Through a gap in the crowd, Lauren caught a fleeting glance of Robert talking to a tall, dark-haired man who had his back turned to her. The man nodded occasionally to something that was being said. With a few deft turns, she maneuvered through the crowd until she reached the bar and got a good look at his face. Knowing the man was Jonathan McCain, Lauren couldn’t keep from staring. He dominated the courtroom even though he was handcuffed and sandwiched between the bailiff and a deputy. The jail coveralls accented his height and build. In fact, he was the only man she’d ever seen who made jail clothes look good.
Making herself turn away from him, she sat down at the large oak table prepared for the defense and opened McCain’s file. She wanted to scan once more the limited information.
According to Robert’s notes, Sheriff Van Rooten suspected that Jonathan McCain was involved in drug trafficking and was known to have associated with members of a Mexican drug cartel. But the sheriff hadn’t included any of that information in his report. Lauren wondered why. She was eager to hear Chester’s testimony.
Glancing back up, she saw that Robert was still talking to Jonathan McCain, but their client didn’t seem to be responding. She wanted to go listen to what was being said, but she realized she wasn’t really Jonathan’s lawyer—she was just an observer for the moment. After today, she might be a witness against him.
She shifted in her chair, uneasy at the thought. She’d been schooled to know that appearances were deceiving, and this man proved it. Jonathan McCain was just what her secretary had raved about the afternoon before—he had the kind of looks that made half the women in West Texas want to testify in his defense.
Shaking her head. Lauren resumed looking at the file. She leafed through the attachment outlining McCain’s bank transactions for the past seven months. A large sum of money had been telexed from a bank in Mexico City to open the account, with other deposits following at monthly intervals.
Finished with the report, she began making notes to pursue for the defense, wondering if the deposits could be a salary, albeit a large one, rather than illegal monies. It would take finesse to find avenues in which to sabotage what seemed like a solid case for the prosecution. After all, she thought, McCain was going to be a tough client to defend—murder with testimony by no less than a county sheriff.
“Lauren?”
She jumped at the sound of Robert’s voice and glanced up just as her partner continued, “Lauren Hamilton, this is Jonathan McCain.”
“Hello.” Lauren’s greeting was lost in the noise of the courtroom. She was mesmerized by the man’s green eyes as he nodded in her direction.
“Take your seats,” the bailiff announced in a voice loud enough to bring the stragglers out of the hallway.
Lauren motioned for Jonathan to sit in the end chair next to her, while Robert pulled out the chair closest to the aisle and sat down with a determined look on his face. Jonathan stared straight ahead while Lauren and Robert conferred for the few minutes they had before the judge entered.
The prosecution took its place across the aisle. Lauren was reminded of people preparing to play war. Sides were chosen and all the parties were lined up in opposition. Today, representatives from the district attorney’s office, bolstered by Sheriff Van Rooten sitting behind them, were nearly smirking in self-satisfaction. It was as though they had possession of the only cannon and cannonballs available and were preparing to raze their opponents. Lauren and Robert, in turn, hoped to find other weapons.
“The Honorable Judge Antonio Estrada presiding...” the bailiff announced, bringing the people in the courtroom to their feet as a short, white-haired man with piercing black eyes entered the courtroom and stepped up to the bench. Lauren had been in his court many times before. He was known to be very tough: a modern-day hanging judge with a grudge against drug offenders. Although Jonathan wasn’t charged with any drug violations, hints and rumors smudged his case.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see McCain beside her. Expressionless, he stood ramrod straight, staring ahead at the man who held his future in his hands. McCain’s lips were pressed into a grim line. He reacted only slightly when a guard approached and grabbed his arm to lead him before the bench.
As he moved away, Lauren felt the cool air rush in to replace the man’s warm body in the space beside her. At the bailiffs orders, she and other spectators in the courtroom sat down. To cover her nervousness, she picked up the papers lying in front of her and realigned the edges by tapping them on the tabletop.
Robert accompanied his client and the deputy to the front of the courtroom, where they were joined by Alex Stewart. Lauren watched as the four men stood motionless before the judge while the charges against Jonathan were read.
“Jonathan McCain III is being charged with the offense of first-degree murder, alleged to have been committed on or about the 24th day of November, in Rio Grande County, Texas.....” Droning on, Judge Estrada’s voice sounded like a computer until it finally wound down. Looking directly at the handcuffed man standing before him, he asked, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” McCain answered in an emotionless tone.
At the sound of his voice, Lauren leaned forward.
“Can you afford an attorney? If not, one will be appointed for you.”
“My attorney is present,” Jonathan replied clearly, returning the judge’s stare.
Lauren’s fingers crushed the papers she was holding as she heard his voice distinctly. McCain hadn’t shot at her, after all. He was the cowboy, the man she’d promised to protect.
Chapter 6
The handsome, clean-shaven man standing before the judge was the man Lauren had held and kissed with a hunger she’d never felt before. The man who’d brought out a wantonness she hadn’t realized existed in her. But now, in the courtroom with a crowd surrounding her, she forced herself to slowly expel the breath she’d been holding and maintain a stoic appearance.
Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t very well jump up and announce she’d spent the day after the murder in the defendant’s arms. But she had to do something. She hoped the arraignment would be over soon. She had to talk to Robert...and to Jonathan McCain.
The judge’s voice penetrated the fog that surrounded her. He was discussing bond with the two attorneys.
“Your honor, the prosecution asks that bond be denied. The defendant has ties in Mexico. We have reason to believe that he may leave the country,” Alex declared.
“Judge, it’s true my client once operated a business in Mexico, but so have half the businessmen in this area. That’s no reason to deny bail. Consider that Jonathan McCain has property here, and he has no prior convictions.” Robert Jordan continued to argue with the prosecutor. Finally, Judge Estrada proclaimed the bond to be two million dollars and Jonathan to be restricted to his ranch.
Lauren shook her head. The judge had effectively given both attorneys what they were asking for. He’d granted bail, but it was so high few people could post the required $200,000 deposit. She looked at Jonathan. Outwardly, he gave no indication of the emotional turmoil he must be feeling. Instead, he stood nearly at military attention as the conditions of his bond were laid down, as though none of it touched him.
Relaxing, knowing at least part of the charges against Robert’s client were unlikely, she leaned back, drinking in the cowboy’s appearance. He had rich, coffee brown hair and eyes an electrifying shade of green. His hair was trimmed and his mustache gone.
The deputy clutched the accused man’s upper arm and pulled him toward a heavy side door. On his way out to the hall, Jonathan paused directly in front of Lauren, his strength catching the escort off guard, causing him to stumble. She leaned forward slightly, meeting the cowboy’s gaze. With a weak smile, she tried to communicate who she was and offer hope before he was led off once again.
Ignoring the D.A.’s gloating look, Lauren almost ran after Robert in excitement when the court was dismissed. She had to tell him of her startling
discovery. “Robert, you—”
“Well, that’s all we can do here,” Robert said, holding the door of a small anteroom for her. “I’d better contact J.C. and see if he wants to arrange for bail. Two million is steep but I guess we should be thankful that it was granted at all.” He rubbed his chin and shut the door. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that the D.A.’s office isn’t pursuing the drug angle?”
Lauren tried to focus on what Robert was saying, instead of pouring out her own news. “Maybe they think they have enough evidence to get a murder conviction, so they don’t want side issues to detract from the basic case.” It was the best she could do in the circumstances.
“Maybe so,” Robert said, working his tongue in his cheek like a ruminating cow. “What they have’s not a bit good for our client. It looks like the rifle used to kill Rodriquez belonged to Jonathan. Then, with Van Rooten seeing—”
“Hold on a minute, Robert.” Without apologizing for interrupting, she hurriedly explained, “I’ve met our client before—but I didn’t know it until I heard his voice in the courtroom. This case might not be the greased slide into a dark prison cell that Van Rooten says it is.”
When Robert turned to face her with a special predatory gleam in his eye, she knew she had his full attention. Lauren nodded toward a couple of chairs. “Let’s sit down. I’ve been trying to tell you something since yesterday afternoon.” Turning to watch Robert’s expression, she launched into her tale.
“The morning after Saul was killed, I went for a ride to take photographs in Diablo Canyon. It turned into a nightmare when a man with a rifle took a shot at me—three times, in fact.” Lauren shivered. “My horse bolted one direction and I bolted in another. I hid in a cave, but there was already a man in there. That man wouldn’t let me see his face, or tell me who he was. Robert—” Lauren leaned forward and enunciated slowly “—the man in the cave was Jonathan McCain. I recognized his voice in the courtroom.”
Robert let out a low whistle.
“He was very confused about everything, brought on I think by a fever caused from a bullet wound to the head. He was hiding—I gathered from the same person who’d shot at me. He seemed genuinely afraid for his life. And he was carrying a handgun, not a rifle like Saul was shot with.” She paused to catch her breath.
“By the time Ted found me, the man stalking me in the canyon with a rifle was gone. Oh, and I got a photograph of the man shooting at me, but the image was too small for me to make out who it was. I plan to take it to El Paso as soon as I can.”
Robert closed his slackened mouth, the corners tugging upward in a sly grin. “Then Van Rooten...”
“Is lying about McCain tracking him through the desert Saturday morning.” Lauren finished his sentence.
“Why?”
“Bad eyesight?” Lauren offered.
“Mistaken identity?” Robert’s grin was growing larger.
“On the take?” Lauren’s grin matched Robert’s.
“Hot dog!” Robert slapped his thigh. “Now we got us a fight.”
John McCain stretched out on his hard bunk and stared at the ceiling. He was convinced he was going mad. What else would account for what was going on around him? Every passing hour since his arrest had been more bizarre. When the men had found him in the desert and escorted him to what they called a helicopter, he’d instinctively climbed in and positioned himself so they could buckle a belt over him. And he hadn’t been scared when they lifted off and flew through the air. It was almost as if he had done it before, but if he had, that memory was gone, too.
He’d watched the streets full of horseless carriages and bright lights through the tiny window in his jail cell. Everything was different. Nothing was familiar. But the people here knew him, including that woman who’d come to see him, claiming to be his sister. It hadn’t pleased him being rude to her, but he didn’t know her from Eve. Still, she’d been patient, but when she showed him some pictures of kids that she said were his nephews, he thought of his son, Thomas, wanting desperately to see him. The woman called Helena had left after she got no response from him, telling him only that she’d see to it he had a defense attorney.
Today in the courtroom he could sense that everyone—even Robert Jordan, the man who’d been hired by the woman—thought he was guilty of killing someone named Saul.
The only one who had given any indication of thinking differently had been the blond lady. Had he really seen the compassion in her blue eyes or was he grasping at straws?
He felt like he should know her, but if he’d seen her before he knew he would remember. She was one of those women who left an indelible impression. It was more than beauty. It was presence and warmth. In another situation he would have touched her just to experience the feel of her creamy skin, the softness of her hair.
She looked like he imagined the lady in the cave. She was about the right height and she was blond, just like the lady in the cave had claimed to be. Surely there couldn’t be very many attorneys in West Texas that fit that description. But what was she doing with his counselor?
Sitting up on the edge of the bunk, he buried his aching head in his hands and willed himself to block out all of the rampaging, unanswerable questions that cluttered his brain. He had to concentrate on getting out of jail. He had a son in San Antonio who needed tending—if he could get back to 1877. He couldn’t let himself go crazy.
The throbbing in his temples had almost abated when he heard the metal clink of a key being inserted into the lock of his cell. The sheriff spoke to someone just out of the range of John’s vision. “You can talk to him in here. Not anyone else in the jail this afternoon, so you got your privacy.”
A woman said, “Thanks, Chester. I appreciate your leaving your lunch to let me in.”
John sat straight up when he heard her voice.
The sheriff answered her as he slid the cell door back. “Don’t mind it at all, Lauren. I’m just not too comfortable leaving you in here with this murderer, so I’ll leave the door to the hall open so I can hear you holler if you need me.”
A small woman stepped into the cell. It was as if her presence brought life to the dull gray surroundings. She wore a dark blue suit jacket and a skirt that didn’t quite reach her knees. John couldn’t stop staring at the long expanse of bare legs—more leg than he could ever remember seeing. He doubted his deceased wife had ever shown that much flesh, even in bed.
He caught himself and slowly raised his eyes toward her face. God! He hoped it was the lady. He needed her. When finally his gaze locked with hers, he knew. A look of recognition shone from her eyes. And memories. She, too, was remembering the passion that had flared between them.
He stood and took a step forward. He wanted to gather her into his arms and hold her tight, to draw strength from her. But something in the way she quickly veiled her emotion-filled eyes stopped him. In a low voice he spoke. “Hello, lady.”
“Hello, cowboy.” She stood a couple of feet away, looking up at him, waiting. A stray tendril of long blond hair had escaped from the neat chignon she wore and now hung down the side of her face.
He couldn’t prevent himself from reaching out and touching it. He’d meant to brush it behind her ear, but he didn’t want to let go. It felt right to thread its silky length between his fingers just as he had before. Sliding his hand behind her neck, he urged her nearer, close enough that he could smell the exotic perfume she wore. In this awful nightmare he was living, she was his only point of light. Even at the worst times during the past few days, when he’d thought all was lost, he would concentrate on her and he would feel better. Now she was standing only inches from him. She had come to help him. He knew that without being told.
He wanted to kiss her, but again her eyes warned him away, so he took a deep breath. “Is it too trite to say you’re a sight for sore eyes?”
“No, not at all.”
“I guess I was a little preoccupied in the courtroom, so I missed your name.”
&nbs
p; “I’m Lauren. Lauren Hamilton. I’m with the law firm representing you.”
“So this is a business visit.” Disappointment washed over him.
“Yes and no. Business is the only reason I could get in to see you, but...”
He smiled and caressed the back of her neck. “I’m glad you came.”
“Jonathan...”
“John,” he corrected.
“Okay. Jon.” She stepped back slightly and he dropped his hand. “We need to talk quietly in case...” She nodded toward the open door.
“Sure.” John understood what she meant. For days now, he’d been afraid to talk. Now he had the lady to reach out to.
“What did you do after I left the cave?” she asked.
“I watched you and your brother leave the canyon.” He licked his lips as a vision of the woman’s silhouette retreating from him flashed through his mind. He remembered wishing he’d gotten a better look at her to have something to cling to, something besides the memory of the softness of her body and the strength of her will. He’d always been of the opinion that a woman would be too fragile to survive in harsh territory, but apparently the lady didn’t know it. She had not only survived, but like the delicate rose on the prickly pear cactus, exhibited tenderness and strength. The memory had kept him going during his ordeal in the desert.
“I took you at your word, lady—that you wouldn’t tell anyone where I was. Still, I realized it was dangerous for me to stay in the cave. So after a couple of hours, when it was good and dark, I headed toward the river.”
“You were weak when I left you. You had one candy bar and a canteen half-filled with water. How did you think you could make it to Mexico?”
“I had to try. I thought if I followed the creek through the canyon and headed south, I had to find the Rio Grande. Then I could follow it to a settlement. I was able to refill the canteen, so the water lasted a couple of days. I hid during the days and walked by moonlight.”
McCain's Memories Page 7