Foster Justice (23 page)

As they approached the red canyons of home, silence ruled in the truck as it had for a long time. Chad glanced for the umpteenth time at Jasmine. She still sat as far away from him as she could, buffing her nails, which should have been worn down to nubs by now.

He knew if he was to make peace with her before all the crap hit the fan, it had to be now. Tomorrow would either dawn a new day for them or be the end of any hope of a relationship. He hesitated, the words burning in the back of his throat, especially with Trey's dead body in the back, but the softer side of him, instilled by his loving mother, pleaded with him. She'd never wanted either of them to be alone, and she would not have been judgmental about Jasmine, as their father would have. Most compelling, Trey had certainly given his blessing, almost literally with his last breath.
I love the scent of jasmine.
His words whispered in Chad's memory.
I love the scent of Jasmine, too, little brother
, Chad whispered back to him in his head.

As the colorful red and purple strata near Palo Duro Canyon came into view, Chad's joy at being back where he belonged made the crow he had to eat a bit tastier. He took a deep breath. The words came out much easier than he would have expected. “Ignore me all you want, but it's reckoning time. For both of us.”

She stiffened slightly but still didn't look at him. The buffing went faster.

“Tomorrow you'll either be in custody or staying in Amarillo's nicest hotel, courtesy of the Feds and the Texas Rangers. I'm sorry I had to bring you back this way, but with a little time, I think you'll see you belong here, just like I do.”

The buffing stopped, but she still didn't look at him.

Chad burst out, “If you hate my guts, why did you help me so many times?”

She spoke, her tone icy. “You're right about one thing. It's reckoning time between us. We have a word for it in Texas. Comeuppance. You're about to get yours, cowboy.”

“Jasmine, I . . . that is . . . goddammit, you keep me addlepated or horny as hell. I can barely think when I'm around you. But this much I know . . .” He trailed off, turning into the narrow caliche road that led to the homestead. He stayed quiet, forcing her to look at him with guarded green eyes. He slowed to a stop, knowing he probably had one chance to get this right. He flung his hat onto the seat, wanting no shade over his face. For once, they'd see each other clearly, no shadows, no guessing.

“You make me sad when I make you cry. You make me happy when I hear you laugh. You make me see possibilities instead of problems when you wake up in my arms.” His voice lowered. “You make me see bright colors instead of shades of gray. Just like Trey wanted for me.” His tone lowered almost to a whisper. “He gave us his blessing and that means a lot to me.”

The nail file went back into her bottomless satchel. Her head bowed, and he couldn't read her face, though her mouth trembled slightly. “So you believe me finally? That I've never been involved with Thomas, Trey wasn't my boyfriend, that I've tried to help find him from the beginning, and that I may be a stripper but I don't live a stripper lifestyle?”

What did he say to that? He couldn't lie to her, but suddenly, the memory of that young woman's voice came to him on the recording he'd taken from Kinnard's phone. He reached into the backseat for his duffel bag, pulled out the recorder, and put the counter on the correct spot. He hit Play.

She listened to the message, her face going white. When he hit Stop, she nodded. “That's Mary. Trey's girlfriend. I didn't play him, or lure him to California. She did. But she also fell in love with him.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. It beeped, indicating the battery was very low, as she held it to his ear.

Sinclair's angry voice blasted him. “You stupid son of a bitch. Trey's real girlfriend, Mary, is turning state's witness against Kinnard and she's meeting him tomorrow at four p.m. on your land, wearing a wire. I want you back on duty by then. You caused all this mess, so you're going to help mop it up. You've been a-keepin' on a-comin' after the wrong redhead. This Jasmine girl is innocent. According to Mary, she didn't even know what was going on. Call me as soon as you hear this.” And he hung up sharply.

The cell phone fell out of Chad's hand to the seat. Jasmine took it and put it back in her bag. Chad knew he should fire up the truck, deliver Chester and Trey to the homestead, only a couple miles away now, and get to the office lickety-split. It was three, so there wasn't much time.

Instead, he slumped against his seat, feeling two inches high. It took all he had to turn and look at Jasmine. He whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Jasmine moved her wrinkled blouse aside to bare her tattoo. “And this?”

Chad hesitated, and that was apparently enough to spoil the tentative truce. The memory of that big box of condoms came back to torment him.

Jasmine turned her face away. “Just do what you have to do and get me into a hotel. I'll always be damaged goods to you, and I can't and won't fight that anymore.”

Chad opened his mouth, but then, in the distance on the bluff, he saw a familiar unmarked SUV. Sinclair's vehicle, high above his place. Chad knew instantly Sinclair had brought this Mary to the meeting himself.

Which meant one thing—he was concerned for her safety.

“We'll settle this later, but you have to give me a chance to make things right.”

“I don't have to do anything.” Jasmine buttoned her blouse to her neck.

Chad fired up the truck and covered the last two miles to his place far faster than he should have. On the way, he turned on his police radio to his old frequency, now that he was within range. He doubted if Sinclair would broadcast very freely given how slippery Kinnard was, but it was worth a shot.

Mostly static and then clear, “Foster, you there?”

“Here, Captain.” Chad turned up the volume, careening to a stop in the front driveway near the pasture. “Just got home.”

“Call me on that gal's phone.”

Jasmine handed over her phone without a word. She got out of the truck and walked around, appraising the run-down old white clapboard house.

While he talked to Sinclair on her phone, Jasmine led Chester out of the trailer. The stallion was tired of his confinement and ready to run. He pulled at his lead. She led him to the water trough.

Chad hung up the phone and handed it back to Jasmine. “It went dead while I was talking. You can charge it inside while you wait for me.” He ran to the sagging screen door, opened it, and unlocked the heavy handmade oak front door. He peeked inside, turning on lights, and then turned back to Jasmine.

“It's not much, needs some repair, but it's home.”

Jasmine looked inside the open door, back to Chad. He saw her ambivalence and knew it would probably take a while for her to forgive him. He couldn't really blame her.

He tried to take her hands, but she pulled away. He said, his drawl exaggerated by his stifled emotions, “Just give me until tomorrow. I promise I'll make things right. If I don't—you can handcuff me to the trailer and I'll confess to kidnapping you. I'll go quietly if they arrest me.”

Chad pulled Chester away from the water trough and got the saddle from the storage compartment inside the trailer. He saddled Chester with the easy efficiency of the born horseman. Then he ducked inside his truck, pulling out his pearl-handled pistol and carefully loading it. He strapped on his holster, took a long swig of water, and then mounted Chester. “I'll be back as soon as I can. Make yourself at home.” He kneed Chester up the long drive toward the bluff.

Just before the bend took her out of sight, Chad turned in the saddle to look back. Jasmine still stood in the yard, swaying slightly, as if she wasn't sure what to do.

For now he had no time to think about her or all the stupid mistakes he'd made. He reined Chester up onto the bluff. Only then did he see the small rental car parked some distance away, down the slope toward the huge fracking rig that had been erected since he'd left. He pushed his hat back, scowling, because he understood enough about horizontal drilling to realize this rig probably was angled under their homestead, and this half of the land was his, not Trey's.

He glanced at his watch. Three forty-five. Their new accomplice was waiting near the rig. He saw the gleam of red hair exactly the deep auburn shade of Jasmine's and this first physical proof of how wrong he'd been literally made him sick to his stomach. It also increased his fiery rage at Kinnard and his own stupidity. Like a puppet master, the man had used old Foster values against him and Trey. Chad was so glad Sinclair had gruffly reinstated him during their phone call, or more accurately, never accepted his resignation. No wonder his databases still worked and Riley had cooperated in sharing sensitive files with him . . . but they were on his turf now, quite literally.

Sinclair had parked behind a huge pile of boulders so he couldn't be seen from below. He walked up to meet Chad. “About time you got back.”

Chad got down. “Fill me in.”

Sinclair did, in his usual economical, logical way, finishing with, “And she's never worn a wire before, so I thought I should supervise, stay close enough where I can help if she gets in trouble.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before they saw a rugged Jeep cross the dry arroyo separating Foster land from the next parcel over. It was four-wheel drive, and the man driving it knew how to handle the terrain.

“Not taking any chances, is he? Won't even use the road.” Sinclair used binoculars to get a good look at his adversary.

Even at this distance, Chad recognized the iron-gray hair and erect posture of the man behind the wheel. His lips curled in contempt and he wasn't even aware his hand had fallen to his pistol butt until Sinclair gave him that minatory look that always pulled Chad back from being overly ambitious.

“No more vigilante justice this time, Foster. You did enough of that with that gal Jasmine, and I can't cover for you anymore. We do this by the book and the bastard will go away for good, given the amount of fraud and Trey's death.”

Chad's teeth ground together. But he only nodded. Still, he clutched the pistol butt as if his hand had a will of its own.

 

Down below, Mary pasted a smile on her face, though her fists clenched at her sides. In her lifetime, she'd had to suck up to so many men she hated that this meeting should have been easy, but it wasn't. But then she'd never hated anyone as much as she hated Thomas Kinnard.

Still, when he slowly got out of the Jeep, doing a three-sixty to appraise the terrain all around him, she moved forward to hug him. “Glad you made it okay. How was your flight?”

He shrugged. “Have you heard from Jasmine?”

“Not lately. Why, is there anything wrong?”

“Not really, just curious. Why the hell is this rig idle?” He glared from the expensive pile of massive Tinkertoys, back to her.

“My guys walked off the job, a dispute over their wages since they're not union. I had no authority to give them a raise.” Her voice hardened a bit. “And as I told you, I've been so worried about Trey, I was not working efficiently anyway. The cell number you gave me was bad, and despite my repeated messages on your cell and at the office, you've never called me with a new one. Why is that?”

Kinnard looked away from her piercing blue eyes. “Trey and I had a falling out. I think he's changed his number because I can't reach him either.”

You lying bastard
, Mary thought, but she only said coldly, “If that were the case, he'd have called me with the new number. Something has happened to him.”

Kinnard glared at her. “Look, your problems with your boyfriend are your own business, but this rig goes back on line by tomorrow morning or you're off the job. You think you're the only geologist around who will take the generous compensation I'm giving you?”

“It won't mean a hell of a lot to me in jail.”

Up in the huge boulders, Chad and Sinclair exchanged a concerned look as they listened, a tiny recorder whirring in Sinclair's SUV. As usual, Kinnard was cagey. Nothing he said tied him to Trey's death, but if Mary continued with her needling, he'd suspect her. They could both see she was starting to lose it.

Chad began inching toward the bluff so he could see. The bastard was slippery as owl shit. But then the tenor of the conversation changed...

 

Below, Mary couldn't hide her fury and pain any longer. “I hope you choke on your own platitudes,” she snarled. “You think everyone in the world is dumber than you are. Well, Jasmine got a copy of your organization papers as the managing partner of the Del Mar Corporation. She gave it to the Beverly Hills police and they gave copies to the task force investigating your straw companies.”