by Sandra Brown
She responded exactly as he'd expected her to: with pique. "I'm not asking you to help me, Dodge."
"Well, good. Because--"
"It's Berry who's in trouble."
"Looks like somebody actually cooks in here now." Dodge sat down at Derek and Julie's breakfast table in their organized but well-used kitchen. "Didn't used to."
Derek laughed. "I don't recall ever turning on the oven before Julie and I got married." He lifted the coffeemaker carafe with an implied offer of some.
"Sure," Dodge said. "Two sugars. The real stuff."
Derek carried over the mug of coffee along with the sugar bowl, a spoon, and a cloth napkin. Dodge fingered the fringe on the napkin's hem and looked at his employer with raised brows.
"Julie insists on cloth."
Dodge snuffled as he scooped sugar into his mug. "She actually use all those gizmos?"
Derek followed Dodge's gaze to the ceramic jug that held some of Julie's cooking utensils. "Yep. They've got a gadget for everything. You wouldn't believe."
"Where is she?"
"Upstairs throwing up."
Dodge blew on his coffee and took a sip. "That sucks."
"No, she's actually glad about it."
"She enjoys puking?"
"Morning sickness is a good sign. It means the embryo has latched on to the lining of her uterus, which creates all kinds of hormonal chaos, which causes the nausea, which--"
"Thank you," Dodge grumbled into his coffee mug. "I don't want to know anything about Julie's uterus. In fact, I'd just as soon keep the mysteries of human reproduction mysterious."
"I thought I heard your voice." Julie entered the kitchen and smiled at Dodge. She looked the picture of health despite her bout of nausea. "It's awfully early for you to be up and about, isn't it? Especially on a Saturday."
"Sounds like you've had a rough morning."
"I don't mind so much. It'll pass soon, and the sickness is a good sign, the result of the embryo latching on."
Derek laughed. "We've been over that. Dodge doesn't want to hear any more."
"Fair enough." She asked if Derek had offered their guest something to eat to go with his coffee, and when he said no, she sliced him a piece of pound cake, which he accepted, knowing what a great cook she was.
Through his second bite, he mumbled, "If I'd married you, I'd have gained twenty pounds by now."
"Have you seen Derek naked lately?"
"Hey!" Her husband of six months smacked her on the fanny, then pulled her into his lap, bounced her on his knees, and nuzzled her neck, saying, "You're the one getting chubby." He splayed his hand on her abdomen, which as yet showed no signs of the pregnancy. She placed her hand over his, and they exchanged a warm, meaningful look.
Dodge cleared his throat. "Y'all need me to leave the room, or what?"
Julie slipped off her husband's lap and took a chair across the table from Dodge. "No, I'm glad you're here. Derek sees you nearly every day, but I don't get to."
Dodge ribbed his boss about his honeymoon giddiness, but he was glad about the marital happiness these two had found with each other. Derek and Julie Mitchell were among the very few people on the planet that Dodge had even a limited tolerance for. He'd go so far as to say he respected and liked them, although, as with everyone he knew, he kept them at arm's length, more for their sake than for his own. He wasn't good for people. Something in his makeup was destructive.
"What brings you by?"
Derek's question seemed innocuous enough, but Dodge knew better. Derek had razor-sharp instincts and uncanny intuition, which served him well in his chosen profession of defense attorney. Despite their easy chitchat, his boss had sensed that something was out of joint. When was the last time Dodge had come calling early on a Saturday morning? Never.
Dodge shrugged with feigned indifference and sipped his coffee, nursing a twinge of uneasiness about having to lie to this man who was the closest thing he had to a friend.
"How pissed would you be if I asked for some time off?" He kept his eyes fixed on the contents of his coffee mug but sensed the puzzled glance Derek exchanged with his wife.
"I wouldn't be pissed," Derek said. "You've earned the vacation time."
"Think before you speak, Counselor. Because I don't want to get somewhere and have you phoning me in the middle of the night, asking me to run down some lowlife that--"
"Dodge. You won't get an argument from me. You're past due a vacation. If something comes up while you're away, it can wait till you get back."
"Like hell it can. Even if you say it's okay for me to go, those hotshots you've got working for you would have a fit. They don't address me unless it's with 'Dodge, when ...?' As in, When can you get that background info for me? When can I expect the skinny on this guy? When can you track that down?"
Derek said, "Everyone in the office depends on you."
"See, that's what I'm talking about. If I left for a few days, the whole damn firm would collapse."
Dodge had been of considerable help solving the case in which Julie had been involved. The murder of Paul Wheeler had been a tragedy in every sense except that it had brought Julie and Derek together. Initially, Dodge had suspected Julie of being a liar, manipulator, and worse. She'd borne his hostility and suspicion with dignity and now seemed to hold no grudge. He thought she might even like him a little.
It was to her that he shifted his gaze now. But maybe that was a mistake, because she was regarding him with concern, which, in his present frame of mind, was almost more dangerous than her husband's incisiveness.
"I hope your reason for needing time away isn't health related," she said softly.
"Like what, dying of lung cancer? No, no, I'm not," he said when her concern was replaced by alarm. "Not that I know of. Not yet." He shifted in the seat of his chair and patted his shirt pocket, reassuring himself that the pack of cigarettes was there, even though he'd just as well pee on the Mona Lisa as light up in their kitchen.
Back to Derek, he said, "Forget it. I knew better than to ask." Placing his hand over his heart, he said, "The firm needs me, and, if I'm loyal to nothing else, I'm loyal to Mitchell and Associates."
"Cut the crap. What's going on?"
"Going on? Nothing. I got this notion to--"
"Take some time off, and I said okay. But now you're arguing with me for saying yes, fine, go. Why?"
"No why to it. It was a dumb idea, that's all. I thought of slipping off somewhere for a few days, but..."
"Did you have a destination in mind?" Derek grinned. "One of those tropical islands you're always talking about. National Geographic--type places where all the women go topless?"
"I wish."
"Then where?"
"Buttfuck, Texas."
Dodge could have kicked himself for blurting that out. He hadn't meant to.
Derek stared at him for several seconds, then deadpanned, "Does that have a zip code?"
Dodge rolled his shoulders. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going."
No one said anything for several moments, and Dodge sensed another mystified look pass between Derek and Julie. She asked, "What's in Texas?"
"Texans."
His droll reply didn't have the jocular effect he'd hoped for. He looked at Julie again, and he didn't know what the hell it was that was drawing him to her this morning. Sure, she was and always had been easy on the eyes, but that hormonal ruckus taking place inside her was inspiring in Dodge all kinds of sentimentality that went against his nature.
Typically when someone asked him a personal question, even something as innocuous as "What's in Texas?" he would tell them to stay out of his effin' life. But he found himself answering Julie simply. "Business."
Derek reacted with a start. "Business?"
"Relax, Counselor. I'm not looking into another job. This is business of a personal nature."
"A personal nature."
"Jesus, is there an echo in here?" he asked crossly. "Why are you making a big deal of it any
way? Business of a personal nature could be constipation."
"I've just never known you to have personal business of any kind, but especially not in Texas."
"Well, that just goes to show that you don't know everything, doesn't it? Besides, why are we still talking about it? I'm not going. I'd get down there, and this goddamn cell phone would start buzzing like a band saw. You'd be asking me how soon I could get back. Not worth it. Forget I asked." He tossed his fringed napkin on the table and stood up. "Look, thanks for the coffee. Tasty cake, Julie. I gotta be shoving off."
"Sit down."
"Excuse me?"
The set of Derek's jaw was resolute. "You're not leaving this house until you tell us what the hell is going on."
"I told you. I got this notion to--"
"This isn't about vacation time. Sit down."
Dodge dropped back into his chair. But with attitude. After several moments of hostile glaring, he raised his shoulders. "What?"
"Do you remember when I told you about Julie and me?" Derek asked.
"About the flight from Paris?"
"Precisely. I admitted to you why I was compromised and couldn't represent Creighton Wheeler. I bared my soul to you because I knew I could trust you with my deepest, darkest secret. With my career. My life."
"Okay. So?"
"So that trustworthiness works both ways, Dodge. You have our confidence. What's going on?" Derek waited, and when Dodge didn't say anything, he added, "Must be something really important, or you wouldn't have put on such a dog-and-pony show about vacation time. You're here because you wanted to tell us something and didn't know how to go about it."
"You're a shrink now, too? Being Georgia's hottest trial lawyer isn't enough for you anymore?"
Derek didn't flinch.
"What's in Texas, Dodge?" Julie asked again.
Her softness of voice got to him as Derek's badgering never could have. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Not what. Who."
"Okay, who's in Texas?"
He avoided looking at both of them as he picked up his mug and walked it over to the sink, where he poured the contents down the drain. "My daughter." He felt their astonishment even before he turned around and saw their shocked expressions.
Derek said, "You don't have a daughter."
"Yeah, I do."
"Since when?"
"Since thirty years ago," Dodge said.
Derek shook his head to clear it. "You specifically told me that you didn't have a daughter."
"No I didn't."
"Dodge, I remember the conversation. You were checking into Creighton Wheeler's background. You told me that, based on what you'd learned about him, you wouldn't want your daughter dating him. And I said, 'You don't have a daughter.' And you said, 'If I did.'"
"See? You're the one who said I didn't, not me."
"But you implied it."
"Sue me."
"This quarreling isn't very constructive, is it?" Julie divided her reproach between the two of them, landing on Dodge. "We're just surprised, Dodge. You've mentioned a couple of ex-wives, but never children."
"Not children. Child. One."
He looked down at his shoes, wondered when they'd last been shined. If they'd ever been shined. He really should have them buffed at least. Maybe, if he had time at the airport...
Airport? Airport, hell. He wasn't going.
"When did you last see her?" Julie asked.
"On her birthday."
"Her last birthday?"
He shook his head. "Her actual one. The day she was born."
Their stunned silence teemed with questions he didn't want to answer. But Derek had the tenacity of a bulldog. "So why are you considering going to see her now?"
"I'm not."
"For the sake of argument, let's assume you are."
Dodge chewed on his inner cheek with annoyance and indecision, then heard himself telling them that his daughter had got herself into a jam. "I don't know the details, but it's a police matter. And her ... Somebody thought that maybe, with my background, I could help out. But I don't think so, and, anyway, why would I want to?"
Derek and Julie continued to look at him, their gazes admonishing and speaking volumes. Lowering his head, he dug into his eye sockets with his thumb and middle finger, then dropped his hand and sighed. "Shit, shit, and double shit."
CHAPTER
2
FOR NEARLY HALF AN HOUR, BERRY AND CAROLINE HAD BEEN sitting on hard, unforgiving wood benches, like church pews, just inside the entrance of the Merritt County Court House. When Ski Nyland approached them, he looked like a man with a purpose for which he was running late.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting. I got a call."
Caroline asked, "Something positive?"
"I'm afraid not, Ms. King. Oren Starks is still at large, and I've only got a few minutes before I need to get back to the hunt." He touched the cell phone attached to his belt as though to guarantee that his line of communication hadn't been cut. His gray gaze slid to Berry, acknowledging her for the first time since he'd joined them. "Ready?"
"I've been ready."
After a beat, he said, "I guess marketing adheres to a stricter timetable than law enforcement does."
Touche, Deputy, she thought. Her remark had been bitchy, and bitchiness was something she was striving to fix. However, given the stressful circumstances, she felt entitled to backslide.
Taking the edge off her tone, Berry said, "It's just that I thought you got everything you needed from me last night. I didn't expect to be summoned here again this morning."
"Sheriff Drummond asked for the meeting. Your lawyer is already up there."
"Then we should join them without further delay," Caroline said with a graciousness that Berry envied. She'd never mastered that special trait that seemed to come naturally to her mother.
Deputy Nyland gestured for them to precede him.
As they crossed the lobby, Berry wondered why he wasn't in uniform. He hadn't been wearing one last night, either, but she had figured he'd been off duty when her 911 had interrupted his Friday evening.
Today, except for his sport coat, he was dressed for a rodeo. Jeans and boots, crisp, white, western-cut shirt. He was also as laconic as any western-movie cowboy. She wondered if he envisioned himself as such. All he needed was a large white hat, a big tin star on his chest, and a six-shooter strapped to his thigh.
She assumed he was carrying a weapon somewhere. He might remove it when he was in the courthouse, but more than likely he kept it on, concealed from view, as were the emergency lights behind the grille of his tricked-out SUV, in which he'd driven her here last night to get her statement about what he'd referred to as "the shooting incident."
Now, as they waited for an elevator, Berry noticed how dwarfed her mother was by his height. Even Berry, who'd been taller than every boy in her class since seventh grade and had graduated high school with only a few of them having outgrown her, felt diminutive next to him.
They decided in favor of the stairs over waiting any longer for an elevator. As they walked up the one flight, Berry felt his stare like a physical pressure on the center of her spine.
The courthouse structure dated back to 1898, but it had been well maintained. The sheriff's office had original paneling and hand-carved molding around the plaster ceiling. The window glass was wavy but lent the room character. The wide desk was flanked by matching flagpoles. Between Old Glory and the Texas state flag hung a painting depicting Santa Anna's surrender to Sam Houston.
When they entered the office, the two men in it stood up. One was the lawyer her mother had summoned to the house last night. The other was Sheriff Tom Drummond.
He stepped from behind his desk and met them halfway to embrace Caroline, taking her shoulders between his hands and kissing her cheek. "Always a pleasure to see you, but I hate the circumstances of this meeting."
"So do I, Tom." She turned to indicate Berry. "I believe you met my daughter last year at the
country club's Labor Day picnic."
"Of course. Ms. Malone."
"Berry, please."
He took her hand and patted it warmly. "I assure you, this case has the full attention of this office. Your mother's company has become important to this community by turning a stagnant real estate market active. Anything concerning her concerns me, especially your safety. We're going to catch this character. I give you my word."
"Thank you. I have every confidence in you."
The lawyer--his name was Carlisle Harris, Harris Carlisle, Berry couldn't remember which--was roughly the sheriff's age. He was a nice-looking, pleasant gentleman, but she felt sure her mother had chosen him more for the evident shrewdness behind his bright black eyes than for his cordiality.
He had shown up at the lake house last night as though Caroline had waved a magic wand to produce him. As soon as her mother had learned the nature of the emergency and Ski Nyland had begun posing questions about Berry's pistol, Caroline had politely asked him to hold off until she called her attorney. The deputy hadn't liked it, but he had complied, and Berry hadn't uttered another word until the lawyer got there.
He stepped forward now to shake hands with her and Caroline in turn.
The sheriff must have sensed Ski Nyland's impatience because he curtailed the pleasantries and suggested they all take seats. Berry and her mother sat side by side on a well-worn leather sofa. The men sat in armchairs that formed a semicircle facing them.
The sheriff began. "Ski has given me a rundown of what happened out at the lake house last night, and I have a copy of your official statement, Berry. Harry, you got a copy?"
"I did," said Harris Carlisle. "Thank you."
"Is there anything you'd care to add to it, Berry?" the sheriff asked. "Anything you've remembered between last night and now that could help us track this guy?"
She shook her head. "I was as comprehensive as I could be. To capsulize it, Oren Starks has been stalking me for months. Last night he came to the lake house, shot Ben, and threatened to kill me."