The Rivals (22 page)

“Good morning,” he said.

She turned abruptly and a half-cooked piece of bacon went flying and landed on the counter next to the sink. She stared at it, looked wide-eyed at him, and laughed. “You startled me.”

He retrieved the hot piece of bacon with two fingers, crossed to her, and dropped it back in the pan. “Sorry about that. Thanks for loaning me your couch.”

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“You're very welcome,” he said. And meant it.

“I never asked if the kids gave you any problems last night,” she said.

He saw her anxiety and decided not to tell her how Brooke had been a real pain in the ass. The teenager had challenged him on everything from which pajamas he put on Ryan to whether Nate could have a snack before going to bed.

After the boys were down, she'd refused to go to bed herself, saying she preferred to stay up until her mother got home. He'd finally threatened to pick her up bodily and cart her to her room, if she didn't travel there in a hurry on her own two feet.

“The kids were great,” he said, smiling so Sarah would believe him.

She narrowed her eyes and said, “Brooke didn't give you any trouble?”

He shrugged. “She was okay. How are you feeling this morning?”

She shook her head and turned back to the stove. “As well as can be expected. I promised Ryan I'd make blueberry pancakes for breakfast this morning.” She grimaced. “But I didn't get to the grocery store, so he's going to have to settle for French toast and bacon.”

Drew took a step forward, aligning his body with hers. When she leaned back into him, he slid his arms around her waist and hooked his hands together over her belly. He set his chin on her shoulder and said, “Tough night all around.”

She moved the bacon around in the pan, found a slice that looked done, and lifted it out onto a paper towel she'd laid on the counter. “I'm handling it.” She gave him a sad smile over her shoulder and said, “I always do.”

“I know it wasn't easy finding your husband like that.”

“To have my kids see Tom—” She dropped the fork on the counter and turned, sliding her arms up around his neck and laying her cheek against his chest. “I'm afraid to think what kind of nightmares they'll have. Especially Ryan.”

“He made it through last night. That's a good start.”

“Part of the reason I was so late getting home was that I waited around to see if the coroner could make a guess about how Tom died. He found a bullet hole in the back of Tom's skull. He said it looked like he'd been shot at close range, just like that girl who was found dead in the mountains.”

“So both deaths might be linked to whatever scheme they tried to run on Clay last night,” Drew said.

She nodded.

Drew picked up the fork she'd dropped, turned a piece of sizzling bacon and set the fork back down. “Who did the guy you shot turn out to be?”

“His name was Lester Wallace,” she replied. “He had a Texas driver's license and an address in Midland. A lot of priors. No permit for the gun. We've asked the Midland/Odessa PD to find out who he worked for and whatever else they can about him.”

“Texas, huh? He's a long way from home. Wonder how he knew where that body was.”

“I imagine because he buried Tom there fifteen months ago,” Sarah said. “Forensics in Cheyenne will see if they can match the bullet that killed Tom with Lester's gun.”

“Why would a guy from Texas shoot Tom?” Drew asked.

“Probably because Tom saw something he wasn't supposed to see.”

“Like what?” Drew asked.

“It'll be easier to hazard a guess once we know more about Lester Wallace,” Sarah said. “Like what he was doing here in Wyoming in the first place.”

Drew put his hands on either side of Sarah's face, looked into her eyes and said, “How are you this morning, really?”

“Sad. Angry. Guilty.” She shot him a defiant glance. “How should I feel? I shot and killed a man last night—who probably shot and killed my husband—who's been lying buried all this time not ten miles from here, while I've been…”

Tears welled in her eyes as she met his gaze and spilled over as she choked back a sob. “While I've been—”

“Shh. Shh,” Drew said, tightening his arms around her. “You've done nothing wrong, Sarah. Tom was gone for more than a year without a word. You've suspected for a long time what must have happened to him. Now you know for sure. He didn't leave you. He didn't leave his kids. He was taken from all of you against his will.”

One by one, he kissed the salty tears from her cheeks, then lifted her chin with his forefinger so he could reach her lips, which were pliant and giving. He deepened the kiss, offering comfort and…something more. “It's over, Sarah,” he murmured. “You can all go on with your lives.”

“What are you doing to my mother? Get away from her!”

Drew had been totally absorbed with comforting Sarah, so he was stunned by the rake of fingernails on his arm as Brooke clawed at him. He backed off, holding his hands up to keep her pummeling fists from doing any more harm.

Sarah wrapped her arms around Brooke from behind and said, “That's enough, Brooke. Stop it!”

Brooke sagged in her mother's hold, huge tears sending clumps of black mascara rolling down her cheeks, her mouth crumpling in a wail of pain and anger. “You stay away from my mom!”

“Behave yourself, Brooke,” Sarah admonished.

Brooke jerked herself free and said, “How can you kiss another man, when we just found out Daddy's dead?”

Drew met Sarah's stricken glance. He'd only meant to give her a kiss of comfort. He had no idea how or why it had become so much more. Maybe because they'd both needed each other so much. He got no further than that thought before both boys arrived at the kitchen door in their pajamas.

“What's going on?” Nate demanded. “Why is Brooke screeching like a wildcat?”

“I caught him kissing Mom!” Brooke said, pointing a chipped, scarlet-painted fingernail at Drew.

“So?” Nate said. “What's the big deal?”

“Mom is married!” Brooke spat.

“Dad is dead,” Nate shot back brutally. “He has been for more than a year.”

“I know that,” Brooke retorted. “But
he
didn't know that until last night.”

Drew had to admit she was right. “I'm sorry, Brooke, for any pain I caused you. Your mother and I—” Drew realized he had no idea where to go from there. His brief relationship with Sarah had been based on sexual attraction. He wasn't sure how it had become so much more complicated.

He met Sarah's agonized gaze, hoping she would know how to explain what he could not.

“I think you should leave,” she said softly, her eyes stark.

Drew looked around the room and realized he didn't belong here. They didn't want or need him. He was the outsider, the one who would never fit in. Not that he wanted to. “Yeah. Sure,” he said.

He didn't look at Sarah or her kids on his way to the living room to get his coat. He was at the front door when he remembered—again—that he'd driven Sarah's Tahoe from Bear Island. He didn't have his cell phone with him, either. It was in his pickup, which he'd left at the landing where he'd launched his fishing boat.

“Screw it,” he said as he opened Sarah's front door and stepped into the frigid cold. It wasn't that long a walk down the mountain to town. He could call a cab when he found a pay phone.

He didn't bother saying good-bye to anyone. Good-byes didn't matter, because he wasn't coming back.

In the end, Drew didn't have to walk very far, because an older man in a pickup stopped to see if he wanted a ride into town. Drew couldn't help thinking that sort of thing never would have happened to him in Houston. In a big city, every stranger was a potential robber, rapist or murderer. In a small town, strangers were soon identified as neighbors.

Except, that hadn't been the case lately in Jackson Hole. Far too many innocent young women had become victims.

Drew had his new friend drop him off at the jail. He'd talked with Clay on the phone in the wee hours of the morning and knew that, despite the fact it was Sunday morning, a bail hearing had been scheduled in the circuit court at ten o'clock—for which Drew was supposed to act as Clay's counsel.

Since Drew had previously only represented white-collar criminals, he'd urged Clay to contact an attorney who specialized in representing clients accused of murder.

“No need for that,” Clay had said. “All you have to do is show up. Bail will be set and I'll be out of here.”

Drew wanted to make one last plea to Clay in person to postpone the bail hearing and get a good criminal attorney to represent him.

It was after six, but the area outside the jail was deserted. Apparently, all the television folks were still tucked into their warm, cozy beds. Drew told the deputy on duty he was there as Clay's attorney, and Clay was brought—in manacles—to a room where they could talk.

“You look like hell,” Drew said, leaning against the wall as Clay paced the room in his yellow jumpsuit.

“You don't look much better,” his cousin replied. “What are you doing here at this godforsaken hour of the morning?”

“You need someone who specializes in criminal law, Clay,” Drew said. “If the judge starts asking questions and expecting me to spout case law, I'm not going to know diddly-squat. To be honest, if it were me, and someone told me the facts of this case, I wouldn't let you out on bail. The evidence is too damning.”

“Then I'm glad you're not the judge,” Clay said, twisting his body from side to side to stretch out the kinks. “Anyway, I took your advice. I talked to some hotshot criminal attorney in New York last night who's agreed to represent me. Unfortunately, he can't make it to Jackson in time for the bail hearing this morning.”

“Get it postponed,” Drew said. “That shouldn't be a problem.”

Clay shook his head. “I don't want to spend one more minute in that cell than I have to.”

“It's your neck,” Drew said, resigned to representing Clay, at least for the bail hearing. “Any idea who set you up?”

“The person I want to talk to is Niles Taylor. It's a little coincidental, don't you think, that Lester Wallace is from Midland, too?” Clay said. “Once I'm released, I plan to make a plea on TV to anyone who might have been blackmailed in a similar way to come forward—anonymously, if necessary.”

“You think some politician or businessman or judge who's been—maybe still is being—blackmailed is actually going to admit he paid off a blackmailer in return for not being exposed as a murderer?”

Clay shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

“I think you're barking up the wrong tree.”

“I'll be glad to bark up a different tree, if you can show me one.”

But Drew didn't have any better ideas to offer. “Do you think Kate's disappearance is part of this blackmail scheme?”

Clay frowned. “I think it has to be. I just don't understand why no one's contacted me. There's been no ransom demand, no threats on Kate's life, nothing.”

“The fact that she was picked up almost immediately after she arrived in town suggests someone knew she was coming and was waiting for her,” Drew said. “Has Morgan been able to determine the origin of that e-mail?”

“I got distracted and forgot to ask him about it when he was here last night—or rather, very early this morning.”

“Morgan was here at the jail?”

Clay smiled. “Morgan and Jocelyn flew in with my parents on their Citation.”

“Why would Jocelyn come all the way out here?” Drew asked. “Is there something going on between the two of you that you haven't told me about?”

“She was around a lot when Giselle was in the hospital, and we got to be friends,” Clay said. “Lately, she's been my hostess at a couple of parties and my date when I've needed one at social functions. My parents offered her the ride and she took it. It's as simple as that.”

“Right,” Drew said skeptically. “In my experience, a woman who flies halfway across the country to see a man accused of murder considers herself more than ‘just a friend.' ”

“Do me a favor. Forget about Jocelyn. Find Morgan and ask him about that e-mail to Kate.”

“Where is he staying?”

Clay raked an agitated hand through his hair. “He didn't stop by and see you at the ranch?”

Drew hesitated, then admitted, “I didn't sleep there last night.” He gave Clay a look that didn't invite questions.

“Jocelyn should know where he is,” Clay said.

“Where is she staying?”

Clay looked bemused as he said, “With Libby.”

Drew whistled. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Jocelyn couldn't find a hotel room, so Libby offered her a bed at her house.”

“Don't you think that's a little strange?”

“Why should it be?” Clay said. “Jocelyn is just a friend.”

“Uh huh,” Drew said. “And what does that make Libby? Just another friend?”

“Yes. Now go,” Clay said. “Find Morgan.”

“I'm gone,” Drew said. “I'll bring you something to wear to the hearing.”

Drew called Libby's house from the jail and Jocelyn told him that Morgan was staying at the Antler Motel on Pearl Street. Drew left the jail and walked the short distance to the motel, which appealed to tourists because it was constructed of logs and featured rooms with fireplaces and the inevitable Western decor.

He knocked on the outside door to Morgan's room, but there was no answer. Either Morgan wasn't in, or Jocelyn had given him the wrong room number.

When Drew checked at the registration desk, the clerk said, “Mr. DeWitt picked up a rental car last night. Haven't seen him since.”

Drew figured Morgan must have gone out for an early breakfast. He checked at the Wagon Wheel restaurant across the street, but there was no sign of his stepbrother. Drew realized he'd rather be having coffee and bacon and French toast with Sarah, but since that wasn't a choice, he decided to treat himself to sausage and biscuits at Bubba's.

It was a long walk down Broadway to Bubba's, but there was no wind, and it was so dry in Jackson it didn't feel as cold as he knew it was. Drew realized why the sun hadn't made an appearance when feathery snowflakes began to fall. He grinned and stuck out his tongue to catch a few.

Bubba's was cheerfully noisy and warm and, to his surprise, Drew saw Morgan sitting at a booth, deep in conversation with two men he didn't recognize. Since there was an empty seat, he told the hostess he was with friends and crossed the room to join them.

“Hey, Morgan,” he said, smiling at his stepbrother.

“Drew! Son of a gun! I didn't realize you were in town.”

Morgan was sitting by himself on one side of the booth, and he slid out and threw an arm around Drew, turning him toward the other two men. “This is my little brother Drew,” Morgan said. “Drew, this is Niles Taylor and Jimmy Joe Stovall.”

Each man rose up and reached across the table to greet Drew and shake his hand.

“Are you with someone? Can you join us?” Morgan asked.

“I'm all yours.” Drew gestured toward the booth and said to Morgan, “After you.”

Drew crowded in after his stepbrother and ordered his breakfast from the waitress who magically appeared. Without asking, she poured him a cup of coffee. Drew reached for the hot cup and only then noticed that no one had said another word since he'd sat down.

“What's got all of you up so early?” he asked.

“Clay, of course,” Morgan said.

“I feel like this is all my fault,” Niles said. “I was the one who invited him to that party last night and introduced him to that girl. Who knew he would drink so much?”

“I believe he was drugged,” Drew said.

“Well, yes, that's what he says,” Niles said.

Drew knew that if any of the more sophisticated drugs had been used, there would be no evidence of any drug left in Clay's body to prove his point. “I believe Clay,” he said.

“I feel bad because I was working at the house,” Jimmy Joe said. “I just didn't see any suspicious characters or hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“Working? But not on duty?” Drew said, staring at the Teton County patrolman's uniform Jimmy Joe was wearing. “Aren't you a deputy sheriff?”

Jimmy Joe swallowed the coffee in his mouth and said, “I was off-duty, working as a rent-a-cop to earn a little cash, keeping an eye on things for the homeowner.”

Drew wasn't going to say what he was thinking. That Jimmy Joe hadn't done his job very well, and a girl had ended up dead. “Who owns that home on Bear Island?” Drew asked.

“A friend of mine, a congressman,” Niles said. “He offered it to me for the party. I hired Jimmy Joe here at his recommendation.”

“Has this friend of yours loaned you his home before?” Drew said.
For other parties where other women got killed and other men got blackmailed?

“Once or twice.” Niles smiled and said, “Don't imagine he'll be loaning it to anyone again anytime soon.”

“What's his name?”

“Whose name?” Niles asked.

“This congressman friend of yours.”

“I don't think—”

“I can look it up in the county records,” Drew said. Only it was more of a threat.

Niles narrowed his eyes, turned to Morgan and said, “Your brother doesn't play nice.”

Morgan grinned and said, “You don't want to get him mad. Drew's hell on wheels when—”

“The name?” Drew interrupted.

“Harvey Donnelly,” Niles said.

“He's not a congressman,” Drew said sharply. “He's the governor of Texas!”

“I suppose I never think of him as Governor Donnelly,” Niles said. “He was Congressman Harvey Donnelly when I met him.”

Drew could see all the puzzle pieces fitting nicely into place. He'd often been guilty of making a leap in logic: A therefore D, skipping steps B and C. It had gotten him into trouble before, and it likely would again. But if he laid everything out, he got the same result.

A. Clay's office in Washington was investigating an oil consortium doing business with the Japanese.

B. Niles Taylor was the Midland oilman who'd organized the consortium.

C. With incriminating pictures of Clay in bed with a dead woman, Niles could force Clay to end his investigation, or at least make sure it never turned up anything negative.

Jimmy Joe Stovall was on hand to ensure that the local police and county deputies stayed away while the girl was murdered and the body removed. Except, Sarah's kids had interfered, and Sarah had shot the gunman from Midland, the possible—make that probable—murderer of Lourdes Ramirez.

Dupes like Congressman—now Governor—Donnelly, who might himself have been a blackmail victim once upon a time, provided the site of the intrigue, while being able to offer the alibi of being far, far from the scene of the crime.

D. Crime solved. Villains exposed.

Drew had heard it said that the most obvious solution to a puzzle was often the right one. It had only taken one mistake—not removing Lourdes's body before Clay woke up and called the police—to bring the whole scheme tumbling down.

The problem now, of course, was how to prove his theory and clear Clay's name.

The biggest question remaining was how Kate's abduction fit into the picture. He could see no purpose for her kidnapping if Niles had intended to blackmail Clay all along. Or maybe he'd worried that the blackmail scheme would fail and wanted insurance that Clay would cooperate. That was still a possibility.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Drew said, “There's something I need to discuss privately with my brother.” He stood and said, “Can you step outside with me a minute, Morgan?”

“We're done with our breakfast,” Niles said, swiping his mouth with his napkin. “Why don't we excuse ourselves?”

Jimmy Joe picked up his coffee cup and slurped the rest of it down, then scooted across the booth after Niles and said, “Nice seeing you, Morgan. Drew.”

When they were gone, Drew sat down on the other side of the booth.

The waitress cleared the table and said, “Your breakfast will be right up.”

“What is it, little brother?” Morgan asked.

“Clay wants to know if you've discovered who sent that e-mail to Kate.”

Morgan shook his head. “Somebody clever, is all I know.”

“How is it you ended up having breakfast with Niles and his friend?” Drew asked.

Morgan's eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“Why don't you want to tell me?”

Morgan grinned. “Why so suspicious?”

“You're avoiding my question.”

Morgan shook his head and said, “I knew Niles had hosted the party last night—”

“How did you know that?” Drew interrupted.

“Clay told me. Hey,” Morgan said. “What's going on here? I'm one of the good guys.”

“Then how do you know Niles Taylor?”

“Only in the context of the ongoing investigation of his oil consortium,” Morgan said. “I sat down here to see if I could find out any more about what happened last night on Bear Island.”

“Who else is involved in that oil consortium?” Drew asked.

“A bunch of Texas oilmen, including Niles Taylor. And the Grayhawks—King and North.”