The Rebel's Return

by Beverly Barton

  She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk. “Won’t you sit down?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t be here long. I just wanted to stop by to say thanks for the scrambled eggs this morning. And I wanted to tell you that I’ve made tentative funeral arrangements. All we need is the date. I’ll have to wait until the coroner releases his body. They’ll have to do an autopsy, of course.”

  When Dylan winced at the thought of his father’s body being opened up like some damn lab experiment, Maddie reached out and squeezed his arm. He looked at her. Sweet Maddie. Genuinely concerned, warmly caring.

  Clearing his throat, Dylan asked, “So, Red, have you come to your senses? Are you thinking a little clearer now than you were at three this morning?”

  She released his arm. “Meaning, I suppose, have I decided to steer clear of you?”

  He didn’t know why her response was so damn important to him. After all, he’d told her to get lost, hadn’t he? He didn’t want her to wind up getting hurt by associating with him. But all the logical reasoning in the world didn’t change one irrefutable fact—the sixteen-year-old kid part of him wanted Maddie Delarue to stand by his side.

  Maddie eased back, leaned her hips against the edge of her desk and stared at him. He had showered and shaved and changed clothes, but he suspected the haggard expression on his face plainly revealed the hell he’d been through during the past twelve hours.

  “I can’t quite figure you out,” Maddie said. “It’s as if you’re pushing me away with one hand and dragging me closer with the other.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I guess my actions are rather confusing. Believe me, I’m as confused as you are.”

  “Why don’t we clear up the confusion?” Maddie crossed her arms over her chest. “I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I want to help you, stand by your side, work with you. But it’ll be a lot easier for both of us if you stop resisting me.”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  “Sit down, will you?” She motioned to the chairs again. “I’m going to order lunch for myself and I’d like for you to join me. I don’t think either of us ate much of those scrambled eggs this morning. So, what will it be, sandwich and chips or a salad?”

  Dylan took the chair to Maddie’s front left, lifted his leg and crossed it over the other at the knee. “Ham and cheese sandwich.” Only a few nights ago, his dad had prepared him a ham and cheese sandwich. Emotion lodged in Dylan’s throat. He’d been so pleased that his father had actually remembered his preferences.

  Maddie pivoted halfway around on her desk, lifted the telephone, tapped in a number and said, “This is Ms. Delarue. I’d like to place a lunch order and I want it delivered to my office.”

  While Maddie ordered lunch, Dylan watched her, noting numerous little things about her. The way she tilted her head to one side, how she narrowed her gaze when she concentrated, the way she unconsciously gnawed on her bottom lip when she was impatient.

  Placing the receiver back on the hook, Maddie huffed. “That poor girl must be a new employee. She seemed rattled. But I have every hope that we’ll get what I ordered.”

  Dylan nodded. “By the way, I stopped by the police station this morning.”

  Maddie focused on him. “You did?”

  “Yeah, I talked to Chief Terry. Caught up with him just as he was heading home. He told me that they’d found what they believe is the murder weapon. It seems the killer might have dropped it in the pond where my dad’s body was found.”

  Maddie raised her eyebrows. “That was rather careless, wasn’t it?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Could’ve been carelessness. Or maybe the gun was a plant. Or possibly someone startled the killer and he lost the gun and didn’t have time to retrieve it. There are several possibilities.”

  “Did the chief tell you whether or not anyone has come forward to say they saw what happened or—”

  “No witnesses,” Dylan said. “But that waitress, Erica Clawson, might have seen something and just doesn’t realize it. After all, the authorities believe she discovered my dad’s body shortly after he’d been shot.”

  “Mmm-hmm. So, I assume the gun is being tested for fingerprints and all that other stuff…ballistics or whatever.”

  “Yeah, but I was told that it’s rare fingerprints are found on a weapon. Guess that would make it too easy to solve this crime.” Dylan leaned over, dropped his hands between his spread thighs and tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Fingerprints would prove conclusively that I didn’t fire the weapon.”

  “You aren’t really a suspect. If you were, they would have held you last night.”

  “They did tell me not to leave town.” Shaking his head, Dylan grimaced. “As if I’d leave before I saw my father’s killer brought to justice.”

  “Have you contacted a lawyer? If you need a recommendation, I’d be glad to—”

  “I called my lawyer in Dallas first thing this morning. And I made arrangements with my partners in our brokerage firm to handle all my obligations for the time being.”

  “Then you’ve covered all your bases.”

  “I think so.” Dylan lifted his gaze to Maddie’s face. “I imagine the police have already asked—or if they haven’t, they will—but I’d like to see the guest list for last night’s Mystery Gala. Would that be possible?”

  Maddie’s expression sobered instantly. He noted a slight tension in her shoulders and a tightening in her jaw. “They haven’t requested the list, but you’re right, I’m sure they will.”

  “Would you get in trouble if you let me take a look at the list?”

  “I don’t know.” Maddie eased up, went around her desk and sat, then placed her hands at the keyboard and began typing. “If you want to see it, here it is.” She motioned for him to come to her.

  Dylan released a relieved sigh. He hadn’t been sure Maddie would cooperate. He rounded her desk and stood behind her. Together they scanned the list of party attendees.

  “All the movers and shakers in Mission Creek,” Dylan said. “Do you see anyone on that list who might have had reason to want my father dead?”

  Maddie studied the names, putting faces and personal connections to each name. She knew these people. Some were friends; all were acquaintances. “All of these people knew your father and many were personal friends. I can’t imagine anyone on this list being capable of murder. As a matter of fact, other than some of the criminals your father has sentenced, I can’t think of anyone, except maybe the Mercado family, who might have had a grudge against Judge Bridges.”

  “That’s something that has me confused. I was too out of it to wonder this morning when you first told me about Dad taking on a case, but since my father was a circuit judge, how was it possible for him to take on a case as a defense lawyer?”

  “Didn’t he tell you that a few years ago he thought he wanted to retire, so he didn’t run for reelection? During that time, he taught some college classes and I believe he started writing a book. He defended the men charged with Haley Mercado’s murder while he was campaigning for reelection. Actually after winning that case, he was a shoo-in. With both the Wainwrights and the Carsons backing him, how could he have lost?”

  “There’s still so much I don’t know about my father’s life. Things I should know.”

  Just as Maddie lifted her hand and placed it on Dylan’s arm, Alicia knocked on the door, then opened it and said, “Your lunch is here. Do you want the waitress to bring it in?”

  “Wonderful,” Maddie said. “Yes, please, send her in.” Dylan stepped aside while Maddie cleared off a space on her desk.

  The waitress entered with a large tray that held their lunch orders. “Where would you like this? On your desk?”

  “Right here.” Maddie tapped the spot.

  The waitress set down the tray, then glanced at Dylan. “You’re Judge Bridges’ son, aren’t you?”

  Dylan nodded. For a split second he wondered if this young woman was going to lamba
ste him for killing his father. But her warm smile reassured him that she wasn’t.

  “I’m very sorry about your father,” she said. “He seemed like a really nice man. He was one of my favorite customers here at the club. He was always so friendly and…a very generous tipper.”

  “Thank you, Miss…”

  “Parker. Daisy Parker.” The waitress smiled shyly, then bowed her head and left hurriedly.

  When Daisy closed the door behind her, Maddie said, “Let’s eat.”

  Dylan pulled up a chair to the desk and sat. They ate in relative silence. Then while they sipped on their colas and nibbled on the huge chocolate chip cookies Maddie had ordered for dessert, they discussed possibilities and narrowed their personal suspects list down to the Mercado family, particularly reputed mob boss Carmine Mercado and Haley’s ex-fiancé, Frank Del Brio, who Maddie told Dylan was reportedly the first in line to succeed Carmine.

  “Unless we find out that someone Dad sentenced to prison had a grudge against him, then we don’t have much else to go on. Maybe Carmine or the Del Brio guy wanted to punish my father for getting off the men they believed killed Haley.”

  “You do realize that you’re talking about poking your nose into the mob, don’t you?” Maddie shuddered. “I hear those people are bad news.”

  “What about the local authorities? What’s your take on their willingness to investigate the mob?”

  “The mob had a stranglehold on the local police, but the department cleaned house a few months ago,” Maddie explained. “As far as I know, Burl Terry is a straight-arrow kind of guy. And I know for a fact that Justin Wainwright isn’t intimidated by anyone, mob connected or not.”

  “If my father’s murder was a professional hit, then tracking down the killer could get really nasty.” Dylan looked directly at Maddie. “Are you sure you want to—”

  “I’m in this with you to the end,” she told him.

  “Why?”

  “Why? I—I’m not sure. Let’s just say that I’ve learned how to be a better friend than I was when I was sixteen.”

  “Is that all there is to it—friendship?” Dylan stood.

  Maddie swallowed. “Friendship and…” Dylan rounded the desk, reached down and lifted her out of her chair.

  “And?”

  “And you and I are a lot alike. I think I understand you, Dylan Bridges. Besides, I’ve had the hots for you since I was a teenager,” she admitted, the words rushing out on one long breath. “Not very smart of me, I admit. But it’s the truth.”

  Damn! Of all the things he’d been expecting her to say, this wasn’t it. Maddie had just told him that she had the hots for him. Hell, didn’t she realize that he wanted her so much that he’d do just about anything to get her in his bed?

  “I have no doubt that you’d be very good for me.” He pulled her into his arms. “The problem is, Maddie, I wouldn’t be good for you. My life is all messed up right now. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work and left behind a life I thought was just great, but now I’m beginning to realize I was missing a great deal. My father has been murdered, and I’m embarking on my own personal crusade to find his killer and nail the guy’s ass to the barn wall. You don’t want to go along for this ride with me.”

  Maddie draped her arms around his neck. “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know that you need at least one friend right now,” Maddie said, “one person on your side.”

  “And you’re that person.”

  “If you’ll let me be.”

  “I know I shouldn’t.” Dylan lowered his head until his lips were almost touching hers. “But, yeah, I could use a friend right about now.”

  He kissed her. A strong, vital kiss that could easily have deepened and progressed to a more intimate level had someone not knocked on Maddie’s office door.

  “Damn,” Dylan cursed under his breath.

  They broke apart as if they were guilty of a crime.

  “Yes?” Maddie asked.

  Alicia opened the door. “Detective O’Brien is here. He wants to take a look at the guest list for last night’s Mystery Gala.”

  Eight

  Five days after his death, Carl Bridges’ funeral was held at First Church, and it seemed that half the population of Mission Creek was either inside the building or outside lined up down the sidewalk. The church was filled to overflowing with floral arrangements. If Dylan hadn’t already been well aware of the fact that his father was one of the most highly respected citizens of this town, today’s turnout would have proven it to him.

  Dylan wasn’t sure how he would have gotten through these past few days without Maddie Delarue. He’d finally given up in his halfhearted attempts to warn her off. Despite her uncanny ability to see through his I-don’t-need-anybody facade and despite the way she’d already gotten under his skin, he found he really didn’t want to send her away. But his cautious nature warned him that she was in his life on a temporary basis, so he shouldn’t get used to having her around.

  They’d had dinner together every night at her condo, spending time getting to know each other while going over all the information they’d been able to gather about his father’s death and about his life during the past few years. The police had come up with very little, except that the ballistics report proved the bullets that killed Carl had indeed come from the gun found in the pond. A Sig Model P230. A stainless steel, twenty ounce 9mm that held seven rounds. Three had been fired into his father’s chest. There were no fingerprints on the gun, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone. A check on the weapon showed it belonged to a guy named Tom Smith from Laredo, who’d reported the Sig stolen from his Jeep two weeks ago. Smith was an upstanding citizen with no record. Another dead end.

  Dylan stood to the side of his father’s casket. Alone in a church filled with people, he tried to remain in control of his emotions as mourners descended on him, each person respectfully sympathetic when they spoke to him about his father. But he could see doubt and suspicion in several sets of eyes. People wondering if he was the murderer. Of course no one implied verbally what they were thinking. If ever he needed a shoulder to lean on, today was the day. He had no family, other than some distant cousins he didn’t even know. His father had been an only child and his mother’s only sibling, an older brother, had been killed in Vietnam back in the late sixties.

  Dylan caught a whiff of Maddie’s expensive floral perfume, a scent he’d grown accustomed to this past week. While shaking hands with one of his father’s lawyer cronies, he glanced over the man’s shoulder and saw Maddie only a few feet away. She was regal and serene in her stylish black suit, tiny black hat and with black pearl earrings shimmering against her white earlobes. She hurried around the line of people waiting to view the deceased and came up beside Dylan.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “I had a minor emergency with Mother.”

  “Is she all right?” he asked.

  Maddie blew out an exasperated breath. “She’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

  “She didn’t want you to be here with me today, did she?”

  “I’ve told you—I’m my own person,” Maddie said. “My mother doesn’t run my life. She doesn’t make my decisions for me.”

  Dylan shook hands with and spoke to several people, each of whom eyed Maddie with surprise that quickly turned to speculation. God only knew what these good people would say behind Maddie’s back.

  “If you stay at my side today, what do you suppose people will think?” he asked.

  “You know what?” Again, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t give a damn.”

  A great sense of appreciation swelled up inside Dylan. After today, he’d owe Maddie more than he could ever repay. Seventeen years ago, when they’d been kids, she’d let him down and disappointed him in the worst way. But she had more than made up for the past. Today she’d tipped the scales.

&
nbsp; Dylan recognized one of the two young women coming forward in the line. He couldn’t remember the blonde’s name, but she’d delivered lunch to Maddie’s office the morning after his father’s murder. She’d told him what a nice man his dad had been. The auburn-haired woman who was with her looked quite young, probably no more than twenty.

  Maddie shook hands with both women. “Thank y’all for coming today.” She turned to Dylan. “This is Daisy Parker and Ginger Walton, two of our country club employees.”

  “We’re so sorry about Judge Bridges,” Ginger said. “Everybody who worked at the club liked him.”

  As the minutes ticked by, the line of mourners began to seem endless. Maddie stood by Dylan as the line proceeded slowly to and then past him. Finally the bell tower struck the hour. Two o’clock. Time for the service to officially start. Maddie sat with him, holding his hand, right there in front of God and the entire assembly. The minister praised Carl Bridges as a man, as a judge, as a human being and as a fine Christian. He offered his condolences to Dylan and then asked the congregation to bow their heads in prayer. Somehow Dylan managed not to fall apart, at least not visibly. Inside he was dying.

  Ford Carson gave the eulogy. When he said, “Carl loved his son dearly and I know that his fondest wish was to be reunited with Dylan,” emotion lodged in Dylan’s throat and unshed tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

  When soft murmurs rose from the crowd, Maddie squeezed Dylan’s hand. He sensed her silent message. I believe in you. Together, we can get through this day. At least that was what he hoped and prayed she was telling him. Odd how that for a man who hadn’t needed anybody in a long, long time, he suddenly found himself growing dependent on Maddie. God help him.

  During the brief ceremony at the graveside, an army reserve unit gave a twenty-one-gun salute, then presented Dylan with an American flag. Bagpipers, brought in from San Antonio on Delarue, Inc.’s private jet, played the mournful “Amazing Grace.” Overhead the afternoon sun beamed brightly. Not a cloud in the sky. Even the weather paid tribute to Carl Bridges.