the Westerner Motel, but as she looked at the front door now,
she felt no enthusiasm for going inside. The tears that clouded
her vision weren't tears of joy.
"I've been gone for almost three weeks."
"Then I'd better Walk up with you." He turned off the
ignition and got out, impervious to the rain. He walked with
her up the sidewalk, picking up the outdated newspapers as
he went. He tossed them into a corner of her covered porch
as she unlocked the door. "Don't forget to throw those papers
away tomorrow," he said.
"No, I won't." She reached inside and cut off her alarm
system, which had begun to hum the moment she opened the
door. "I guess that means it's safe inside."
"Do you want to meet at the airport tomorrow, or
what?"
"Uh . . ." She couldn't think beyond him driving away,
leaving her alone in her condo. "I hadn't thought about it."
"I'll drop by the D.A.'s office around noon and ask for
you. How's that?"
"Fine. I should be finished by then."
"Okay, see ya." He turned to leave.
"Reede." Instinctively she reached for him, but when he
turned, she pulled her hand back. "Would you like some
coffee before you go?"
"No, thanks."
"Where are you going now?"
"I won't know till I get there."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Messing around."
"Oh, well ..."
"You'd better get inside."
"I haven't paid you yet."
"For what?"
"The plane, your time."
"No charge."
"I insist."
He cursed. "The one thing I'm not going to argue with
you about is money. Got that? Now, good night."
He turned and took two long strides before she called his name again. When he came back around, his eyes bore into hers. "I don't want to be alone tonight," she admitted in a rush. Even with all the crying she'd done that afternoon, her
supply of tears hadn't been exhausted. They began to roll down her cheeks as steadily as the rainfall. "Please don't go,
Reede. Stay with me."
He moved back beneath the overhang, but his hair and
shoulders were already damp. Placing his hands on his hips, he demanded, "Why?"
"I just told you why."
"You've got to have a better reason than that, or you
wouldn't have asked."
"All right," she shouted up at him, "I feel like crap. Is
that reason enough?"
"No."
"I'm hurting for what my mother must have suffered for
my sake," she said, making a swipe at her leaking eyes.
"I'm no doctor."
"I need to be held."
"Sorry. I've got other plans."
"Don't you care that I'm appealing to you for help?"
"Not really."
She hated him for making her beg. Nevertheless, she threw
down the last vestiges of her pride and said, "My Grandma
Graham died resenting me for ruining Celina's life. She
wanted her to marry Junior, and blamed my untimely birth
when that didn't happen. Now, dammit," she said, "I need
to know that you don't despise me, too.
"Can you imagine how terrible I feel, knowing that I'm
the reason my mother married another man when she loved
you? If it hadn't been for me, you could have married her,
had children, loved each other for the rest of your lives.
Reede, please stay with me tonight."
He closed the distance between them, backed her into the
wall, and gave her a hard shake. "You want me to hold you
and tell you that everything is okay, and that the sun will
come out tomorrow and things will look better?"
"Yes!"
' 'Well, for your information, Counselor, I don't do bedtime
stories. When I spend the night with a woman, it's not because
I want to comfort her if she's hurting, or cheer her up if she's
sad." He took a step closer. His eyes narrowed until they
were mere slits. "And it's for damn sure not because I want
to play daddy."
Twenty-eight
Gregory Harper, district attorney of Travis County, Texas,
was clearly furious. He was on his third cigarette in five
minutes. His anger was directed toward his assistant, who
was seated on the other side of his desk, looking like she'd
been socked hard in both eyes.
"Who've you been sleeping with, Dracula? You look like
you've been sucked dry," Greg remarked with characteristic
abrasiveness.
"Could we stick to one crushing blow at a time, please?
Don't confuse the issue."
"Crushing blow? Oh, you mean the part where I told you
that your investigation is over and done with and you're to
return to Austin pronto, posthaste, lickety-split, do not pass
go, do not collect two hundred dollars, haul ass?"
"Yes, that crushing blow." Alex flattened her hands on
the edge of his desk. "Greg, you can't ask me to drop it
now."
"I'm not asking--I'm telling." He left his swivel chair
and moved to the window. "What the fuck have you been
doing out there, Alex? The governor called me yesterday,
and he was pissed. I mean pissed."
"He's always pissed at you."
"That's beside the point."
"Hardly. Greg, everything you do is politically motivated.
Don't pretend it isn't. I don't blame you for it, but
don't play Mr. Clean with me just because your hand got
slapped."
"The governor thinks his racing commission can do no
wrong. To admit that the commission made a mistake in
selecting Minton Enterprises for a license is tantamount to
the governor admitting that he made an error in judgment,
too."
"Minton Enterprises is above reproach, as far as the horse-racing
business goes."
"Oh, I see. The only hitch is that you suspect one of the
Mintons is a murderer, or if not them, a peace officer. Gee,
for a minute there, I thought we had a problem."
"You don't have to get sarcastic."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "To hear the governor
yesterday, Angus Minton is a cross between the tooth fairy
and Buffalo Bill Cody."
Alex smiled at the analogy, which was uncannily accurate.
"That's a fair assessment, but that doesn't mean he's incapable
of killing someone."
"What happened to his barn the other night?"
"How'd you know about that?"
"Just tell me what happened."
Reluctantly, she told him about Fergus Plummet and the
vandalism done to the Minton ranch. When she was finished,
Greg ran a hand down his face. "You've upset a real big apple cart, full of shiny, bright apples." He selected another
cigarette and spoke around it. It bobbed up and down with
each word, making lighting it difficult. "I didn't like this
case to start with."
"You loved it." Alex's nerves were already frayed, so it
annoyed her even more that he was shifting all the blame to
her. "You thought it might embarrass the governor, and you
relished that thought."
He braced his arms on his desk and leaned over it. "You
said you were going out there to reopen your mother's murder
case. I didn't know you were going to get a loony preacher
whipped into a frenzy, a man's barn nearly burned down, a
valuable racehorse shot in the head, and offend a respected
judge, who has a reputation as spotless as God's."
"Wallace?"
"Wallace. Apparently, he called our esteemed governor
and complained about your unprofessional conduct, your handling
of the case, and your unfounded accusations." He
sucked smoke into his lungs and blew it out in a gust. "Shall I go on?"
"Please," she said wearily, knowing he would anyway.
"Okay. Chastain's scared shitless of Wallace."
"Chastain's scared shitless of his own shadow. He won't
even return my calls."
"He's disclaimed you, washed his hands cleaner of you
than Ivory soap could have done. He says you've been seen
partying with your suspects."
" 'Partying'? I've seen them on a few social occasions.'
"Dangerous business, Alex. We've got three gentlemen
suspects and one lady prosecutor whose association with each
goes way back. It's all as murky as file" gumbo."
She tried not to squirm under his incisive stare. "New
tack." Standing, she circled her chair. "This is an unsolved
murder case. The investigation is viable, no matter who conducts
it."
"Okay," he said complacently, folding his hands behind
his head and leaning his chair back, "I'll play. What have
you got? No body to dig up. No murder weapon. No--"
"It was lifted out of the vet's bag."
"What?"
"The murder weapon." She told him what Dr. Ely Collins
had told her. "The scalpel was never returned to the elder
Dr. Collins. I've been meaning to check the evidence room
on the outside chance that it's still there, but I doubt that it
is."
"So do I. The bottom line is that you've still got no
weapon. Has an eyewitness come forward?"