Texas Tall (20 page)

“Did you get the impression her daughter was hurt or in danger?”

“No. But Tori—Ms. Tyler—was in a big hurry. She rushed into the house, and a couple minutes later, her wagon passed me racing up the road.”

“Why didn't you drive her in your car? That would have saved time.”

“I offered. But she insisted on going alone, as if she was on a secret mission or something.”

“Objection.” Tori's voice was icy.

“Sustained,” the judge droned. “Strike the part about the secret mission.”

Clay cleared his throat. “Mr. Middleton, why do you think she was in such a hurry? Was it because the defendant, Mr. Tyler, wanted his daughter gone before the sheriff arrived on the scene?”

“Objection!” Tori snapped. “Calls for speculation!”

Clay shrugged. “Withdrawn. Your witness, Ms. Tyler.”

“No questions.” Tori shuffled her papers as the judge excused the witness. Middleton left without ever making eye contact with her. Whatever they'd shared in the past seemed to have gone sour.
One less thing to worry about,
Will told himself.

“Call your next witness, Mr. Drummond,” the judge said. “After that, we'll break for lunch.”

“The people call Ms. Stella Rawlins.”

* * *

A murmur swept through the gallery as Stella took her time walking to the witness stand. Every eye was fixed on her. Aside from running the Blue Coyote, she'd kept a low profile in the town. For many of the spectators, this was their first chance to get a good look at the woman.
Damned if she isn't putting on a show,
Will thought.

After she'd taken the oath and stated her name for the record, Clay began his questioning. He looked more harried than ever. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His hands seemed unsteady, and his left eye had developed a noticeable tic.

Does Stella have something on him? But how can that be?
Will wondered. Clay Drummond was a paragon of integrity, a leading citizen in the town, and the most likely candidate for a judgeship when Sid Henderson retired. Stella had brought down some powerful men, like former sheriff Hoyt Axelrod and Congressman Garn Prescott. But Clay? That didn't seem possible.

“Ms. Rawlins, for the record, the victim, Nikolas Tomescu, was your brother, is that correct?”

“Yes. Nicky was all the family I had.” Her voice quavered on the edge of tears. The lady was good.

“And had you ever known him to act in a violent way?”

“Heavens, no! Nicky was slow and sweet, like a little child. I'd never known him to even kick a dog, let alone harm another human being.”

“So the defendant and his daughter were in no danger whatsoever on the night in question?”

“No. Poor Nicky wouldn't have hurt either of them. He was most likely scared to . . . to death.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky.

“I see.” Clay gave the jury a meaningful glance. “No more questions. Your witness, Ms. Tyler.”

Tori stalked toward the witness stand. “My condolences for your brother's loss, Ms. Rawlins.” Her voice was level, even cold. “Are you aware that the deputies found a packet of cocaine on your brother's motorcycle?”

Stella's eyes glittered with suppressed rage, but her husky voice betrayed nothing. “That's what I was told. But I don't know anything about it. I'd warned Nicky not to fool around with drugs, but evidently he didn't listen to me.”

“The gun he had was registered to you. Did you give it to him?”

“We kept a gun in the drawer below the cash register. He had access to it anytime.”

“Were you aware that on the night in question, your brother was riding around on his motorcycle with drugs and a gun?”

“Objection!” Clay Drummond broke in. “The witness isn't on trial here.”

“No, I want to answer,” Stella said. “Nicky was an adult. I never told him what to do or what not to do. As long as he showed up for work, his personal life was none of my business.”

“I see.” Tori's tone was skeptical. “But do you agree that if he was carrying drugs, he'd be more likely to act in an aggressive manner—say, by drawing a gun or using a knife?”

Stella shrugged her ample shoulders. “How should I know? I always told Nicky to be nice to people. But I don't know how he might've behaved when I wasn't with him.”

“But didn't you just tell the court your brother was harmless and would never hurt anyone?”

“Objection! Badgering the witness!” Clay protested.

“Withdrawn.” With a knowing glance at the jury, Tori turned away. “No more questions for now.”

“Mr. Drummond?” the judge asked.

“The people rest, Your Honor.”

Stella strutted back to her seat, a stormy look on her face as the judge dismissed the court for a lunch break. The prosecution's case had proven little, but the trial was far from over. This afternoon it would be Tori's turn to present her case. And it would be Clay Drummond's job to rip holes in her defense.

* * *

Clay had brought a couple of ham sandwiches from home, planning to have lunch in his office. But once there, he realized he was too churned up to eat. Pouring himself two fingers of bourbon in a Dixie cup, he slumped at his desk. He knew better than to return to the courtroom with alcohol on his breath, but what the hell, he needed a drink.

He'd struck a few blows for the prosecution, but he was off his game, too tired and stressed to think straight. He'd hoped to get a few slipups out of the daughter, but Erin had turned out to be almost as poised and cool as her mother. Drew Middleton hadn't been much help, and even Stella had faltered under Tori's sharp cross-examination.

Will would be the afternoon's remaining witness. All along, Clay's best hope of a guilty verdict had been to convince the jury that the defendant had tried to cover up the crime. Now, once Tori had introduced the audiotapes supporting Will's motive, it would be the only remaining hope.

The jangle of his personal cell phone triggered a spasm in Clay's stomach. It was Stella. And he knew better than to let the call go to voice mail.

“You were dead on your feet out there, Clay.” She sounded like she was talking through clenched teeth. “You let the Tyler woman ask me too many questions. And that little brat of hers made you look like a fool. You need to up your game. I want that bastard brought to his knees!”

“I'm doing everything I can, Stella.”

“Not by me, you aren't.”

“I'll get my chance at Will this afternoon. Don't worry, I'll give it all I've got.”

“You damned well better. If Will Tyler walks out of that court a free man, you're finished.”

The call ended in silence.

The clenching sensation in Clay's gut had become a sharp pain. Maybe he was getting an ulcer. Scrolling down, he punched in Abner's cell phone. The sheriff had gone back to work after his testimony. Now Clay was going to need him again.

“Are you alone?” he asked when Abner answered.

“For now. How's the trial going?”

“Still dicey. I'll want you back here to confirm that the knife was bagged at the scene and found to have been wiped clean of prints.”

“No.”

“What?” Clay almost dropped the phone. “Why, for God's sake?”

“You know why. I've been doing some soul-searching, Clay. If anybody finds out I wiped that knife myself before it was dusted for prints, and then lied about it under oath, I could go to jail. I've got a new grandson, a fine boy, to raise. I want to be there for him.”

“Damn it, Abner.” Clay gripped the phone harder. “I could ruin you!”

“That wouldn't be very smart. Evidence tampering, if it came out, would guarantee Will Tyler's acquittal. And I wouldn't be slow to let folks know you were in on the scheme. Call me to the stand, and I'll resign. Then I'll tell the truth. Your choice, Mr. Prosecutor.”

With a muttered obscenity Clay ended the call.
What a time for Abner to get noble!
But the little toad was right about one thing. Clay couldn't touch him without incriminating himself.

Clay glanced at his watch. The lunch break was over. It was time to be back in court. And he had nothing left.

* * *

Will shifted forward in his chair as Tori introduced two audiotapes into evidence and played them for the jury. The first was a recording of the radio announcement, describing the fugitive. The second was the tape of Will's urgent call to the 911 dispatcher, when he believed he'd killed the robber. More than any other evidence, these tapes supported Will's reason for shooting the man on the motorcycle and confirmed that he'd truly believed he was facing a dangerous criminal. Now it was time for Tori to call her first, and only, witness.

“The defense calls Will Tyler.”

By the time Will told his story on the stand, most of it was old news. When he was finished, Tori had just one question for him.

“Please explain to the court why you covered the body and why you called me first, before you called the sheriff.”

“In answer to both questions, I wanted to spare my daughter,” Will said. “The sight of a dead man with a bloody hole in his chest would've haunted her for the rest of her life. I didn't want that picture in her mind. As for the call, I didn't know she'd witnessed the shooting. I only wanted to get her away from an upsetting scene to someplace safe and familiar. For me, that was even more urgent than calling in the law. That's all I have to say.”

Clay's cross-examination was tepid. And the man looked even more ragged than he had that morning, his eyes sunk in shadows, his speech far from its usual machine-gun delivery. By the time he finished his closing statement, once more pressing the point that Will's impulsive shot had needlessly killed an innocent man, he appeared so exhausted that Will wondered if he might be ill—or maybe trying to garner sympathy.

Tori's performance, in Will's eyes at least, was flawless. As she faced the jury, looking spectacular and pointing out that Will had done what any reasonable father would do, one thought took root in his mind. If he walked out of this courthouse a free man, he wanted Tori back. He wanted her in his home and in his bed, with his ring on her finger. He wanted a normal, loving family life with his wife and daughter. And he wouldn't give up until he'd made it happen.

But right now, everything depended on the outcome of the trial.

So far, Will had reason to be hopeful. But juries could be unpredictable, verdicts surprising. There was no way of knowing what would go on behind those closed doors. A strong case didn't always win. And this one, based more on circumstance than on solid evidence, would be a judgment call. It could go either way.

With his freedom hanging on their decision, Will watched the jury file out of the courtroom, charged with finding on two counts— manslaughter and obstruction of justice. They could be out for an hour. Or they could be arguing into tomorrow.

* * *

Will, Tori, Erin, Lauren, and Beau drove the seven blocks to Tori's house to wait. Tori broke out cold sodas and snacks for everyone. Erin and Beau switched on a video game. The action crackled, heightening the tension in the room as they played. Lauren, looking tired, phoned Sky, then wandered into Tori's room to lie down. Tori and Will, too edgy to relax, alternately sat and prowled. Time crawled, minute by anxious minute.

Two hours from the time they'd reached the house, Tori got the call. The jury had a verdict. They piled into her wagon and rode in silence back to the courthouse. Sitting beside Erin in the backseat, Will felt his daughter's hand creep into his. He held on tight as they pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the side entrance to the courthouse. In the foyer they glimpsed Stella, in her tight black dress, hurrying into the courtroom ahead of them.

Pulse racing, Will took his place at the table with Tori. Erin and Lauren had moved forward to sit behind him, next to Beau. They'd scarcely had time to get settled before the jury filed back into the box and “Please rise” signaled the entrance of the judge. As they sat again, Will glanced across the aisle at Clay Drummond. Beads of sweat gleamed on the prosecutor's forehead.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

The foreman stood. “We have, Your Honor.”

“Will the defendant please rise?”

Will stood, his expression frozen in a stoic mask. Beside him, he could feel Tori trembling.

“On the count of manslaughter, how do you find?” the judge asked.

“We the jury find the defendant, Williston Tyler, not guilty.”

Will's knees went slack. He groped for Tori's hand, not finding it.

“And on the count of obstruction of justice? How do you find?”

“We find the defendant not guilty.”

As the words sank in, the courtroom erupted in sound and movement. Erin flung herself over the rail and wrapped her arms around Will's neck. Beau was hugging his shoulders. As if from far away, he heard the judge thanking the jurors and telling him he was free to go. His arm reached for Tori and pulled her close. Quivering, she pressed her face against his jacket.

Looking past her, Will caught a flash of hate-filled green eyes. Facing him from across the aisle, Stella mouthed something he couldn't understand. Then, with a last, venomous look, she turned and stalked out of the courtroom.

CHAPTER 19

A
bner got word of the verdict from the bailiff, who'd called to let him know that Will Tyler wouldn't be needing the jail cell he'd reserved. Too bad in a way. Seeing the high-and-mighty Will locked up and headed for prison would have given him some satisfaction. But he'd known all along that the man wasn't guilty. At least now his conscience would be clear.

Damned funny thing, his conscience. He'd almost forgotten he had one until he'd held his newborn grandson in his arms. When he'd looked down into those pure eyes, it was as if they could see all the way into the depths of his corrupted soul. That was when Abner had known he had to become a better man.

Clay Drummond was going to be sore. So was Stella. For now, he knew enough of their secrets to keep them from doing him too much damage. But he was playing a dangerous game—a game that could leave him disgraced or dead, and little Ralphie without a grandfather.

Abner thought of all the times he'd skirted the limits of the law. Evidence tampering, leaking confidential information, looking the other way when Stella did her dirty work—so many small crimes that he'd lost count. He had loved being sheriff, loved the authority, the respect, and the sheer fun of playing detective. But a man with his secret record had no business in a position of public trust. To cleanse his conscience and keep himself safe, he would have to start over.

There was only one way to do that.

Bringing up his computer, he opened a blank document and began typing a letter of resignation.

At home, in a locked drawer of his study desk, Clay kept a loaded .38. Now, alone in his courthouse office, he found himself thinking about that gun and how he might use it to end his life. Even death would be better than what he and his family would face if Stella released that damning surveillance tape.

Through the west window the setting sun cast a bloodred glow into the room, reflecting off the empty bourbon bottle on his desk. He was borderline drunk. But his office door was locked, his staff gone for the night. Nobody was going to walk in on him.

What now? Would Stella warn him first or would she simply leak the tape to her press contacts? Either way, he had no doubt she'd do it. She'd ruined Garn Prescott after he'd let her down. She'd do the same to him.

His ringing cell phone broke the silence. Clay glanced at the caller ID. His stomach clenched.

“You really blew it today, didn't you, honey?” Stella's voice was like the purr of a big, sleek cat toying with a mouse.

“Please, Stella,” he begged her, almost blubbering. “I'll do anything! Just don't release that tape!”

“You say you'll do anything?” She laughed, dangling the bait. “What would you say to a chance to get the tape back?”

Clay's pulse leapt. But he was sober enough to know that whatever Stella had in mind would be illegal and dangerous. Desperate as he was, he had to keep his head.

“Whatever you want, I'll do it on two conditions,” he said. “First I want your promise that you'll give me the tape.”

“Cross my heart, honey. Do the job and it's yours. What's the other condition?”

“I want to keep my life—my job, my reputation, and my family. If my involvement can be kept secret, I'm on board.”

Again she laughed. “That can be arranged—as long as you're not stupid enough to get caught. But once I've told you the plan, you're in. Get cold feet, and you'll be humping an underage girl on the ten o'clock news.”

The knot in Clay's gut felt like a tangle of barbed wire. “I'm in,” he said. “Tell me what I have to do.”

* * *

Will had celebrated his acquittal by going home, changing his clothes, and working on the barn until dusk.
Lord, but it feels good to be a free man!
After what he'd survived, even the money troubles seemed surmountable. Now that the specter of prison was gone, he could plan. And he could make the hard decisions it would take to keep the ranch running.

That night the ranch family had celebrated around the dinner table with green salad, fresh garlic bread, and a big pan of Bernice's lasagna. Now it was late, the meal finished, the leftovers put away, and the dishes loaded in the dishwasher. Erin and Bernice, worn out by the day, had gone to bed. Sky, Lauren, Jasper, Beau, and Natalie had left for the night.

Only Tori remained. Wrapped in the afghan, her stocking feet tucked under her, she sat on the front porch with Will in the opposite chair. The night was clear, the stars like the spill of a million diamonds across the sky. The breeze was no more than a whisper.

Will studied her moonlit profile—the chiseled nose, the soft, full lips, the stubborn chin, and the wisps of golden hair framing her face. There was nobody like Tori. He ached to make her his again.

Tonight could be his best chance to tell her what was on his mind. But he'd never been much good with romantic talk. Maybe that had been part of the problem when they were married. He'd been too tough, too macho, to say the words a woman needed to hear.

Could he say them now?

She stirred, untangling her legs. “I suppose I should be going,” she said.

“You don't have to go,” he said. “You could stay here tonight. We could even do some more celebrating.”

“Will—”

As soon as she spoke his name, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Did I assume too much?”

She shook her head. “Last night we needed each other. But that doesn't mean it's going to happen again.”

Her words stung Will like a slap in the face, but he stuck to his guns. “You know it was good for both of us. What's wrong, Tori? Is Middleton still in the picture?”

“No, that's over. There's nobody else. It's just that . . . the woman you were married to doesn't exist anymore. This woman won't answer to any man's beck and call, even yours.”

“So I'm supposed to wait around like a hungry dog until you crook your little finger? Damn it, Tori, I want you! I want my family back!”

She stood, clutching the afghan around her. “We've been a family of sorts all along, haven't we? Has that been so bad?”

“It's been tolerable—better than nothing. But sleeping alone and only seeing my daughter when school's out isn't my idea of being a family.”

“Will.” Her voice was flat with strain. “Half the single women in the county would jump at the chance to be your wife. You could get married again, even have more children.”

“Damn it, if that was what I wanted, I'd have remarried a long time ago!” Frustrated, he turned away from her and glared across the moon-shadowed yard. “Never mind. This is going nowhere. If you need to go home, just go.”

“Fine. As soon as I get my things.” She crossed the porch, then paused at the front door. “I'll be here on Sunday to get Erin. She misses her friends. She wants to go back to school in town.”

The news jolted him. “Are you sure that's safe?”

“It's what she wants. I already promised her.”

“I wish you'd talked it over with me before you promised.”

“The trial's over,” Tori said. “You were judged innocent. We need to move on. Even Erin needs to move on—with her school, with her friends. She needs to put this ordeal behind her and get back to normal.”

“But does it have to be so soon?”

There was no reply. Tori had gone inside.

* * *

Minutes later, Tori swung her station wagon away from the house. Tires spat gravel as she headed down the lane toward the main road. Will had been gone when she'd come back outside with her shoes, jacket, and purse. There'd been no chance to make things right, or even give him a conciliatory smile. He'd opened up to her, and she had wounded him.

Will was a proud man. The next time she saw him, his behavior toward her would be that of a polite, cold stranger.

Welling tears blurred the road in her headlights. Why couldn't she have said yes to Will? It would have made him happy. Erin would have been overjoyed, and the whole ranch family would have celebrated her return.

But she knew why. The sad, hard truth was that she was scared. Will was the love of her life. There would never be another man like him. But being his wife had crushed her spirit in a way she would never tolerate again. Over the past eight years, they'd become different people—she was stronger; Will, perhaps less like his father. But some things never changed. Going back to him would be like picking up where they'd left off, with all the old hurts coming to the surface.

They could end up hating each other.

Out of the darkness a buck deer flashed into the road, leaping high in her headlights. Tori slammed the brake. The wagon screeched to a stop, missing the animal by the barest inch as it bounded away. Pulse hammering, she slumped over the wheel. Another split second and she might have hit it in midair, sending its heavy body smashing into her windshield. Or she might have swerved and rolled the vehicle off the road's steep shoulder.

Still shaking, she drove on. If the timing had been off by a sliver, she could have died back there—without saying good-bye to Erin, and without ever letting Will know she loved him. Life was fragile, and no one was ever truly safe. A heartbeat could change everything.

As the lights of Blanco Springs came into sight, she tried to shake off the dark mood. She'd had an exhausting day, she reminded herself. With the trial behind her, all she needed was a good night's rest. Tomorrow everything would be back to normal.

Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

Stella double-checked the locks on her apartment door and windows before she settled onto the sofa, poured herself a brandy, and opened the newspaper she'd brought home from work. Every night she scanned the pages, hoping for news of Marie's arrest. So far, she'd found nothing. Either the hoped-for story hadn't been worth a mention in the press, or the woman was still out there somewhere, hiding from the law and plotting her revenge.

Nothing again tonight. Stella shoved the paper aside, lit a Marlboro, and hoisted her aching feet to the coffee table. Days from now, she'd be safe, where nobody, not even Marie, would ever find her.

A week had passed since the trial. Will Tyler's acquittal had left a bitter taste in her mouth. But never mind. She had a backup plan, one that would guarantee her a comfortable retirement and devastate the whole Tyler family.

All that remained was to carry it out.

She took a drag on the cigarette and laid it in the ashtray. It was almost midnight, time to check in with her Mexican friend Don Ramon, who'd be waiting for her call in the bedroom of his stately hacienda
,
south of Piedras Negras.

He picked up on the first ring. “Is everything ready?” His English was accented but passable.

“Almost. Can you guarantee the border crossing?”

“Como no.
Of course. As long as I know when you'll be there.”

“I'll call you when I'm on my way. Have you found a buyer?”

“More than one. The bids are still going up. Forty percent of the final price for me, yes?”

“Fine.” The rascal would probably hold out for even more, but never mind. She couldn't do this without him.

“It would help to have a photo,” he said.

“I don't have one, but I promise you, the girl's a beauty. Blue eyes, blond hair. And very young. Your friends always go for that type.”

“You're sure she's virgin?”

“You'll have her checked, of course, but I'd stake my life on it. She's from a good family. Very protected.”

“So it will be tomorrow, you think?”

“Tomorrow after school, if all goes well,” Stella said, trying not to think of how many things could go wrong. “I'll be crossing the border at night. Wait for my call. If I'm not coming, I'll let you know.”

“Buena suerte,”
he said, wishing her good luck.

“Adiós, amigo.”
Stella ended the call. Now everything depended on luck—and on Clay Drummond. She would give him a call tomorrow to make sure everything was on. When she knew he had the girl, it would be time for the rest of her plan.

* * *

By 3:00 p.m., Clay was sweating bullets. Kidnapping was a federal offense. Get caught, and he could be put away for life. But even that couldn't be any worse than what would happen if Stella released that surveillance tape.

Anyway, he wouldn't really be kidnapping, he told himself as he cruised past the middle school and pulled onto a side street. He'd only be giving the kid a ride. What happened after that would be out of his hands. He could only hope Stella would keep her promise and give him the tape.

For the past few days, he'd kept an eye on Erin Tyler. She usually left school at 3:15 p.m., walking with a girlfriend. When they reached the top of her street, the two would separate. Erin would walk the rest of the way alone, let herself into the house, and wait for her mother to come home.

This afternoon Tori was in court on a civil case—Clay had checked to make sure. If her daughter followed her customary routine, he would put the plan in motion. What he was setting out to do would be the most despicable thing he'd ever done. But he mustn't think of that now. Instead he would focus on getting the tape back and freeing himself to move on with his life.

Now, from where he'd parked, he could see students pouring out of the school. It took him only a moment to spot Erin. Dressed in jeans and boots, with her backpack slung over one shoulder, she was heading down the sidewalk with her dark-haired friend. Clay hung back, keeping his distance until the two separated and Erin turned the corner for home.