A Man for All Seasons (24 page)

“Oh, thank God!” Josie said from the doorway when she saw that Marc was all right. She blinked at his captive. “Silvia?” she exclaimed, stunned.

The blonde turned, glaring at her. “I'm the wife of the lieutenant governor,” she said haughtily. “No one calls me by my first name unless I give them permission.”

Brannon gave Josie a long, meaningful stare.

“Of course, Mrs. Webb,” Josie said, humoring her. She frowned at Brannon. He was looking around the barn with curious intensity.

“The ledger,” he murmured. He looked at his prisoner. “Silvia, is it in here? Do you know?”

“Dale wouldn't tell me,” Silvia said vacantly. “I went to bed with him and he still wouldn't. Then Dale had a private detective follow us and take pictures,” she added. “I didn't know until he showed them to me. He said he'd give them to the press if I didn't get him
the money he wanted. That he'd turn the ledger over to the police. It would all have been over, don't you see?” she asked earnestly. “Bib would have lost his job and I wouldn't have been special anymore. We have to protect our family name. My grandmother always said so. She used to cry all the time after my brother died. Daddy killed him, too, you know. He hit him too hard. He was sorry, but we had to make sure nobody knew. So we threw him in with the horses. We said he was careless and got trampled.” She smiled at Brannon. “I like to ride horses. Dale and I used to come up here and ride when the old man was visiting Dale's mother. He had this special saddle, handmade.” She frowned. “I won't get to go to the governor's ball this year,” she said suddenly, her face falling.

Brannon and Josie were exchanging gazes. Brannon turned. The saddlebags. Old man Holliman had mentioned them. He spared an absent thought for where the old man was, but he was too intent on those saddlebags to concentrate.

He looked against the wall, where the saddles were kept. There were only two. One was old and stained dark from use. A newer one with fancy tooling and
blackened silver accessories had a double saddlebag, also handmade.

On a hunch, Brannon pulled the saddlebags down and opened the first one. It was empty. It was probably a futile hope, he thought as he unbuckled the second one.

Then he felt it. A thick package, the size of a legal file, encased in plastic. He brought it out. There was a manila envelope inside a firmly closed flat plastic bag.

He glanced at Josie.

She moved to join him as he unzipped the plastic bag and pulled out the envelope. While Josie held the bag he opened the envelope. Inside were embarrassing color photographs, very explicit, of Dale Jennings and Silvia Webb. Brannon quickly slipped them back into the envelope and pulled out a small ledger. Tucked inside were receipts and at least two handwritten notes, one with Jake Marsh's signature. There were four check stubs, with Silvia Webb's signature on them. And there, in black, was every transaction made by Marsh's associate who'd used blackmail in the election to get Bib Webb's opponent to drop out of the race, complete with names and addresses and dates and amounts. It
was dynamite. It was evidence that could send people to prison.

“Bib won't like it,” Silvia said with a vacant smile. “He'll lose his job.”

“I don't think so,” Brannon said coldly.

“Jake thinks he will. Don't you, darling?” Silvia said suddenly, looking at the wide entrance to the barn.

“Yes, I do. Thanks for finding the evidence for me, Brannon” came a slow, dark voice from the doorway.

Brannon and Josie turned to find a handsome man in his late thirties holding an automatic weapon.

“Let's have it,” he told Brannon, holding out a gloved hand. “Now.”

Brannon let it fall to the ground and both hands went to his sides. “You come get it,” Brannon replied.

“I've got the gun, Brannon!” Marsh said.

Brannon didn't look at Josie, but he spoke to her. “Move away, Josie. Now!”

Josie wasn't inclined to argue, even though she was afraid for him. She moved beside Silvia, her eyes wide with fear when she saw Brannon's posture alter just slightly. Surely to God, he wasn't going to try to outdraw a man with a cocked, leveled automatic pistol…!

Brannon was watching the other man. He knew, as Josie didn't, that Marsh would pull the trigger. The
man had too much to lose to leave witnesses. Like Silvia, he wouldn't hesitate at gunning down anyone who threatened his freedom. This was going to be a last-ditch stand, and it was a certified long shot that he could draw and fire before Marsh pulled that trigger. But he was adept with his pistol, and he wasn't afraid of bullets. It was the only chance he was likely to get, and he wasn't wasting it.

Suddenly Holliman yelled, surprising Jake Marsh. The old man had snuck into the barn. He had his shotgun.

Brannon drew his pistol. And with such deadly speed, and accuracy, that Marsh crumpled and went down before he even could squeeze the trigger of his own gun. The old man had given the Texas Ranger a split-second edge. In the silence that followed, Josie's gasp was audible.

Brannon went straight toward Marsh without looking anywhere else except at his fallen adversary, unflinching, unyielding, without a second's hesitation. He bent over and jerked up Marsh's pistol while Marsh was holding his thigh and trying to stop the blood flowing from it.

“How did you…do that?” Marsh choked, still disbelieving what he'd seen.

“I hold the record for the quick-draw in southern Texas,” Brannon told the groaning man calmly. “I've never been beaten in competition.” He gave the other man a cold stare. “Good thing, under the circumstances.”

“You shot Jake,” Silvia said calmly. Her eyes seemed to be glazed. “I shot Dale, you know. He was blackmailing me with those photos, but just a couple of weeks ago he called me and said he was willing to give them back, and the ledger, if I'd get him some money right away so he could help his mother.”

“Oh, God, will you stop talking and get an ambulance?” Marsh groaned.

Brannon reached into his pocket for his flip phone and made the call. Then he noticed Holliman watching Silvia with fury in his eyes.

The old man moved to where Silvia was standing and he lifted his shotgun. “By the time they get here, they'll need two ambulances!” His voice quivered with emotion.

“Don't make me shoot you,” Brannon told Holliman, dropping his hand to the butt of his pistol for the second time in less than five minutes. He crouched slightly, and his silver eyes glittered.

Holliman hesitated, but only for a second. He glared
at Brannon, but he lowered the barrel of the shotgun with a resigned sigh. “All right, but it was tempting.” He eyed Brannon. “Don't he remind you of a rattlesnake about to strike?” he asked nobody in particular. Holliman looked down at Marsh and up at Silvia, who was smiling and just staring into space. “What's the matter with her?” he asked.

“She's crazy, that's what's…wrong with her,” Marsh groaned. “I'm sorry I ever met her!”

“That's no way to talk about the love of your life,” Silvia said with a sigh. “And after all I've done for you, too.”

“You've got me shot and I'll probably go to prison, thanks to you!”

“Losing a lot of blood, ain't he?” Holliman said with no particular emotion.

“Looks that way,” Brannon said carelessly.

“One of you could put a tourniquet on him, for God's sake,” Josie said irritably, glaring at them as she bent beside Marsh. “I need a stick and a handkerchief.”

“You've got class, lady,” Marsh bit off.

“Don't you touch him,” Silvia burst out wildly. “He belongs to me!”

“I just went back on the market,” Marsh said, wincing as Josie used two handkerchiefs that Brannon tied
together for her, and a ballpoint pen, to make a tourniquet around his upper thigh. She tightened it until the bleeding slowed.

“I wouldn't do much of that, Miss Langley,” Holliman said.

She glanced up. “Why not?”

“He might live,” he said coldly, glaring at the downed man.

Brannon chuckled. “If he dies, you'll miss his trial,” he pointed out. “And it's going to be a humdinger.”

“Hadn't thought of that.” Holliman brightened. “In that case, I'll go phone 911 again, just to make sure…oh. There they come.”

The sirens were barely audible when the ambulance roared up in the yard, along with a Bexar County sheriff's car. Odd, Josie thought, because Floresville was just over the border of Bexar County into Wilson County.

A young deputy got out and came into the barn behind the EMTs who went immediately to work on Marsh. Josie and Brannon recognized him as the deputy they'd seen at Mrs. Jennings's apartment after her death.

“Hi, Brannon,” he called. “Sheriff's department over here in Wilson is swamped, so I volunteered to take
the call for them. Interagency cooperation,” he added with a grin. “What's going on?”

“Officer, arrest those people,” Silvia said firmly. “I am the wife of the lieutenant governor. These people—” she indicated Brannon and Josie “—have my property and I want you to take it away from them right now!”

The deputy glanced toward the tall man with the silver star on his pocket and the pistol on his hip. He noticed the automatic weapon stuck in Brannon's belt and Jake Marsh's wound. He pursed his lips.

“Been shooting it out again, huh, Brannon?” he mused.

“How did you know that?” Josie wanted to know.

“Oh, we get at least one idiot a year who thinks he can fire before Brannon can draw that hog-legged cannon he wears,” he murmured. “Nice to work in the same city as a real live walking legend, sir. I hope to be just like you when I grow up.”

Brannon burst out laughing, because the deputy had to be thirty if he was a day. “Don't get ambitious. I'm not resigning so you can get my job.”

“Saw right through me,” the deputy replied, shaking his head. “There's about a hundred applicants for every Ranger job that opens up, and only about a hun
dred and seven working Rangers in the whole state of Texas.” He sighed audibly. “Oh, well, I can spend my life working as a deputy, I reckon. Great hours, wonderful company—” he glanced at Marsh and grimaced “—and nice benefits if I live to collect any.” He glanced at Silvia. “Want me to take this lady in for you?”

“Yes, thanks. I'll come along right behind you with the evidence.” He held up the plastic bag. “You're about to see an evil empire fall on a ledger,” he added, glancing down at the wounded man, who was being loaded onto a gurney. “Jake Marsh, former mob chief, and very elusive just lately. He'll look good in striped pants.”

“I won't…go to prison!” Marsh raged.

“Nor will I,” Silvia said haughtily.

“Come along, lady. You can tell it to the judge,” the deputy said.

“I'll have you prosecuted!” she shrieked.

“I'll wear my best dress, too,” he added as he led her to his patrol car and put her carefully in the back seat.

Brannon laughed grimly. Josie was about to say something, but he stopped her. “We don't want to stunt his emotional growth,” he cautioned. “He'll find out who she is soon enough.”

Josie slid her hand into his and held on tight. “I'm glad you're okay,” she said huskily. “I thought you were
going to commit suicide for a few seconds there.” She was still shivering a little with reaction, even now.

He slid an arm around her. “You can't kill a Texas Ranger unless you put a stake through his heart.”

“That's vampires, sweetheart,” she reminded him.

His eyebrows went up. “You're kidding!”

“Will somebody get me the hell…out of here?” Jake Marsh groaned.

“Make sure he goes straight to the prison ward when you get him to the medical center,” Brannon told the ambulance men firmly. “I'll radio ahead and have a man waiting at the emergency room door.”

The ambulance EMTs, both very young, nodded. “He's not in any condition to cause much trouble,” one of them said with a grin.

“If he tries to, point him toward Floresville and shove him out the back door,” Brannon told them.

Marsh groaned louder.

 

It took the rest of the day to write up the report, turn in the evidence and talk to the assistant district attorney who was going to be handling the case. Grier sat in with the small group in the meeting room.

“If that isn't the damnedest story I've ever heard,” Grier said, just shaking his head. “We've been after
Marsh for years with no success whatsoever. The FBI has been after him for years. The state attorney general's been after him for years. And you two just waltz in and put him away!”

“We got lucky,” Brannon said easily.

“What about the hit man, York?” Josie asked worriedly. “He's still on the loose, isn't he?”

Grier glanced at the young Bexar County sheriff's deputy who'd been out at the Holliman place. He was now occupying a chair in the office with Brannon and the others, since he'd been involved in the arrest.

The deputy leaned back in his chair with a wicked grin. “No need to worry about York,” he murmured. “I was driving down the 410 Loop, minding my own business, when this beat-up old car went by me like I was backing up. Even though it was my lunch hour, I chased it down and stopped it. And lo and behold, there was York himself with a dirty bandage on his bullet wound.” He pursed his lips and smiled. “He's sitting down at the county jail even as we speak. And if Marsh sings like I expect him to, we'll have York just where we want him.”

“But he didn't kill anybody,” Josie pointed out. “Silvia killed Garner and Jennings.”

“Yes, but Marsh hired York to kill a man and to try
to run down Judd Dunn two months ago when he started investigating the murders that Marsh was suspected in.” He grinned slowly. “Dunn has worked day and night to get enough evidence to put him away for good. He's the one who told me about the make and model of York's car. I've been looking for it for the past week. York is just going to love prison,” he added with a sigh. “And the men on the inside will certainly love a young, sweet-faced handsome young fellow like him, don't you think?”