by Holly Rayner
Chapter 15
Clay
The sound of a car making its way up the driveway startled Clay. He was at his desk, working on finances for the ranch.
He hurried to the window, pulled the curtain back slightly, and peered out, hoping that he would see Melissa’s truck. Though he had done his best to turn her away, she had continued to flirt with him, dropping by to leave him baked goods she’d made from time to time. She had promised that when the vegetables she planned on growing were ready for harvest, he would be getting some of those as well.
Ordinarily, he wished for her to stay away. It was hard to explain his reasons for not wanting to engage with her—he hadn’t told her anything about Gwen. He wanted to keep that information private.
But if someone was approaching his house, he hoped it would be her. There was nobody else he wanted to see.
But the vehicle pulling to a stop outside his front door wasn’t Melissa’s truck.
It was a police car.
His mind began to race. What should he do? Should he go out the back? Try to run?
No. Of course not. That’s crazy. They clearly know where I live, and even if I’m not here today, they’re not going to just give up on me. They’re going to come back. They’re going to keep coming back.
Unless he was ready to leave his house for good and go on the run—something he had already decided against doing—there was no point in avoiding this. He was going to have to face it.
He put his paperwork away, feeling shaky and upset. He wished there was some way of knowing how bad it was going to be. Would it just be a fine? Would they write him a ticket and leave him alone?
Was he about to be arrested and taken downtown?
He paused to catch his breath and steady himself. He needed to conduct this conversation without looking panicky. That would only make things worse.
He went to the kitchen just in time to hear the knock on the door. He counted to three and then pulled it open.
A single officer stood on the porch. He was a paunchy guy a few years older than Clay, and Clay found himself immediately reassured. He didn’t plan on resisting arrest, of course. But if they had planned on arresting him, they would have sent somebody who was capable of physically subduing him, wouldn’t they?
“Clay Murray?” the officer asked.
It felt like confessing to a crime even to answer that simple question—but what was he going to do, try to hide his name?
“That’s me,” he said.
“May I come in?”
He hesitated. “Can I ask what this is regarding?”
The police officer took off his sunglasses and squinted at Clay. Immediately, Clay was sure he had made a mistake. He had acted suspiciously by asking why the officer was here. He had acted like he had something to hide.
Do better at this, he told himself firmly, though he wasn’t sure quite how to do that.
“Our department is looking into some suspicious property sales in this area,” the officer said.
Clay’s heart plummeted. “Suspicious property sales?” he repeated dumbly.
“Why don’t we sit down, and I’ll tell you about it.” The officer gestured toward the kitchen table.
Seeing no practical alternative, Clay moved back and let the man in. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. Maybe making a good impression would help him turn this around.
“A glass of water would be great,” the officer said. “It’s awfully dry out there.”
Clay nodded. He went to the refrigerator and took as much time as he could, adding ice and then water to a glass. What am I going to say? he thought desperately, wishing he had taken the time to put together some kind of plan for the inevitable day when the police arrived to ask questions.
Should he tell them about Dave or not? Would the officer have the elusive contracts? Would Clay finally get the chance to see them?
When he couldn’t stall any longer, he returned to the table, gave the officer the glass of water, and sat down. “How can I help you?” he asked warily.
“My name is Officer Hobbs,” the man said. “I just have a few questions for you about some recent transactions.”
“What kind of transactions?” Clay asked, his heart beating wildly.
“I mentioned that we had seen suspicious property sales recently,” Officer Hobbs said. “That’s mostly been a few miles from here, in Amarillo. We’re talking about residential property being bought and then quickly sold off.”
“Okay.” Clay had seen enough courtroom dramas on TV to know not to provide an answer when no question had been asked.
Of course, the flip side of that strategy was that it probably did make him look a bit more interesting to Officer Hobbs. It wasn’t suspicious, exactly, but a man with nothing to hide wouldn’t be so tight-lipped, right?
Clay reached for something to say. “Property sells pretty well in Amarillo, doesn’t it?” he offered lamely.
“I wouldn’t know,” Officer Hobbs said. “I’m not in real estate. But this particular property raises questions because a lot of it was part of a protected historical site. Whoever bought and sold it was probably just looking to make a quick buck and then disappear.”
“Do you think so?” Clay asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Officer Hobbs said. “And that’s what brings me to you.”
Clay felt his hands begin to shake. He spread them flat on the table, forcing them to be still. “How does it relate to me?” he asked.
He’s about to ask me whether I own any property in Amarillo. And I won’t be able to lie. Thanks to Dave, I do own homes there. This is how they’re going to get me.
“We know you’ve sold a piece of land recently,” Officer Hobbs said.
Of course. Because Dave did sell two of the properties we bought. That transaction must have been easy to trace.
Then Officer Hobbs spoke again. “Specifically, one of the fields on this ranch that you and your father owned together.
Clay was dumbstruck.
That’s what this was about?
That’s what had brought the police to his door at last?
The fact that he had sold his field?
It was so random, so completely out of nowhere, that for a moment he wasn’t even sure how to respond. “My field isn’t in Amarillo,” he said after a moment’s pause.
“No,” Officer Hobbs agreed. “But we’re on the outskirts, and it does look a bit strange, selling off a piece of land that’s been in your family for so long.” He took a sip of his water. “Understand, we’re looking into every land transaction for miles around right now, trying to find common threads when it comes to who’s buying them up, who they’re selling them on to—things of that nature. So when your land sale showed up on the record, it seemed like it might point toward something that could help with the case.”
“So that’s why you’re here?” Clay asked. “You think that whoever’s been buying up land illegally bought my property as well?”
“That’s the concern,” Officer Hobbs said.
The wave of relief that washed over Clay was so powerful that he almost burst out laughing. Needing a moment to collect himself, he stood and went back to the fridge, where he pulled out a beer. He cracked it open and took a long drink.
“Do you want one?” he asked Officer Hobbs, holding up the can.
“I’m on duty,” Officer Hobbs said coolly.
“Right, of course.”
What was I thinking?
Clay knew there was no more putting it off. He stepped back to the table and took a seat.
“So,” Officer Hobbs said at length. “The land.”
Clay nodded. “You saw my fields when you were driving up, I take it?”
“I did,” Officer Hobbs confirmed. “And I’ve made an in-depth study of your property in preparation for my conversation with you today, so I do know how much of all of this is yours. You have quite an extensive ranch here, Mr. Murray.”
Clay nodded. “It was
my father’s pride and joy,” he said.
“You lost your father earlier this year, I believe?”
“That’s right,” Clay said.
“Condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“The ranch was left to you after his passing.”
“Yes, it was,” Clay said. “And I was happy to have it. The two of us used to work it together. It lets me feel close to him, even now that he’s not around anymore.”
“You can understand, then, why it would come as a surprise to see that you’d decided to sell off a part of it,” Officer Hobbs said. “I suppose what I’m wondering is…did you decide to sell it?”
“What do you mean?” Clay asked.
“You weren’t coerced in some way?”
Does needing to try to cover up a crime my friend got me involved in count as coercion?
“No,” Clay said. “I wasn’t coerced.”
“May I ask who purchased the land?”
“A woman named Melissa,” Clay said. “I can give you her phone number, if you want to speak to her about this.”
“Did she say what she wanted it for?” Officer Hobbs asked.
“She’s going to grow vegetables or something. She wanted to get into farming, but she didn’t want to run a whole farm of her own.” Clay shrugged. “That kind of thing isn’t uncommon. Lots of farmers and ranchers sell off pieces of their land.”
“It’s less common, though, for bereaved sons to sell off the land that once belonged to their fathers,” Officer Hobbs said. “You’re certain you weren’t forced into it in some way?”
“Yes, I’m certain.” Clay felt a hint of sadness creep into his voice. “Since my father passed, there’s more land here than I can take care of by myself. So I decided to sell some of it to someone who wanted to work it.”
“I see,” Officer Hobbs said. “Did the woman approach you about selling the land?”
“I’m the one who put out the advertisement looking for a buyer,” Clay said. “I initiated it, and Melissa came to me. She wasn’t going around looking to buy up people’s property, or whatever you’re suggesting. We signed an agreement over a glass of lemonade, sitting at this table. I can show it to you, if you want.”
“That’s not necessary.” Officer Hobbs was retreating now, and Clay felt a flash of triumph.
He doesn’t know anything at all. He came here to press me and see what he could find out. But he doesn’t actually have any information, and he definitely doesn’t suspect me of being the illicit buyer.
“If you don’t have any more questions,” Clay said, “I need to get out and tend to my cows.”
“Of course. Perhaps I could have your buyer’s phone number before I go?”
Clay jotted Melissa’s phone number on a piece of paper and handed it over. He felt sorry for her, knowing that she was about to be badgered by the police. But she would be fine. She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. This would be an annoyance for her, nothing more.
Officer Hobbs said his farewells and walked back out to his car. Clay watched him go.
It was only after the police cruiser had pulled away down the drive and disappeared from sight that Clay’s anxiety caught up with him again.
He sat down at the kitchen table, shaking with barely suppressed nerves.
I was lucky today, he thought. But next time, I might not be.
The police were looking into his case. They were trying to find the guilty parties. And with Dave out of the country, Clay was the only guilty party they were going to find.
Had he made matters worse for himself today? He had no plausible deniability anymore. Officer Hobbs had sat at his kitchen table and outlined the crimes that had been committed, and Clay hadn’t admitted to anything. Of course, he wasn’t required to give evidence against himself—he knew that. But this meant that when the truth eventually came to light, he wouldn’t be able to argue that he had never realized that anything illegal had happened.
It was true that he needed to get outside and start his afternoon’s work. But he was so shaken by his encounter with the police that he found himself suddenly sapped of all his energy. He got up and started to make a sandwich since he was already in the kitchen.
The threat of being arrested had been hanging over him for months. And yet, somehow, even as he had taken measures to make sure that the clues connecting him with the crime were covered up, he had never quite believed that anything could happen. It had seemed too remote. Surely, in order to actually be arrested for a crime, you had to have had some awareness that you were committing a crime?
It didn’t seem right that he was guilty.
But he had always known, deep down, that he was at risk. Since the phone call from Dave, he’d felt the threat that one day this would catch up with him.
It hadn’t caught up with him today, but it had certainly been close. And the next time a police officer came knocking on his door, it would likely be to take him away.
Maybe Dave was right, he thought hopelessly. Maybe I should have left the country when I had the chance. Now I’m stuck here, waiting for the inevitable.
Leaving wasn’t an option anymore. Not now that the police had seen he was here and spoken to him about the crime. Even though he hadn’t been a suspect today, it would look far too suspicious. They would definitely pin it on him, and they’d be right to do so.
He sighed.
He hadn’t wanted to leave anyway. He was reacting out of fear right now. But he had never really planned on leaving his ranch. He couldn’t do that. This was his home. This was the only piece of his father he had left. He wasn’t going to let it go.
They would be back, and he would just have to deal with them when they came. He wouldn’t try to hide what he had done. He was done trying to cover up evidence, done waking up in a cold sweat every time he heard a sound outside in the middle of the night.
The next time a police officer appeared at his door, he was going to tell the truth.
Chapter 16
Gwen
Two Months Later
“Okay,” Mike said. “That’s it.”
Gwen looked up from her paperwork. “What’s it?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve had that man’s address for two months now,” Mike said. “And you’ve done nothing about it. After all the work you went through to get it. Are you going to contact him or not?”
“I can’t just go over there,” Gwen said.
“Why not?” asked Finn. “I thought you wanted to tell him about your pregnancy.”
“Well, yeah, I do.”
“And you said that you couldn’t tell him over the phone, right? That it was the kind of news you needed to give in person.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Then you need to go out there and find him where he lives,” Mike said. “End of story.”
Gwen was quiet. She hadn’t told Finn and Mike about the things she had learned on the island of Nevis—about the fact that Clay had apparently been mixed up in some illegal activity. It did sound, based on David Fischer’s explanation, as if the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. But still, she was a police officer, and technically he was a criminal.
Could she really just walk up to his door?
It made sense, once she’d given it some thought, that he hadn’t wanted to give her his full name. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted to. Not knowing what she did for a living. Gwen didn’t blame him at all.
He probably wouldn’t be happy to see me. I wanted to believe that he would. But he’s hiding from the law. I’m the law.
And what was more…if she knew that someone had committed a crime and had failed to turn himself over to the police, didn’t that represent a conflict of interest? How could she justify becoming involved with him when she knew what he had done? How was she going to spend day after day in his company—raise a baby with him—and at the same time, help him conceal the crime she knew he had committed?
She co
uldn’t. She couldn’t be a part of concealing criminal activity.
Which meant that she couldn’t track him down after all.
Her mind had gone around and around like this for the past two months. She would almost talk herself into going to see him, only to remind herself that by doing so, she would be putting herself in an impossible situation.
Mike reached over and plucked the address off of her desk, where it had been sitting for weeks now. “Do you want us to go with you?” he asked. “We can all go together. You and me and Finn. We can make a day trip out of it tomorrow. It’s Saturday.”
“I have plans this Saturday,” Gwen stammered.
“What plans do you have?” Mike demanded. “You said yourself that you’ve been at home on your own every weekend, so don’t expect me to believe that you’re suddenly overbooked. You’re just trying to get out of doing this!”
“Okay, okay,” Finn interjected. “Get off her case, Mike.”
“She needs someone on her case,” Mike said. “She needs someone to give her a push, or she’s never going to go.”
Finn looked over at her. “I hate to admit it,” he said, “but Mike is right. What’s holding you back, Carrington?”
“I don’t know,” Gwen said.
“You still want to talk to him, right? To let him know about the baby?”
“Yeah, I do,” she admitted. If it hadn’t been for the complicated legal situation, she would have gone to see him weeks ago.
“Well, it’s not going to happen unless you make it happen,” Finn said. “So you’ve got to make it happen. It’s that simple.”
Gwen sighed. “There’s nothing simple about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She couldn’t tell them. They were police officers too. And as hard as it was for her to justify protecting her baby’s father from the law, it would be that much harder for the two of them. They had no investment in Clay. He wasn’t the father of their children. They would feel sorry for her, probably, but there would be nothing to keep them from reaching out to Texas law enforcement and reporting him for what he had done.