by Karen Young
Austin turned and faced Ryan directly. “And I think I’m going to have to get another lawyer. You’re fired, Paxton.”
Ryan nodded. “Suit yourself.”
Color flooded Austin’s face, turning it a bright red. “This time I’m not changing my mind.”
“I hear you. To be honest, I don’t think we’re on the same page here, Austin.”
Austin looked as if he were choking on frustration and rage. Unable to provoke anything more than bland detachment from Ryan, he turned to Elizabeth. “I know what’s going on, Liz, and you’re not getting away with it. If I have to—”
“Enough,” Ryan snapped, stepping again in front of Elizabeth. “I think you’ve made your point. It’s time to move on. But before you leave, consider this a friendly warning.” Ryan paused and the gleam in his eye was diamond-hard. “If you say anything else directly to Elizabeth, if you make any threats, veiled or otherwise, to her, or if you attempt to circumvent the restraining order and frighten your little girl, be prepared to answer to me. Not even Curtiss Leggett will be strong enough to save your ass.”
Austin stood with his eyes smoldering and his hands working impotently at his sides. Whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed with difficulty. Then, with a muttered curse, he turned on his heel and stalked to his car.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Elizabeth murmured, watching as he revved up the Porsche’s powerful engine. “He won’t give up that easily.”
“Not a problem,” Ryan said, with a knowing look in his eyes. “I can be one stubborn SOB myself.”
“May I have a word, Detective Steele?”
Shepherd Steele glanced away from his conversation with Dr. Megan Blackstone to look at her sister. He’d recognized Lindsay earlier today when she’d leaped to the defense of Elizabeth Walker. It had been tough hiding his reaction when he found himself looking into those fantastic eyes, since for the past year or two she’d played the starring role in most of his fantasies. He’d been among the disappointed when her show was canceled. He still couldn’t understand why the station had made such a stupid decision.
He tucked his notebook into his back pocket, smiled a polite thank-you at Megan, then turned to face Lindsay. “Over a beer?”
“What?” Her pretty face expressed confusion.
“I’m wrapping it up here, but if you have more information, I’ll be happy to listen. You can tell me over a beer. How about the Black Labrador?”
“That’s in Montrose! Besides, I don’t have any information,” she said. Irritation made her sound as chilly as an ice cube. “And what I wanted to ask won’t take long. You won’t have time to drink a beer.”
“But my answer might.” He took her by the arm and steered her toward the elevator. Her arm felt fragile in his grip, but her sleekness belied the feel of her bones. He’d bet she was as toned as a dancer. “You work out a lot?” he asked.
“Work out?” She reclaimed her arm, and after hesitating only a second or two, stepped into the elevator with him anyway.
He indicated her shape with a hitch of his chin. “Nice muscle tone in that arm.”
“Yoga and Pilates three times a week. And I eat right.”
He looked down at his feet with a wry half smile. “My downfall. If they banned fast food in Texas, I’d starve to death.”
“You should learn to cook.”
“Never had the inclination.”
“Look, Detective Steele—”
“Just Steele. Of course, you could call me Shepherd, but only my mother and my five sisters are allowed to do that, so far.”
“You have five sisters.” She seemed struck by the thought.
“And every one of them mean as Texas rattlers.” The elevator opened and he nudged her gently into the busy lobby. “So, what’s your job at WBYH now?”
“Associate producer of—” She stopped with a flash of gold fire in her eyes. “What does it matter what my job is? I want to talk about your job. And what your plan of action is to gather evidence linking Austin Leggett to Gina’s death.”
“Whoa. Big leap from what Leggett says happened to proving him guilty of a crime.” They stepped out into late-afternoon sunshine. Steele’s hand again closed on Lindsay’s elbow to steer her along the sidewalk. “My car’s just a quick walk this way.”
A glance at her face told him she wanted to argue, but she fell reluctantly into step beside him with an expression of impatient resignation. He smiled to himself. There was too much of the journalist in her to walk away from a source of information. He wasn’t fooled that it was him personally that she found interesting. She wouldn’t be giving him the time of day if there wasn’t a story in it.
“I read Ms. Walker’s write-up in the Chronicle a couple of months ago, but I never made the connection between you and Dr. Blackstone as the sisters she hadn’t seen in twenty-five years. Interesting how people can have blood relations living within a few miles of one another for a lifetime and never even know it.” They stepped off the curb to cross the intersection.
“It happens,” Lindsay said, then turned at the sound of her name called by a guy in a Mercedes convertible who’d stopped for the traffic light. She waved and gave him a smile. “Hi, Barclay.”
“Friend of yours?” Steele asked, treating the guy to his best hard look.
“An acquaintance.” She halted as he approached his car, illegally parked. “Do you do this often?”
“Only when I need to stop.”
The Black Labrador catered to a thirtysomething crowd in Houston. As it was still early in the day, happy hour hadn’t yet commenced. Something bluesy and soft was playing as Steele guided Lindsay to a table in the rear where they’d be able to hear themselves talk. She was primed to shoot a dozen questions at him about Austin’s role in Gina’s accident, but in exchange, he’d get a half hour of her company. Maybe longer, if he was lucky.
To his surprise, Lindsay waited until their beer was set in front of them to start. “I think there’s much more to Austin’s account of the accident that killed Gina than he’s admitting,” she said, getting straight to the point.
He picked up the long neck, tilted it her way as a toast and then took a first satisfying taste. “That makes two of you.”
“Two? You mean someone else thinks he’s guilty, too?”
“Ms. Walker mentioned having some suspicions.”
“Oh, Liz. Yes, I know. Does that mean you’re unimpressed? Do you need a majority consensus among the general public before you seriously follow up on something like this?”
“There is no majority consensus and I am following up. Seriously.”
“Such as?”
He leaned back in his chair, enjoying her. “I have talked to Ms. Walker, I questioned the medical staff in ICU and I’m here waiting with bated breath to hear what you have to tell me. Who knows where it might go from there?”
He was teasing her. He watched the play of emotion on her face as she fought an impulse to fire back at him, but again her journalist instincts won.
“In that case,” she said, “hear this.” Giving a little hitch to her chair, she moved her beer aside and leaned toward him. “I’ve been asking questions about Austin Leggett. Gina isn’t the only woman he’s been involved with. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the habits of men who abuse women, but their relationships more often than not follow a similar pattern. Austin’s abuse didn’t begin and end with Gina, you can bank on that.”
“How were you going about getting the goods on this guy?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You said you were asking questions. Of whom? Where? When?”
“Oh. People at his law firm,” she said, waving a hand, “Leggett, Jones and Brunson. When word got out that Gina was hurt, friends of hers called the ICU expressing concern for her. I took the calls and made notes. These are people who would know about Austin. I’m betting they know other women he’s been involved with.”
He was nodding. “I’m
impressed.” He picked up his beer. “Got any names for me?”
“No. I don’t want to scare them off.”
“Pardon me?”
“You’re a cop. If what I suspect is true, these women in Austin’s past have also been victimized by him. I bet Gina isn’t his only victim. If they follow the usual trend of abused women, they’ll be reluctant to talk about it. They’re ashamed. Or they’re afraid. Many of them are in denial, if you can believe that.”
“And you base all this on…what? Your degree in psychology, what you’ve read on the Internet or…personal experience?” He couldn’t imagine Lindsay allowing any man to rough her up, but as a cop he’d seen stranger things.
“Personal experience?” She looked dumfounded. “Do I seem the kind of woman who’d let a man beat up on me?”
“No. But I sense a lot of passion in you on the subject and you do have more than a casual understanding of the syndrome.”
“I’m passionate on Gina’s behalf. And what I know of the subject I learned when I did a series on ‘Lindsay’s Hour.”’ Again, she gave a dismissive gesture of her hand. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about Austin and his past. I hope to persuade one or more of his women to talk about her relationship with Austin. And even if we never prove he had anything to do with Gina’s accident, he’ll at least be exposed. There’ll be some satisfaction in that.”
“And you think if these women know I’m a cop, they’ll clam up?”
“That’s what I think.”
He looked at her beer. “How about another?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, then didn’t. Instead, she took a moment to think. Appearing to come to some conclusion, she said, “I can flush these women out, Steele, but I won’t be able to do as much with the information I get from them as someone in a more official capacity could.” She settled back into her chair, idly twirling the long neck in front of her. “Also, if there are records, such as police reports or visits to the ER where he’s named, I’d have difficulty getting access without a court order. You, however, in your official capacity could probably overcome that obstacle.”
He liked hearing her say his name. “Getting access without proper documentation could get sticky, no matter what your official capacity is.”
She gave him her best media-person smile. “You’ve probably overcome obstacles a lot worse than that.”
His smile tilted. “Well, I once got the goods on a bag lady stealing coins from parking meters.”
“My source at HPD says you got the goods on a criminal a lot worse than a bag lady. My source says you were almost exclusively responsible for gathering the evidence and building the case that convicted John Stephens last year.”
Stephens was a particularly violent sexual predator whose victims were young college women. Steele had spent countless after-duty hours and most of the first two years as a fresh new detective building the case against Stephens, who’d killed six students before he was apprehended. At the press conference, his lieutenant had taken the credit on the day of the man’s arrest. How in hell did Lindsay find out that he’d done the work?
“If you help me build a case against Austin Leggett, I’ll personally see to it that you get the credit,” Lindsay said, still pushing.
He picked up his beer, not believing a word of it. He bet his badge she was looking to find something that would give her leverage at the TV station to negotiate a deal for a new show. But what the hell, he’d get to enjoy her as long as it took to nail Leggett. There was some compensation in that. With a grin, he tilted the bottle toward her. “It’s a deal.”
She clinked her long neck to his. “I think I will have another.”
Twenty
Jesse was sleeping. Finally. Elizabeth eased herself up from the bed and tucked the blanket snug around the little girl. For a moment or two, her hand hovered over Jesse’s head. The dark curls, still damp with tears, stuck to her temple and cheeks. Elizabeth gently caressed her silky mop and, bending low, kissed her softly. Telling her that Gina was gone forever had been unspeakably painful. Jesse had listened with wide, fearful eyes. Then she’d thrown herself into Elizabeth’s arms, her small body trembling, sobbing as if her world had ended—as in some ways it had. Elizabeth had tried to find words to comfort her, but what was there to say to a five-year-old whose mother would never return?
Elizabeth had encouraged her to talk, to ask questions, but oddly, Jesse still seemed locked in a silent world. What was more worrisome was the look in her eyes. There had been grief, yes, but more than that had been the stark terror as she’d peered fearfully at windows and doors, jumping at sounds. The ring of the doorbell terrified her. Cars pulling up outside sent her flying to Elizabeth, clinging and pale. Trying to guess the source of her fear, Elizabeth had assured her that she was safe, that her new home was here. That her mother was in heaven and was now an angel who would watch over her forever. She still had not let Elizabeth out of her sight.
Straightening now, Elizabeth watched for a long moment to be sure Jesse was fully asleep, then she tiptoed from the room, leaving the door open and a night-light burning. Just getting Jesse into bed had been a challenge. Even without saying so in words, she’d made it plain she wanted Elizabeth to stay with her. Finally, she’d fallen asleep, but in Elizabeth’s bed and only when Elizabeth had read her a favorite story over and over and had agreed to sit quietly beside her.
Now, almost swaying with fatigue herself, Elizabeth went down the hall to check that the house was secured for the night, all the locks thrown and the windows shut. In spite of the security system and the restraining order, she was still leery about Austin. If he reacted true to form, he wouldn’t let a judge or a piece of paper deter him if he really wanted to get to Jesse. Elizabeth would need to be as determined as he. And she was, she told herself fiercely as she checked the dead bolt on the back door. Jesse’s whole life was at stake and she vowed that the court system that had failed her at the same tender age wouldn’t fail Jesse, too.
The door was a half-glass design and Elizabeth stood for a moment looking out at the night. In that moment of quiet, she finally let the reality of the tragedy sink in. Gina was dead. And in dying, Jesse was now hers. For the past two days since the call from Megan that Gina was near death, that selfish thought had been lurking in the back of her mind. Gina had been her sister, without a doubt closer to her than her biological sisters, and she’d loved her. Still, she’d seen her shortcomings as a parent and had longed to rescue Jesse, but not at such a price. Never like this. What was wrong that such a tragedy produced so joyful an outcome? Guilt, crushing and ugly, made her moan.
“Are you okay?”
Startled by the unexpected sound of Ryan’s voice, she drew in a quick breath and wiped at her cheeks with both hands. “I was checking the lock.” She didn’t turn, afraid of what he’d see on her face.
“I’ve checked it and every other door and window in the house.” He was behind her now, almost close enough to touch her. “The place is secure.”
“I didn’t know you were still here,” she said, turning finally with a hand pressed over her runaway heart. Louie was often in the kitchen without exuding much male presence, but Ryan loomed tall and confident, almost filling up the space. Something about him made her feel crowded and breathless. “I thought everybody had gone.”
“Leaving you alone?” His eyes, watchful and quiet, were intent on her face. “I don’t think so.”
“Did Louie go home?”
“He’s in the den watching the late news. It’ll be difficult to persuade him to leave. He seems to think you need all the support you can get tonight.”
“That’s really not necessary,” she said, making a vague gesture. Only then did she notice the bounty in her kitchen. Every available inch of counter space held covered dishes and casseroles, containers of fruit, a cake on a pedestal plate, brownies in a cut-glass bowl, napkins, utensils and paper plates. Bottled drinks. Brewed tea in a tall jug. “Where did all this com
e from?” she asked, astonished.
“Your neighbors. Gina’s co-workers. Friends. Your agent, your editor.”
“How did they know?” She couldn’t believe so many people had been so thoughtful.
He smiled. “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say Lindsay and Louie thought it appropriate to tell the people in your life what happened.” His gaze left her for a moment to look it over. “There will probably be a lot more tomorrow.”
“Oh, my.”
He was still smiling. “As for the brownies, I understand that Jennifer and Jesse made them.” Shaking his head, he looked wryly puzzled. “I didn’t know Jennifer could boil water, let along make brownies. She said she thought it would help to keep Jesse occupied.”
Elizabeth nodded mutely. Who would have dreamed that Ryan Paxton’s daughter would prove so sweet? Or that Lindsay would prove so thoughtful? Or that Megan so kind? Louie, yes, maybe, but expressions of concern from others were totally unexpected. “Is Jennifer here? It’s so late.”
“She got a phone call from Rick Sanchez a couple of hours ago and when he heard what was going on, he offered to pick her up and take her home.”
“Isn’t he the boy she struck on the bike?”
“Yeah. You’d think he’d run a mile to avoid her, but it seems the accident bonded them, so to speak.” Ryan rested against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. He appeared relaxed, but his eyes looking into hers were dark and intent. Did he sense the turmoil she was feeling, she wondered. Did her face reveal the confusion she felt?
“Rick has befriended Jen at school,” Ryan said, “and it’s made her transition from Dallas to Houston a lot easier. I owe him more than a spiffy new bike.”
“Are they alone at your house?”
Now his expression was almost funny. “They are and I’m praying my impression of Rick’s character is reasonably accurate.”