Page 18

C HAPTER E IGHTEEN

B y the time Roper drove up to the Culhane house, the moon hung low in the west. As Rowdy lay snoring on the back seat, Lila leaned across the console to give Roper a light farewell kiss. They hadn’t spoken much on the way home. But she was aware that the deepening love between them had raised the odds of looming heartbreak. Even though he might be cleared of Frank’s murder, he could be forced to choose between her and his family—a choice she would never ask him to make.

From the front porch, she watched Roper’s truck drive away. Turning to go inside, she could see the faint light from the kitchen. Mariah would be up early to start her weekly bread baking.

Exhausted, Lila crossed the dimly lit entry and made for the stairs. All she wanted was to shed her clothes and collapse into bed. With luck, she’d be able to get a couple hours of sleep before sunrise, when another busy day would begin.

But sleep, it appeared, would be delayed. Lila stifled a groan as she saw Mariah standing like a sentry at the foot of the stairs.

“You could have let me know you were going to be out all night,” she said.

“This was an emergency.”

“You could have called.”

“I had more urgent things on my mind.” Lila was too tired to remind the woman that keeping track of her employer wasn’t part of her job. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I just want to get some sleep.”

“You were with him , weren’t you?”

“Who I was with is none of your concern,” Lila said. “This isn’t like you, Mariah. What’s going on?”

“There’s something I need to say.” Mariah stood with her arms akimbo, blocking Lila’s path up the stairs. “I’ve been holding it back, but it’s time I spoke my mind.”

Lila sighed. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Mariah took a deep breath. “I’ve worked for the Culhanes more than half my life. And I’ve taken pride in my work, knowing I served one of the finest old families in this part of Texas. Frank and Madeleine treated me like family. They even took care of me when I lost my husband and baby. I’d have done anything for them.

“When they divorced and Frank married you, it wasn’t the same. But I stayed out of respect for Frank—and I tolerated you, even though I knew how you’d made your living before you stole a married man from his wife.”

Lila refrained from speaking. She just wanted this lecture to end.

“After Frank died, I told myself that at least you were a Culhane by marriage, and Frank would want me to stay. But now things have gone too far.”

“What are you implying?” Lila demanded. “Just tell me.”

“It’s the McKennas.” Mariah’s voice dripped contempt. “They’ve got no manners, no class. They’re no better than hillbillies.”

“They’re good, honest people,” Lila said. “And you’re in no position to judge them.”

“I know quality when I see it. And the McKennas aren’t quality folk. They do rodeo. They dress cheap and talk like riffraff. And that house of theirs is no better than a cow shed. They probably sleep with animals and spit tobacco on the floor. And now, with your husband barely cold in the grave, you’re carrying on with one of them. This house has been in the Culhane family for as long as it’s stood. If you’re fool enough to marry the man, he’ll move in here with his whole family. The place will be overrun with McKennas. Even the Culhane name will be gone.”

“That’s enough.” Lila reined in the urge to slap the woman. “My personal life is none of your business.”

“Just let me finish,” Mariah said. “The Culhanes were like family to me. I’ve been proud to serve them. But the first time a McKenna sets foot in this house, I’ll be packed up and gone.”

“That’s your choice.” Lila spoke with icy calm. “If you decide to quit, I’m sure Darrin and Simone would welcome your help, especially with a baby on the way. Or maybe Madeleine could use you in Austin. I won’t force you to leave. But for as long as you stay here, we won’t speak of this again. You’re to perform your duties without question and be respectful to anyone who walks through that door. Anyone . Do you understand?”

Mariah’s defiant gaze didn’t waver. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve said my piece and given you fair warning. Now I’ll get back to mixing my bread. Let me know when you want breakfast served.”

As Mariah wheeled and vanished in the direction of the kitchen, Lila mounted the stairs, step by weary step. Every way she turned, she seemed to be fighting a new battle. And this one had the power to break her heart. She had never loved a man the way she loved Roper. But people, prejudices, and circumstances stood like a wall between them.

She wanted a life with Roper. But was she being selfish? Was she thinking of him or only of herself?

Lying in bed, with the moon shining through the west window, Lila forced herself to step back and view the situation with cold detachment.

With Judd’s guilt unproven, Roper was still a murder suspect. That was mostly because of her. Darrin and Simone had accused them of having an affair while Frank was still alive. That wasn’t true, but it was easy enough to believe. Even if he were to be cleared of the crime, as long as their relationship lasted, Roper’s reputation would remain under a cloud.

Mariah’s angry words had reminded Lila of another problem. Lila had told herself that she didn’t care what the woman thought, or even that she’d threatened to quit. But Roper’s family, especially his mother, would feel the same way about her—a former Las Vegas showgirl who’d gone after a rich man and broken up his faltering marriage, a woman who flaunted her wealth in front of her less fortunate neighbors and considered herself too fine to even pass the time of day with them.

In dreaming of a future with Roper, Lila had imagined them living in the Culhane mansion, even raising a family there. The reality was, if she lost the upcoming lawsuit with Darrin and Simone, she would lose the house and everything that went with it. Even if she were to win, how could she ask Roper to desert the family that was so dependent on him?

The idea of moving them into the mansion was hardly worth a thought. The McKennas were proud people. They would never consent to leave their ranch. More to the point, they would never live on the charity of the woman who had stolen their son.

Lila slipped out of bed and crossed the room to the French doors that opened onto the small balcony. With the breeze cooling her damp face, she watch the last pale edge of the moon sink behind the western horizon.

The answer she’d been looking for was right in front of her. It was time she faced it. If she truly loved Roper, she would do what was best for him. She would walk away.

Soon it would be morning. Roper would be here at first light to train with the horses. After the long night, he was bound to be tired; but with the Run for a Million a few days off, Lila knew he wouldn’t spare himself for a rest. She would find him early, give him her decision, and leave. Putting off the pain would only make it worse.

By the time she’d splashed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth, and dressed in cotton slacks, a short-sleeved tee, and sandals, the sky was growing pale above the eastern hills. Roper should be here soon. If she met him in the stables, they could talk before he started with the horses. And she’d have the best chance of avoiding Mariah’s prying gaze.

She slipped outside through the patio door. Roper’s truck was already in the parking lot. He must have just arrived. She would look for him inside the stables.

The arena was empty. She could wait for him there, but he’d probably come in with a horse, ready to work. She’d be better off looking for him inside.

“Roper?” she called. There was no answer. As she walked down the first row of stalls and took a turn to the right, the nighttime security lights, which ran on a timer, switched off. Minutes from now, they might not be needed. But with her vision still adjusting to the change, Lila was plunged into sudden darkness.

As she groped forward along the row of stalls, she could hear the ventilation fans and the stirring, chuffing sounds of horses, but the way was still dark. Now, at the far end of the corridor, she could make out a dim light. She hurried toward it.

She was moving fast when her knees struck something in her path—a solid metal edge, hard enough to throw her off-balance. As she lost her footing and stumbled forward, she realized it was an oversized wheelbarrow, left outside the stalls. The rising fragrance told her that it was heaped with fresh hay.

She thrust out her arms to break her fall. As her hands sank into the hay, something moved—something alive. Lila heard an angry buzzing sound. She jerked away, but she wasn’t fast enough. A sharp jab penetrated her arm, burning like fire as the venom invaded her flesh. She gasped, staggered backward, and sank to her knees.

“Roper!” she screamed. “Roper!”

* * *

Roper had stopped by his office to check for messages before saddling the first of his three horses. As he stepped out through the door, Lila’s screams reached his ears.

Heart in his throat, he raced in the direction of the sound. Seconds later, in the dim morning light he found her. She was kneeling in the sawdust, cradling her arm. Her face was pasty white, her eyes wide with shock.

“There . . .” She gestured toward the wheelbarrow. Roper could see the rattlesnake. It was small enough to hide in the hay but big enough to deliver a deadly bite. Knowing he couldn’t leave it alive to bite a worker, Roper dispatched it with a blow from a handy shovel. Then he swept Lila up in his arms and ran with her toward his truck.

Reclining the seat partway, he laid her on it and buckled her in. The arm was already beginning to swell. He could only pray that the clinic in Willow Bend would have antivenin. There’d be no time to get her to Abilene before life-threatening damage to vessels and organs set in.

From the driver’s seat, he gave her his clean, folded handkerchief to lay over the bite and soak up the blood. “Hold that in place,” he said.

Her lips moved. “The horses, Roper . . . the training . . . You’ve got to be ready.”

He started the engine. “Damn it, Boss, the horses don’t matter. The Run for a Million doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, I can’t lose you.”

* * *

It was midmorning when Sam made the drive to Willow Bend. His briefcase lay in the seat beside him, containing a prepared statement for Crystal to sign and a recorder to take her testimony. He would also be delivering the news that Judd Proctor was dead. Rowdy McKenna had identified the burned body from the custom belt buckle and the handmade gold earring in the shape of a devil’s head. There were no usable fingerprints, but a dental match, if one could be found, would no doubt confirm that identity.

As Sam passed the seedy Blue Rose motel on the way into town, he remembered the partial night he’d spent in that place, with the noisy couple bumping the bed in the next room. When Jasmine had confessed that she’d been one of the pair, along with a cowboy she never wanted to see again, Sam had fallen in love with her honesty—swiftly followed by her playfulness, her warmth, her intelligence, and her stunning beauty.

Damn it, but he missed her!

Maybe now that Crystal had named Judd as Frank Culhane’s killer, the case could be put to rest. Sam could return to Abilene, free Nick to start his cancer treatments, and reunite with Jasmine. Judd’s death had removed the need for a trial. All Sam needed was Crystal’s testimony, signed, witnessed, and recorded, for the inquest.

At the clinic, he noticed Roper’s truck in the parking lot. But Sam had other things on his mind. He walked up to the front desk and asked for Miss Carter.

“She’s not here,” the young male receptionist told him. “She asked for her personal things, got dressed, and checked herself out. Somebody she’d called was there to drive her home.”

“Nobody stopped her?” Sam displayed his badge.

“I’m sorry, sir, but she made the decision to go, even though the nurse on duty advised against it. We can’t hold a patient against their will.”

“Was she all right? Her head—”

“She was still wearing the bandage. But she was lucid and able to walk by herself.”

“I’ll need her address,” Sam said.

“It’s on her registration. But we’re not supposed to—”

“I’m a federal officer. Miss Carter is a witness to a serious crime, committed by the man who attacked her. I need her address. Now.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll write it down for you.”

Address in hand, Sam drove to a quiet street on the edge of town. The house that matched the number was a plain red-brick tract home with basement windows and an outside entrance down a flight of cement steps. There were no vehicles, either in the driveway or at the curb.

An elderly man and woman sat on the covered porch of the house next door. Sam assumed they were the neighbors who’d found Crystal unconscious and called for help.

“She lit out,” the old man called to Sam as he approached the house. “Loaded up her car and drove off a couple of hours ago. She didn’t tell us where she was headed. I think she was afraid that mean-lookin’ hombre who beat her up might come back.”

“Has anybody else been by looking for her?” Sam asked.

“Nope. A teenage kid in a Jeep brought her home, let her off, and drove away. She left in her own car about twenty minutes later. That’s all we know.”

“The apartment’s unlocked,” the woman said. “We went down and looked. She left the key on the table. The place is a mess. The landlord upstairs won’t be too happy, but I guess that’s the way of young people these days. Not like in our time.”

Sam thanked the pair and went downstairs to the apartment. The place appeared to be much the way the crime scene team would have left it—the bloodstained carpet, the food left in the fridge, the open cupboards and empty drawers. Crystal’s clothes were gone from the closet, her makeup and toiletries cleared from the bathroom. The key to the apartment lay on the kitchen table. There was no sign of her missing phone. The police may have collected it, or she may have found it and taken it with her.

After a careful inspection revealed nothing new, Sam left the apartment and drove back to the ranch. Rotten luck. He’d been counting on Crystal’s sworn and signed testimony to close the murder case against Judd. Now, as things stood, the case would depend on circumstantial evidence and his own secondhand account.

She’d seemed so willing to cooperate. What had caused her to change her mind, load her car, and disappear without a trace? She wouldn’t have known that Judd was dead. Maybe she was afraid that he would come back. Whatever her reason, unless she contacted Sam, he was out of luck. It was time to call Nick.

He made the call from the bungalow, sitting at the kitchen table with a tall glass of ice water. When Nick answered, Sam sensed the weariness in his voice. Guilt and urgency gnawed at Sam’s conscience. He need to wrap up this case and get back to Abilene.

“How are you, Nick?” he asked, truly concerned.

“I’m hanging on. You know how it is. Tell me what’s happening.”

“I’ve got good news and bad news.” Sam recounted Judd’s story—his jealousy as a motive for killing Frank, his lack of an alibi and his easy access to the drug. “He could’ve called Frank, told him he wanted to talk about Crystal, and met him in the stables. Motive, means, and opportunity.”

“Others had the same,” Nick reminded him.

“But you haven’t heard the rest. After he got out of jail on drug charges, Judd showed up at Crystal’s place, raped her, and started punching on her. She fell and hit her head. Neighbors found her unconscious and called for an ambulance.

“I spoke to her at the clinic, where she’d just opened her eyes. She told me what had happened and claimed that Judd had confessed to killing Frank. When I asked, she agreed to sign a sworn statement and record her testimony as a witness.”

“So you decided to wait?”

“She’d just regained consciousness. At the time, she could barely sit up. She was in no condition to sign anything. But the next day, when I went back with the document prepared, she’d checked herself out of the clinic, loaded up her car, and left town.”

“What about Judd?”

“Dead.” Sam gave Nick an account of Judd’s fiery crash, which he’d learned about from Lila’s phone call. “Driving drunk in a stolen vehicle. He zigzagged into the path of a tanker truck. The driver escaped the fire. Judd didn’t.”

Nick was silent for what seemed like a long time. “Let me get this straight,” he said at last. “In the absence of solid evidence and sworn testimony, are you suggesting that we pin Frank’s murder on a conveniently dead man and declare the case closed?”

Sam bit back a curse. “Nick, we need to wrap this up, for you and for the Bureau. I have every reason to believe the bastard is guilty. He had motive, means, and opportunity. And he’s dead. There’ll be no need for a trial. I’ll write my report, swearing to what Crystal told me, and you can start building strength for your cancer treatments. It’s a win-win situation.”

“What about that syringe?”

“Blast it, Nick, there could be a half-dozen explanations. Maybe it was planted. Maybe it was used to put an animal down. Maybe it washed downstream from somewhere else. Without prints and DNA, we can’t claim it as solid evidence.”

“And you still don’t believe Roper McKenna’s guilty?”

“I might have believed it once. But that was before I heard that Judd had confessed.”

“You said Judd had motive, means, and opportunity. So did Roper.”

“Roper swears he didn’t kill Frank. So far, he’s cooperated with the investigation in every way. This weekend he’ll be competing in the Run for a Million. I trust him enough to allow him that.”

“All right.” Nick sighed. “We’ll set a deadline. From now through the Run for a Million, you’re to give this investigation everything you’ve got. At the end of that time, you’ll make an honest assessment and name your killer—Judd, Roper, or whomever it may be. If you’re still uncertain, we’ll file the case as unsolved and bring you back to Abilene. Agreed?”

“Agreed. And I understand.” The pressure was on, as it should be. But Sam knew that it wasn’t just from Nick. If he failed to solve this high-profile case, his career with the Bureau would be tarnished for years to come. Worse, somebody out there would be getting away with murder.

“How’s your case against Louis Divino going?” he asked, changing the subject. “Any news?”

“He’s still in Austin and still being watched. It’s like he’s thumbing his nose, daring us to catch him breaking the law. Our accountants are still going over his books, hoping to find something we can use. I’d give anything to nail the bastard before I leave the Bureau. But time’s getting short. That challenge might fall to young pups such as you.”

“Divino can’t run forever,” Sam said. “Sooner or later, he’ll get too cocky for his own good and he’ll slip. I’d just like it to be on your watch.”

“So would I. But that’s the way it goes. Keep me posted on your end. I’ll do the same here. The lab’s still got that syringe. If they find anything new, you’ll be the first to know.” Nick paused. “Someone’s on the other line. Have to go. Keep in touch.”

The call ended. Still holding his phone, Sam walked out onto the porch. The sun was climbing to the peak of the sky, its heat searing the landscape like a blowtorch. Heat waves swam like water above the asphalt of the employee parking lot. Roper’s truck had been missing all morning. Strange that he wouldn’t be here, with the Run for a Million days away. Sam hadn’t seen Lila, either. Maybe Mariah would know what was going on. He would ask her at lunchtime.

Sam’s thoughts returned to the conversation with Nick. Something tugged at the edges of his memory, something about Louis Divino. His pulse jumped as the thought struck him. Divino was a friend of Jasmine’s mother. Earlier, Nick had mentioned that Divino had a girlfriend with a condo on Lake Travis. That was where Madeleine lived. Were the two of them together? Was Jasmine involved?

Maybe Jasmine knew enough about Divino’s activities to be a threat to him. Or maybe Divino was interested in Jasmine and not in her mother.

But if that was the case, Sam asked himself, why hadn’t she told him? Was she afraid? Was she protecting someone, like her mother? Like him?

Maybe she was unaware of the danger. Or maybe, he hoped, his hunch was wrong and Divino wasn’t even in the picture.

Calling her would be risky. But not calling her could be even riskier. If Jasmine was in danger, he needed to know.

Decision made, Sam punched in the number of her burner phone and made the call.

* * *

Jasmine was in her room, working on an updated version of her résumé when her burner phone jangled. Caution warned her to let it ring. Madeleine was in bed with one of her headaches. Louis had come by with long-stemmed red roses and a carton of her favorite lobster bisque. Since it was Carmela’s day off, he had taken it on himself to ladle the rich soup into bowls, ready to be heated and served with French bread when she felt like eating.

Jasmine had retreated to her room. The man repelled her. Worse, he frightened her.

The phone was still ringing. Don’t pick up , Jasmine told herself. Her room was closed but the door was thin. Louis could easily hear the ring and the sound of her voice if she was to answer.

The phone had gone silent. Had it been Sam calling her? No one else had the number, but the call could have been misdialed. She would leave it for now and check later.

She tried to concentrate on the résumé, but her thoughts kept returning to the phone call. Sam wouldn’t call except for an urgent reason. She could always call him back when she knew it was safe. But maybe he’d left a message.

Overcome by the need to know, she walked to the door, opened it, and looked up and down the hall. She could hear puttering sounds from the kitchen, the running faucet, the hum of the microwave. She would be all right for a few minutes.

Rummaging in her dresser drawer, she found the phone where she’d hidden it under layers of underwear. The battery was low. She would need to charge it tonight. But there was enough for now.

No text message. But there was a voice mail from Sam. Jasmine was tempted to play it. But that might not be safe. She would wait until Louis had left.

She had the drawer open and was about to turn off the phone and hide it again when the door swung behind her. Louis stood in the doorway, a suspicious expression on his swarthy face.

“What have you got there? Let me see it.” He held out his hand.

“It’s just a phone. I’m an adult. I’m entitled to my privacy.”

“I said, let me see it!” He reached behind his back and drew a small, nasty-looking black pistol from a holster attached to his belt. If she refused, Jasmine knew that Louis was capable of shooting her. And then what? Would he shoot her mother as a witness? Jasmine couldn’t take that chance. She handed him the phone.

He glanced at it, scowling. “Hmm. I see you have a voice mail. What do you say we play it on speaker?”

His finger stabbed at the phone. The voice on the speaker was Sam’s.

“ I’m worried about you, Jasmine. If your mother’s keeping company with Divino, you’re in danger. You need to get out of there while you still can. If you need help and can’t reach me, Nick Bellingham at the Bureau has connections to agents in Austin. His number is— ”

Divino slammed the phone onto the floor and crushed it under the elevated heel of his boot. His dark eyes had gone leaden. “You conniving little bitch!” he growled. “I should have guessed you were working with the feds.”

The gun’s muzzle came up to point at her heart.

“Please, Mr. Divino.” Jasmine spoke through the knot of terror in her throat. “If you’re going to kill me, don’t do it here, where my mother can see. Take me away. I’ll go with you, I promise.”

“Shut up!” His expression was a predatory snarl. “I should have shoved you off that balcony when I caught you checking my phone.” His finger tightened on the trigger.

The deafening gunshot rang out from directly behind him. Louis Divino pitched forward, his skull obliterated by the bullet that had entered from the back and exited at a steep angle.

As he crashed at Jasmine’s feet, she saw her mother standing in the open doorway. Madeleine’s lilac negligee was lightly spattered with blood. Her right hand clasped the grip of a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 Special.