by Janet Dailey
The grandfather clock, brought here from Savannah by Will’s mother, chimed one. With an inward groan Tori shifted in the bed and closed her eyes. She was finally beginning to drift when a cry shattered the darkness.
The sound had come from Erin’s room.
Tori bolted out of bed, stumbling over her shoes, where she’d left them on the rug. Still in her silk nightgown, she plunged down the hall. Erin’s door was open, the darkness inside broken by a shaft of moonlight falling through the window, lending enough light for Tori to find her way.
“Erin?” She could see her daughter now, sitting up in a nest of covers. Sinking onto the bed beside her, Tori gathered her close. Erin was trembling. Her breath came in little hiccupping sobs.
“It’s all right. I’m here, sweetheart.” Tori stroked the tangled silk of her hair. “What is it? Did something frighten you?”
“B-bad dream,” Erin stammered. “So awful.”
“Erin?” Will had turned on the hall light. Clad in the old Indian-blanket patterned flannel robe Tori had given him for their first Christmas together, he stood in the doorway. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you all right?”
“She’s fine.” Tori clutched her child closer. “Just a nightmare, that’s all.”
Will walked into the room and sat down on Erin’s opposite side. “We’re right here, girl.” His throat was still thick from sleep. “You’re safe.”
Still shaking, Erin freed her arms to wrap around both her parents. They held each other, the three of them, in a tight, awkward circle. Tori could feel Will’s warmth, feel the tension in his clasp. Whatever forces had separated them, they would unite in a heartbeat to protect their precious daughter.
“Talking might make you feel better, Erin,” Tori said. “Tell us about your dream.”
Erin swallowed hard. “There was this man—a man in a motorcycle helmet. He came in the front door with a gun. I heard him and came out of my room. I had a gun, too, right in my hand. I shot him. He fell down . . .” She sucked in air, as if struggling to breathe. “His helmet fell off, and it was you, Daddy. It was you I shot!” She broke into fresh sobs.
“No, don’t cry, honey.” Will’s arms tightened around her. “It was just a dream. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
Erin pulled free, gazing up at Will with big, frightened eyes. “Daddy, are they going to put you in jail for shooting that man?”
The partial light from the hall etched black lines of anguish on Will’s face. When he spoke, his manner was confident. “Not much chance of that. I fired in self-defense, and I’ve got the best lawyer in Texas to help me prove it. So go back to sleep, and don’t worry your pretty head about it. Hear?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But could you and Mom stay here for just a little while, till I fall asleep?”
“Sure.” Will’s eyes flickered toward Tori. “We’ll stay as long as you need us.” As Erin snuggled into the covers once more, he pulled a chair close to the bedside and sat down.
Tori rose, walked around to the other side and slipped under the coverlet next to her daughter. One arm lay across Erin’s shoulders, cradling her close. “Go to sleep,” she whispered. “It’s all right. You’re safe. We’re here with you.”
Tori closed her eyes. But she could only pretend to sleep. She was sharply aware of Will’s presence next to the bed, the sound of his breathing, the shifting of his weight on the chair. Her ex-husband was tough like his father, with the stubborn resolve and mental stamina to see him through any crisis. If he was worried about the outcome of the shooting—as he must be—he would keep it to himself and soldier on. But what about his tenderhearted young daughter? Erin’s nightmare had shown just how deeply affected she was. How would she cope if Will was put on trial, or was even convicted?
As Will’s attorney, Tori realized, it would be up to her to save her ex-husband—and in doing so, to save their daughter. Whatever else was on her agenda, it would have to be set aside, including her personal life. Only this case could be allowed to matter.
* * *
The dimmed light from the hall cast Will’s long shadow across the bed. Nestled in that shadow lay his slumbering daughter and the woman who’d walked out on him eight years ago, changing his life forever.
When they were married, he’d loved watching Tori sleep. But those days were long over. They’d ended when she’d returned from her father’s funeral in Florida, madder than a wet wildcat and ready to serve him with divorce papers. She’d stayed in the guest room long enough to find a place in town, and never shared his bed again.
His eyes traced the contours of Tori’s face—the chiseled bones, the creamy, golden skin. He could tell by the tautness of her breathing that she was only pretending to sleep. But seeing her with her eyes closed, one arm cradling their daughter, deepened the empty space inside him.
He’d wanted to be a good husband. But so many pressures—the ranch, his father, her need for a career, and finally his own jealousy—had driven a wedge between them. That wedge was still in place, and Tori’s new love interest was driving it even deeper.
As a man with a man’s needs, Will hadn’t remained celibate since the divorce. He’d had brief relationships, a few one-night stands and a few so-called arrangements with women who didn’t expect more than an occasional romp between the sheets. None of the women had lasted. None of them had been Tori. But maybe that was just as well. As Tori herself had pointed out, he was married to his ranch—too much competition for any woman to handle, even her.
Still, she looked so desirable with her eyes closed, her soft lips parted, and her hair flowing over the pillow like spilled honey. Overcome by a sudden impulse, he reached out and brushed a fingertip along a silky tendril. He wouldn’t do more. The river of hurt between them was too wide and too deep to be bridged by a touch.
Her eyes flew open. She gazed up at him in the darkness, her expression guarded.
“Erin’s asleep,” Will whispered. “Go back to bed and get some decent rest. I’ll stay here awhile.”
She eased away from her daughter and sat up, looking uncertain.
“Come on.” Will walked around the bed and offered his hand. Sliding her feet to the floor, she took it, allowing him to pull her up without disturbing Erin. Her palm was warm and soft, but he could sense the tension in her fingers before he released them. Her mauve silk nightgown clung to her slender curves, outlining her small, perfect breasts and shadowing the V at the top of her thighs.
Despite his resolve Will felt the heat surge through his body. His sex rose to a jutting erection beneath the old flannel robe he’d thrown on when he heard Erin. He tugged the ends of the sash to make sure the robe wouldn’t fall open and humiliate him. He slept in the raw, something Tori would doubtless remember. She might also remember how easily he became aroused. Right now, the urge to have her—to sweep her up and carry her down the hall to his room, fling her on the bed and lose himself between those long, silky legs—was driving him crazy. But the timing was all wrong. The last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself with the one woman who could bring him down.
Side by side they moved past the bed and out into the dimly lit hall, where they could talk without waking their daughter. Will forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. Tori was no fool. If his gaze wandered to her body in that sexy nightgown, she would be aware of it.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I can stay with her until morning.”
“No, get some rest,” he told her. “You’ve got a busy day ahead, and I’m not sleeping worth a dang, anyway. If you need to go back to town in the morning, you can borrow that spare red truck. But for now, I hope you’ll leave Erin here. After what happened tonight, I don’t think she’s ready to go back to school.”
“For once, I agree with you,” she said. “I’ll talk to the school tomorrow. Whatever happens, Erin’s welfare comes first. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Whatever happens.” Dark possibilities played like a slide sh
ow through Will’s mind. How will it feel, he wondered, hearing prison doors slam shut, knowing I’ll be an old man by the time they open again for me?
Tori must’ve sensed his anxiety. She turned toward him, a softness in her eyes. One hand reached up to brush the collar of his worn flannel bathrobe. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing this old thing,” she said. “It even smells the way I remember.”
Will felt his chest constrict. She was so close to him, like a butterfly that would take wing if he so much as breathed. He forced a smile. “So how does it smell to you?”
“Like a man. Sweaty and tired from an honest day’s work. Like you.”
“Maybe I should toss it in the laundry more often.” Will mouthed the words, scarcely aware of what he was saying. She smelled like the gardenia-scented bath soap she’d always favored, the same aroma that used to swim in his senses when he buried his face between her breasts. Right now, he wanted to drown himself in her and never come up for air.
Her hand lingered on the collar of his robe. Was it an invitation? A tease? Or just a gesture she had to know how much he wanted her. Did she want him, too?
Will ached to kiss her, to clasp her in his arms and let his hungering hands feel every curve and hollow of her through the thin silk. But that wasn’t going to happen. He and Tori had built a cautious trust over the years. They’d made unspoken rules, drawn lines that were not to be crossed. To cross those lines, to shatter that trust now, when he needed her help, could be the worst mistake of his life.
Summoning the last of his resolve, he lifted her hand from his robe and brushed a kiss across her palm. “Get some rest,” he whispered. “Good night, Tori.”
Releasing her hand, he turned and walked back into Erin’s room.
CHAPTER 5
Blanco County prosecutor Clay Drummond was a man at the top of his game. He’d run unopposed in the recent election, standing on his record of toughness, high conviction rate, and absolute incorruptibility. Now at fifty-three, stocky and muscular as a bulldog, with iron-gray hair and a face chiseled in determination, he was setting his sights on higher office—maybe Texas attorney general, if the party would back him. Meanwhile, he had a job to do; and his future depended on his doing it well.
Abner Sweeney’s report was waiting on his desk when he arrived Tuesday morning, after a three-day weekend of bird hunting at a friend’s cabin. Preoccupied with other concerns, he barely gave the two-page typed report a glance—until two names jumped out at him. The first was Nikolas Tomescu. The second was Will Tyler.
Drummond scanned the report, then read it again, his pulse pounding like a prizefighter’s before a title match. News of the shooting must’ve been all over the media, but he hadn’t read a paper or glanced at TV all weekend. Until now, he’d been unaware of what had happened. But whatever had gone down, he needed to take charge of it—ASAP.
This wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with the Tylers. Last spring he’d constructed an ironclad case for first-degree murder against the second Tyler brother, Beau. He’d assumed the conviction would be a slam dunk. But then, before the trial, the real killer had been exposed. Beau Tyler had gone free, cleared of all charges—and Drummond had been left with a pile of useless evidence and egg on his face.
This time it was Will Tyler, the respected head of the family, who’d run afoul of the law. There’d been no charges filed and no arrest made, pending the inquest. But Abner seemed to think he had enough on Tyler to charge the boss of the Rimrock with manslaughter, or even second-degree murder.
Drummond had no special quarrel with the Tylers. As far as he knew, neither did Abner. But he liked to win. And the press from a high-profile case like this one could jump-start a man’s political rise. Both he and the sheriff had personal reasons to find Will Tyler guilty.
As for the victim, Nikolas Tomescu . . .
In the silence Drummond became aware that beneath his fresh white shirt, his body had broken out in a cold sweat. There was a lot more at stake here than just winning. It was as if everything that truly mattered was about to be laid on the line.
In this small community he was admired and envied. He had plenty of money, thanks to his wife’s inheritance. He had a perfect family, a respected career, and a promising future. But two months ago, in a weak moment, he’d made one stupid mistake—a mistake that could cost him his marriage, his children, his career, and even his freedom.
Drummond glanced at the list of missed calls on his office phone. One number appeared three times. No messages, but he didn’t need any.
It was time to give the devil her due.
He reached for his desk phone, then changed his mind. He took his cell out of his pocket and punched in the number.
“What the hell took you so long?” The husky female voice was unmistakable. “I called you three times, and you never called back.”
“I was off the grid,” he said. “Got home from a hunt late last night. I just heard about your brother.”
“You could at least say you were sorry. Nicky was all the family I had. All I want now is to see Will Tyler pay for what he did—behind bars.”
“So do I. That’s why I called you. I’d like to make a deal.”
“A deal?” She gave a derisive snort. “You’re not exactly the one holding the cards, Mr. Prosecutor.”
“I know. And I plan to do my job. But I’ll work even harder for you if there’s something in it for me.”
“I’m listening.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Drummond’s temple. “I want that surveillance tape, Stella, and your promise that there are no copies. I want this whole mess over and done with.”
She had the gall to laugh. “How about this deal? If you don’t put Will Tyler away, I’ll turn the tape over to the press. When you get out of jail, you’ll be lucky to get a job cleaning toilets.”
Drummond had tried to remain calm and cool, but his anger now boiled over. “If I go down, I’ll take you with me. Procuring an underage girl. How’s that for a charge?”
“Oh, but there was no procuring. I hired the girl as a waitress. And I had no idea she was underage. She even showed me a fake driver’s license. When she fessed up later that she was just sixteen, I showed her the door. I’m guessing she left town. Taking her upstairs was your idea, not mine. Even if it can’t be proved she was underage, that surveillance camera caught you with your tidy whities down. Either way, I’d say you were in big trouble.”
Drummond could imagine the smirk on her painted face. He swore under his breath. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d be tempted to find the woman and strangle her with his bare hands.
“I’m counting on you. Keep me posted.” She ended the call on a maddeningly cheerful note.
Drummond could feel a headache coming on. The pounding grew worse as he recalled how he’d gotten into this mess. His wife, Louise, could be a real bitch when she was in a bad mood. Last August, after one of their nastiest late-night fights, he’d driven to the Blue Coyote for a drink. By the time he’d downed enough Scotch to cloud his judgment, the perky little waitress had begun looking pretty good to him. Friendly and willing, she’d met him out back on her break, took his money, and led him up the stairs. It was only afterward, as he was pulling up his pants, he’d noticed the surveillance camera mounted in a high corner, well out of reach.
Stella had probably paid the girl to target him. Whether she had or not, he was at her mercy now.
The voice of Glenda, the receptionist, startled him out of his thoughts. “Mr. Drummond, Ms. Tyler is here to see you.”
Drummond’s shoulders sagged. At any other time he’d have been happy to see his former law partner. But Tori Tyler couldn’t have picked a more awkward time to show up—especially if she was here to talk about her ex-husband’s case.
“Send her in.” Drummond straightened his bolo tie and arranged his features in a welcoming smile. Maybe he could at least learn a thing or two from her.
He heard the
familiar click of her high heels on the tile floor. An instant later, the door opened and Tori strode into his office. Dressed in tailored slacks, a white silk blouse, and a suede blazer, she took his breath away. She’d always had this effect on him. But even back when she was his junior law partner, and going through a divorce, he’d known better than to lay a hand on her.
The fact that he’d been half in love with the lady for years made his present situation even more painful.
“Hello, Clay.” She gave him a friendly smile, but she looked frayed. Drummond knew her well enough to sense that she was worried. And he could pretty well guess why. Will Tyler was her daughter’s father—and anything that affected her little girl affected Tori.
He rose, extending his hand. “How’ve you been, Tori?”
Her handshake was cool and cautious. She’d be representing her ex, of course. She and Drummond had faced each other in court countless times over the years, but this time it would be personal.
“I’ve been better,” she said. “Family crisis, as you’re no doubt aware.”
“I just read Abner’s report,” Drummond said. “Sit down. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She took the straight-backed chair that faced his desk and pulled it closer. “It’s just . . .” She hesitated, very unlike the confident Tori he knew. “It’s Abner,” she said. “Will shot that man in self-defense. No question. But when Abner came out to the ranch on Saturday, to interrogate Erin and Will, he seemed to have a personal agenda. He was slanting his questions, making it look like Will had shot a man who was no threat to him.”