by Joanna Wayne
Right again. He wasn’t as gullible as she’d expected and definitely not awed by her badge.
“I did investigate you, Cannon. You went into the Marines right out of high school. You list your uncle’s ranch near Midland as your permanent address, but he said you haven’t actually lived there in years. You have never been married and have no arrest record.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m trying to find Sylvie’s killer and I didn’t have time to chase you down at a rodeo. And I wasn’t about to leave my niece at a dirty arena with a bunch of sweaty cowboys and smelly livestock.”
“Don’t pretty it up on my account.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is new, but this has all been rather shocking to me, as well. Once I learned that your father lived on a large ranch surrounded by family, I decided they could handle taking care of Kimmie and getting you in to see me.”
“Fair enough, but if you disapprove of me and my lifestyle so vehemently, why drop her off at all? You could have raised her yourself. I didn’t know she existed.”
“That would have been illegal and unethical once I found that document. Besides, I couldn’t in good conscience ignore my sister’s written wishes.”
Not to mention that she’d tried caring for Kimmie and found it nearly impossible to work night and day on finding Sylvie’s killer, work the rest of her cases and take on the extremely demanding job of taking care of an infant.
She couldn’t begin to imagine how Cannon would handle it, but he was the father. He’d have to work out something.
“Where is Kimmie now?” Brit asked.
“At the Dry Gulch Ranch, but that’s temporary. I don’t have any ties with R. J. Dalton and I don’t want him in my daughter’s life—if I have a daughter. I’m far from convinced that I do, no matter what your sister wrote on some form.”
“The DNA testing will settle that.”
“It won’t settle what I’m supposed to do with her if the test comes out positive. I can’t take care of a baby. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you got my sister pregnant.”
“If I’d been sober and thinking, she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant. And, contrary to what you infer, it takes two to tango. I don’t push myself on women.”
“That you remember.”
Cannon emptied the glass of beer and set it down with a loud clunk. “I say we table the rest of this conversation until we know the results of the paternity test.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out a few bills and tossed them on the table, then stood to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’d prefer to eat where the air doesn’t crackle with animosity.”
She’d said too much. Her boss had warned her that if she gave her this case Brit would have to keep her emotions out of it. But she’d lost a sister she’d never gotten to meet, a sister who had left a precious baby behind.
The waitress arrived with the meal. Great timing. The overflowing plate of ribs, fries and coleslaw had an immediate effect on Cannon’s demeanor.
“I’m sorry for the last comment,” Brit said. “It was out of line. Stay and eat. Please.”
Cannon sat back down and ordered another beer. After that, he gave the food his full attention.
Brit waited until he bit the remaining shred of meat from the last rib before getting back down to business. This time she made sure to keep her tone nonaccusing.
“Can we start over?” Brit suggested.
He stared her down. “Will it make a difference?”
“Yes. If I could ask you a few questions, it might help with the investigation. I promise to maintain a civil tone.”
“That would be worth seeing.”
Brit did her best to put aside the irritation toward Cannon she’d been nursing for almost a week.
“I know you said you don’t remember much about the evening you met my sister, Cannon, but if I ask you a few questions, maybe it will trigger a memory.”
“Worth a try,” he agreed. “I’d like to help you. No one deserves to be murdered, especially not a young mother minding her own business.”
“Was Sylvie alone at the bar that night or with a friend?”
“I don’t remember seeing her talking to anyone else. That doesn’t mean she didn’t come in with someone.”
“Did she mention a boyfriend, maybe one that she was supposed to meet there or had recently broken up with?”
He shook his head. “Not that I remember.”
“Did she seem afraid or talk about being afraid?”
He hesitated, his facial expression grim as if he really was attempting to remember a useful detail.
“I’m sorry. I was dealing with some heavy stuff of my own that night. All I remember about your sister is that she was there, drinking beer and putting up with me. I’m not proud of this, but to be totally honest, I don’t even remember her being in the hotel with me.”
“Then she wasn’t still in the room when you woke up?”
“No. That I would have remembered. Did you question the bartender and waitresses who work there to see if they knew her?”
“I questioned everyone,” Brit said. “No one remembered either of you. But then it has been a year. Some had moved on to other jobs, some to other parts of the country.”
Cannon shifted in his seat, looked around until he caught their waitress’s eye and signaled for a check. Obviously he was eager to escape her and her questions.
She wouldn’t push further tonight. Cannon was probably too bogged down with worrying over the paternity test results to think about anything else.
Brit was convinced the test results would be positive. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. But she had to admit that she could see why Sylvie had felt an immediate attraction to the sexy cowboy. He was a virile, rough and tough bull rider with a Texas drawl and a piercing stare that could shake a woman to her soul.
Some women. Not Brit, of course.
* * *
BY THE TIME Cannon reached his hotel, he was dead tired and ready to crash. Even so, he doubted sleep would come quick or last long. He’d received bad news on top of bad news over the past twenty-four hours and the hits just kept coming.
The murder of a lover he didn’t even remember being in bed with. A gorgeous homicide cop who thought of him as a disgusting rodeo bum.
A baby who’d curled her short, stubby finger around his callused one. His heart twisted inside him at the memory. But it didn’t change anything. Definitely didn’t mean he could give Kimmie what she needed.
Brit surely realized that. Or maybe not. He’d never been good at figuring out women. Brit was even thornier to figure than most.
She had an intensity about her that most of the young buckle bunnies who hung around the arena in their short shorts, bulging cleavage and ready temptation lacked. But then she was older than most of them and a homicide detective.
The kind of woman who either irritated the hell out of a man or turned him on to the point he couldn’t think straight. She had both effects on Cannon.
He had an idea there was a real flesh-and-blood woman behind that tough detective veneer but doubted he’d get a chance to see it. He dropped to the side of the bed and pulled off his boots as he gave that thought more consideration.
Brit in a more intimate setting, dressed in something skimpy and lacy. He imagined tangling his fingers in her shiny hair and gazing into those sky-blue eyes and seeing them glazed with passion.
Enough, cowboy. He yanked off his shirt, then stood and wiggled out of his jeans. He tossed them over a chair and headed for the bathroom.
He was about to step beneath the spray when his cell phone rang. He raced to grab it from his jeans pocket. The ID screen read R. J. Dalton. He resisted the temptation to ignore the call. Like it or not, R. J. Dalton and the Dry Gulch were in his life for the time being.
/> “Hello.”
“How’s it going?” R.J. asked. “Did you find out whether or not you’re Kimmie’s father?”
Cannon explained that the testing would be done the following morning.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Brittany Garner?”
“I did.”
“Is she Kimmie’s mother?”
“No. Turns out she’s Kimmie’s aunt.” Cannon figured there was no reason to go into details about Sylvie’s murder until he knew for certain whether or not Kimmie was his daughter.
“How are things going with the babysitting chores?” Cannon asked.
“Hadley is loving every minute of it. She’s like a kid with a new doll. Went shopping today and bought Kimmie a whole wardrobe, like she needs to be gussied up at that age.”
“Tell her not to get too attached yet.” Or ever, for that matter. Whatever happened, Cannon had no intention of making the Dry Gulch Ranch or R.J. part of his future.
“Baby’s right here, kicking like a Rockette in training,” R.J. said. “Want to tell her good-night?”
“No.” No way was he coochy-cooing over the phone.
“I’ll hold the phone close to her,” R.J. said, ignoring his response.
Soft cooing and gurgling sounds reached Cannon’s ear. His chest tightened. His stomach grew queasy. The tug on his emotions left his throat so dry he could barely manage a mumbled hello.
“She’s smiling,” R.J. said. “Must know you’re her dad.”
“Then she knows more than I do at this point.” Cannon said his goodbyes and broke the connection.
Heaven help them all if he was Kimmie’s father.
He was toweling off after the shower when he suddenly remembered something Sylvie had said that night they’d been drinking together. He rushed out of the bathroom in the nude, grabbed his jeans and dug Brit’s card from the pocket.
He’d punched in all but the last number when he changed his mind. What he remembered wasn’t a game changer. It could wait until morning. Give him a good reason to see her again.
And that’s when it hit him how much he wanted to see the condescending detective again. Could his life get any more screwed up?
* * *
BRIT WAS SLAMMED by the terrible sense of mysterious loss again as she pulled into the garage of her tri-level town house. She’d had a twin sister. They might have shared so many things, a closeness only twins are said to experience. If only they’d met before a killer had claimed Sylvie’s life.
Now Brit couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets were hiding in her past. Were there other siblings? Had she and Sylvie both been put up for adoption or was it only Brit their biological mother hadn’t wanted? Why hadn’t her adopted parents ever told her about her twin?
Could she have saved Sylvie from the brutal murder had they met sooner?
Now another question seared into her mind. Why hadn’t Sylvie told Cannon that she was pregnant with his child? Now that she’d met Cannon, it was hard to picture him as a man to fear.
Self-confident. Lived on the edge. Might never settle down. A heartache in cowboy clothing. Perhaps not the best of men to hang your heart on, but still he’d deserved to know he was a father.
The mystery continued to plague her thoughts as she killed the engine and climbed out of her silver Acura sedan. Hitting the garage button, the door began its descent as she entered the house though the small laundry-mudroom.
She left her keys on the hook by the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Anxiety hit like a bolt of lightning. She wasn’t alone. Her hand went for her gun as a pair of large, meaty hands grabbed her from behind. He yanked her arms behind her back with so much force she cried out in pain.
He shoved her into the wall, his own large body pushing into hers as he plied her weapon from her fingers. A heavy clunk sounded as it hit the tiled kitchen floor. A heartbeat later the sharp blade of a knife pricked the flesh at the base of her neck.
“A lesson you should have learned from your father. Piss off the wrong people and there will be hell to pay.”
Waves of adrenaline combatted the anxiety, revving all her police intuitions and training. Even with the knife at her neck, she struggled to turn enough to see the man’s face. His hold was too tight and the knife drew a stream of blood that trickled down her neck.
“How do you know my dad?”
“Wrong question.” He laughed and then coughed a raspy rattle that seemed to come from deep in his chest. The blade of the knife slid across her jugular and then down her arm, a promise of the hell to come.
If she did nothing, he was going to kill her.
Brit kicked backward, connecting with the attacker’s right leg hard enough to throw him off balance.
The knife slid to her shoulder, slicing through the flesh painfully as it slashed across her skin, but still he held her arm behind her back so tightly she couldn’t move.
“You bitch. Your payback is waiting in the bedroom, all your fault.”
He was going to rape and kill her. She bucked the back of her head against him with all the strength she could muster. She heard it crack against his chin.
Unfazed, her assailant pounded his fist into her back and then spun her around to face him. Dizzy from pain, she struggled to focus. All she could make out was a pair of onyx-black eyes glowing like coals.
He hammered her head against the wall with his fist. She sank to the floor, the room a hazy mass of shifting images.
Somehow she spotted the pistol he’d knocked from her hand. She reached for it and her finger found the trigger.
Before she could aim it, his foot connected with her head. Dizzy and disoriented, she aimed into the foggy blur and pulled the trigger.
A filmy black curtain slowly descended on her world.
Chapter Six
Cannon strolled out of the examining room where he’d been swabbed to the nurse’s satisfaction. His craving for a cup of strong coffee intensified now that he was allowed to have caffeine.
His muscles were doing some serious protesting of their own, complaining painfully at every move. They’d taken a beating over the past two days, first at the raw power of an angry bull, followed by sitting for hours yesterday behind the wheel of his less-than-luxurious pickup truck.
But he’d done his part. Filled out a multitude of forms and read every word of the documents. He’d also followed the usual list of dos and don’ts from the pre-swabbing directions on the website. He wanted nothing to invalidate or taint the testing. Too much was riding on the result.
Now all that was left to do was the staff and lab director’s job of tracking, verifying and performing the statistical calculations. Then he’d know for certain whether or not he was Kimmie’s father.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the full implications of that, but apprehension felt like sandpaper scratching against his nerves.
He ignored the lab exit signs and followed the odor of coffee down a narrow hallway. He stopped at what looked like a staff lounge. Two uniformed police officers were talking between chomping down on chocolate-covered doughnuts.
“Garner’s lucky to have come out of that with only minor injuries.”
“Still can’t believe the intruder got the jump on her.” Garner, as in Brit Garner? Cannon’s interest zeroed in.
“Is she still in the hospital?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he had a right to be privy to the information.
“Memorial Hermann.”
“And the guy who attacked her?”
“Still on the loose last I heard.”
Cannon’s muscles bunched into frayed knots.
The cops moved on to a different topic. Cannon filled a to-go cup with the strong brew and left. Time to make a hospital call on the gorgeous detective.
* * *
“ALL I REMEMBER of his face are his eyes,” Brit said for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. She tugged the sheet again, trying to keep the uninjured shoulder that kept escaping the
baggy hospital gown from showing.
Her partner, Rick, paced the room. He was hounding her with questions she really wanted to answer, but she’d already explained what she could remember of the attack. Pulling the trigger was the last thing she recalled. Even that memory was vague, as if it had happened to someone else. Were it not for the bandages, the pain in her left shoulder and her killer headache, she could easily believe it had been a nightmare.
“Did the attacker say anything?”
“Not much, or if he did I don’t remember it.”
“Try. What did he say when he grabbed you?”
“Something about my father.”
“What about your father?”
She struggled to remember through the brain fog. “That I should have learned from him. That I piss people off. I can’t recall his exact words.”
“He must have said more than that. Think, Brit. But don’t overdo it,” he added, no doubt remembering the nurse’s warnings not to upset her.
“I am thinking.” She massaged her right temple as if that could coax the words from their hiding place inside her mind. “He was going to drag me to the bedroom.”
“I’m sure he was. Son of a bitch,” Rick murmured under his breath as he stopped at the foot of her bed.
“Did his voice sound familiar?”
“No, but then nothing much was registering at the time except staying alive.”
“Do you remember shooting him?”
“Somehow I managed to get my hands on my weapon when I was sliding into unconsciousness. I think I shot it once. The next thing I knew I was lying on the floor and my neighbor Janie and officers Bates and Cormier were standing over me. I don’t know how long I’d been out.”
“Only a few minutes. Fortunately, your neighbor heard the gunshot and came running.”
“Janie’s head of our Neighborhood Watch group. She knows everything that goes on in our neighborhood. Talk to her. She may have seen the guy lurking around the house before he broke in.”
“Bates asked. She said she didn’t see anything unusual, but I’ll talk to her again.”
“And no one saw the man leaving my house after the attack?” Brit questioned, just trying to get things straight in her muddled mind.