Texas Tall (8 page)

Clay frowned. Evidence tampering was a crime, but if Abner was willing to try, it was no skin off his nose. “Could have happened,” he said. “What else can you think of?”

“Will's a cool-headed shot. He could've wounded the man instead of blasting him through the chest. Ever see what a thirty-eight can do to a body at point-blank range?” Abner stood. “Will Tyler deserves to pay for what he done. And it's up to us to see that he does.”

With that parting line, the sheriff marched out of Clay's office and closed the door with a
click.
Clay opened his desk drawer, took out a bottle of Lortab, and gulped one down with the last of his morning coffee. Abner Sweeney was a jackass, but at least they were on the same side. And discussing Will Tyler's case with him had clarified Clay's own concerns about the upcoming inquest. Will Tyler was one of Blanco County's leading citizens. He was respected, even liked by most of the people who knew him. Given the evidence, and the mitigating circumstances, there was a good chance the judge would rule against pressing charges.

Will would walk free, and Stella Rawlins would be out for blood.

Clay liked being county attorney, especially with the prospect of moving on to something bigger. He liked being a respected member of the community and having the kind of family life people admired. If Stella released that security footage, everything he'd worked for would be gone—his job, his marriage, his children, and his future. He'd be lucky to stay out of jail. One way or another, he needed to get that tape and destroy it. Until then, he'd have no choice but to do what she wanted.

And what she wanted was for Will Tyler to go to prison.

The physical evidence alone wouldn't be enough to send the case to trial. Neither would the coroner's findings nor even the testimony of the witnesses. That left the judge.

Apart from the juvenile court, there were just three judges in Blanco County. Clay knew them all—decent men, but human, with human failings. They had their weaknesses, and Clay knew how to use them—a small favor with implied repayment, a concession in some unrelated matter, or just a damned good argument. It was something he did well.

And it wasn't as if an inquest was a life-or-death matter. Any room for doubt would be enough to justify sending a case to trial—a trial that could be delayed by weeks, even months, buying him more time to deal with Stella.

Feeling better, Clay picked up the phone and buzzed the receptionist at the front desk. “Glenda, could you find out which judge is on the Tyler inquest and get him on the phone for me? Thanks.”

* * *

Lauren had never been an early riser. But sharing a bed with Sky was changing that. When he spent nights with her in town, he was usually gone by first light. If she wanted any morning time with him, she had to get up, too. Now that she was getting used to it, she'd come to enjoy the peace of early dawn and the beauty of the sunrise that came with it. But waking to full alertness at such an ungodly hour was still a challenge.

This morning, ten days after the terrible ice storm, she woke to the aromas of bacon and fresh coffee. Flinging aside the covers, she pulled on her quilted silk robe and pattered into her apartment-sized kitchen. Sky, dressed and ready for the day, was standing at the stove, scrambling eggs. He glanced around with a heart-melting grin. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said.

“You're fixing me breakfast?”

“I'm fixing
us
breakfast. Sit down.”

She sank onto a chair, blinking herself awake as he passed her a cup of steaming coffee, bitter and black, the way he liked it. Lauren added cream and sugar before tasting hers. Through the kitchen window she could see the barest glint of morning. The weather had cleared and warmed in the past week, but the autumn colors were gone, the grass brown, the trees bare and broken.

“How can I learn to be a good ranch wife if you spoil me like this?” she joked.

“There'll be plenty of time for that.” He set two loaded plates on the table and popped two slices of bread out of the toaster. “Eat up,” he said.

“If I eat all this, I'll get fat.”

“All the more for me to love.”

Laughing, she filled her fork. This was the Sky Fletcher few people knew—laughing, teasing, affectionate, and happy. Opening himself to her as he did was the best gift she could have asked for.

“Aren't you going to work this morning?” she asked.

“Soon. There's plenty to do, and I want to be there for Will, in case he needs anything. The inquest is scheduled for this morning. He's putting on a brave face, but if the decision is to charge him, he's going to take it hard.”

“How soon will he know?”

“Tori will be at the inquest. She'll call him as soon as it's over. Lord, I hope it's good news. The ranch has enough trouble as it is. We don't need a trial. We need Will.”

“How's Erin taking all this?”

“She's one brave kid—doesn't want her dad to know how scared she is. But I think Will's even more worried for her than he is for himself.”

“He would be.” Lauren sipped her coffee. “Lately I've been thinking about that piece of canyon land Will wants to buy from me. I know it would please him to get it back. It might even take his mind off his troubles for a little while.”

“You'd sell it to him for that reason? It's a nice idea, Lauren, but I thought you wanted time to explore the place while it's yours.”

“I do,” Lauren said. “So why not do it soon? The weather's supposed to be mild for the next couple of weeks. You and I could take Erin with us and spend some time exploring. Or if you can't get off work, I could just take Erin. We could pack a picnic lunch, make it fun for her. When we've explored to our heart's content, then I'll sell the land to Will for a dollar, as I promised I would. That land has been a sore spot between our families since before you were born. It's time we put an end to it and made peace.”

Sky reached across the table and clasped her hand. “That's a great idea, and I love you for thinking of it. Do you want me to bring it up to Will, or would you rather wait and do it yourself?”

“Let me do it,” Lauren said. “I could use a few points with the ranch family—especially with Jasper.”

Finished with his breakfast, Sky rose. “Don't worry about Jasper. He's a prickly old bird, but he'll come around. Nobody could resist you for long.”

“Don't count on his coming around anytime soon. Not as long as my last name's Prescott.”

“Don't worry, I've got a plan to fix that.” He strode to her side of the table, lifted her to her feet, and gathered her close for a lingering kiss. As her body molded to his through the silk robe, Lauren felt the warm stirrings of desire. It would be tempting to coax him back to bed and make him late for work. But Sky wasn't a man to be coaxed into shirking his duties, not even by a warm and willing woman. Maybe that was one of the reasons she loved him so much.

“I'll call you when I know about the inquest,” he said.

“Thanks. I'll be waiting to hear.”

She kissed him at the door; then she walked to the window to watch his truck drive away. She was far luckier than she deserved to be, Lauren thought. She had her health, her career as an accountant, all the money she needed, and the love of a wonderful man. It didn't seem right that someone as fair, honest, and good as Will Tyler should be surrounded by problems—a ranch that was sinking into a financial quagmire, a possible prison sentence, and a failed marriage to a woman he clearly still loved.

What had happened to drive Will and Tori apart? Will had never talked about it in Lauren's hearing. Tori, although she was Lauren's friend, had never shared the story of her marriage and how it had ended. Lauren told herself that it was a private matter—as such things should be.

Still, she couldn't help wanting to know—in part because she wanted to avoid similar mistakes, but mostly because she cared deeply about these two people and their lovely young daughter. They'd become part of her life—her future family. She wanted to understand them.

Lauren turned away from the window and began clearing away the breakfast dishes. She would give anything to help Sky's half brother and his loved ones through their troubles. But for now, there was nothing she could do but hope and wait.

* * *

Beau found Will in the stallion barn, cleaning out stalls with a shovel and a broom. He was going at it with a fury that Beau understood all too well. Last spring, Beau had been the one facing trial. Things had turned out all right, but he knew how his brother must be feeling.

“Hey.” Beau leaned against a partition, trying to look casual. “We pay teenage boys to do that job. You're the boss, not a stable hand.”

Will gave him a glance, then went back to shoveling. “What am I supposed to do, sit on the porch with Jasper and wait for the call? Hell, I might as well make myself useful.”

“You'll get through this, Will,” Beau said. “I know that sounds like a stupid thing to say, but I've been in your shoes. You're a tough man—even tougher than you think you are.”

“Don't be so sure of that.” Will straightened, bracing the point of the shovel blade on the floor of the barn. “Wait till you have your own child. Then you'll understand. I'm not afraid of prison. I could survive a few years if it came to that. And I know you'd take care of the ranch. But the idea of leaving Erin, having her grow up without me, with the shame of a father behind bars—that's the worst. And if her mother marries that prissy school principal, knowing he'd be raising Erin in my place . . . Lord, that's what I can't even stand to think about.”

“But that's not going to happen,” Beau said. “You're innocent. The bastard had a knife up to throw at you. You killed him in self-defense.”

Will muttered a curse. “Didn't you learn anything in the DEA? It's not about guilt or innocence, damn it, it's about politics! Both Abner and Clay Drummond are counting on a lot of press from this case. Throw Stella into the mix, and anything could happen. They'd see me hang if they could get away with it!”

The jangle of a cell phone startled both men into silence. Mouth tightening, Will reached for the phone in his vest pocket.

“Relax, it's not yours. It's mine.” Beau pulled out his phone and took the call. Will tensed, like a man about to receive a blow, as his brother answered, then turned away.

“Yes,” Beau was saying. “He's right here, Tori. Yes, I'll tell him.” He ended the call.

“She called
you?
” Will faced him, bristling.

“She thought it might be easier for me to tell you face-to-face,” Beau said. “The case is going to trial. Abner's on his way out here to arrest you.”

“Call Abner.” Will was stone-faced. “Tell him I'll be driving into town. I won't have my daughter seeing me led away in handcuffs.”

“I'll call him,” Beau said. “But I'll be driving you.”

“No need for that,” Will said. “This is my problem, not yours.”

Beau put a hand on his brother's shoulder. “It's our family's problem. And you're not going through it alone.”

CHAPTER 8

T
ori waited in the rear entryway to the county building, which housed the sheriff 's department and the jail. Flanked by an armed deputy, Abner Sweeney stood beside her. His freckled face wore a self-satisfied smirk. A set of handcuffs dangled from his plump fist. He swung them back and forth, humming under his breath, a maddening sound.

“I can't imagine you're going to need those cuffs,” Tori said. “Will's coming in on his own. He's not going to run away or attack you. You'd be safer putting them on
me.
”

She was only half joking. Right now, it was all she could do to keep from punching the obnoxious little man in the mouth.

He chuckled. “I always did like your sense of humor, Tori. But the cuffs are part of the arrest process. They let the suspect know who's in charge.”

The suspect? Will?
Tori was still struggling to accept the unthinkable. The judge's decision had left her reeling, her confidence shaken to the core. How could this be happening?

She steeled herself as Beau's Jeep pulled up to the curb. Inside, she might be falling apart, but she couldn't let Abner know that—or Will. Especially Will.

The inquest had raised her hopes at first. As the evidence was presented, she'd felt sure that the conclusion would be self-defense. But at the last moment, the judge, a man Tori had known and trusted for years, had expressed his doubts and called for a trial. Stunned, Tori had looked around for Clay as the room emptied, hoping he might give her some explanation. But the county prosecutor had already left.

Will climbed out of the Jeep. Without waiting for Beau, who'd driven him, he strode up to the jail entrance and through the automatic doorway. Head high, face expressionless, he appeared proud and unafraid. But Tori knew what he must be feeling. His eyes didn't even flicker toward her as the sheriff cuffed his wrists and read him his rights. That done, the deputy led him back to booking, to be searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and humiliated. The sheriff followed, leaving Tori in the entryway.

Beau had come in through the outside door. As Tori turned and saw him—the friend who'd been there since her childhood—something broke inside her. A sob caught in her throat. She began to shake, as if the earth were breaking apart under her feet.

Beau reached her in two long strides and gathered her close. Holding her gently but firmly, he spoke. “It'll be all right. We can get him out tomorrow, after his bail hearing.”

“I'm his lawyer. I know that.” Her voice wavered. “But I'm scared, Beau. What if I can't do this? What if I let him down and he goes to prison? Maybe Will should hire somebody else.”

“You won't let him down.” He eased her away, holding her at arm's length. “When it comes to protecting people you care about, you're a tigress, Tori. Will may not be your husband any longer, but he's Erin's father. You won't just be fighting for him—you'll be fighting for her, for our whole family!”

“But what if I fail? What if I lose? The judge in there had every reason to rule in Will's favor. But in the end he went the other way. Something like that could happen again, and it would kill Will. It would kill Erin.”

“That's why we have juries,” he said. “Will shot that man in the belief that he was saving himself and Erin. Your job is to help those jurors see the truth.” His grip tightened on her shoulders. “I've known you most of my life, Tori. You always had your eye on the prize. I've never known you to doubt yourself.”

He was getting to her, as only Beau knew how. But the uncertainty was still there. “I've never had so much depending on me—or so much to lose,” she said.

“You still love him, don't you?”

Beau's question caught Tori off guard, but she managed a quick recovery. “That's a low blow if I ever heard one,” she said.

“You didn't answer my question. Do you still love him?”

The night of the storm flashed through her mind—Will's crushing arms, his kisses, their bodies seeking each other in desperate need. But that hadn't been love. It hadn't even been close.

“I care for him, of course,” she said. “He's Erin's father, after all. But right now, that can't be allowed to matter. Will is my client. That's how I need to think of him.”

He let her go with a quick hug. “You'll do us all proud, lady,” he said. “And when Will's cleared, we'll have a big celebration. For now, let's both get back to the ranch. This'll be a tough day for Erin. She's going to need us.”

Leaving her, he headed out to his Jeep. Tori watched him drive away. Beau had given her a good pep talk. But she'd known him since kindergarten and she'd recognized the look in his eyes.

Beau was as scared as she was.

* * *

Abner strolled down the hall to the row of holding cells, where Will Tyler had been taken after the booking procedure. He'd phoned Stella right after the inquest. She'd been pleased as punch. Abner was pleased, too. Putting a Tyler behind bars was no small accomplishment.

Abner and Will Tyler went back a long way. In school Will had been everything Abner wasn't—popular, smart, admired, and rich, at least by Blanco standards. He'd held class offices, gotten the best grades, and dated the prettiest girls, while Abner, a pudgy nobody, had been ignored. Will had never been unkind to the lonely boy. Like the other popular students, he'd simply treated Abner as if he didn't exist.

Abner had always envied the Tyler men—their power, their self-confidence, their brazen masculinity. Over the years that envy had fermented to hatred. He'd watched from behind the one-way glass as Will was strip-searched, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, and photographed face-on and in profile. It was satisfying to see a proud man like Will brought down to the level of a common criminal. It would be even more satisfying to see him behind bars.

The cells were walled on three sides, with bars open to the hallway. Each cell was designed to hold two men, but today most of them were empty. Will would be alone.

As Abner neared the cell, a nervous prickle stole up his spine. Watching Will from behind mirrored glass was one thing. Facing him, even through iron bars, was another.

Stopping next to the wall, just short of the cell, he took a careful peek around the corner. Will was stretched out on the lower bunk, his long legs crossed, his arms supporting the back of his head. His eyes were closed.

Was he asleep? Not likely, Abner surmised, stepping in front of the bars. He was faking it, as if to show his captors how little this humiliating process had affected him.

Even in the ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, which was inches too short in the legs, Will made an impressive figure—like a sleeping lion, relaxed but alert, and still dangerous.

Maybe this was a bad idea, coming here without a deputy along. Abner inched back toward the wall, intent on leaving. But just then, Will opened his eyes. His left eyebrow slid upward. For the space of a long breath, nothing else moved. Then he spoke.

“Do you need something, Sheriff, or did you just come by to gloat?”

Abner drew himself up. “You've no call to say that, Will. It was the judge who put you in here, not me. I'm just doing my job.”

“Well, do it somewhere else. I may have to be here, but I don't have to listen to you whine and make excuses. If you've got anything to say that's worth hearing, call my lawyer.” Will rolled over in the bunk, giving Abner a view of his orange-clad back.

Seething, Abner stalked back up the hall, toward the booking area. With a few well-chosen words, Will had cut him down yet again, making him feel like a small, powerless nobody. And the arrogant bastard had done it lying down in a jail cell.

Abner's prostate was acting up again today—or maybe it was just stress. He stopped by the men's room to relieve himself. A glance in the mirror confirmed what he knew: He was fat and homely, with a dowdy wife, a house full of kids, and a sixteen-year-old daughter who was about to make him a grandfather at forty. He was undereducated, underpaid, and would likely never advance beyond his present job. The confrontation with Will had brought it all home.

But this fight wasn't over. Will wouldn't be so high-and-mighty once he'd been locked up in the state prison for a few years; and Abner was determined to put him there. Whatever it took, whatever he had to do, the sheriff vowed, he would break Will Tyler and bring him to his knees.

* * *

Clay got the call from Stella as he was leaving work. Her timing was so spot-on that he suspected the woman was somewhere in the parking lot, watching him from her car. “I take it you've heard the news,” he said.

“More or less. But I wouldn't mind hearing your take on the story.”

“We lucked out with the judge. But getting a jury to convict him won't be that easy. The evidence that Will Tyler shot your brother in self-defense was pretty persuasive, especially the taped interview with his daughter.”

“Well, now, that's your problem, isn't it, Mr. Prosecutor?” Her tone made Clay want to wrap his hands around her neck and shake her till it snapped. “Tell me about the evidence,” she said.

“No surprises. There was the knife, the two guns involved, Will's flashlight, Nick's helmet, and the packet of cocaine that the deputy found on the bike. The fact that Nick was probably dealing won't help our side any.”

She sighed. “Oh, Lordy, I told him to stay away from that awful stuff. If only he'd listened to me.”

Her performance was an act, Clay knew. Stella had her fingers in plenty of dirty pies, including illegal drugs. But trying to prove it would be like slitting his own throat.

“What about the witnesses?” she asked.

“Again, no surprises. Abner, the coroner, one deputy, the tape of the girl, and parts of Will's taped interview.”

“But nothing that would cast doubt on his story?”

“Not really. That's why everybody was surprised by the judge's decision.”

Not quite everybody, Clay knew. Convincing the judge that justice would be best served by a trial had involved some advance persuasion on his part, along with a bottle of very expensive Scotch. A bit unethical? Maybe, but it was how smart lawyers worked the system.

“Well, Clay, it sounds to me like you've got homework to do.”

He imagined her licking her chops like a hungry cat. “Any suggestions?”

“You're a smart man. You'll figure something out. You'd better.” She let the implication hang.

“I want that tape when this is over, Stella. You'll owe me that much if I win.”

She chuckled. “We'll see about that. Ask me again when Will Tyler's on his way to prison.”

She ended the call, leaving Clay standing by his car, cursing silently at his cell phone. The day was brisk, but he could smell the sweat under his suit jacket.

The trial date wouldn't be set until the bail hearing tomorrow. But the court's docket wasn't crowded. A manslaughter case shouldn't take more than a few weeks, a month at most, to schedule and prepare. Meanwhile, as Stella had said, he had homework to do.

When it came to threats, the woman wasn't bluffing. If rumors were to be believed, she'd already taken down one powerful man who'd failed to deliver—the late congressman Garn Prescott. If Will Tyler went free, Clay knew she wouldn't hesitate to do the same to him.

He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, thinking as he drove. Every defense, even a solid one, had its weak spots, and Clay prided himself on being able to find them. This time he would need to be at his sharpest and most ruthless. His career, his family, and perhaps his freedom would be hanging in the balance.

The evidence was straightforward and had been seen by everyone involved. Not much room for manipulation there. He'd have some leeway with jury selection, but Tori would have to approve any juror he chose. Regarding the witnesses, most of them appeared to be favorable to the defense—except for Abner.

Clay remembered their meeting in his office before the inquest. The sheriff had seemed almost as anxious as Clay was to get a conviction. Either Stella had something on him, or he just plain hated Will Tyler. Maybe both.

Abner could be the key to winning this case, especially if he could be manipulated into twisting a few facts. Much as Clay disliked the pompous little toad, maybe it was time to give some thought to an alliance.

* * *

The next morning Will, dressed in a suit Tori had delivered to the jail, appeared before the judge. The proceedings took no more than a few minutes. Bail was set at $15,000, the trial scheduled for early next month. Beau posted the bond with the clerk, and Will was released to go home.

Beau drove him back to the Rimrock in the Jeep, with Tori following in her station wagon. Will had been gone less than twenty-four hours. But the man returning was no longer the man who'd left the ranch yesterday. Will had experienced rage, shame, and humiliation in a way he'd never known before. And he'd been slapped with the cold possibility of losing all he held dear.

As the Jeep turned off the highway and up the long, straight road to the ranch, he gazed out the window at the autumn landscape. The ice storm had drained the rich gold from the grass and stripped the leaves from the cottonwoods and willows. But there was a stark beauty in the pale sweep of the plain, with the russet cliffs of the escarpment jutting against the November sky. Where the creek ran, the leafless willows hung deep bloodred, a slash of crimson against the ecru skin of the land.

Off to the right, the alkali lake, where Jasper liked to hunt wild turkey, had dried to a glittering white smear. Patches of blackened earth and the skeletons of burnt cedar trees marked where the worst of last summer's fire had burned. But the land was already healing. Next spring the grass would grow and the fire-scarred cottonwoods would leaf out. Bright patches of Indian-blanket gaillardias, Tahoka daisies, blue dayflowers, and blooming cacti would dot the prairie with color, and life would go on, as it always did. Beau and Natalie's son would be born. Sky and Lauren would marry and begin their family. Erin would grow into graceful young womanhood.