Savior in the Saddle (13 page)

Brandon nodded and pulled in a hard breath.

So, why was there the threat of another hostage situation? Had someone else decided to do the same thing as Wes Dunbar? If so, Willa’s memory wasn’t going to be of any help. That caused her to groan. As long as the danger was there, she was anchored to Brandon. Part of her—okay, her body—was all right with that. She wanted to sleep with him, and she was certain that was driving a lot of her other desires.

But it was clear that Brandon wasn’t in this for a one-night stand or a happily ever after. She didn’t need her memory to feel that he wanted to be out of her life. And that meant solving this case. The sooner that was done, the sooner they could both go back to the way things were before. That’s what she wanted.

Willa repeated that.

It still didn’t ring true.

She forced herself to focus just on the case. “Any suggestions as to what I should do next?”

Brandon’s jaw muscles stirred, but before he could answer, his phone rang. Even though the cell didn’t have caller ID, she figured it was Cash. Hopefully, the cop would have information that would help them.

Brandon didn’t say a word when he took the call. He merely put the phone to his ear. A moment later, she saw the surprise, and then the concern, go through his eyes.

“Dean Quinlan,” he said.

Though the sound of the man’s name caused her heart to race, this was good news. Well, potentially good. Dean was the next step in getting information because even if he was simply trying to cover his guilt, he could still slip up and tell them if Wes Dunbar or someone else hired him to have those DNA samples tampered with.

“A meeting?” Brandon questioned.

Willa waited with her breath held. She didn’t relish the idea of seeing this man, but again, it might be the beginning of the end to the danger.

“All right,” Brandon said a moment later. “I’ll meet you at my office in Crockett Creek.” He paused again. “No, I can’t be there that soon. I’m at least two hours out.”

That was a lie, of course, to try to conceal their real location.

Brandon checked his watch. “I’ll meet you there at three o’clock. And Quinlan, my suggestion is you’d better have answers. The
right answers.
Or I’ll find a reason to arrest you.”

It seemed as if Brandon was about to hang up, but he stopped. “What do you mean?” he demanded from Dean. “Who’s trying to kill you?”

Whatever Dean said, it caused Brandon’s jaw muscles to go to work again. He cursed when he slapped the phone shut.

“Someone’s trying to kill Dean Quinlan?” Willa asked.

“Yeah.” And that’s all Brandon said for several moments. “He claims Cash wants him dead. And Quinlan says he has something to prove it.”

Chapter Eleven

Deputy Pete Sanchez parked in front of the back entrance to the Crockett Creek sheriff’s office. It was Brandon’s usual parking space, but before today, he’d never felt like checking his too-familiar surroundings before he exited. Of course, that had plenty to do with Willa being with him.

Brandon tried to give her a reassuring glance before he got her out of the vehicle and hurried her inside. He’d already apologized a couple of times for having to bring her for what would likely be a high-stress meeting with Dean Quinlan. However, the alternative was leaving her alone at his place, and that wasn’t going to happen. Brandon had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

Martin Shore was still out there somewhere. And even though it was Christmas Eve, the holiday season wouldn’t stop the hired gun from striking again.

Brandon heard the voices the moment he stepped inside. He was already on full alert, but those voice supped his anxiety. One of the voices belonged to his other deputy, Sheila Gafford, a thirty-year law-enforcement veteran who didn’t normally raise her voice. But that’s exactly what she was doing now.

“I told you to sit down and wait,” Sheila ordered.

“And I told you that I will see the sheriff
now,
” the man responded.

Brandon didn’t recognize the voice, but he sure as heck recognized anger when he heard it. This guy was outraged about something.

“Wait here with Willa,” Brandon told Pete, and he left them in his office while he went to the front of the building. Sheila was there, staring down a tall man wearing a business suit.

The man looked past the deputy and glared when he spotted Brandon making his way toward them.

“A problem?” Brandon asked Sheila.

His deputy rolled her coffee-brown eyes and huffed. “This is Mr. Wes—”

“Dunbar,” the visitor interrupted.

Well, Brandon hadn’t had to go looking for the devil after all because here was his number one suspect, just a few feet away.

“Are you Sheriff Ruiz?” Wes demanded.

Even though he was rail thin, he had a booming voice, and everything about him screamed money. The suit was high-priced. Haircut, too. And judging from his perfect nails, the man had regular manicures. He didn’t look the sort to do his own dirty work, but then Jessie Beecham had likely been killed in the heat of an argument.

“I’m Sheriff Ruiz,” Brandon confirmed. “What do you want?”

“To talk to you. I heard about that former maternity hostage, Willa Marks. She’s connected to what happened in the hospital that day.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?” Brandon didn’t intend to volunteer anything.

“Don’t play stupid with me. Protect her all you want. She’s not the reason I’m here. But I figure that sewer rat, Dean Quinlan, is dying to get to her, and since I’m dying to get to Quinlan, I figured the fastest way to do that would be through you.”

Brandon glanced around to see if Dean was already there. He wasn’t. Though he should have been. He was nearly a half hour late. Of course, maybe Wes Dunbar’s impromptu visit had something to do with that. However, Brandon spotted an expensive black luxury sedan he didn’t recognize. It no doubt belonged to Wes, and the man behind the wheel was probably his driver.

“Why do you want to get to Dean Quinlan?” Brandon asked.

“Simple. He’s trying to pin Jessie Beecham’s murder on me by claiming I’m the one who hired those idiots to take the maternity hostages.”

“Dean told you this?”

“Didn’t have to. I hear things, and I don’t like what I’m hearing. Jessie’s killer is already behind bars, and Jessie’s in hell. Case closed.”

Maybe closed but not necessarily resolved. “Did you try to kill Willa Marks?” Brandon didn’t expect a straight answer, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“I have no reason to kill her. As far as I can tell she’s not blabbing to the cops that I’m Jessie’s killer. Plus, I heard her head’s all messed up. She doesn’t remember her own name, much less what happened at the hospital that day.”

Brandon wanted to punch that smug look off Wes’s face. But while that might give him some temporary satisfaction, it wouldn’t help Willa.

“You seem to know a lot about Ms. Marks,” Brandon commented. It was a fishing expedition. He wanted to know if Wes was getting his info from anyone in SAPD.

But Wes didn’t bite. A dry smile bent his mouth for several short seconds, and he aimed his finger at Brandon. “If Dean Quinlan gets in touch with you, my advice is not to believe a word he says.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“To cover his scrawny butt. I figure he screwed up something. He was a CSI after all. He screwed up something, and then tried to put the blame on anyone but himself.” His finger landed against his own chest. “Well, that blame better not come anywhere near me. Got that?”

Wes didn’t wait for Brandon’s response. He turned and stormed out. Wes climbed into a sleek black limo waiting for him just outside and the driver took off.

“Never known a Christmas Eve like this one,” Sheila grumbled. She pushed her dark, gray-threaded hair away from her face. “I swear, the phone’s been ringing off the hook. Four messages in the past two hours—all from Dr. Lenora Farris.”

Brandon cursed. “What does she want?”

“Same thing as the bozo who just left. She wants to talk to you. Says it’s important. Says you’re to return her calls ASAP.” She lifted her hands in the air. “Don’t these people have anything better to do over the holidays than pester us?”

Apparently not. “Did Dean Quinlan show up?”

“Not yet.” She checked the clock on the wall. “Guess you want me to wait here until he does?”

“I do. Thanks, Sheila. But keep the door locked. I don’t want just anyone waltzing in here unannounced.”

The woman complained under her breath, as Brandon had known she would. She obviously didn’t like being called into work on her off day, but she would stay. And she would do everything within her power to help him protect Willa. That was all he could ask for at the moment. But once this meeting with Dean was over, Brandon had to figure out his next move. It probably wasn’t wise to stay around Crockett Creek now that both Wes and Dean knew he was there.

He walked back to his office where Pete was standing guard in the doorway. Willa was there, too, peeking out, and judging from her expression, she’d heard everything Wes had said.

“He’s gone?” she asked.

Brandon nodded and tipped his head to Pete to get him moving as well. Pete went in the direction of the deputies’ office on the other side of the reception desk.

Since Willa looked ready to collapse, Brandon pulled her into his arms. “Wes was just blowing smoke,” he assured her. But the fact that he felt the need to blow smoke said a lot.

Wes was acting like a guilty man.

Of course, he had the strongest motive of all their suspects. If that had been his DNA underneath Jessie Beecham’s fingernails, then Wes could have been convicted of murder. Now, the question was had he killed Beecham and then orchestrated the hostage situation to cover it up?

If so, then Wes would almost certainly want Willa dead.

Brandon was about to offer Willa more reassurances, but movement stopped him. It hadn’t come from the hall but from Willa’s middle.

The baby was kicking.

He pulled back slightly and looked down.

“Soccer practice,” Willa joked.

There was certainly a lot of movement, much more than he’d expected for an unborn child. And some of the kicks were hard, too. He could actually see the thumps against Willa’s top.

Without thinking, Brandon slid his palm over her belly. And he froze. He shouldn’t be doing this. This was something a real father should do, and it was far too intimate. More intimate than the hot kissing session they’d shared in his kitchen.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Willa asked.

Brandon made a sound that could have meant anything, and he jerked back his hand. “It must hurt.”

“No,” she insisted. She stared at him. “It’s okay, Brandon. A touch doesn’t commit you to anything. Kisses don’t, either.”

“But sex would,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. Hell. What was wrong with him? First he couldn’t control his hand, and now he couldn’t control his mouth.

“Depends on the sex.”

His gaze fired to hers, and he expected to see another of those teasing half smiles. But no smile. She looked dead serious. Then, she huffed.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I guess there’s no such thing as no-strings-attached sex when it comes to us.”

“No,” he agreed.

He wanted to explain that he wasn’t the father his baby deserved, but Willa had already heard it. It obviously hadn’t sunk in because he still saw the welcoming look in her eyes. For a woman who distrusted nearly everyone, it was a powerful, and touching, burden to place on him.

Brandon heard someone knock. The sound came from the back where Willa and he had entered. He drew his gun, motioned for her to stay put and went to look out the sliver of a reinforced side window.

Thankfully, the man looked exactly like his photograph so Brandon had no trouble recognizing their visitor.

It was Dean Quinlan.

Dean’s gaze was slashing all around the parking lot as if he expected someone to jump out and attack. Which might be close to the truth. Brandon didn’t see any sign of a weapon, so he opened the door.

“What was Wes Dunbar doing here?” Dean demanded.

Brandon didn’t even try to relieve the man’s nerves. “Looking for you, I think.”

Dean tried to bolt inside, but Brandon stopped and frisked him. He wasn’t carrying concealed, but he did have an envelope gripped in his left hand.

Brandon stepped aside so the man could enter, but he kept himself between Dean and his office where he’d left Willa. Even though he was a good six inches shorter than Brandon, Dean tried to look over his shoulder.

“Did you tell Wes that I was coming here?” Dean asked. He continued to glance around, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead despite the chilly winter temperature outside.

“No. Did you?”

Dean looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Why would I tell a scumbag like him where I was? He could be the one who wants me dead.” He paused. “Well, maybe it’s him.”

“You got more than one person trying to kill you?” Brandon asked.

“Maybe,” Dean repeated and shook his head. “Look, someone’s been trying to kill me, and I think it might be the same person who’s after Willa Marks. There was a story in the newspaper about someone blowing up her house.”

Brandon tried not to curse but failed. He was all for freedom of the press, but the less printed about Willa, the safer she might be.

“Who’s trying to kill us?” Brandon heard someone ask. He groaned because it was Willa’s voice and he heard her making her way toward them. He shot her a look, warning to go back to his office.

She ignored him and kept her attention pinned to Dean.

Dean studied her a moment and then handed Brandon the envelope. Brandon didn’t put away his weapon, and he handed the envelope to Willa so she could open it.

There was a single black-and-white picture inside.

It was a grainy photo taken in what appeared to be a parking lot, and it took Brandon a moment to figure out that he was looking at a picture of three people.

Wes Dunbar, Dr. Lenora Farris.

And Cash.

Ironically, it was the face of his old friend that was the clearest.