Convictions (5 page)

"Let's go," Olivia said with forced brightness. She descended the steps carefully, her mouth dry and her heart thumping. Her legs wobbled, and she wished she'd brought her cane. However, she lifted her chin and looked out across the yard, only to have her gaze snared by Hank Elliott's. Even across the distance separating them, she felt the heat of his eyes, thawing her icy dread and turning it into something hot and volatile but no less frightening.

Conscious of the gazes following them, Olivia forced herself to ignore them. Besides, it was likely their gazes were locked on Melinda and her well-endowed curves plainly visible beneath her snug clothing rather than Olivia in her baggy sweatshirt and jeans.
Thank goodness.

Olivia gritted her teeth as she limped across the uneven yard. Melinda's heels weren't made for traversing ranch yards, and Olivia felt a smug sense of satisfaction at the woman's gracelessness.

At the corral, Olivia leaned against a post, taking some weight off her bad leg. Melinda stood beside her and raised one foot, then the other, checking to see if her impractical heels were still intact. Despite her uneasiness, Olivia had to bite back a smile.

Melinda glanced up, but instead of looking at the stallion, she peered into another corral where the farrier and Hank were putting new shoes on one of the mares.

"Who is that?" Melinda asked, pointing at Hank.

Obviously Melinda was more enthralled with the human stallion.

"He's one of the convicts here on the work release program," Olivia answered blandly.

"Oooh, a bad boy."

Olivia didn't know whether to laugh or gag. "A
very
bad boy. I thought you were married."

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry," Olivia said, fumbling for something to say.

"I'm not."

Before Olivia could comment, the stallion trotted up to them and blew noisily, showering Melinda with droplets of horse snot.

"Ewww," Melinda said, her nose wrinkled with disgust as she brushed ineffectually at her hair and ruined blouse. Then she glared at the stallion and smacked his nose with her fist.

The excitable animal whinnied shrilly, and his eyes rolled upward. He raced away from them, and before Olivia could shout a warning, the stallion tried to leap over the fence. His right foreleg caught on the top pole, and the horse toppled to the ground inside the corral with a hair-curling scream.

Olivia nearly screamed herself, but slapped her hand over her mouth.

The stallion surged to its feet, and Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Then she noticed the horse favoring his right leg.

"Damn," she whispered hoarsely.

The farrier, Shandler, and Hank Elliott were the first to reach the stallion. Lopez, Reger, and Barton were next, followed by the hired men who remained in the yard. They approached the animal warily. Shandler managed to grab the stallion's halter, and Lopez clipped a lead rope to it. The convict tied the horse to a post with calm, unhurried motions. Surprisingly, the stallion behaved, as if knowing they only wanted to help.

Olivia's father hurried toward her and Melinda, his expression stormy. "What happened?" he demanded.

"It was an accident, Judge Kincaid," Melinda said in a whiney voice. She plucked at her damp shirt. "He ruined my blouse, and I lost my temper."

"She hit him," Olivia said flatly. "It scared him."

Melinda flashed Olivia a reproachful glance. "It was an accident," she repeated to the judge.

"I think you should leave now, Ms. Holcomb," he said firmly.

Melinda lifted her chin. "Fine. At least I have my story."

She pivoted, nearly lost her balance on her heels, then wobbled back to her car. This time Olivia couldn't even dredge up a smidgen of amusement at her awkwardness.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I had no idea she'd do anything like that," Olivia said, guilt and misery pressing down on her.

Her father's arm settled around her shoulders. "It's not your fault, Liv."

She and her father watched Hank and Shandler examine the horse's leg. Finally, they stood back and released the stallion. He trotted away, favoring the leg only slightly.

Her father sighed in relief. "It doesn't look like he was seriously hurt."

Olivia nodded, also relieved. "Thank heavens."

"I have to talk to Buck about a couple more things. Do you want me to walk you back to the house first?" he asked.

Now that the excitement was past, fear encroached Olivia's thoughts again. She pressed it back. She'd come this far with Melinda; she could walk back by herself.

"Go ahead. I'll be fine."

He gazed at her for a moment before giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then walked away.

She glanced around and spotted the ferrety convict Mantle staring at her. His thin lips were curved upward in a lecherous smile. Olivia quickly turned away to begin the long trek back to the house. Her shoulders tight with tension, she could feel Mantle's lewd gaze on her. Why was he watching her? What did he want?

Her breath came in harsh gasps, and the distance to the house seemed an impossible chasm to cross. Her injured knee burned with agonizing pain, but she couldn't slow down. She had to get to safety... to the gun that would protect her.

A hand settled on her arm, and she spun around, seeing a black cap and a chambray shirt with Wilson Correctional Facility printed on the pocket. A scream crawled up her throat, but her bad leg buckled, stealing her breath.

Hank kept a firm hold so she didn't collapse to the ground. "Careful, Ms. Kincaid." His smooth-as-melted-butter voice slid through her.

An odd mix of relief, panic, and desire flooded Olivia when she realized it wasn't Mantle. Still, she struggled to free herself from his firm but gentle grasp. "I-I can do it myself."

He released her and stepped back. Olivia barely managed to remain upright with the loss of his support. She panted like she'd run up Longs Peak, and the unwelcome sensation of light-headedness swam through her.

"Where's your cane?" Hank asked.

Olivia pulled in a few more deep breaths, and the wooziness faded. "In the house."

He frowned, and the expression pulled at the comers of his sensuous lips. "Helluva lot of good it's doing you there."

Olivia's earlier fear faded even as her knee's pain intensified, and she snapped, "Tell me something I don't know, Mr. Elliott."

His eyes darkened. "If you won't let me help you, let me get your cane."

"So you can get the layout of the house?"

He appeared confused, but it was quickly replaced by cynicism. "Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Stumble up those stairs yourself."

He spun away and headed back to the corral.

Trembling, Olivia took a step toward the house. Pain flashed like lightning up and down her leg. Tears filled her eyes, and she damned her weakness. She looked around, but her father was nowhere in sight. But Mantle was still there, watching her like some damned snake ready to snatch a mouse. She may have lost much of her confidence, but Olivia was no mouse.

"Mr. Elliott?" she shouted.

He stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder, his expression cut from granite.

"I think I will accept your assistance," she said past the dryness of her mouth.

After a moment's hesitation, he ambled back to her side.

"Do you want to lean on me, or would you like your cane?" he asked, his low timbre wreaking havoc on her already weak defenses.

The scent of male sweat tickled Olivia's nose, and she could almost taste its brackish flavor. Harsh memories of another man's caustic sweat in her nostrils surfaced, and she cringed. Although she didn't want Hank in her sanctuary, she was more fearful of a flashback. "My cane. In my bedroom. Down the hall."

She barely saw his nod through her hazy vision, but she felt his physical withdrawal with a keenness that shocked her. Hank Elliott was a convict, someone to be distrusted, yet Olivia
wanted
to trust him.

A headache throbbed in her temples, keeping rhythm with the beat of her heart. If the knee pain didn't upset her stomach, the headache would.

"Here's your cane, Ms. Kincaid," Hank said, holding it out to her.

Her estimation of him rose a notch. He kept his distance, as if knowing his proximity bothered her. She extended her hand, and her fingers closed around the polished wood of the curved handle. She quickly put it to use, immediately easing the pressure on her bad knee. The relief was so profound, she nearly wept.

"Thank you." Her voice was faint, sounding nothing like the strong ADA's from Chicago.

Hank nodded. "I'll walk you to the porch."

Olivia nodded, again sensing she could rely on him. She made it to the bottom of the steps without embarrassing herself. In fact, her pain had abated, and the nausea had disappeared.

She turned around and lowered herself to the second step, then stretched out he bad leg in front of her. Kneading the flesh above the knee, she noted that Hank remained a good six feet away. Close enough to assist her, but far enough away to give her a sense of safety. His actions could be a ploy, but even if they were, she owed him her gratitude.

"I appreciate your help, Mr. Elliott." She found it was tougher to say the words than she expected.

"Contrary to what most people think, just because I'm a con doesn't mean I like to see people hurting." Resentment twined through his words.

Olivia was obviously in the "most people" category. Three months ago she wouldn't have cared, but now the comment drew a trickle of guilt.

She tilted her head back to look up at him, noting the defensive clench of his jaw and the challenge in his eyes. Remembering that he'd wanted to be a veterinarian, she said quietly, "I take it that goes for animals, too."

He blinked and shrugged, though Olivia guessed he wasn't expecting her comment. "They're living creatures, too."

But Olivia caught a glimpse of something behind his harsh mask. "Is that the reason you want to be a vet?"

"Wanted,"
he corrected sharply. His penetrating gaze skipped over her face, then settled on a butte in the distance. "Too late now."

She felt unexpected sympathy for the convict. Just like any other person, he'd had dreams, too, before he was incarcerated.

"That's too bad. From the way you examined the stallion, you'd be a good one," she said quietly.

He brought his gaze back to her, and she thought she spotted a flush in his cheeks, though his expression didn't change. "Who was that woman?" Hank asked.

It took Olivia a moment to switch mental gears. "A former high school classmate."

"Not a friend."

It wasn't a question.

"Hardly. She was one of the popular girls. You know how it was in high school. It was a long time ago." Olivia shrugged, although for the first time it bothered her that she hadn't taken time to have fun in high school or college. "Where are you from?"

"Small town south of here. My graduating class was thirty-one students."

Olivia smiled. "Mine had forty-four. I think most of them still live around here."

"Same here." He sent a quick look at the farrier. "I should get back to work."

Olivia pushed herself to her feet, surprised but grateful that Hank didn't extend a hand to help her. She hobbled up the steps, aware of his scrutiny but knowing he wouldn't get any closer.

She paused before opening the door. "I appreciate your help, Mr. Elliott." She glanced down, thinking she owed him some kind of explanation yet not understanding why. She met his curtained eyes. "I was assaulted in Chicago. He smashed my knee so I couldn't run away." Those two sentences cost her most of her remaining strength, and she entered the house.

With her nose in the air, she acts like she owns the whole goddamned country. Well, she's not going to be so high and mighty when she has to pay for what she did. It's my responsibility to rid the world of people like her. My duty...

Chapter Four

After spending the remainder of the day inside resting her bad leg and trying to figure out Hank Elliott, Olivia checked her e-mail after dinner. She found a note from Susan, a fellow ADA and as close to a friend as she had in Chicago.

Liv, guess what? The old man gave me the Brubane case! This is big, Liv! If I can get a guilty verdict, the old man promised to give me more cases like this. I just hope J can do half as well as you did with your first big one. Cross your fingers for me.

So how are you doing out there in the boonies? How's your leg? Does it look like you'll be coming back soon? We miss you.

Everyone here says hello and get better soon. TTYL, Suse.

Olivia smiled and clicked the Reply button. After setting her fingers on the keyboard, she froze. What should she tell her friend? That the thought of stepping into a courtroom made her sick to her stomach? That the biggest risk she could take was stepping out of the house alone and walking to the cookhouse? That going back to Chicago anytime soon was as likely as flying to the moon?

She curved her hand around the mouse and canceled the reply, logged out of her e-mail account and off the Internet. The familiar depression crawled through her, and she sought solace in oblivion. She brought up the Spider Solitaire game on the screen and clicked on the four-suit option.

Five of hearts to six of spades. Queen of diamonds to king of diamonds. Eight of clubs to nine of clubs.

The rhythm of clicking and moving the mouse to carry cards from here to there soothed her just like it had the first time she'd played not long after moving back home.

She hit the end of her run with no more cards to turn over. Another loss. She started a second game, lost that one, and then a third and fourth and on and on. Never winning, but always certain the next game would give her the satisfaction of a victory.

A knock sounded, and her concentration shattered. Time resumed its normal pace.

Her father stuck his head in the office doorway. "Are you busy?"

She cleared her throat. "No. C'mon in."