by Desiree Holt
Jamie pulled through the chain-link gate into the yard and parked near the trailer Duke used as a combination office and living quarters. It sat on concrete blocks surrounded by the detritus of other people's lives—discarded and wrecked vehicles, old machines of every description, piles of anonymous junk. It always reminded her of a scene in a Stephen King movie.
After taking a last swallow of coffee, she climbed out of her vehicle, marched up to the trailer, and knocked on the door.
Duke yanked it open and stuck his head outside. He gave her a half-smile. “Zane called yesterday and said you'd probably be by this morning."
"Did he now?” She didn't smile back. “How thoughtful of him."
Duke pulled the door shut behind him and clumped down the little three-step flight. “He was just wanting to make sure I hadn't crunched it up yet. Don't know what you want with it, junked up as it is."
"I just want to take a look at it, okay? Technically, it now belongs to me."
"Suit yourself.” He headed away from the trailer. “This way. Watch your step."
He led her around towering piles of this and that and rows of cars waiting for the crusher to get them, stopping at the end of one row. “Here it is, missy. Don't know what you want to see."
Jamie wasn't sure, either. But there it was indeed. An ancient Ford pickup with a powder blue amateur paint job that flaked and peeled over the years. It had accumulated a few more dents since the last time she'd seen it, and the windshield was smashed. Otherwise, it was the same piece of junk she'd learned to drive on. Rambled to town in. Made out in with Zane Cameron on more than one memorable night.
No. Don't go there.
She walked around it, eyeing it, not knowing what she was looking for. Maybe a blown tire or some other sign of what had caused Frank Randall to lose control. And wondering why she should even care. Dead is dead. Good riddance.
She'd covered enough automobile accidents in her life as a reporter to know what cars looked like after the fact. What happened to them when they hit a tree. Another car. Went off the side of as hill like her father had done. So what did she hope to see?
She kept circling the truck, kicking the tires, banging her fist on the destroyed metal. Duke stood to the side watching her.
"So, Jamie,” he said at last. “You planning on sticking around here?"
She shrugged. “I guess. At least for a while.” She twisted her mouth into a caricature of a smile. “Don't have any place else to go at the moment."
Duke gave her his half-smile again. “Sorry about all the trouble you've had. Don't hardly seem right to blame you for someone else's crookedness."
Jamie shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “You'd think so. But the final responsibility rests with the reporter. I didn't dig deep enough to verify my sources and authenticate the documents. So, it's my head that rolls."
She walked around the truck once more, stopping by the tailgate. Or what was left of it. As she stood there just looking at it, something tickled at her brain. She walked over and ran her hand over the crumpled metal.
"Say, Duke?"
"Uh huh?"
"I was told the truck missed the curve and rolled over down the hill. Did it go side-over-side or front-over-back?"
Duke gave her a strange look and scratched his neck. “I don't know for sure, Jamie. When Zane called me to come fetch it, the truck was lying on its side. But no telling which way it fell. Why?"
"Oh, nothing, I guess.” She touched the tailgate again. “It just seems there's a lot of damage at the rear end if it bounced on its sides. These dents look fresh, the way the paint's scraped. Do you happen to know if my father was in some kind of accident recently?"
Duke kicked at a stray rock. “I'm sorry to say, unless it was a big deal, I wouldn't know about it. Your dad made it hard for people to talk to him or have any kind of relationship. So, if it wasn't anything major, it isn't likely I'd hear about it."
Jamie nibbled on a fingernail. “I know, I know. It's just ... oh, well. Maybe it's my overactive imagination.” She straightened her shoulders. “Listen, crazy as this sounds, I'd like to get this towed back to the house.” She held up her hand when Duke opened his mouth to protest. “I know, I know. But I just want to do it. How much would you charge me? And I guess I'd owe you for the original tow, also?
"Uh, Jamie..."
"Just do it, Duke. Please?” She dug into her purse and pulled out her wallet, mentally counting her cash and trying to remember what was still in her checking account.
Duke shook his head. “Fine. If you want this piece of shit, I guess that's your right. And you don't owe me a thing. The county paid me enough for hauling it here to cover my gas out to your place.” He looked at his watch. “How about late this afternoon. You be home then?"
She wanted to laugh. “Sure. Where else would I be?"
"Okay. See you around four.” He led her back to where she'd parked. “Uh, Jamie?"
"Yeah?” She stopped, wondering what he had to say.
"I just wanted to tell you I'm real sorry about all the bad luck you've had lately."
One corner of her mouth turned up in a weak grin. “Thanks, Duke. You're probably the only one around here that doesn't think I deserved it."
He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then just turned away. “See you later."
The coffee in her mug was cold by now so she dumped it out the window. She wasn't hungry, but her empty stomach demanded she put something in it. She thought about stopping at the Buckhorn but wasn't ready yet to face the town's scrutiny.
There was, however, one stop she dreaded but needed to make. She wanted to get a copy of the report on her father's accident, and the only place to get it was Zane Cameron's office. He was bound to give her a hard time, but something about the pattern and shape of the dents on the tailgate bothered her.
Holding it together and not letting him get to her would be the biggest problem.
The parking lot at the sheriff's department was almost full with a combination of county and civilian vehicles. Just great. Well, she had to run the gauntlet sometime.
Two people filling out forms on a clipboard were the only ones sitting in the small lobby. Jamie walked up to the window in the administrative section and pulled out a smile for the woman sitting there. Her eyes widened when the woman looked up. Patsy Madigan, mother of one of her high school friends. Patsy's eyes opened even wider.
"Jamie? Jamie Randall?” She half rose from her chair.
"It's me, Mrs. Madigan. How are you?"
"I'm just fine. I, uh, heard you were back in town. Planning to stay around for a while?"
"Maybe. Listen, I need to see the sheriff for a few minutes. Is he in?"
Instantly, Patsy's face took on a sympathetic expression. “Oh, my goodness. Are you having a problem?"
Problem? Hysteria threatened to bubble up. My whole life is a problem right now.
"No. Not at all. I just needed to ask him a couple of questions."
"Oh.” The woman couldn't hide the naked curiosity on her face. “Well, then. Let me just check. I think he's still in his office."
Jamie stood in the tiny space and fidgeted until the door to the inner office opened and Patsy beckoned to her. “He says he can give you a minute or two."
Well. Isn't that just damn big of him?
"Thank you."
She followed Patsy through the big open bullpen where the deputies did their paperwork and the detectives had their desks. Most of the deputies were out on patrol. Diablo covered a vast area, and Jamie could remember L.C. Craddick, the previous sheriff, always complaining he never had enough men to cover everything. It looked like the manpower hadn't increased much since then.
Absolute silence surrounded her and eyes followed her with open curiosity as she let Patsy lead her to a corner office. Zane was leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. His face was carefully expressionless. He uncrossed his arms and nodded to Patsy.
&nb
sp; "Thanks. I'll take it from here.” He stood back to let Jamie precede him into his office, then closed the door. “This is unexpected."
"For me, too."
He gestured toward a chair in front of the desk. When she was seated, he leaned against the front of the desk and stared at her, waiting.
"Um, thank you for seeing me."
He dipped his head. “I'm the sheriff. I serve the entire county population."
"Thanks anyway.” She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Should she just blurt out what she wanted?
"Well?” he asked when she still said nothing. “I assume you had a specific reason for coming here. We don't get many big city visitors in this place. Oh, that's right.” He snapped his fingers. “You're not from the city any more, are you?"
Jamie drew in a deep breath and let it out. Apparently, he wasn't about to cut her any slack. How was she to know he'd carry a grudge for twelve years? She'd love to know what happened to him in all that time.
No. No, she wouldn't.
"I'd like to see the report from my father's accident. Please."
Zane stood abruptly, a hard look on his face. All pretense of courtesy disappeared. “Exactly why would you want that, Jamie? Think us hicks can't handle a simple rollover properly?"
She gripped her hands together, determined to hold onto her temper. “I didn't say that. I just want to look at it."
He stood there, waiting for her to say something more.
"Please,” she said again.
"I don't have to open the file for you if I don't want to."
So much for holding her temper. “Yes, you do. Haven't you heard of the Freedom of Information Act?"
He snorted. “Trust a reporter to know every word of that one."
She bit back the retort that bubbled up automatically. “I'm just saying ... look, Zane. I don't want to make this difficult. Maybe I could just speak to the investigating officer."
"You're talking to him right now. What is it you want to know?"
She goggled. “You? Since when does the sheriff investigate simple highway accidents?"
"Since he doesn't have enough manpower and takes up the slack where he's needed. And I'm telling you, it was a drunken rollover. That's it. Or don't you think I know what I'm doing?"
"I'm not questioning you. Please don't think that.” She rose from the chair. Sitting down while he towered over her gave her a distinct disadvantage. “I just want to look at it for myself. Is that a problem?"
"I can tell you anything you want to know. It was raining. The road was slick. Frank probably had a bigger load on than usual and missed that curve. End of story."
She planted her fists on her hips. So much for holding her temper. “Damn it. If it's that cut and dried, you shouldn't mind me looking at the report.” She glared at him. “Right?"
They stared at each other across two feet of space. The buzz of the intercom broke the heavy silence.
Zane moved to the desk and pressed the button. “What?"
"Sorry to disturb you.” Patsy's voice was tinny over the speaker. “You wanted me to remind you about the county commission meeting."
"Thanks.” He turned back to Jamie. “I have to go. The commission meets in Copper Ridge, and that's a thirty minute drive.” He opened the door and waited for her to move.
"The report?” she persisted.
"Damn it all, Jamie. Fine. I'll dig it out and bring it by later this afternoon. I assume you'll be home?"
"I'll check my busy social schedule. You can call first."
She swept out in front of him, walking through the bullpen again with as much dignity as she could muster, sure that every ear had been tuned to the last part of their conversation.
She slammed the door to her SUV and jammed the key in the ignition. Insufferable ass. Egotistical jerk. Walking testosterone.
What did I ever see in him, anyway?
A rap on the window startled her. She turned her head to see Zane standing there and lowered the window. “What? I thought you were in such a big damn hurry."
"I sure don't remember you swearing this much before you left town."
"Yeah, well, I've had a real education. What it is?"
"I'll be by about four. Be sure you're home."
Before she could object or argue, he was gone, striding toward the big Expedition.
Now he was giving her orders? Well, didn't that just suck? If she hadn't wanted to see the report so badly, she'd make sure she was as far away as she could get.
She gunned the engine and headed out to the highway. Yes, it was sure going to be fun being back in Amen.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
The restaurant was one of the more exclusive in San Antonio, a muted environment where deals on cattle, oil, and other business were discussed on a daily basis. It was rumored that more money changed hands in The Stock Club than in any bank in the state. And, above all, it was a place where the most delicate discussions could be conducted in private.
Grayson Ballou sat back in his chair, pulled a cigar from the pocket of his pearl gray, custom-tailored, western cut suit, and lit it with his monogrammed gold lighter. As the thin spiral of smoke curled into the air, he looked across the table at his lunch companion. The man had the title of special assistant, but in reality, he did all Gray's dirty work. All the things he couldn't afford to leave his fingerprints on directly.
"Manny, you've got to stop being so nervous,” he chided. “People will think you've got something to hide."
Manny Alvarado took a large swallow of his drink, the tremor in his hand barely visible but still obvious to his host. “It's all right for you to be so calm,” he said. “I'm the one out on the line who'll catch all the trouble."
"You worry too much.” Gray blew a perfect smoke ring, studying it as it disappeared in the air. “We have a minor problem, and we'll solve it."
"Minor? You call this minor?"
"Don't squeak.” Gray frowned. “It's unbecoming for a man. I told you we'll take care of it, and we will."
"What if she won't sell the land to you? What then?"
"I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Meanwhile, it's highly unlikely that she'll be wandering around those godforsaken acres in the middle of the night. We'll wait a few days just to track her habits. Then I think it can be business as usual."
Manny used his napkin to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Not until we have control of the area. I told you. I'll be out there exposed to the world."
Gray picked up his bourbon on the rocks and sipped at it, trying to control his irritation. True, he was annoyed that their profitable operation seemed to have hit a slight bump in the road, but this wasn't the first time. They'd weathered it before and they would now.
"Tell me. Have I ever let you down? Sent you out to take risks without protection?"
"No, but—"
"No buts. Just listen. A few days to get the lay of the land, so to speak.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Then we'll regroup and start up again."
"That old man's turning out to be more trouble dead than he was alive."
Gray drew his brows together. “And whose fault is that? Of all the ways to handle him, you had to pick the worst.” He sighed. “Sometimes, Manny, I wonder if you're up to this anymore."
Manny finished his beer in two quick swallows and signaled for the waiter, ignoring the look on Gray's face. “Who else could handle things the way I do? Practice makes perfect, padrone. So I misjudged the old man a little. But like you say, we'll get past this.” He swallowed half of the fresh beer in three gulps.
"We won't get past anything if you're drunk.” Ballou blew another perfect smoke ring. The exercise was excellent for maintaining an attitude of calm. Those who knew him best said when Gray Ballou blew smoke rings, he could be planning a multimillion dollar deal, a party at his ranch, or a plot to kill someone. It was impossible to tell.
Life had
been good to him, but he always said it was because he knew the value of a deal. No one could actually say what he did.
"I conduct business,” he told anyone who asked him.
And that was as much as they got.
He'd stumbled onto the value of an operation Manny had been running for a long time on his own and discovered the income was limited only by the man's imagination. He'd assessed the situation and simply told Manny he was taking it over and expanding it. So what if some of the people he dealt with weren't invited to the best houses in Texas society? He wasn't looking for people with refined social skills, only those who could put large amounts of dollars in his pockets.
And somehow, because he was providing a sought-after commodity, it had opened doors for him previously closed. Only his offshore bankers knew how much Grayson Ballou was worth.
The operation had provided an unexpected bonus or two, and he had to swallow a smile as he thought of them.
The waiter approached and discreetly placed the check next to Gray's plate. He signed it and waved the man away.
"Let's let the dust settle for a day or two,” he told Manny. “Then we'll see which way the wind blows and if the dust kicks up again. Meanwhile, just keep your head down and don't call attention to yourself."
"Of course, padrone."
"And no more bodies."
If push came to shove, Gray would shut this down altogether, maybe find another place to start up again. But he'd refined this one over the years and was far from ready to let it go just yet. A disgraced journalist, nearly broke, was no match for him when he had his mind set on something. And he had an ace up his sleeve that he'd play if he had to. He'd done it before. He could do it again. One way or another, Jamie Randall would hand her land over to him.
* * * *
Zane dropped his Stetson on the seat beside him and headed the Expedition back toward Amen. The meeting had lasted far longer than he expected. Then he had to have lunch with the commission chairman. And as long as he was in the area and nothing was shaking that needed his attention, he took a few minutes to say hello to his mother.