Cowboy to the Rescue (19 page)

Tonight the discovery of his father's journal had taken her a giant leap closer to finishing this case, Lex thought. And once that happened, she'd be leaving the Sandbur for good. How could his life be normal then? She'd changed his life. She'd changed him. So what was he going to do about it?

“H
attie, I think this is the wrong thing to do!”

The next morning, long before daylight, the old cook stared in dismay at Lex as he angrily paced up and down the long kitchen.

“You need to remember that Christina is in charge of this investigation,” she pointed out. “You ain't in no position to be telling her how to do her job. Think about it, son.”

Lex skidded to a halt in front of Cook, who was standing at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee.

Grimacing, he jabbed the air with his forefinger. “Policemen have partners for a reason. No law officer in his right mind tries to handle a job alone. And that's just what she's doing.”

Cook picked up a plate of bacon and eggs and carried it over to the kitchen table. “Quit preaching,” Cook scolded.

Annoyed that the woman wasn't taking his side in things, he stalked over to the table and threw a leg over the bench that served as seating. “I'm only trying to save her neck.”

“Humph,” Cook snorted sarcastically. “That's not the way I see it.”

“Hattie, you know I love you, but you'd better hush, or I'm going to lock you in the pantry.”

“You'd have a hell of a time doin' that, sonny,” Cook warned as she headed back to the gas range. “I may be gettin' a little age on me, but I can still put up a good fight. What you need to do is leave Christina alone and let her do her job.”

Leave her alone. Maybe that was his whole problem right there, Lex thought grimly. He didn't want to leave the woman alone. He couldn't. When he tried to imagine himself moving on to other women, other interests, all he could see was a blank hole. Last night, when she'd returned from her trip to San Antonio, something had happened to him. He couldn't explain it or understand it. He'd wanted to find her ready to fall into his arms. That hadn't happened. She'd seemed even more resolute about not making love to him. And then, when she'd talked about her parents and children, about all the things she'd missed and longed for, he'd felt scales peeling from his eyes. Suddenly, he was viewing all his past relationships in a new light, and all the things he'd thought he would never want or care about had taken on new significance.

“Hattie,” he said quietly, “last night we showed you Dad's journal. You read it. You know what happened. Lawrence is a killer.”

Returning to the table, the old woman patted his back. “Lex, your daddy died a hero, and Christina will soon make sure that everyone knows it. I love her for that. And so should you.”

Love Christina? Is that what this anguish inside him was? Is that why he was frightened out of his mind to let her get near Lawrence? Is that why he couldn't bear to think of this ranch without her on it? If all of this meant he was in love, then love was making him more miserable than he'd ever been in his life.

 

An hour later, as gray light was straining to get through the limbs of the live oaks shading the front yard, Lex followed Christina onto the front porch. The only thing she was carrying was a small beige handbag. Inside it was a pocketbook with identification, credit cards and a small amount of cash. The handbag also held a single tube of lipstick, a compact, a cell phone and a loaded snub-nosed .38 revolver.

“When do you expect to be back?” he asked as she paused on the top step.

“This evening. Hopefully before dark. If I can find Lawrence at home, this little tête-à-tête shouldn't take long.” She looked at him, and the stark longing on his face made her want to fling her arms around his neck, to assure him that she would return safely. But what good would that do? she asked herself. It would only send him mixed signals, and every time she touched the man she lost a little more of her heart. If she didn't wind this case up and leave the ranch soon, there would be little of her heart to drag back to San Antonio.

“Christina, last night—I'm sorry I questioned your plans to nab Lawrence. You're the professional. And I was letting my personal feelings get in the way of everything else.”

Even though the early morning temperature was past seventy, she felt the urge to shiver. She'd never expected him to utter such words to her, especially right now, and it shook the ground beneath her.

Swallowing, she glanced across the lawn to where one of the yellow curs was stretched out beneath the shade of a live oak. The dog appeared to be dead tired from rounding up cattle the day before, but if Matt or Lex was to whistle at him, he'd be up in a flash and ready to go. In many ways, Christina felt just like the cur. A word, a touch, a look from Lex made her long to please him, to give him anything and everything. Yes, she loved him. But she was determined not to fall in the hopeless trap she'd found herself in with Mike. She wasn't going to live on half-baked promises.

Glancing back at him, she tried to keep all emotion from her face. “And just what are your feelings, Lex?”

He moved forward, and her heart quivered as his fingertips came to rest beneath her cheek. “I think we need to talk about that, Christina. Tonight, when you come home.”

Come home.
If only he knew how much those two words meant to her. If only he meant them in the true sense of the word, she thought longingly. Her heart would sing loud enough to be heard in heaven.

“Yes,” she said lowly, “we'll talk.” Before she'd left Olivia's office, the other woman had pressed Christina to tell Lex that she'd fallen in love with him. Maybe her friend was right. Maybe it was time to let him see exactly what he was doing to her, and then she could see for herself if he really cared.

Her eyes closed against the emotions bombarding her, and she felt his lips pressing first against her forehead and finally against her lips.

“Be very careful,” he whispered.

The lump in her throat made it impossible to speak, so she simply nodded and hurried off the steps before he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

By mid-morning, after checking at Lawrence Carter's office and being told the man wasn't there, Christina was pulling into the elaborate drive circling the front of his house. To most regular folks, the place would be considered a mansion. Even so, the estate wasn't nearly as elaborate or stately as Red's or Harve's, and she wondered if the nervous little guy had deliberately kept his lifestyle modest so as not to draw attention to himself.

The front entrance was flanked by two tall Norwegian firs. As Christina punched the doorbell, she turned her back to the double doors and peered carefully around her. The neighborhood was extremely quiet, without so much as a bark of a dog to interrupt the twitter of birds perched on an ornate birdbath adorning the front lawn. Lawrence Carter lived in a very upscale area of the city, she thought grimly, and all at the expense of Paul Saddler's life.

“Yes? May I help you?”

Christina turned toward the young maid. “I'm here to see Mr. Carter. And before you tell me he isn't home, I know better. So you go tell your boss that I have some interesting information for him.”

With a startled look, the maid said, “Yes, ma'am. Just a moment, please.”

Leaving Christina standing on the porch, the maid hurried away, and then less than a minute later, a soft voice sounded behind her.

“Good morning. You were asking for me?”

Christina turned to see Lawrence had partially opened the glass door to stand on the threshold. His sparse hair was a drab ash-brown and plastered carefully to one side of his head. He was dressed all in polyester, as though his wardrobe was still stuck in the eighties. The brown slacks and yellow printed shirt looked hot enough to roast a pig.

“Good morning, Mr. Carter. I'm Christina Logan. I've been hired by Geraldine Saddler to look into her late husband's death. I'd appreciate it if you could answer a few questions I have. I promise not to keep you long.” She glanced at her wristwatch as though she were in a great hurry. “I have a meeting across town, so I can't dally, anyway.”

Faint annoyance registered on his thin face. “I…really don't have time.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “My wife and I are getting ready for a little vacation.”

“Oooh,” Christina drawled pleadingly. “Couldn't you give me just five minutes? Red and Harve have already been so helpful in this matter. I'm certain your memory will be even better than theirs.” Plastering a smile on her face, she stepped closer. “You don't have to invite me in. If you prefer, we can talk right here.”

Clearing his throat, he quickly shut the door behind him and hurried her off the concrete porch. “Uh—let's go around to the side of the house,” he suggested. “I really don't want my wife to hear this.”

“I'm sure,” Christina said under her breath.

She followed Lawrence along a cobblestone path until they reached a grouping of wrought-iron furniture sitting in the shade of a Cyprus tree. She'd promised Lex not to meet the man in private, but here on the lawn could hardly be called that. Especially when the wife was most likely watching from a nearby window and would clearly burst out of the house if she saw her husband physically attacking a woman.

Christina casually took a seat on one of the chairs, but the older man didn't appear to be interested in sitting. Instead, he stood a few steps away from her, his arms folded protectively against his scrawny chest.

“I'll be honest, Ms. Logan. My wife told me you'd asked to speak to me, and Harve already told me that you'd been around asking questions. Frankly, I don't get it. Everyone, even the police, knows that Paul's death was a terrible accident.”

“Well, I'll be frank with you, Mr. Carter. Geraldine has never been satisfied with the police's theory. And some information has come to light that proves her suspicions right.” She crossed her legs and smoothed her fingers down her calf. Lawrence Carter might be a nerd, but he was still a man, and she wanted him distracted. She wanted him to be totally off guard when she gave him the news. “And I thought you'd be interested in hearing it.”

His eyes narrowed shrewdly, yet the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his skinny neck said she'd rattled his nerves.

“Information,” he repeated slowly. “You mean—about Paul's death?”

“I'm not calling it a simple death, Mr. Carter. I'm calling it murder.”

If she'd slapped the man on both sides of the face, she couldn't have shocked him more. The blood drained from his skin, leaving his face the color of a sick mushroom. His jaws flopped as though they'd suddenly become unhinged.

“Murder?” he finally echoed. A nervous titter rushed past his colorless lips. “You must be mistaken, Ms. Logan. Paul wasn't murdered. The autopsy proved that.”

With a catlike smile, Christina shook her head. “No, the autopsy proved that Paul drowned. But I've discovered why he drowned and I have the evidence to prove it.”

She'd say one thing for him: the skittish little man did a quick job of gathering his composure. He smiled faintly and pleated his hands in front of him, as though he had all the time in the world to discuss the matter.

“If you have all that, why come to me?”

She tapped the air with the toe of her high heel. “Well actually, I'm not here to get your recollection of that day Paul was killed. I already know how it all happened. Paul drowned because he was unable to swim and save himself. You made certain of that when you gave him succinylcholine to make his muscles useless. In that condition, it was easy to nudge him overboard while the other two men weren't looking. And with just enough of the muscle relaxant in Paul's system, he'd never be able to swim. Never be able to take the facts of your insider trading to the police.”

The man's sharp features hardened. “You're bluffing. I didn't leave any—”

She didn't hide her loathing as she stared at him, waiting for him to hang himself. “Go on, Carter. You were about to say you didn't leave evidence? If you want to take the chance that I'm bluffing, then by all means go ahead. But Geraldine has it safely tucked away, just waiting to hand it over to the DA. Unless…you're interested in making a deal.”

To her surprise, the man marched toward her, his eyes filled with a menacing light. She discreetly opened the latch on her handbag and prayed he would decide to play it cool with her.

“What sort of deal?” he asked gruffly.

The question was a complete admission of guilt, but Christina wasn't surprised by it. She was just thankful her plan was working.

“Geraldine actually wanted you to rot away in prison, but I convinced her that was too easy. A man like you values his money far more than his freedom. So she's decided she'll sell you the evidence for the neat little sum of twelve million. One million for each year she's had to live without her husband.”

The scrawny man's eyes began to bulge, and Christina realized he was struggling to keep from gagging.

“That's blackmail! And there's nothing you could have on paper that could incriminate me!”

Christina enjoyed giving him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Who said anything about it being on paper?”