine had thrown all caution to the wind. She had stopped seeing doctors, stopped any medical treatment. It was as if she wanted to go out in a blaze of self-destruction. And there was nothing Jasmine could do to change her mother’s mind.

Jasmine had stood on the balcony and watched the big black car drive away. She could tell from the way Madeleine had clung to Louis’s arm that she’d be coming home late. It was almost as if the two of them had reversed roles, with Jasmine as the mother and Madeleine as the reckless daughter.

The urge to call Sam was an ache inside her. She missed the gentle wisdom in his voice and his way of reading her emotions even when she was silent. She could tell him anything, even her concerns about her mother. But with his career on the line, she knew better than to try. Until her father’s killer was arrested, even calling on the burner would be a risk. And the last thing she wanted to do was put him up against Louis Divino.

The maid had left after preparing dinner. Jasmine didn’t mind cleaning up and running the dishwasher. Maybe after that, she could find a good movie to stream on TV.

She’d almost finished clearing the outdoor table when she noticed Louis’s brown leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He must’ve taken it off before dinner, then forgotten it when he left with Madeleine for the concert.

A breeze had sprung up from the west, raising whitecaps on Lake Travis. Sooty clouds billowed above the horizon. The coming storm would probably bring nothing but wind and dust, but she could hardly leave an expensive jacket out in the weather.

Balancing a pair of wineglasses in one hand, she draped the jacket over her arm with her free hand and carried it inside. As she laid it over the back of the sofa, where it could be easily seen, something slipped out of a pocket and dropped behind a seat cushion.

After placing the glasses on a side table, Jasmine reached behind the cushion. Her fingers closed around something hard—a cell phone.

She pulled it out. The phone was an older style, well used and fully charged. Jasmine knew she should put it back where it had come from, but she couldn’t keep her imagination from running wild. What if the phone was the modern version of a crime boss’s black book, with lists of contacts, payments, debts owed, and more—evidence that, in the right hands, could crush Louis Divino’s organization and put him behind bars? If she could take it to the police, or to the FBI . . .

There was no time for that. Maybe she could get into the account and see what was there. But what was she thinking? Louis was a dangerous man. If she tampered with his phone, he would know.

Jasmine remembered the conversation she’d overheard earlier, mentioning FBI Agent Nick Bellingham. She could try to get in touch with Bellingham—but no, that same conversation had revealed that Madeleine was involved in her lover’s drug and money-laundering activities and that Frank had learned about them—which would have gotten him murdered if someone else hadn’t killed him first. Calling in the FBI would get her mother arrested. She would spend the rest of her days behind bars, however brief that time might be.

Jasmine stared down at the phone, imagining the evil that innocent-looking device could contain. Put it back , she told herself. Put it back now!

She picked up the coat from the back of the sofa. There were four pockets—one on each side, an outside breast pocket on the left, and an inside breast pocket on the right. Which pocket had contained the phone? A chill of dread prickled the skin on the back of Jasmine’s neck. If she replaced the device in the wrong pocket, Louis would know she’d handled it.

If he were to ask, she could tell him the truth, that the phone had fallen out of his jacket. But would he believe her? Louis hadn’t survived this long by trusting people.

A drop of perspiration trickled down her temple as she decided to take a chance on the inside breast pocket. She was about to slip the phone into it when the device rang, loud and piercing in the silence of the room.

In the same moment, she heard the front door open. She froze as heavy footsteps approached down the hallway and Louis stepped into the living room.

The phone had stopped ringing, but Jasmine was still holding it. At the sight of her, his face turned livid.

“What the hell are you doing with my phone?” He snatched it from her hand.

“It fell out of your jacket. I was putting it back.” Jasmine tried to keep her voice level, but she was genuinely afraid.

He didn’t contradict her, but his expression made it clear what he thought of her reply.

She held out his jacket. “I didn’t want to leave this outside,” she said. “Believe me, I wasn’t snooping.”

“Sure you weren’t.” His voice dripped sarcasm as he took the jacket. “Just mind your own business, girl,” he said. “Do that and we’ll get along fine.”

Without another word, he stalked down the hall toward the door. As he opened it, his phone rang again. He answered it, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Jasmine sank onto the sofa, her knees too weak to support her. Louis had dismissed her. But that didn’t mean he’d believed her story. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be planning some ghastly accident for her in the near future. She couldn’t contact Nick Bellingham without implicating her mother. And she couldn’t involve Sam without risking his life.

Was Madeleine in danger, too? Louis appeared to care for her, maybe because he knew she didn’t have long to live. But that could change in a heartbeat if he decided she knew too many of his secrets.

Jasmine could try to run. But running would only cast her into suspicion. And Louis had a web of contacts that could reach her anywhere. Even if she could get away, as long as her mother lived, she was duty bound to remain here. Madeleine hadn’t been a paragon of perfect motherhood, but she didn’t deserve to die alone.

Jasmine stood up and walked out onto the balcony. The sunset had darkened to twilight. Windblown clouds were scudding in over the lake. Jasmine could taste the grit in the air. She thought about Sam. She knew he loved her. But she couldn’t call and ask him to keep her safe. He had his own worries, and the risk was too great.

The wind had taken on a chill. Jasmine stepped back inside. She didn’t need sharp instincts to tell her that once Madeleine was gone, Louis would have no more interest in keeping her alive. He might even choose to get rid of her sooner.

Protecting herself—and possibly her mother—would be up to her. She would have to be smart and alert. And she was going to need an escape plan.

* * *

The next morning, Sam was able to reach the court clerk. A few weeks earlier, he’d spoken with her in person and presented his FBI credentials. She remembered him and had no problem giving him the information he needed.

“The prisoner you’re asking about is Judd Proctor. For now, he’s still locked up, charged with dealing controlled substances, mostly cocaine. He was remanded to custody because he has a history as a flight risk. So there he sits, at least until his trial, which is on the docket for Tuesday.”

“And his arrest date?” Sam asked.

She gave him the arrest date—three weeks ago today. Well after Frank Culhane’s murder. Sam’s pulse surged. The timing could mean nothing. Or it could be the key to unlocking this case.

“How do I arrange to talk with him?” Sam asked.

The clerk gave him the number to call for an appointment. “Don’t be surprised if his lawyer shows up.”

“I’d be more surprised if he didn’t show up.” Sam thanked the woman and called the number she’d given him. He was able to get an appointment for that afternoon, with Judd Proctor’s attorney present.

The interview was conducted in the jail’s interrogation room with the usual table and one-way mirror in the back. Judd and his counselor were waiting on the far side of the table when Sam walked in.

The lawyer, Calvert Watson, was a lanky, professorial type with a balding head, prominent hooked nose, and glasses. As he stood, Sam noted the expensive cut of his tailored suit. He remembered walking past a new Lexus in the parking lot. The man was clearly no bargain basement public defender. He was being well paid, perhaps with drug money.

Judd Proctor was not handcuffed to the table, but he looked surly enough to bite. Rangy and muscular in his ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, he glowered at Sam from beneath bristling eyebrows. His hair was shoulder length, his jaw coated with stubble. The nails of his outsize hands were overgrown and permanently stained with grease.

Following procedure, the interview would be recorded. Sam switched on the machine; noted the date, time, and place; and named himself, the lawyer, and Judd Proctor as individuals present.

Watson spoke up. “Permit me to add, Agent, that Mr. Proctor is here as a courtesy, by his own consent, and that this interview has no bearing on his present case. Agreed?”

“Of course,” Sam said, and began with the routine preliminary questions before getting to the reason he’d come.

“Mr. Proctor, were you acquainted with the late Frank Culhane?”

Judd glanced at the lawyer. “Not in person. But I knew who he was. Everybody did. And I don’t care that he’s dead. Whoever killed the rich old bastard did the world a favor.”

“Did you ever speak with Mr. Culhane?”

“No. Not even after he stole my girlfriend. I was mad enough to kill him, but I didn’t do it. I swear to God.”

Watson cleared his throat. “Agent, if you wouldn’t mind stopping a moment, I’d like a private word with my client.”

Sam turned off the recorder and stepped outside. Through the one-way window, he could see the two men talking. It didn’t take lip-reading skills to know what Watson was telling his client. Whenever possible, Judd was to confine his answers to yes and no. He was not to volunteer anything.

Sam returned to the interview. He’d been right about Watson’s warning to his client. Most of Judd’s answers to his questions were now given in monosyllables.

“Do you know a man named Roper McKenna? Do you know where he lives?”

“No and no.”

“Are you acquainted with Miss Crystal Carter?”

“Yes.”

“Was she the girlfriend you claim that Frank Culhane stole from you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still in contact with her?”

“She says we’re done. But we’ll see about that.”

Watson gave his client a scowl. Sam wondered what kind of rise he’d get out of Judd if he were to mention Crystal’s pregnancy. He decided against it.

“Mr. Proctor, can you tell me where you were between midnight and six a.m. on the night Frank Culhane was killed?”

“Probably drunk. I don’t remember that far back. But I sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near Frank Culhane. And I didn’t kill him—even though I wanted to. Somebody else did me that favor.” Judd was ignoring his lawyer’s advice.

“Think about it,” Sam said. “Where would you have been that night? Did you go home? Did you have anybody with you who can verify where you might have been?”

“Like a woman, you mean? Like maybe the bitch that threw me over for an old prick with money? Maybe she was with him. Maybe you ought to talk to her.”

“Are you saying you don’t have an alibi, Mr. Proctor?”

Watson stood. “I think we’re done here, Agent. My client needs to go back to his cell. Unless you have probable cause, I don’t see any need for you to talk with him again.”

“Fine for now.” Sam knew when to keep his tone polite. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Sam ended the recording, left the jail, and headed back to the ranch. The interview had gone about the way he’d expected it would. It had also left him wondering whether Judd Proctor was as unsophisticated as he appeared to be, or if his crude manner was a clever pose. Either way he remained high on Sam’s list of suspects. He’d hated Frank, and he looked strong enough to easily overpower the older man. As a drug dealer he’d have ready access to fentanyl; and the large syringe could be ordered online or bought at a veterinary supply store. Only one piece of the puzzle didn’t fit. Why had the syringe been found in the creek near the McKenna place?

The crime lab had found traces of fentanyl but no prints or DNA. Sam swore out loud as the thought struck him. What if the syringe had been a decoy? What if it hadn’t been the murder weapon after all? He needed to call Nick.

* * *

Crystal was broke again. She’d spent the last of her $15,000 windfall for the deposit and first month’s rent on a shabbily furnished one-bedroom apartment in the basement of an old house that had been converted into rental units. The plumbing clanked and she’d already killed two cockroaches. This was all she could afford until more payments came in. At least it was better than living at the Blue Rose Motel.

Days ago, she’d been celebrating her newfound fortune. Now she couldn’t even afford to put gas in her car. At least she’d had the good sense to keep her job at Jackalope’s. Until Lila came through with another check, she was going to need the work.

Every day, she’d waited for the ring of her cell phone, hoping the wretched woman would call. But the phone had remained maddeningly silent. Crystal was growing desperate. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

She pulled her bathrobe tighter as she sat down on the sagging Naugahyde couch and scrolled her phone to Lila’s number. She hesitated for the space of a breath. What if something had gone wrong? What if Lila had decided not to adopt her baby or even help with expenses?

Summoning her courage, Crystal made the call.

At Lila’s chilly hello, she almost lost heart. Something about the woman’s Grace Kelly looks and ice queen manner always made Crystal feel low class. But with her need so desperate, giving up was not an option.

“Is this a good time to talk, Mrs. Culhane?” she asked.

“As good as any. Didn’t I say I would call you?”

“Yes. But I need to know if you—?”

“If I plan to adopt your baby?” Her voice was emotionless. “I haven’t decided yet. That’s why I haven’t called you. But there’s another matter. Someone told me you have a boyfriend.”

Crystal felt her stomach clench. “I had a boyfriend. We broke up before I met Frank.” It was true except for the timing. “He’s in jail. I’m totally through with him.”

“I’m glad to hear that. A man like that wouldn’t be good for you or the baby. If I hear you’re back with him, we’re done. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely. I told you, I already broke up with him. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Let me guess. You need more money. I gave you fifteen thousand dollars. Are you saying you’ve already spent it?”

Was Lila going to say no? Crystal began to babble. “It wasn’t like I wasted it. I bought a car—not new but safe and reliable, and I had to get it licensed. I bought maternity clothes and some things for the baby.” That last wasn’t quite true. The clothes weren’t maternity, and the baby could wait. “Then I rented an apartment—it’s a dump, but it was all I could afford on what I had left. That’s it. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the receipts. I still have my job, but it doesn’t pay much, and I won’t get a check for another two weeks.”

Lila sighed. “All right. If you’ll give me your bank account number, I’ll transfer ten thousand.”

Not fifteen? Crystal felt a pang of disappointment, but she knew better than to ask for more.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Make it last this time,” Lila said. “The money should be in your account by tomorrow. I’ll let you know about the adoption when I make up my mind. And don’t call me. I’ll call you. Any questions?” There was a brief silence on both ends of the call before it ended.

Crystal began to breath normally again. At least Lila wasn’t cutting her loose. But $10,000 was a lot less than the easy million she’d dreamed of getting.

She checked the time on her phone. In less than an hour her shift at work would be starting. She felt sluggish and slightly crampy. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep. She hadn’t realized how tired pregnancy would make her. But calling in sick, which she’d already done too many times, could get her fired. Until she could be sure of a big cash payment from Lila, she needed that job.

With effort, she pushed off the sofa and stood. She just had time to wash her face, do her hair and makeup, and put on the tight jeans, black tee, and boots she wore to work. Thank goodness she wasn’t really showing yet. But that was due to change. She would get as big as a cow before the baby came.

She was already counting the months—six of them. Then, if all went as planned, she would be free, with enough money to buy the life of her dreams.

She was walking toward the bathroom when a sharp pain, like the stab of a knife, struck low in her body. As she doubled over, her pulse going crazy, something warm and wet began trickling down her legs. “ No! ” Her mouth formed the word. No! No! No! This couldn’t be happening!

When she raised the hem of her robe, Crystal saw the blood dripping onto the linoleum raining crimson drops that pooled around her bare feet. She knew what it was, but she was powerless to stop it.

A scream of pain, frustration, and rage ripped from her throat. She was losing Frank’s baby.