Rumors: The McCaffertys

by Lisa Jackson

  “That’s not relevant to the case.”

  “No?”

  “Don’t tell me, you think I need some advice, right?” she asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns. Espinoza was leading up to it. “So what’re you trying to do? Warn me? About what?” Kelly braced herself for the lecture she saw brewing in his eyes. Every once in a while, Espinoza took on the role of older brother or uncle, probably because he’d worked with her father years before she’d joined the force.

  He tented his hands under his chin and his eyes narrowed a fraction as if he wasn’t sure he should share his thoughts.

  “You started this,” she said. “You may as well finish it. If you’ve got something to say to me, just spit it out.”

  “Okay.” He leaned back in his chair until it creaked, but he never took his eyes off Kelly. “My sister, Anita, had a thing for the middle McCafferty boy. It was a long time ago, probably fifteen years ago. She was in her senior year of high school when she hooked up with Matt.”

  Matt, Kelly thought wryly. Of course it had to be the middle son of John Randall. She fought a prick of disappointment, but managed to hide it as she stood.

  “McCafferty took her out a few times and it got pretty hot and heavy, at least from Anita’s point of view. He acted interested in her, and then, out of the blue, took up with the rodeo circuit again and within a month had moved on. It was kind of a whirlwind thing, but my sister was crushed.” Espinoza’s jaw tightened.

  “Let me guess. You’ve held a grudge ever since.”

  He clicked his pen. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want it to happen again to anyone I know.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you talking about me? Are you warning me off Matt McCafferty?” Kelly demanded, her spine stiffening.

  “Just making an observation.”

  “Well, observe something else, okay? It’s none of your business who I see.”

  “Are you seeing him?”

  “No! I mean, only professionally—not that it’s any of your damned business.” She was overreacting and knew it, but couldn’t stop the sharp edge of her voice or the color she felt climbing up the back of her neck. “Let’s get back to the case, okay? What about the men Randi McCafferty was interested in?”

  He nodded. Apparently the older-brother-type lecture was over, at least for a while. “The three men we’ve linked to her—Paterno, Donahue and Clanton—have alibis, if that’s what you mean. All of ’em were miles away from Grand Hope at the time she was forced off the road. They were also elsewhere when the attack at St. James occurred. Now, I’m not saying they have watertight alibis, but there are people who say they saw them during the dates of the attacks. Seattle PD’s double-checking, though, to make sure.”

  “What about paternity?”

  “Still checking.” Espinoza’s scowl deepened and he dropped his feet to the floor. “As far as blood types go, all three men—Joe Paterno, Brodie Clanton and Sam Donahue—could be the kid’s father. It’ll take paternity tests to narrow the field down and then maybe none of these guys would end up being the father.”

  “What have they got to say for themselves?”

  “They’re not a very talkative group, but a detective in Seattle is interviewing them. We really don’t have a helluva lot to go on.” He leaned forward and reached for the file she’d brought in. “I’m thinking about sending someone to Seattle to interview the men, just so we have a better handle on it.”

  And because the McCaffertys are breathing down our necks, demanding answers. He didn’t have to say it.

  “Are you interested?”

  “Sure,” she said quickly, eager to do anything to keep the investigation moving forward. She plopped down in the one chair on the opposite side of his desk. “When?”

  “This week. Before Thanksgiving.” He picked up the file folder and tapped it on the desk as if he’d just made the decision final in his mind.

  “Count me in.”

  “Good. Now, we’ve still got a guard posted at the hospital. So far, there’s been nothing suspicious happening, thank God, so if Randi McCafferty would just cooperate and wake up, maybe we’d get some answers.”

  He opened the file folder. Leafing through the pages, he scanned the lab reports on the crime scene about the latest attack on Randi McCafferty, though Kelly suspected he knew the contents by heart.

  “What about Thorne McCafferty’s plane?” she asked as he flipped to the final typewritten page. “The McCafferty brothers seem convinced that foul play was involved.”

  “Again, the jury’s still out.” He slapped the manila folder onto his desk. “There was one helluva storm that day. The crash could have been the result of pilot error or equipment malfunction. Or maybe it was just coincidence that his plane went down. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me that someone is trying to bump off the entire McCafferty family one at a time, and there hasn’t been another attempt on his life.” He clicked his pen again and shook his head, gray hairs catching in the fluorescent bulbs that hummed overhead. “Nope. I’ll bet my badge that McCafferty just had a run of bad luck on that one.”

  “But Randi’s another matter.”

  “Yep.” Espinoza stuffed his pen into a mug labeled Coach Espinoza. “Someone’s definitely trying to make sure that she doesn’t wake up. We just have to figure out who.”

  “And why.”

  “Yeah.” His thick eyebrows elevated a fraction. “A motive would be nice. Some people around town think the brothers are involved, that Thorne staged the plane crash just to throw us off guard and that Randi and her son are the primary targets.”

  “No way. They could have come up with better ways to kill her off if they really wanted to.” The thought soured her stomach and fired her blood. “They’re three big, strapping men whom she trusted, they could have been one another’s alibis, and as for the baby… I’ve seen the uncles with little J.R. They’d defend him with their lives.”

  Espinoza nodded. “Agreed. So who does that leave?”

  Who indeed, Kelly wondered off and on for the rest of the day. She helped investigate an accident scene, interviewed witnesses in a hit-and-run, and took statements from the owners of a mom-and-pop grocery that had been vandalized. In between calls, she tried to work out the knots in the Randi McCafferty case.

  It was after eight when she filed her last report and, hiking her jacket around her neck, climbed into her car. The windows fogged with the cold temperature, but the night was clear, stars visible above the lights of the town. She started for her row house, but changed her mind at a red light and turned toward the hospital where Randi McCafferty lay comatose.

  There was no longer any evidence of the press as Kelly made her way to the fourth floor to Randi’s private room. Seated on a folding chair, flipping through a magazine, the beefy policeman whose job it was to protect John Randall’s daughter looked up and recognized Kelly. “Don’t suppose you’re my relief,” he said with a toothy grin. He checked his watch. “If you are, you’re early.”

  “Not me, Rex, but I’ll take over if you want to take a break and refill that.” She pointed to an empty paper cup that sat at his feet.

  “You don’t have to ask twice. You’re on.” He swiped the empty cup from the floor and swaggered down the hall. As Rex disappeared around the corner, Kelly walked into the private room where the lights were dimmed and Randi McCafferty lay on her back, her breathing regular, her lips slightly parted, her eyes closed.

  “Wake up, Randi,” Kelly said softly. “You’ve got some brothers who are worried sick about you and a baby who needs you.” She touched the back of one of Randi’s hands. Her skin was cool and soft. “You know, I could use some help here, too. I’ve got questions only you can answer.” She bit her lip, wondering about this woman who seemed to be a mystery even to her brothers. No one in Grand Hope knew the ins and out
s of Randi’s life—who were her friends, what project she was working on, who was her lover? Maybe the answers were in Seattle. Maybe if Kelly was sent there for just a few days she could find answers to the dozens of questions surrounding this case. “Come on, Randi. Wake up, would you?”

  “Y’know, she still can’t hear you. No more than she could the last time you tried to talk to her.”

  Kelly froze, fought her instinctive reaction to reach for her sidearm and silently cursed her luck as she recognized Matt McCafferty’s deep, condemning voice. So he’d caught her again. She dropped Randi’s hand and turned to find him framed in the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching each side of the doorjamb, his athletic body silhouetted by the backlight of the hall.

  Kelly’s stupid heart skipped a beat. Her pulse jumped. She met cold censure in his chocolate-brown eyes. “Are you the guard?”

  “No. His relief for a few seconds.”

  “You didn’t hear me come in. I might have been the killer,” he said, his voice tight. “I could’ve got the jump on you.”

  “Or my presence could have scared you off,” she said. “I’m still in uniform.”

  His gaze raked down her body. “That you are.”

  “And I’ve got a weapon.”

  He didn’t comment.

  Rankled, she stepped closer to him and kept her voice low for the patient’s sake. “So, are you through dressing me down? Because I’m not in the mood for it.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” he asked, and for the fleetest of seconds she thought he was making a pass at her. But she was probably imagining things.

  “I just thought I’d see how your sister was doing and let Rex use the rest room and get a fresh cup of coffee. He’s the guard on duty. You have a problem with that?”

  Matt seemed to cool off a tad. He glanced quickly around the room, as if seeing for himself that it was secure. “I guess not.”

  “Good.”

  He strode to the bedside, bringing the scents of horses, hard work and the cold outdoors with him. “I heard you talking to her.”

  Now her embarrassment was complete.

  “But it doesn’t seem to work. We’ve all tried communicating with her. Over and over again, but she doesn’t move. Not so much as a blink.” He drew in a whistling breath, then sighed. “Sometimes I don’t think she’ll ever wake up.”

  His jaw was tight, his eyes trained on his half sister, frustration evident in the strain tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “It’s just going to take more time.”

  “So I’ve heard. About a million times.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers delving beneath the collar of his suede jacket. “I’m not sure I believe it.” Matt’s gaze moved from Randi’s bed to Kelly. “And don’t give me any lectures about having patience or faith, okay? It’s all been stretched thin. Real thin.”

  “It could be that she can hear all of us,” Kelly said. “Maybe she just can’t respond.”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow, then nodded curtly. “I s’pose.” He reached for his sister’s hand and Randi’s palm seemed small and pale in his long, work-roughened fingers. “Come on, Randi gal,” he said, seeming awkward in the role of doting brother. “Come on.” Kelly’s heart ached when she saw the pain etched across Matt’s rugged face. He was a complex man, she realized, capable of a hundred emotions, ranging from anger, to guilt and love. Beneath his ranch-tough exterior was a good heart.

  If only his sister’s eyes would flutter open.

  Realizing she was an intruder in a very intimate scene, Kelly started for the door.

  “You don’t have to go.” Again his voice seemed loud and out of place in a hospital where hushed conversation and the faint strains of piped-in music were the backdrop.

  “I’ll just be outside.” Kelly offered him a smile over her shoulder. “I think you need to be alone with her.” Then she slipped through the doorway and eyed the nurses’ station a few doors down a wide corridor. Two nurses, both women, were on duty, one talking on the telephone while looking at a computer screen, the second writing in a fat binder. An aide pushed a cart stacked with towels and blankets toward the elevator and one older man was strolling down the hallway, his IV stand in tow.

  Quiet.

  Peaceful.

  Nothing strange or sinister.

  “Hey, thanks for spelling me,” Rex said as he ambled toward his chair. “I brought you a cup of coffee…hope you drink it black.”

  “Perfect.” She accepted the second cup and took a sip of the scalding brew.

  “It’s supposed to be French roast, whatever the hell that is.” Rex touched the lip of his cup to hers. “Here’s to police work, which, in this case, includes babysitting.” He shook his head, a few gray hairs catching the light. “Personally I think this is a big waste of time. I know someone tried to kill her before, but they’d have to be flat-out stupid to try it again. The hospital’s beefed up security, and frankly, I haven’t seen one suspicious character in this place.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” Matt said as he overheard the last part of the conversation. He was frustrated with the situation, and seeing a big man in uniform sharing a cup of coffee and complaining to Kelly about the guy’s duty irritated the hell out of him.

  The policeman nodded as his eyes met Matt’s. “I intend to,” he said. “Rex Stanyon.” He shot out a beefy, freckled hand that Matt reluctantly shook.

  “Good.” Matt squared his hat on his head and tried to ignore the spurt of jealousy that raced through his blood. His reaction to Kelly was all wrong. Way out of line. So she was pretty, so she filled out that drab uniform in all the right places, so what? She was a policewoman, for God’s sake.

  Ridiculously he felt a tightening in his groin, as he always seemed to whenever she was around. Hell. He clamped down his jaw. She was investigating the attempts on his sister’s life; he couldn’t think of her as a woman.

  “We’ll take care of your sister,” Rex was saying.

  “See that you do.” He started for the elevator before he said something to the cop that he might regret.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Kelly drain her cup, say something to Rex, then take off to catch up with him as the elevator doors parted and an attendant pushed an empty wheelchair into the hallway.

  “That was uncalled-for.” Kelly strode into the elevator and swatted the button for the ground level.

  “What?”

  The doors closed and with a groan the elevator car began its descent.

  “Rex is a damned good cop.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Look, McCafferty,” she said, stepping closer to him and jabbing a long finger at his chest. “Everybody’s doing the best they can, and believe me, we all want to see the creep who attacked Randi behind bars. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the right to grumble a bit.”

  “I just asked the man to do his job.”

  “You insinuated that he wasn’t.” Her lips pursed in fury, her nostrils flared and a soft blush colored her cheeks.

  “Cops are supposed to have thick skins.”

  “So are cowboys!”

  Without thinking, he grabbed her. His hands surrounded her upper arms and he dragged her close. “Cowboys are just like cops. Flesh and blood.”

  “And they have feelings, too. Is that the sorry line you were going to throw at me?”

  “No, lady, I wasn’t. In fact, I wasn’t going to say a damned thing.” Without really thinking about it, he yanked her closer still, lowered his head and kissed her. Hard. Full on the mouth while she was gasping and sputtering and probably reaching for her gun. Her lips were firm and warm, the starch in her spine not giving an inch. If he expected her to melt against him, he was disappointed.

  She flung herself out of his arms as the
elevator landed and her eyes flashed indignant fire. “Don’t you ever—”

  The doors parted and Slade McCafferty started to step inside. “Oh. Matt, I was looking…” Blue eyes focused full on Kelly and then, as if he read the situation perfectly, Slade had the nerve to grin, one of those crooked, I-know-what-you’ve-been-up-to smiles that had irritated the hell out of Matt while growing up. “Well, what’s going on here?” he drawled, and Matt wanted to lunge at him.

  “Nothing.” Kelly found some shred of her pride. “I was just explaining to your brother that we’re doing everything possible to locate the person who attacked your sister.”

  Slade’s eyes danced and again Matt wanted to knock his block off.

  “Well, I was trying to track you down, ’cuz we just got a call from Kurt Striker. He’s on his way to the ranch from Seattle. Should be there in an hour.”

  “Let’s go,” Matt said.

  “I’d like to talk to him,” Kelly said as they headed along the hallway to the wide front doors of the hospital.

  “I don’t think—” Slade started to protest.

  “Why not?” Matt nodded, as if agreeing with himself. “Maybe you could share some information with him and he could do the same for you.” Slade was about to argue the point further, but Matt cut him off. “We just have to catch this bastard. If the police are willing to work with Striker, all the better.” He glanced at Kelly. “You want to ride with me?”

  “I’ve got my car.”

  He lifted a shoulder and ignored the unspoken accusations in his brother’s eyes. “I’ll catch up with you at the ranch,” Slade said. “I just want to look in on Randi first.” Turning on his heel, he started for the elevator.

  The electronic doors opened to the cold night. “You were about to tell me where to get off,” Matt reminded her as they strode across the parking lot and snow blew across the asphalt.

  “Don’t ever try to manhandle me, okay?” She zipped her jacket and glanced up at him. “It could be dangerous.”