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C HAPTER S IXTEEN
S am got a call from the chairman of the animal rescue group the next day. They’d submitted the paperwork and were waiting for the death certificate that would permit them to move Charlie’s menagerie to safety. Molly the elephant had been cleared for a Tennessee sanctuary before Charlie made Molly’s owner a better offer. The sanctuary workers were on their way in a special truck, ready to take Molly to a new home where soft grasses, shady trees, and elephant friends would be waiting.
Jasmine had done her job well, but Sam resisted the urge to call and thank her. Last night, the caution in her voice had warned him against it. He’d sensed that something was wrong. But she’d told him nothing. Until he knew more, any interference on his part could be dangerous to them both.
For now, he owed Nick an update. He only wished he had better news. Nick deserved to hear that the case was about to be solved, not that it had become more complicated. Sitting in front of his computer, Sam made the call.
“Hi, Sam. Any news?” Nick’s cheerful greeting sounded forced. Was he in pain? Was it time to give up the investigation and go back to Abilene?
“My news can wait,” he said. “How are you?”
“Getting along. I heard about Charlie Grishman on the news.”
“I was there, hoping to tie up some loose ends. Now that he’s gone, it would be easy enough to name him as Frank’s killer and close the case. I do believe he poisoned his grandmother to get her land. But killing Frank? The facts don’t add up.”
“I agree,” Nick said. “The real killer is out there. I’m still betting on Roper McKenna. Motive, means, and opportunity, he had it all. And that syringe in the creek pretty much clinches it.”
“But if we go to court on what we have, he’ll walk,” Sam said. “We need evidence. Has the lab determined how long that syringe was in the creek? It could’ve been dropped in the water any time after the murder.”
“I’ll mention that to the crime lab people. They’re going over that syringe with a microscope, looking for anything we can use.”
“Meanwhile, I’m trying to eliminate the other suspects,” Sam said. “Like Miss Crystal Carter—and her ex-boyfriend, Judd, who just got out of jail. And I haven’t forgotten Lila. She could still have done it. But we’re running out of time, Nick. I know you need to get into treatment. Say the word, and I’ll put this infernal case on hold and come back to Abilene. Finding Frank’s killer is important, but it’s not worth your life.”
“Sam, I’m an old cop. Every time we step out the door, we put our lives on the line. I’ll tell you when it’s time to come back. Meanwhile, just do your job, and I’ll do mine.” Nick cleared his throat. “I haven’t given up on nailing Louis Divino before I retire.”
“Dare I ask how that’s going? You’ve been after him since our Chicago days.”
“It’s come down to a paper chase. We’ve gotten our hands on his taxes and some related business records—that’s what finally got Capone, you know. The best account man in the Bureau is working on them. He’s found evidence of money laundering and plain old-fashioned tax cheating. Divino’s skated free before, but once we put the whole picture together, we should have enough on the bastard to pick him up.”
“Is he still in Texas?” Sam asked.
“Austin. A team there is keeping track of him. One of his girlfriends has a condo on Lake Travis. And he’s got a couple of other hangouts in the city. Once the evidence is rock solid, they’ll pick him up and charge him. I’ve told the agents I want to be there when it happens.
“I wouldn’t wait too long, if I were you,” Sam said. “Divino’s as slippery as a weasel and twice as mean.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Nick said. “Now it’s back to work for both of us. Call me if anything breaks.”
Sam ended the call, worry settling over him like a sodden weight. Nick, his old friend and mentor, hadn’t sounded well. The sooner Sam returned to Abilene, the sooner Nick might be able to start cancer treatments. Nick had ordered him to stay on the case. But every week, even every day, without that treatment could mean the difference between life and death.
What if Nick already knew that? What if it was already too late?
Frustrated, Sam shut down his computer and walked outside. Standing on the porch, he surveyed the surrounding ranch through a yellow haze of heat waves and dust. In the paddocks, horses clustered in patches of shade and crowded around the water tanks, switching their tails to drive away the buzzing flies.
In the arena, Roper was working the horses. He’d been there at all hours lately, pushing himself to exhaustion in his drive to be ready for the million-dollar competition. Sometimes he brought along his pretty younger sister, a horsewoman in her own right. Lila had stayed away, but Sam knew she watched him from the patio.
The money, the glory, and the beautiful wealthy widow. For Roper, everything was at stake here, including his freedom. Had ambition and desire driven Roper to murder his employer? The idea made sense, especially after the finding of the syringe. So, given the urgency of Nick’s illness, why did Sam still hesitate to close the case?
It wasn’t because he liked, even admired, Roper McKenna—although he did. That alone wouldn’t have stopped him. No, it was something else—some deep instinct whispering that he already knew the truth. It was inside him, only waiting to be noticed.
Sam had seen Frank’s killer face-to-face. He had talked with them. He had listened, but not carefully enough. Somewhere, buried in his memory, was the missed clue that would give him the answers.
Why couldn’t he remember? What was he missing?
* * *
Perched on a rail of the arena, Cheyenne watched Roper finish the routine with Fire Dance. Roper was grateful to have her here. During these late training sessions, with the grooms and stable hands gone, his thoughts tended to wander dark paths, beset with the fear that he might lose his freedom soon and then all this work with the horses would have been a waste of time. Cheyenne was good company. Not only was she helpful with the horses but, more important, she helped keep him focused.
Roper had said nothing to her about his possible arrest. Until and unless it happened, he would spare his family the worry. Meanwhile, he would value his time with her. She had a sharp eye for presentation, and she’d been giving him good pointers
“How did we do?” he asked, pulling the stallion to a halt in front of her.
“The stallion looked great,” she said. “But you’re leaning in hard on the turn. It looks off-balance. Try letting the horse do more of the work.”
“Thanks. I never noticed that. I’ve been doing this a long time, but I’ve never had a coach. It’s helping. Want to cool him down?”
“Sure.” She hopped off the rail as he dismounted. Fire Dance was a lot bigger than her mare, but she swung into the saddle with ease. While Roper checked on the other horses in the stable, she walked the stallion around the arena. When he was ready, they rubbed him down and put him away.
“Fire Dance is magnificent,” she said as they crossed the parking lot to the truck. “Just sitting on his back is a thrill.”
“Does it make you wish you’d taken Frank’s offer to teach you reining?” Roper asked.
Her only response was a stone-cold silence that lasted several seconds before she spoke. “I made the right decision then—just as I’m making the right decision now to get into cutting. I don’t want to end up like Dad. If I keep doing rodeos, that could happen.”
Cheyenne had deftly changed the subject. Roper sensed that he’d touched a nerve mentioning Frank. He’d be smart to back off. But given that he was a suspect in Frank’s murder, he needed to know more.
“Frank was a fair boss,” he said. “We always got along. Why do I get the impression you had a problem with him?”
She shrugged. “I was young. He thought he could control me. I could tell early on that it wasn’t going to work, and I told him so.”
“How did Frank take that?”
“How do you think? The man had an ego.” She fell into silence for a few steps. “Hayden called me. He wants to take me to his family ranch and show me some cutting horses.”
“He seems respectable enough. Did you say yes?”
She laughed. “Of course. And respectable has nothing to do with it. I’m a big girl, Roper. I’ve been fending off hot-handed cowboys for as long as I’ve been on the rodeo circuit. I can handle Hayden. It’s the horses that I want to see.”
“Well, go for it, then. But if he doesn’t behave, remember your big brother’s got your back.”
“Sure, I will.” She laughed as they reached the truck. “Let’s head home and hope Mom’s got supper warming for us.”
Pleasantly exhausted, they drove up the road, crossed the bridge over the creek, and pulled in through the ranch gate. As they neared the house, they saw Rachel standing on the front porch.
“I know that look,” Cheyenne said. “Something’s wrong.”
As they climbed out of the truck, Rachel came down the steps to meet them. In the glow of the porch light, Roper could see the hard set of her mouth, the sharp angle of her jaw, a sign of emotions too tightly reined.
“Rowdy’s gone,” she said. “He got in an awful fight with Stetson and Chance before they left for that rodeo in Waco. They wanted him to go along. But he blew up, said he was sick of this controlling family. Kirby got involved. When I tried to stop them, I got pulled into the fight, too. Rowdy said some awful things—curses so vile . . .” She shook her head, her voice breaking slightly. “I slapped his face so hard it hurt my hand. After that, he was quiet. He just packed his gear, loaded his truck, and drove away.”
“When did all this happen?” Roper asked.
“After lunch, a few hours ago.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No. But earlier, I heard him telling Chance about a new friend named Judd who’d promised to take him on a road trip.” Her shoulders squared and tightened. “The last thing I said to him before he climbed into the truck was that he was going to hell! How could I say such a thing? I’m his mother! What if I never see him again?”
She seemed to notice Cheyenne for the first time. “Your father’s alone in there,” she said. “Go and see to him.”
As Cheyenne hurried into the house, Roper made an effort to comfort his mother. He knew she was hurting. But it wouldn’t be like her to show it. “You’ve been a good mother,” he said. “After he cools down, Rowdy will remember that. Sooner or later he’ll be back.”
“Will he?” Her work-worn hands clenched at her side. “I’ve raised my children the best I know how. I’d have done anything for them, to keep them strong and keep the family together. Now it’s as if everything is falling apart—as if I’ve been weighed in the balance and found wanting.”
“You can’t blame yourself,” Roper said. “People are human. They don’t always make the choices you’d want them to. It’s called life. Rowdy has a good heart, but he’s young and stubborn, and he’s got some tough lessons to learn. Just give him time. Now let’s go inside and have some supper. Things will look better in the morning.”
But would they? Roper asked himself as he opened the screen door and held it for his mother. When she’d mentioned that Rowdy was in contact with Judd, his instincts had flashed a red alert. Judd Proctor was a hardened criminal and a possible suspect in Frank Culhane’s murder. Rowdy wasn’t just in bad company. He could be over his head in danger.
Despite what he’d told his mother, Roper couldn’t let Rowdy get involved with a man like Judd. He needed to go after the young fool and talk sense into him.
Without knowing Rowdy’s plans, tracking him down would be a guessing game. Only one person might be able to help—the last man Roper wanted to trust.
Agent Sam Rafferty.
* * *
Darrin had checked with his stockbroker. The $100,000 cash that Crystal had demanded in return for her disappearance could be made available on two days’ notice. Still, he hesitated. It was a lot of money to give an irresponsible young woman on a promise. Once she had the cash in her greedy little hands, Crystal could do anything she wanted to, and he’d be powerless to stop her.
Maybe he should demand an arrangement where he gave her a down payment to leave and wired the rest when she contacted him from another state. But why should she trust him to do that?
He needed to talk to her, at the very least. Maybe they could work something out. Maybe she would lower her price for cash up front. Or maybe . . .
The thought that had sprouted in his mind—a way to end his concerns once and for all without paying a cent—sent a chill up Darrin’s spine. Earlier in the summer, he’d paid a stable hand to rig Lila’s car for a freeway crash timed to make her death look like an accident. Only a stroke of fate had kept it from happening. This time, things would have to be different. He would need to do the job himself.
He had some hard thinking to do. Meanwhile, he needed to get in touch with the woman. Using the burner phone he kept hidden in a secret drawer, he found the card she’d given him and entered her number.
* * *
Lila had done more than her share of soul searching as she went about her days. She’d also spent time in private consultation with her lawyer. At last, after a long and painful deliberation, she had come to a decision.
She would adopt Crystal’s baby and raise the child as her own.
The money would be paid in installments, but only if certain conditions were met. Crystal was to be examined and treated by a doctor of Lila’s choosing. Lila was to be kept informed as the pregnancy progressed. She would have access to any and all medical reports. The young woman would follow the guidelines for a healthy pregnancy—good nutrition, exercise and rest, prenatal vitamins, monthly checkups, and no alcohol, illegal drugs, or unprotected sex—better yet, no sex at all.
Lila had shared the news with Roper during a break in his training. “I like to think I’m doing this for the right reasons,” she’d said. “This can’t be about keeping the ranch. It has to be about giving Frank’s child a good home.”
His right hand had stirred, as if to reach out and cup her face. But he resisted. They kept the distance between them. People could be watching.
“You’ll be a good mother,” he’d said.
She’d walked away, thinking of the years it would take to raise a child. Roper had mentioned nothing about being there for those years. With his future in peril, she knew better than to hope or to speak of how desperately she wanted him at her side. That would be asking too much of life.
Her lawyer was already preparing the contract for Crystal to sign. All that remained was to phone Crystal and invite her to a meeting in his office, where the offer would be presented. Of course Crystal could always refuse to sign. But if she wanted the money, this would be the only way for her to get it.
Lila had already tried to call Crystal once. There’d been no answer, not even a voice mail greeting. Maybe the battery had run down. Or maybe she’d lost it.
Lila tried again. Still no response. Impatient now, she sent a simple text.
Crystal, call me.
She wasn’t really worried. Crystal would be anxious to hear from her. When she didn’t, she was bound to call back.
But why now, of all times, had the troublesome young woman become so difficult to reach?
* * *
Without taking time for supper, Roper drove back to the Culhane Ranch. Earlier, when he’d left work, the lights had been on in Sam’s bungalow. He could only hope that Sam would still be there, and that he’d be decent enough to help Roper track down his wayward brother
Roper had made several calls to his brother’s phone. All of them had gone to voice mail. Rowdy was probably ignoring the calls. He didn’t want to be scolded, lectured, or ordered home by his older half sibling. He was his own man now. He could be walking stupidly into danger. Maybe he was already with Judd Proctor.
As Roper pulled his truck up to the bungalow and parked, he saw Sam seated in a chair on the porch. The FBI agent was alone, sipping a beer, probably enjoying some peace and quiet. But that was about to end.
Sam stood as Roper climbed out of the truck. “You’re the last person I expected to see tonight,” he said. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”
“No. And before you say anything else, I need your help. I know what you think I did. I hope you can put that aside for now and listen to me.”
“I’m listening. Have a seat if you like.”
“I’ll stand, thanks,” Roper said. “Are you aware that Judd Proctor is out of jail?”
“I am now.” Sam took the news without further comment. As Roper already knew, the agent was a man who kept his thoughts to himself. But anything involving Judd should be enough to catch his interest.
“Rowdy, my younger brother, has left home in his truck,” Roper said. “He got to know Judd in jail, when he spent a night in the next cell. My family has reason to believe he’s contacted Judd and they’ve gone off on a road trip together.”
Roper waited for Sam’s response, his fear deepening. If Judd, already a suspect in Frank’s murder, was set on leaving the state, that could point to his guilt. And if Judd had mentioned the crime to Rowdy, the young man could be valuable as a witness—which would give Judd a reason to get rid of him or maybe hold him as a hostage.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Sam spoke. “Thank you for coming to me,” he said. “Give me everything you’ve got, including your brother’s description, a photo if you have one, and the license number of his vehicle. We’ll need to move fast on this.”
* * *
Wearing her robe, Crystal stood next to the bed, gazing down at the man she’d once loved—or thought she had. Judd lay sprawled on the sheets, buck naked and snoring like a bull, his hair leaving grease stains on her new pink pillowcases. A drizzle of saliva trailed from the corner of his mouth to lose itself in his tangled beard.
Until he showed up, she hadn’t known he was out of jail. He would have showered for his trial, but it was as if the odors of bleach, open toilets, vomit, and sweaty underwear had seeped into his skin. While they were having sex—she couldn’t call it making love—the smell of his body had almost made her gag.
For her own survival, she’d pretended to accept him. Judd had a murderous, hair-trigger temper. If he’d known how she really felt about him, he would have punched her senseless—or maybe worse—to punish her for breaking up with him.
She had to get out of here.
Waiting for him to leave would be a mistake. He’d already talked about moving in with her, and that would just be for starters. Unless she wanted to become a prisoner, she would have to get away now, take what she could carry, and never look back.
Keeping her ears attuned to his snores, Crystal dressed quickly and began to gather the few things she really needed—her purse, a few clothes and toiletries, her cash, the keys to her car. Judd had already noticed the diamond ring on her finger. She’d managed to convince him that it was fake, like the rest of her jewelry.
Judd had taken her phone. When she’d tried to get it back, he’d thrown it on the floor and kicked it far back under the couch. Crystal could only hope the phone wasn’t broken. Losing it would make things harder for her, but it was better than losing her life.
She froze, holding her breath as Judd snorted and rolled onto his side. As his snores resumed, she began to breathe again. But what would she do if he were to wake up?
She remembered the kitchen knife she’d bought and left on the counter of the kitchenette. Its blade was long and sharp enough to penetrate a man’s body. For a moment, she imagined using it on him—plunging it into his chest or slicing his throat. But she dismissed the idea at once. She wasn’t a murderer. And even if she were to try, Judd would be strong enough to take the knife away and use it on her. She should probably put it in the drawer, where he wouldn’t see it.
But never mind the knife, or anything else. She just needed to get out of here.
She’d dreamed of the money she’d be getting from the Culhanes and how she would spend it. That dream had gone up in smoke when she’d opened her door to Judd. Now she could only save her freedom—and maybe her life.
With the keys in her pocket and her possessions stuffed into a black plastic trash bag, she crossed the small living room to the door. On the other side of that door, a flight of cement steps led from the basement to the driveway where her car was parked.
She had turned the doorknob to go out when she heard a voice from behind.
“Where do you think you’re going, babe?”
Crystal’s heart dropped. She spun around to find Judd standing in the bedroom doorway. The knowing grin on his face told Crystal she was in danger.
Gripping the bag, she scrambled for a reply. “I was just taking the trash out, honey. After that, I’ll fix you some nice bacon and eggs, unless you’d rather go out.”
“I’ll have a look at that trash.” With a lightning move, he lunged forward and ripped the bag out of her hands.
As he opened it to look inside, Crystal sprang for the knife on the nearby counter. Her fingers closed around the handle. But once again, Judd was too fast for her. Flinging down the plastic trash bag, he seized her wrist and twisted it until the knife fell from her hand.
“Bitch!” he muttered. “I should’ve known I couldn’t trust you!”
His huge hammy fist slammed into the side of her face, triggering explosions of pain. Spinning off-balance, she went down hard. That was the last thing she remembered before her head struck a corner of the glass-topped coffee table and everything went black.
* * *
Breathing like a winded bull, Judd stood looking down at the woman who’d betrayed him. Her eyes were closed. Blood oozed from her scalp, staining her dark hair and slow-spreading in a crimson pool on the threadbare carpet.
She wasn’t moving.
He thought he should at least check her pulse. But he wasn’t sure how to do that. And she’d hit that table pretty damned hard. For all he knew, she could already be dead.
Only one thing was certain. He didn’t want to go back to jail for what had just happened. He had to get dressed and get out of town.
Hands shaking, he pulled on his clothes and jammed his feet into his boots. He’d left his motorcycle in the driveway with enough gas in the tank to get him the first fifty miles. But he was going to need money. He’d left a stash hidden in his room above the garage. It should still be there, unless Crystal had helped herself. He’d stop by, get what he needed, and hit the back roads.
He took one last look around to make sure he hadn’t left anything, then opened the door and started up the stairs. Remembering the trash bag he’d taken from Crystal, he was tempted to go back and check it for valuables. But he was running out of time. Besides, he didn’t want to be caught with anything that could be traced to her.
His bike was waiting in the driveway. As he straddled the seat, he noticed the elderly couple on the porch of the house next door. They were staring at him, watching his every move. Bad luck. But he would soon be gone.
After starting up the bike, he roared off down the street.
* * *
So much for promises.
Rowdy sat in the sweltering cab of his truck, the windows down and the radio blaring. He’d been waiting for more than two hours at the address Judd had given him— a run-down garage on the outskirts of Willow Bend. The place look deserted, as if it had recently gone out of business. On the second floor, he could see the windows of the upstairs room where Judd had said he’d be living when he got out of jail. There was no sign of life.
Once again, Rowdy gave himself a mental kick for not having memorized Judd’s phone number. They’d spent only one night together in jail, but they’d talked for hours, mostly about what they wanted to do when they were released. That was when the idea of a road trip had come up—they’d take Rowdy’s truck, with Judd’s bike in the back, and go all the way to California, where they could hang out on the beach, pick up women, and get high.
The idea of adventure and freedom had set Rowdy’s imagination on fire. No more building fences and shoveling shit. No more preaching from his mother. She’d told him he was going to hell. Maybe he would just prove the old lady right.
“We’ll go as soon as we’re both free,” Judd had told him. “When you hear I’m out, just show up at my place with plenty of cash. I’ll be waiting for you, and we’ll take off from there.”
Rowdy knew that Judd had been released. But where was he now? Had he forgotten his promise? He could always make the trip by himself, Rowdy supposed. But without Judd to show him the ropes, it wouldn’t be as much fun.
He would give his friend another hour. If he didn’t show up, he’d leave and maybe try again later. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t go home. Not after the way he’d parted with his mother.
Rowdy slumped in the seat, angled his long legs, and put his boots on the dash. A fly, buzzing in through the open window, settled on his arm. He smashed it and brushed the carcass away. Closing his eyes, he drifted into a doze.
He was jarred awake by the roar of a motorcycle as Judd pulled up alongside his truck. “Hey, buddy,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready for our big adventure?”
Rowdy sat up and blinked himself awake. “You bet. I was afraid you’d stood me up.”
“Me? Never! Help me load this bike onto the bed of your truck. Then I’ll pick up a few things from upstairs and we’ll be off.”
Fifteen minutes later, with the bike loaded and Judd’s duffel tossed into the back of the club cab, they were on the back road out of town.
Giddy with anticipation, Rowdy drove. Judd reclined his seat and released an odoriferous cloud of gas. Rowdy lowered the window to let in some fresh air. The truck cab had already begun to smell like the jail. But never mind. Ahead lay a great adventure. He meant to enjoy every minute of it.