by Sandra Brown
For all his fighting skills, Ledge was powerless to repel this ravaging enemy.
As he stroked his uncle’s head, he felt an unmanly welling of emotion. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken to carrying your pocketknife.”
Henry had never been without it. He had kept it sheathed in a leather scabbard attached to his belt and utilized it several times a day to open cases of liquor. It had broken Ledge’s heart to have to take it away from him. It had broken his heart even more to realize that Henry hadn’t missed it, when it always had been like an extension of his hand.
The pocketknife was a connection to Henry that Ledge could maintain when none other existed. If there was a single benefit to his uncle’s condition, it was that he would never know about Ledge’s crime. The last memory Henry would have of him wouldn’t be that he was a thief and deceiver, but a decorated soldier.
“Don didn’t think you’d mind if I started carrying your knife,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “He said you’d like knowing that it was in my safekeeping.”
Just then the door was pushed open, and a young black man breezed in. “Hey, Cap’n, they told me you were here.”
Ledge had to clear his throat before he could speak. Grumbling, he said, “I’ve told you not to address me that way.”
George was one of the physical therapists on staff. “Naw, now, we’ve talked about this. Once an officer, always an officer. To me you’ll always be Cap’n Burnet.”
George executed a crisp salute. Ledge gave him the finger. George laughed, then they fist-bumped. This was their script and routine every time they saw each other. Over the time that Henry had been a resident, the therapist and Ledge had become well acquainted and liked each other. They had their military service in the Middle East in common, and, taking into account George’s occupation, Ledge admired the man’s seemingly inexhaustible cheerfulness.
He squatted down in front of Henry’s lounger. “How’s my main man this morning?”
“He ate a good breakfast. All except the oatmeal.” Ledge made another swipe at the damp spot on Henry’s jacket.
George looked at the contents of the bowl and winced. “I’d have spit it out, too, Henry.” He patted his patient on the knee and stood up.
Ledge asked, “How’s he doing?”
“Good.”
“No bullshit, George.”
“I wouldn’t insult you with bullshit. Your uncle’s still strong. He does his exercises when I coach him through them. Oh, every once in a while he balks, but nothing I can’t handle with a little persuasion.”
“Any belligerence? Violent outbursts?” Ledge had dreaded asking about this, afraid of hearing the worst. “I’ve been warned that can happen.”
“Can,” George said, nodding. “But not necessarily. No signs of it yet, so don’t invite trouble.” George hesitated, then said in a softer tone, “You don’t have to come see him quite so often, you know.”
“I want to. I miss him.”
“All I’m saying is, if you were to cut back on the visits, no one would hold it against you. Especially not him. He won’t know.”
“But I would.”
George gave a rueful smile. “Fuckin’ hero, through and through.”
“Knock it off.”
“Okay. Carry on with your visit.” Over Ledge’s shoulder, he addressed Henry. “See you in PT. No slacking today.”
As he was on his way out, Ledge said, “Oh, George. Thank whoever put the flowers in here. Both of us appreciate the gesture.”
“Wasn’t anybody on staff,” George said. “Dude brought them to Henry yesterday.”
“Dude?”
“Had metal tips on the toes of his boots. Said he was a friend of yours.”
Ledge’s jaw turned to granite. “Dude said wrong.”
Chapter 11
The forty-minute drive from Marshall took Ledge only twenty-five. When he stalked into the office of the district attorney, the receptionist turned away from her computer, and, recognizing him, smiled. “Hi, Ledge.”
“Ms. Raymond.”
His thunderous expression and tight tone of voice caused her smile to falter. “What brings you here this morning?”
“The DA invited me.”
Flustered, she shuffled the paperwork scattered across her desk and consulted a large calendar. “I don’t have you—”
“It was an open invitation.”
Without slowing down, he strode past her desk, made straight for the interior door across the anteroom, and practically tore it off its hinges. Rusty was seated behind his massive desk. Propped up on the corner of it were the obnoxious boots, crossed at the ankles. He was talking on his cell phone. Seeing Ledge, he grinned with what looked like supreme satisfaction.
“I’ll have to get back to you.” He ended his call and dropped his phone onto his desk. “Ledge.”
“Cocksucker.”
“Mr. Dyle?”
Ledge didn’t turn around, but evidently Ms. Raymond had followed him as far as the doorway but had stopped short of coming in. Rusty raised a calming hand to her. “It’s okay. He’s rude as all get-out, but as long as he’s here, I’ll spare him a minute.”
Ledge heard the door being quietly closed behind him.
Rusty remained leaned back in his leather swivel chair, but lowered his feet to the floor and linked his fingers over his middle. He had developed a paunch, all the more noticeable because the rest of him had remained slender. “Well, after that grand entrance, what can I do for you?”
“You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”
The grin only spread wider. “How come you’re in such a high snit this morning?”
“Twenty years ago, I warned you to stay away from my uncle. The warning stands.”
Again, that infuriating, taunting grin. “You didn’t like the flowers? I thought they were pretty. Picked them out myself.”
“Stay. Away. From. Him.”
“I went to see a sick old man who doesn’t know up from down. Trying to be nice, mend fences, show compassion.”
Ledge rounded the desk, planted his foot on the edge of the leather cushion between Rusty’s wide-spread knees, and shoved with all his might. The chair rolled back on its casters and banged against the wall with such impetus it knocked a brass plaque off its hook and onto the floor.
The back of the chair sprung upright and virtually catapulted Rusty out of it. He came up swinging, his right fist making impact with Ledge’s cheekbone. His skin split like a ripe tomato, but fury made him numb to the pain.
He lunged for Rusty, closed his hands around his throat, and propelled him backward until the DA crashed into the window blinds and bent several of the thin metal louvers. It was a miracle that he didn’t go through the panes of glass.
“I swore I would kill you,” Ledge said through clenched teeth. “If I do it now, it’ll save me the trouble of having to do it later.” He squeezed his fingers tighter.
Rusty was clawing at the back of Ledge’s hands, but Ledge didn’t relent. Rusty’s eyes bugged. His face turned so florid, it clashed with his hair.
The door came open. “Ledge!” The ruckus had brought Ms. Raymond back. “What in the world? Let go of him!”
Ledge stared murderously into Rusty’s eyes, but released him immediately, flung his hands up, and stepped back. Rusty stumbled forward. Planting his palms flat on his desk, he leaned over it as he coughed and gasped, making sounds like death rattles.
“Mr. Dyle? Are you all right?”
Rusty raised his head and glared at his receptionist, croaking, “What does it look like?”
She stood on the threshold, wringing her hands. “Should I call 911? Security?”
Rusty responded with a curt negative shake of his head.
She looked at Ledge with uncertainty, her gaze drawn to the gash on his cheekbone, which was mute testimony that Rusty had given as good as he’d got. Almost.
Ledge said, “We had words, is all. Things esc
alated in a hurry. Apologies for the commotion. And I’m sorry for my language earlier.”
“Never mind that. It’s all right.” But her voice trembled. Rusty was still hacking. Ledge was bleeding. The situation was far from all right, but she seemed at a loss as to how to set things right.
Finally, she said to Ledge, “All these years you’ve been back, you’ve stayed out of trouble. It would be such a shame if you picked up where you left off way back when. Don’t do that, Ledge.”
“I won’t.”
She looked at him with silent appeal, then looked over at Rusty, who had brought himself to his full height, normal breathing nearly restored. He readjusted his necktie and yanked on the hem of his suit coat. Tipping his head toward the anteroom, he ordered Ms. Raymond to leave. After giving Ledge a reluctant glance, she backed out of the office, pulling the door closed as she went.
As soon as Rusty was sure she was out of earshot, he hissed, “You son of a bitch. How dare you lay a hand on me. I ought to have you locked in a cage under the jail and leave you there to rot.”
“You do that. My one phone call will be to the attorney general.”
“Send him my regards. He and I played golf during my last trip to Austin.”
“He won’t be so chummy when I tell him about Welch’s and the unsolved murder of Brian Foster.”
Rusty rolled his eyes. “Give me a fucking break. You’re not about to do that. You can’t even drop a hint without implicating yourself.”
“I have a rock-solid alibi. I was in police custody, remember? Tactical error on your part, Rusty, to have me arrested with weed in my trunk. I couldn’t have killed Foster because I was in lockup. But where were you? Where did you get off to after the four of us split up? Who could vouch for your whereabouts later that night?”
Rusty gave a pugnacious roll of his shoulders. “Don’t rattle your saber at me, soldier boy.” He scoffed. “You’re not going to confess to that burglary. It would ruin your reputation as a war hero. It’d tarnish your chest full of medals.”
Because of the heartache it would have caused his uncle, Ledge hadn’t thought he would ever admit to committing the burglary, either. But after seeing Henry today, he had accepted the inevitability of his decline. He was never going to improve. He would never be cognizant again. Every trait that had made him Henry Burnet was irretrievably gone.
The one saving grace of the tragedy was that he would never know about Ledge’s crime. He was free now to own up to it.
He’d done some serious soul-searching about this decision, even before Arden’s return to Penton had put additional strain on his tenuous coexistence with Rusty. Ledge was sick of the dance they’d been dancing, where each was constantly waiting for the other to make a misstep and trip himself up. He was ready to face whatever consequences came of confessing his culpability, so long as Rusty was made to suffer them, too. He wanted to take this motherfucker down.
“You think I care about those medals?” he said. “The only thing they’re good for is to remind me of dead guys. Those I killed. Buddies I watched die bloody. My uncle no longer knows my name, or his. Don will take over the bar, no matter what.” He raised his shoulders. “So, if I were to have a heart-to-heart with the AG, I would catch some flack, but nothing major, because I don’t have anything to lose. While you…”
Ledge looked around at the framed photos of Rusty with politicians and C-list celebrities, the plaques and certificates and civic awards, the homages Rusty had paid to himself. He snorted with contempt as he came back around to his nemesis. “You’d be stripped of all this, of everything you hold near and dear.”
“Do you actually believe I would stand by and let that happen?” Rusty asked in a silky voice. Then he tsked. “Ledge, Ledge, in all this time, haven’t you learned anything?”
“I’ve learned that you’ll stoop to anything. Foster was a soft target. Easy to dupe, easy to bully. You told me so yourself that morning you corraled me in the diner. I know you killed him.”
“You’d have better luck trying to prove I shot Kennedy. Or Lincoln.”
“True. Mother Nature lent you a helping hand that night.”
Rusty flashed a smile as he raised his hands at his sides. “So where does that leave you? Exactly nowhere. You’re hamstrung. Admit it.”
Privately, Ledge did, although he didn’t concede it out loud. “A big hang-up I can’t figure out is how Joe Maxwell got that bag of money. When? Where? You wouldn’t have handed it over without putting up one hell of a fight. Is that how you got injured and wound up in the hospital?”
“See, Ledge?” he said, winking. “You’re not the only one with an alibi. In the wee hours, I was being treated in the ER.”
“Hospital records will be tough to dispute.”
“Oh, I can do better than hospital records.” He rolled his chair over to its rightful place behind his desk and resumed the complacent position he’d been in when Ledge arrived. Except this time, he stacked his hands on the top of his head. “You want to know who can vouch for my whereabouts that night?” He snickered, his smile sly and provocative. “Ask your girlfriend Crystal.”
Chapter 12
Lisa’s assistant knocked once on her office door, then pushed it open. “I know you asked not to be disturbed.”
Lisa, who’d been reading over the previous quarter’s financial report, removed her reading glasses and, with an edge, said, “What is it?”
“Your sister.”
“What about her?”
“I’m here.” Arden stepped around the assistant and entered the office.
Lisa dropped her eyeglasses onto the desk and came to her feet. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Can you spare me a few minutes?”
“Of course.” Lisa came from around her desk and gave her a warm hug. “I’m delighted to see you, but surprised. Did you make the drive this morning? You must have left Penton awfully early.”
“Even the drive-through at the bakery wasn’t open yet.”
“And after you had such a late night. Were you able to get any sleep? Do you want coffee?”
“In answer to the first question, not much. No thank you on the coffee. I stopped a couple of times along the way.”
Lisa said to her assistant, “Everything is on hold until further notice.”
“You have a meeting at—”
“Move it back an hour.”
“If someone’s schedule doesn’t allow for the change?”
“Then they’re to rearrange their schedule to allow it.”
“Yes, Ms. Bishop.” The woman, seemingly accustomed to Lisa’s directives, smiled at Arden, then withdrew and pulled the door closed.
Lisa took Arden’s hand and led her to a seating area in a corner of her expansive office. The Bishop Group occupied the two top floors of a glassy contemporary high-rise, which Lisa’s late husband had developed. The glitzy skyline of downtown Dallas was on full display outside the wall of windows.
Inside, the office was exquisitely furnished and decorated with treasures from around the world, which Lisa and her late husband had acquired on their frequent trips abroad.
As Arden took her seat, she said, “I know you’re busy, so I’ll be as brief as possible. But I didn’t want this to keep any longer, and I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”
“You look upset.”
“Apprehensive.”
“All right, apprehensive. Is this about Ledge Burnet? You told him he won’t be working for you, and he didn’t take it well?”
Arden still felt the imprint of his lips on hers. The pressure points where his large body had aligned with hers quickened with the memory. “No. That call to him is pending. But I do need to tell you something troubling that I should have shared weeks ago. Months, actually.”
They had taken adjacent chairs. Lisa reached across the space separating them and clasped both Arden’s hands in hers. “You’re scaring me.”
“It’s not that scar
y. Just—”
“Tell me, Arden.”
She took a steadying breath and told Lisa about her nightly drive-by. As she talked, she watched Lisa pale, the color literally draining from her face. But to her sister’s credit, she didn’t interrupt. By the time Arden had finished, Lisa was visibly shaken.
“Someone’s been stalking you, and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s not exactly stalking.”
“What would you call it?”
“I don’t know, but not stalking. I haven’t seen the person, so I don’t even know that it’s a man. It could be a woman.”
“Whoever it is, he, she is spying on you.”
“Monitoring.”
“There’s a negligible difference between the words I’m using and the ones you’re substituting. When did you become aware of the spying?”
“Shortly after I moved back.”
“Good God, Arden. I cannot believe you’re just now telling me.”
“Please don’t lecture me about my timing. You were already dead set against my moving into the house, I didn’t need you harping over another issue. Besides, I didn’t want to add to your worry.”
“Well, I’m worried now.”
A quarrel over semantics, or anything else, would be contrary to why she’d come seeking Lisa’s opinion and counsel, so she took a moment to let them both cool down before resuming.
“At first I thought that our property was on someone’s route to and from work. Something like that. But now…” She rubbed her forehead. “It’s gone on for so long, the person is so dedicated to it, I don’t know what to think. Who would be that interested in me?”
“Someone glaringly obvious springs to mind.” Lisa’s arched eyebrow was as eloquent as if she’d actually named him.
Arden said, “I’ll admit, I wondered.”
“What made you wonder?”
“When I contacted him, he knew who I was and where I lived even before I told him.” Before Lisa could speak, she rushed to say, “But then if everyone who knows who I am and where I live were to drive past the house, it would be a nightly parade.”