The Trophy Hunter (11 page)

“Will Jess be joining us?”

“Who?” asked Rogart, after a short
silence.

“Jess Edwards,” she replied, enunciating
clearly.

“Oh, your detective friend,” he replied in a
puzzled voice. “Why would she be joining us?”

Ooh-kay.
“I thought,” she ventured,
“you two were … friends.”
Now, there’s a euphemism.

“Jess is certainly friendly. I’ll give her
that. I’d forgotten you two were close.”

How could he forget something like
that?
“Best friends. That’s not a problem?”

“Why would it be? How’s noon today? Is that
too short notice?” He sounded boyish in his eagerness.

Diana felt a twinge in her heart.
Melt-down.

Chapter 19

A relic out of Denver’s past, the Buckhorn
Exchange sat at the corner of Tenth Avenue and Osage, a brown,
rectangular two-story wedge of a building built in 1893. Just south
of Colfax and west of the Convention Center, the Buckhorn exuded
the flavor of its colorful past, spilling its aura out across the
surrounding area. Diana felt it as she parked her car in the
rapidly filling lot. Glancing around her, she wondered which
vehicle was Rogart’s, or if he’d even arrived yet.

She wore a black blazer over a soft cashmere
turtleneck and gray wool slacks with matching leather boots. The
slacks rode easily on her slender hips these days, the swelling
from her surgery reduced to a memory.

The mid-day sun played hide and seek among
billowy white clouds, but so far the sky was friendly.

She locked her car and walked briskly to the
entrance of the weathered building, noting the long, narrow windows
that lined the second story. She’d heard that the new owners had
added a roof garden, but doubted that it would be open before
spring arrived.

The heavy wooden door took her concentrated
effort to open. She was encouraged by the fact that there was
almost no pull from the area of her surgery. Inside, the odor of
roasting meat hit her olfactory senses full-on. It took a moment
longer for her eyes to become accustomed to the somber interior.
Booths upholstered in dark brown leather ran down one side of the
main floor.

“One for lunch, Ma’am?” The bearded maitre d’
wore black jeans, cowboy boots, and a fringed western shirt.

“I’m meeting someone.” She took a better look
around her. Game heads crowded the walls, their glassy eyes taking
on a knowing gaze in the dim light. Pheasants, grouse and all
manner of game bird seemed ready to rise up from the oak-paneled
bar.

Diana took a step backward and felt a hand on
her elbow. She turned slightly in the close quarters as the
restaurant began to fill with the lunch crowd.

“Diana.”

As Rogart’s eyes hit hers, she felt as if
she’d been skewered. Even in the dim light. The image of a
butterfly impaled on a pin flashed briefly across her
consciousness, only to be swallowed up in the sensory potpourri
around her.

“We have a reservation upstairs,” she heard
Rogart tell the host.

Then she allowed him to pilot her up a
staircase to the second floor. Quick, backward glances at his
thighs moving under tight jeans sent Diana’s pulse racing. He
smelled of leather and musk. At the top of the stairs, a
magnificent white oak bar dominated the room. The booths were oak,
upholstered in blood-red leather. The effect was numbing. A
full-bodied wolf mount looked so alive that she found herself
wanting to reach out and pat it.
Not a healthy idea.

A pretty hostess in western attire led them
to a table by one of the long, narrow windows. Diana watched a
smile of familiarity light the woman’s face as she greeted Rogart.
As he held out Diana’s chair, she wished she could see his face.
Diana was certain that she caught a wink from the hostess. Had
Rogart initiated or returned the gesture?

When they had settled into their chairs,
Diana let her eyes wander up from the menu, toward Rogart. Again,
it was like being in somebody’s high-beams.

“Would you care for something to drink?” he
invited. “A glass of wine?”

She suddenly longed for a glass of white
wine. Zinfandel, maybe. “You?” she asked, not wanting to look like
a lush.

Rogart shook his head. “I don’t drink
alcohol.”

“Uh, I see. I’ll have some herbal tea.”

His lips curved up in a crooked smile that
was quite charming, but she found herself squirming again under his
intense hazel gaze. “I’m not an alcoholic, Diana. I just don’t
enjoy the effects of alcohol.” Somehow, his eyes didn’t match his
smile.

She watched his expression soften as he
continued. “Alcohol played a part in the abuse of my wife. I don’t
fault people for enjoying a drink, but it just doesn’t have a place
in my life.” As he spoke, he spread his hands before him on the
table, a gesture that called her attention to his long,
strong-looking fingers. He wore a wide turquoise and silver band on
the third finger of his left hand. She wondered if it was a wedding
ring.

As she turned her attention back to the menu,
Diana was distracted by the candle light that danced across the
table. She tried to focus on a food choice. Perhaps chicken salad.
She wasn’t a vegetarian in the strict sense of the word.

When her attention bounced back to Rogart,
she found him grinning broadly. But not at her. A lovely Asian
waitress had presented herself to take their orders. The girl’s
reflection, mirrored in the window glass behind Rogart, revealed an
open flirtation in progress.

“I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad,” Diana
interrupted, amusement creeping into her voice.
If you don’t
mind, Miss Hottie.

The waitress moved into view, glanced briefly
in Diana’s direction, then jotted something on her order
pad─hopefully, Diana’s order. Then the girl moved closer to Rogart.
“I recommend the elk medallions,” said the waitress, but she
pronounced it “airk medarions.”

Diana took a sip of water, suppressed an
embarrassed giggle as Rogart responded, “I’ll try the airk
medarions.” The absence of expression on his face would have shamed
a poker champion.

When the young woman had left, Diana stared
Rogart down. “You realize how rude that was,” she chided, “how
politically incorrect?”

“I doubt her mind was on politics,” he
countered.

Diana felt a wicked smile coming on. “You
weren’t exactly fending her off, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’m not made of stone.”

Diana nearly choked on her water. “I won’t
touch that one.”

They both laughed heartily.

Diana was warmed by the transformation in
Rogart’s face. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before,” she
said spontaneously.

“It’s been awhile,” he replied.

She watched his face regain composure, the
sharpness she found disturbing settling back into his eyes. “I
doubt that,” she blurted, then was relieved when he ignored her
double entendre.

As they waited for their lunches to arrive,
she asked, “How did your children happen to be living with their
grandparents in the first place?”

He looked back at her, his glance unwavering,
long enough for her to regret asking the question. “As you can
imagine,” he finally said, “things were pretty strained between my
in-laws and myself, following my … incarceration.”

She nodded. He knew that she knew about it.
No need to probe that wound.

“While I was … away, Brandi and the kids
stayed with her folks, not at our place.”

Diana tried not to frown. But it seemed
incongruous that Brandi Rogart would run back to her abuser. Then
she recalled more than a few instances in her crusade against
domestic violence when her own clients had done just that.

“I’m sure it was Joe’s idea,” continued
Rogart. “Brandi wouldn’t have had the strength to oppose him once
he’d laid down the law.” He lowered his head and shook it slightly.
“I felt so helpless. I couldn’t protect her.” She wished she could
see his eyes.

“But you got out of prison. And you continued
to socialize with your in-laws.”

“Is this an interrogation?” he asked, his
eyes hardening as he looked up at her.

Diana felt herself blush. It must have
sounded like that to him. “Sorry, but it just seems like you would
have wanted to get your family as far away as possible. Moved to
another state even.”

He shook his head and looked down at the
table again. “I did, but I had no financial means to do it. Joe
even holds the mortgage on my house. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t
foreclosed now that Brandi’s gone.”

Gone?
As she realized that he had
deflected her original question regarding the children, the
waitress brought their food. Diana watched the open flirtation
continue, noting that Rogart was not entirely passive during this
non-verbal exchange.

When the girl left, Rogart smiled at Diana.
“I know I’m behaving like an adolescent. It’s sort of sweet to have
somebody find you attractive … when the truth is you’re at the
bottom of your game.”

Oh, yes. Know that feeling.
Diana
smiled back, then took a bite of her chicken Caesar.

When they finished, the waitress placed the
bill in front of Rogart. Diana wondered if this was where he would
discover that he’d left his wallet at home. Instead, he fished out
a battered credit card and placed it on the bill, then snapped shut
the brown leather folder.

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled and
said, “I never quite relax until they bring it back for me to sign.
Then I exhale and think, whew, there’s still some credit left.”

They both laughed. And the waitress did
indeed return for Rogart’s autograph. Diana wondered what kind of
tip he wrote in. He seemed to take an inordinate time with his
signature.
Did he write in his phone number?

Rogart appeared in no hurry to leave the
table. Diana watched him signal a busboy to refill their water
glasses. “You in a hurry to get back to the office?” he asked.

“Not really. I don’t have any appointments
this afternoon.”

He nodded. “Good. There’s something I’d like
to run by you.”

Okay. So this isn’t a free lunch.
Diana matched his gaze, feeling a nibble of disappointment.

“My financial situation can’t go on like
this.”

“You’re probably right.”

“The fact is there’s a ready solution. My
wife has a discretionary trust that was set up for her by her
grandmother, Joe’s mom. Problem is Joe’s the trustee. He’d never
willingly part with a nickel because he wants me to fail in
supporting the kids, so he’ll have a reason to take them.”

“Do you know the terms of the trust? Can it
be used to support your children?”

Rogart reached into his inside jacket pocket
and withdrew a manila envelope. “Better yet, I have the trust paper
right here.”

Diana blinked. “Trusts are not generally of
public record. Their privacy is what makes them attractive. How’d
you get a copy?”

“I found it in a drawer at home after Brandi
disappeared. If I’m reading it correctly, it can be used to support
our kids. But what do I know? Could you at least take a look at
it?”

* * * * *

What harm could it do?
In the parking
lot Diana transferred the manila envelope under her arm while she
got out her car keys. After she pressed the lock release, Rogart
opened the door for her and held it while she got in.

As she rolled down the car window, Rogart
leaned against the door. “Thank you, Diana. You don’t know how much
I appreciate this.”

“No guarantees. I’ll just take a look and get
back to you.”

To the west, behind Rogart, the sun had paled
and was nearly obscured by clouds that had taken on a darker hue.
Lunch had lasted much longer than Diana had anticipated.

Then, as she put the key in the ignition, she
felt him move and turned to see him leaning toward her through the
open window. Paralysis set in as she felt his warm lips cover hers.
Sensations she thought were gone for good ran through her body like
electric charges. Yet she couldn’t kiss him back. Though she felt
the urgency of his tongue pushing on her teeth, she kept them
rigidly clamped shut, in spite of what the rest of her body
wanted.

She blinked as the clouds shifted and a glint
of silver in the row of parked vehicles behind Rogart stole her
attention. Diana wrenched free, broke off the kiss with a gasp.

As the sound escaped her lips, Rogart whirled
to see what had so alarmed her.

“Flannigan’s truck,” she managed to squeeze
out. “He’s following me again.”

Rogart turned and strode purposefully toward
the silver pickup. Diana could see the hood ornament glinting in
the sun’s last rays. Then darkening clouds shifted again, dimming
the picture.

After what seemed like minutes, but she knew
were only seconds, Rogart came back with the news. “The truck’s
empty. It sure looks like Joe’s.”

She couldn’t stop trembling. She wondered how
much of the reaction was fear of Joe Flannigan and how much was
fallout from Rogart’s unexpected kiss. “I think I may need to get a
restraining order if this keeps up.”

She watched him glance up and down the
street. “It’s me he’s following.” He looked hard into her eyes.
“Looking for something he can use against me. I’m sorry. I just
used poor judgment.”

The kiss, she thought. His SOB son-in-law
kissing his former attorney? If Flannigan saw it, he’d go
ballistic. “We both did,” she said.
It won’t happen
again.

“A restraining order wouldn’t be a bad idea,”
he said. “Lock your doors and windows.”

Diana fumbled with the locks and the ignition
key. When she backed out of the parking space and jerkily drove
toward the street, Rogart was nowhere in sight.