Lauren sagged as she listened to Lyna go into more detail. “Oh, great. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, while nestling back into the embrace Jonathan offered to steady her weak knees.
“I’ll be waiting. By the way, did you find Jonathan?”
“Yes. Van Rooten was crying wolf.”
“Have you got him to talk yet?” Lyna’s stage whisper was loud enough to be heard for several feet. “Did you find out what he really knows about the killing? Robert thinks he may just be playing like he has amnesia. He says you gotta find out what Jonathan knows before you all get in trouble.” She rambled on before Lauren could stop her. “If anyone can get him to talk, you can. Just wag your butt at him. It works every time.”
Lauren felt Jonathan tense and withdraw as her friend rambled on.
Chapter 10
Lauren hung up the phone and turned to face Jonathan, who had backed away. She knew he had heard most of the conversation.
“Wag your butt?” he repeated, mimicking the secretary’s voice.
“You have to know Lyna,” Lauren said, trying to mitigate her words. “She says whatever she thinks, and sometimes she doesn’t think at all before talking.”
“So you think I’m lying to you about my memory?”
“No, I don’t. Robert may have expressed some skepticism earlier, as well he should have, but he doesn’t doubt you at all now.” She reached out to touch him, but he sidestepped her hand.
As John eavesdropped on the conversation, his concern over Lauren’s house and office had turned to anger when he realized she was using him to get information for her boss—the big Sierra attorney. The man who, according to the paper, generally got his clients off. As the thought formulated, John recalled the rest of his flashback. He closed his eyes, remembering that Van Rooten had said something about being protected by a lawyer. Was the sheriff in cahoots with Robert Jordan? Or Lauren? When John opened his eyes, she was watching him.
She gently chewed at her bottom lip before saying, “Robert and Deputy Soliz are supposed to be checking out the break-in of my house and the office.”
“Like the fox guarding the henhouse.” What else was he to think about her boss and the Sierra law enforcement?
Lauren shot him a look that said she thought the remark was uncalled-for, then began pacing the room while she talked, but not necessarily to him, John realized.
“I wonder why Chester’s not there helping. He may be up to something...though I would think he’d be smart enough not to break into the office or my house...someone might see him. But he did know I was on my way out here...so the coast was clear.” As Lauren thought aloud, she used her index finger to punctuate each new thought. “He’s not smart enough to be masterminding this thing.”
John suspected he knew who the mastermind was. “I remembered something else today other than Van Rooten holding a rifle.” John watched her face for a reaction. If she was in league with the criminals, she sure was innocent looking.
A smile of relief spread across her face as she stopped and spun around from her pacing. “Oh, wonderful. What was it?”
It would have been easy to allow himself to believe she was honestly glad his memory was returning. He didn’t understand himself how he recalled something about Chester. He’d only been in the twentieth century a few days. “It was just a flash, but I’m pretty sure his accomplice in this operation is some bigwig.” John paused, bracing himself for Lauren’s reaction. “An attorney.”
“An attorney?” Lauren’s expression turned to one of shock, then she grabbed him by the arm. “Did he mention a name?”
“I lost the image before I remembered the name.” He wasn’t sure how to judge her reaction. Was she startled because he remembered something or because his memory involved a crooked attorney? Someone she might know? His gaze held hers while he willed his eyes to be emotionless.
Finally, Lauren backed away from him and crossed her arms, studying him all the while. “I think I know what you’re thinking. That it could be Robert?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or me.”
He felt his face betray his uncertainty and figured she’d been able to read it because she jumped to another point. “Well, cowboy, you were taking a big chance telling me your memory is returning if you think I’m involved.” He watched as her normally soft eyes flashed with barely controlled, blazing fury. “I might be here to finish what Van Rooten couldn’t.”
He stepped toward her, an eyebrow cocked. “I have to be honest and say that thought’s crossed my mind.”
She whirled around and started toward the front door. “I think I’d better leave.”
Although he felt justified in not fully trusting her, he also felt like a heel. Then he felt angry. “What makes it so different for me to doubt you than for you to doubt me?”
“You’re the one with the landing strip,” she accused.
“You’re the attorney,” he countered.
She stopped at the steps of the porch, but kept her back to him until he touched her shoulder and gently turned her to face him. Tears glinted in her eyes, but her accusatory glare never faltered.
“I’m sorry, but look at this from my point of view. Someone is trying to kill me and I can’t even remember enough to protect myself. To me, everyone is suspect. And you have to admit, where you’re concerned there have been a lot of coincidences.” His heart refused to believe it, but circumstances pointed to the possibility that Lauren was involved. “You showed up in the cave and claimed to have been shot at.”
“You heard the shots.” Her steely voice was barely more than a whisper.
“They could have been staged.” He felt her tense, but she remained quiet as he continued, “What are the odds that my ‘sister’ would hire your partner out of all the attorneys in Texas? In fact, you could have made up this family that I’m conveniently estranged from. I can’t even check the story out because I wouldn’t know if they were telling me the truth. I’m at your absolute mercy whether I like it or not.”
Lauren shrugged out of his grasp while John continued talking. “You offered to drive me back to this ranch. That might have just been a way to check things out so you could set me up for the sheriff. Van Rooten sure was quick about letting you know he couldn’t find me. And you didn’t waste any time getting yourself back out here.”
Her eyes flashed fire and hurt, not guilt. “That doesn’t make me a dirty lawyer or a drug smuggler.”
“No, but you accused me of the same thing a couple of days ago without much more evidence.”
As Lauren sped back to Sierra, the miles passed in a blur. Her traveling companion, the radio, offered no solace from the discord between her and Jonathan. The deejays sounded shallow, the music cacophonous and the news depressing. Never before had she felt that. her life was right in sync with the rest of the big, bad world. No, she’d always been Little Miss Pollyanna, the things-will-turn-out-okay type that drove just about everyone else crazy. Even law school had failed to extinguish her optimistic attitude.
Well, no more. The cynicism she had escaped was settling in. All because of one man. Maybe it was because she was thirty and couldn’t keep shuffling men to the sidelines forever. But she didn’t really believe that. Here she’d met the fantasy of her life, a man who had set her on fire from the first minute. If it had been just lust, she could handle that as she usually did—by running away from it. But it was more than that. This was a man she wanted to protect rather than just expecting him to protect her. No, what she felt was no biological clock.
She tapped her nails against the steering wheel as she fought back the anger at his distrust of her. Intellectually, she should condemn him for having ever trusted her to begin with. He was right—she looked guilty. But her emotions were overruling her brain and it hurt like the devil. Now, on top of Jonathan’s suspicions, she had one more thing to confront. Her house had been broken into.
She had read enough about break-ins and had a client who’d suffered through on
e to know that most people equated it with rape—a violation of their person. And the closer to Sierra she got, the more anxious she became, and the more she forced her encounter with Jonathan to the back of her mind so she could deal with what had happened to her office and home.
When she pulled up in front of her house and saw the lights blazing, she took a deep breath. She wouldn’t rant or rave or cry, because she detested hysterical females. Certain she had herself under control, she opened the door and stepped out of her car. Before she even had a chance to reach the front door, Lyna hurried out to meet her.
“I’ve been pacing the floor waiting for you. I was over at the office for a while. The deputy took some pictures, but Robert said we need to wait and go through everything tomorrow before straightening up, so I rushed over here because you’re going to need some help. Robert’s at the sheriffs office filling out some forms, and he said if you need anything, call him.” Lyna talked nonstop as she and Lauren entered the house.
Lauren hardly listened after she got to the middle of her living room and surveyed the mess. It looked like a horrible Halloween prank had been played on her. Nothing was broken, but cushions were tossed about, contents of drawers littered the floor and the pictures hung askew.
She hurried to the kitchen, knowing what the person had been looking for—the photograph. Sure enough, the minute she rounded the dining alcove, she stopped, knowing the packet containing the canyon photo had been found. Most of the cookbooks were dumped on the floor, but the one where she’d hidden the photo lay open on the counter.
“Well, whoever it was found what they wanted,” she said. Halfheartedly, she pushed at one of the cookbooks with her toe. She wasn’t sure whether her heavy heart was more the result of the break-in or because of the lingering effects of her disagreement with Jonathan.
“What was it?” Lyna asked. “The first thing I thought about was your jewelry, but decided right off that breaking into your house and breaking into the office didn’t equal jewelry.”
“No, but what they got is potentially more valuable than jewelry.” Lauren told Lyna about the photo that might reveal who the real murderer was.
Although there was no silence so short that Lyna couldn’t fill it, she also knew when to keep her mouth shut.
Lauren said, “All the thief got was a print. The negative is at a lab in El Paso.”
“Then you’re still in danger if the scoundrel knows you got a picture of him. I don’t think you ought to stay here by yourself. Someone could be on a stakeout watching you as we talk.” Lyna pointed to the large front window and its half-open vertical blinds. “They can see through that window if they’re in the correct position. A rifle could be aimed at you right now.” She hurried over and snapped the blinds closed, then rubbed her hands together as though she’d taken care of the burglar. “There. That’s better.”
“Lyna, you watch too much television.” But Lauren felt better, too, remembering that a rifle had been trained on her only eight days earlier.
There was a quick rap at the door a split second before Robert stepped over the threshold and strolled into the kitchen. “Hello, ladies.” As he scanned the room and its disarray, a frown gathered on his brow, bringing his bushy gray eyebrows closer together. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew an antacid. Popping it into his mouth, he said, “Not much of a housekeeper, are you?”
Lauren, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood, agreed. “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“I was just telling Lauren that she needs to stay with me tonight,” Lyna said. “What do you think, Robert?”
“I concur,” he answered. “You can’t do anything here until the crime lab has a go at this place. They’ll want to search for fingerprints, so don’t straighten up anything else.”
Lauren smiled at the thought of the crime lab in Sierra. It consisted of the sheriff and his refrigerator—where he stored more sodas and candy than evidence. There had been a rumor he was going to buy a new microscope because the old one had fallen off the table and broken. She knew that with any important crime the evidence was sent elsewhere.
She didn’t want the sheriff in her house without her watching his every move. The fact of the matter was, she figured Chester had something to do with this little break-in. That was something she didn’t intend to mention in front of Lyna. All she needed was the chatty secretary spreading her suspicions around town and Chester would know Lauren was on to him.
“The sheriffs department is a little shorthanded right now because Chester’s had to go out of town on personal business. One of the deputies will be here first thing in the morning. Probably Soliz.” The silent message Lauren read in Robert’s blue eyes told her as much as his words. He had suspected Chester the same as she had. That he didn’t say any more implied that this was information he preferred to keep from Lyna.
“That’s strange,” Lauren murmured. “Chester said he wanted to see Jonathan in the morning.”
“Vera said Chester had some business come up sudden like, and that he stormed out of his office, saying he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. Said he’d be in touch.”
Lauren intended to ask Vera just what time Chester had left—before or after the burglary.
“See?” Lyna said, oblivious to the unspoken communications. “There’s no reason for you to stay here. You can come with me and we’ll have a good ol’ slumber party to help take your mind off this mess. Then in the morning, you can meet Deputy Soliz.”
Lauren sighed as she remembered what day it was. “I’ve got a court date tomorrow morning.”
“You can get there as easily from my house as yours.”
Finally she agreed to go over to Lyna’s, but it certainly didn’t take her mind off the mess. On the contrary, after listening to Lyna’s theories, in which she accused half the townspeople of being the guilty culprits, Lauren suggested they call it a night so she would have time to go over her notes for tomorrow.
Crawling into the high Victorian bed in Lyna’s guest room, Lauren flipped through the file she’d brought with her and tried to order her thoughts. It was no use. Try as she might, she couldn’t focus on tomorrow’s hearing. Thank goodness it was going to be easy to prove her client had been in El Paso at the time his wife claimed he had violated a restraining order. Two weeks ago, she’d have had no problem keeping her mind on her work.
But now her life had been jarred out of complacency, all because of Jonathan McCain. She was hurt by Jonathan’s withdrawal, especially after she’d almost compromised her ethics by making love to him. She felt like a first-class fool. And to top it off, her home, her sanctuary, had been violated.
The Monday-morning blues were worse than usual for Lauren as she and Lyna waited in the office while the deputy dusted for fingerprints, then attempted to reorganize the office before she had to leave for the courtroom. Just as everything was back in half-decent shape, Lauren heard someone yelling from the outer office.
“Anyone here?” It was a man’s voice, one she didn’t recognize.
Lyna smoothed her hair and hurried to the front to take care of the visitor as Lauren finished shelving the last of the books behind her desk.
Less than a minute later, Lyna buzzed Lauren. “Ms. Hamilton, a Mr. Cliff Atkinson is here to see you or Mr. Jordan on some urgent business. Can you see him?”
Lauren nearly gasped when she heard the name Atkinson. The name Jonathan had uttered in the cave had a body to go with it. Now maybe there would be some answers. She swallowed. “Yes, of course. Send him right in.” Her carefully modulated tone masked her eagerness to meet the man.
A stocky man of medium height, his tan houndstooth-check jacket hanging open, stepped inside Lauren’s open doorway and extended his hand as he walked toward her desk. “Ms. Hamilton, I’m Clifford Atkinson. Since Jordan’s not here, I need to speak with you about Jonathan McCain.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Atkinson.” She stood and shook his hand and waited for him to sit in the c
hair opposite her desk.
He hiked up a beige trouser leg and sat down, crossing an ankle over a knee. “I’m a friend of Jonathan’s. The wife and I joined her folks for a holiday cruise, so I didn’t know about his predicament until I got back this weekend.”
“And?” Lauren prompted, somewhat amazed, or amused perhaps, by her visitor’s appearance. She’d never met a more monochromatic person. His hazel eyes, sandy-blond hair and tanned complexion blended right in with his beige clothing.
“I thought he might want some help, but when I went out to his ranch, he wasn’t there. I need to see him in the worst way, but he’s not answering his phone, either. I’m already committed to something today, but I’d like to see him tomorrow afternoon. Can you arrange it?” Cliff asked, fingering the sock on his crossed ankle.
Lauren found it hard to conceal her excitement. This bland-looking man had information about Jonathan’s recent past, information that might help Jon deal with his confusion. She wanted to hurry Atkinson out to the ranch, but that wouldn’t be wise even if she, also, didn’t have a prior commitment. “I’ll need to check with him before I agree.”
“That’s fine.”
“Would you like to wait while I try to make arrangements?”
After ushering the man out to visit with Lyna, Lauren wondered how she’d be able to wait until tomorrow to see Jon.
In her excitement, she’d forgotten his distrust, but when she remembered, it was as startling as a cold shower. Her exhilaration cooled, Lauren hesitated, but it was her duty to call him regardless of how he felt about her.
She dialed the phone, hoping he would answer. She fought the fear that something had happened to him again. Maybe he hadn’t answered when Cliff had called because he thought it was Lauren and didn’t want to talk to her. She would know when—if—she heard his voice, all the time praying a little time had erased his distrust.
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