Читать книгу The Rancher Bodyguard - Carla Cassidy - Страница 8

Justin Walker lived with a buddy in the Majestic Apartments complex on the outskirts of town. The illustrious name of the apartments had to have been somebody’s idea of a very bad joke.

The small complex had faded from yellow to a weathered gray from the Oklahoma sun and sported several broken windows. The vehicles in the parking lot ran the gamut from souped-up hot rods to a rusty pickup truck missing two tires.

“You sure you want to do this?” Charlie asked dubiously, as he parked in front of the building and cut his engine.

Grace stared at the building in obvious dismay. “Not really, but it has to be done. I want to know exactly what his relationship with Hope was…is. I want to hear it from him, and then I want to hear it from my sister.” She turned to look at Charlie. “Does he work?”

“He’s a mechanic down at the garage, but he called in sick this morning.”

“You managed to learn a lot between last night and now,” she observed.

He shrugged and pulled his keys from the ignition. “It just took a phone call to find out if he was at the garage today. Somehow I knew you’d want to talk to him.” He directed his gaze back at the building. “But, just because he isn’t at work doesn’t mean he’s here.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” She opened her car door and stepped out.

Charlie joined her on the cracked sidewalk and tried not to notice how pretty she looked in the yellow skirt that showcased her shapely legs and the yellow-flowered blouse that hugged her slender curves.

This whole thing would have been so much easier if during the time they’d been apart she sprouted some facial hair or maybe grown a wart on the end of her nose.

“Which unit is it?” she asked.

“Unit four.” He pointed to the corner apartment, one that sported a broken window. Grace grimaced but marched with determined strides toward the door, on which she knocked in a rapid staccato fashion.

Charlie stepped in between her and the front door, protective instincts coming into play. He had no idea if Justin was just a loser boyfriend or an active participant in William’s murder.

The door opened and a tall young man gazed at them with a wealth of belligerence. He looked like he wasn’t having a good day. “Are you more cops?” he asked, his dark eyes wary and guarded.

Grace moved closer to the door. “No. I’m Grace Covington, Hope’s sister, and this is her lawyer, Charlie Black. Are you Justin?”

He hesitated a moment, as if considering whether or not to tell the truth, then gave a curt nod of his head, his dark hair flopping carelessly onto his forehead. “Yeah, I’m Justin. What do you want?”

“Sheriff West has already talked to you?” Charlie asked.

Justin’s eyes darkened. “He was here half the night asking me questions.”

“May we come in?” Grace asked.

Justin’s eyes swept the length of her and he scowled. “You don’t want to come in here. The place is a dump.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“You were dating my sister?” Grace asked.

Justin barked a dry laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly call it dating. She’s not allowed to date until she turns sixteen. We hung out, that’s all. When she’d show up down at the garage after school, I’d take a break and we’d just talk. It was no big deal.”

There was hostility in his voice, as if he expected them to take issue with him. “Were you sleeping with her?” Grace asked. Charlie wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the question, himself or Justin.

Justin gave her a mocking smile. “Don’t worry, big sister. As far as I know your baby sister is still as pure as the driven snow.”

“Where were you yesterday morning?” Charlie asked. “Your boss told me you weren’t at work.” He felt Grace stiffen next to him.

“Funny, the sheriff asked me the same thing.” Justin clutched his stomach. “I’ve been fighting off this flu bug. Yesterday I was here in bed, and if you don’t believe me, my roommate will vouch for me. I didn’t leave here all day.”

“And your roommate’s name?” Charlie asked.

Justin stepped back toward his apartment door. “Sam Young, and now I’m done answering your questions.” He stepped back inside and shut the door firmly in their faces.

“Do you believe him?” Grace asked when they were back in Charlie’s car and headed for the hospital.

He cast her a wry glance. “In the words of a famous television personality, I wouldn’t believe him if his tongue came notarized.”

Her burst of laughter was short-lived, but the sound of it momentarily warmed his heart. Charlie always loved to hear her laugh, and there had been a time when he’d been good at making her do so.

“After we speak with Hope, I need to find out if I can go to the house and get some of her things,” Grace said. “Dr. Dell thought he would release her at some point this evening or first thing in the morning, and we’ll need to get some of her clothes and things to take to my place.”

“When we get to the hospital, I’ll call Zack and see what can be arranged.”

“I’d like to talk to Hope alone. I don’t think she’ll be open about her relationship with Justin if you’re there, too.”

“Okay,” he replied. He glanced at her and caught her rubbing her temple. “Headache?”

She nodded and dropped her hand back into her lap. “I think it’s a guilt thing.”

“Guilt? What do you have to feel guilty about?” he asked in surprise.

A tiny frown danced across her forehead, doing nothing to detract from her attractiveness. “I should have been paying more attention to what was going on in her life. I should have been putting in less hours at the store and spending more time with her.”

“Regrets are funny things, Grace. They rip your heart out, but they don’t really change anything,” he replied. He was an old hand at entertaining regrets.

“You’re right.” She reached up, massaged her temple once again and then shot him a pointed look. “You’re absolutely right. The past is over and nothing can change the damage done. What’s important is to learn from the mistakes made in the past and never forget the lesson.”

Charlie frowned, knowing her words were barbs flung at him and had nothing to do with the situation at hand. They spoke no more until they arrived at the hospital.

As she disappeared into Hope’s hospital room, he called Zack West to find out what was going on at the Covington mansion. Zack informed him that the evidence gathering was finished and said Grace was free to get whatever she needed for Hope.

When Charlie asked him for an update, he merely replied that it was an ongoing investigation and there was nothing new to report.

As he waited for Grace, he sat in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Charlie had a theory that murder happened for one of three reasons. He called it his “three R” theory. Rage, revenge and reward were the motives that drove most murderers.

At the moment, the officials were leaning toward rage—a young girl’s rage at being stymied in a love relationship by an overbearing father figure.

The news was certainly filled with stories of young people going on killing rampages against authority figures. Had Hope snapped that morning and stabbed William while he slept and then, filled with remorse, taken drugs in a suicide attempt?

Hopefully they would be successful in coming up with an alternative theory that would explain both William’s death and Hope’s drugged state.

He looked up as Grace entered the room. She sat next to him as if too exhausted to stand. “What did she have to say about Justin?” he asked.

“She told me she’s crazy in love with him, and she thinks they belong together forever, but she hasn’t gotten physical with him yet.”

“That’s different from Justin’s story. He made it sound like she was no big deal to him,” Charlie observed.

“Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way she does. Maybe he was afraid to tell us how he really feels about Hope,” she replied.

“Maybe,” Charlie agreed.

Grace reached up and tucked a strand of her shiny hair behind her ear. “She’s not being released today. She’s running a fever and Dr. Dell wants to get to the bottom of it.”

“You still want to go by the house?” She sat so close to him he could feel the heat from her body. He used to tease her about how she was better than a hot water bottle at keeping him warm on cold wintry nights. He wished he could tell her how he’d been cold ever since he’d lost her.

She nodded. “Whether she’s here or at my place, I’m sure she’d be more comfortable with some of her own things. Besides, I’d like to talk to Lana, William’s housekeeper. She’d know better than anyone what was going on between William and Hope, and if anyone else was having a problem with William.”

Grace jumped up from the chair, newfound energy vibrating from her. “We need to find something, Charlie, something that will point the finger of guilt away from Hope. I can’t lose her. She’s all I have left.”

She looked half frantic, and again a soft vulnerability sagged her shoulders and haunted her eyes. This time Charlie didn’t fight his impulse—his need to touch her. He reached out for her hand and took it in his. Hers was icy, as if the heat of her body was unable to warm her small, trembling hand.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I promise you that we’ll get to the bottom of this. I won’t let Hope be convicted of a crime she didn’t commit.”

What he didn’t say was that if Hope was guilty, not even the great Charlie Black would be able to save her.

The Covington estate was located on the northern edge of town, a huge two-story structure with manicured grounds, several outbuildings and a small cottage in the back where Lana Racine and her husband, Leroy, lived.

As Charlie pulled into the circular drive and parked in front, Grace stared at the big house and felt the burgeoning grief welling up inside her.

The sight of the bright yellow crime-scene tape across the front door nearly made her lose control, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She’d spent her life being the strong one—the child her mother could depend on, the teenager who often took responsibility for her baby sister, and the woman who’d held it together when her mother deserted them.

Charlie didn’t know about her mother. When they’d been dating, she told him only that her mother had moved away, not that she’d just packed her bags and disappeared from their lives.

Without an explanation.

Without a word since.

Was she sunning on a beach in Florida? Eating crab cakes and lobster in Maine? Or was she out of the country? She’d always talked about wanting to go to France.

Grace welcomed the raw anger that took the place of her grief—it sustained her, kept her strong.

She glanced back at Charlie, wondering if she should tell him about what had been going on in her life when she’d met him. She dismissed the idea. She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing pity in his eyes, and after all this time, what difference did it make?

“Are you sure you’re ready to go in there?” Charlie asked.

She focused back on the house and nodded. “I’ll just get some of Hope’s things, then we can go talk with Lana and Leroy.”

She almost wished Charlie weren’t here with her. He’d stirred old feelings in her, made her remember how much she’d once cared about him. She’d thought her hatred of him would protect her from those old feelings—that it would vaccinate her against the “wanting Charlie” emotion. She’d been wrong.

All day she’d been plagued by memories of the taste of his lips on hers, the feel of his hands stroking the length of her. Their physical relationship had been nothing short of magic. He’d been an amazing lover, at times playful and at other times intense and demanding.

But it wasn’t just those kinds of memories that bothered her. Remembering how often they had laughed together and how much they’d enjoyed each other’s company had proved equally troubling.

Amnesia would have been welcome. She would have loved to permanently forget the six months with Charlie, but spending time with him now unlocked the mental box in which she’d placed those memories the night she’d walked away from him.

Focus on the reason he’s in your life, she told herself. Hope. She had to stay focused on Hope and finding something, anything, that would reveal the young girl’s innocence.

She got out of the car, grateful to escape the small confines that smelled of him—a wonderful blend of clean male and expensive, slightly spicy cologne. It was the same scent he’d worn when they’d been dating, and it only helped stir memories she would prefer to forget.

Charlie pulled away the crime-scene tape, and Grace used her key to open the front door. They walked into the massive entry with its marble floor and an ornate gilded mirror hanging on the wall.

“Wow,” Charlie said, obviously impressed. “I’d heard this place was a showcase, but I had no idea.”

“William was an extremely successful man,” she replied. “He liked to surround himself with beautiful things.”

“I know you said your mother married him when you were sixteen. What happened to your father?”

“He died of a heart attack when mom was pregnant with Hope. We were left with no insurance and no money in the bank.” Grace paused a moment, thinking about those days just after her father’s death. There’d been a wealth of grief and fear about what would happen to them now the breadwinner was gone.

She walked from the entry to the sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. Placing a hand on the polished wood banister, she continued: “William was like a knight in shining armor. He and Mom met at the grocery store, and he swooped into our lives like a savior. He was crazy, not just about Mom, but also about me and Hope.”

“He didn’t have children of his own?” Charlie asked.

“No. He’d been married years before, but it ended in divorce and there had been no children. We were all the family he had.”

“Who is his beneficiary?”

Grace looked at him in surprise. “I have no idea. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“Maybe your mother?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Grace agreed, although she wasn’t so sure. Grace’s mother had ripped the very heart out of William when she’d disappeared. William had been a good man, generous to a fault, but he hadn’t been a foolish man, especially when it came to money.

“Let’s get Hope’s things and get out of here,” she said, her heart heavy as she climbed the stairs.

Charlie followed just behind her as she topped the stairs and walked down the long hallway toward Hope’s room. The door was closed and she hesitated, unsure she was ready for whatever was inside.

Hope had been found covered in blood, clutching the knife in her hands, her room trashed. Grace grabbed the doorknob and still couldn’t force herself to open the door.

Charlie placed a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t have to do this. We can buy Hope whatever she needs for the time being.”

How could a man who had been incredibly insensitive eighteen months ago, a man who had been so thick he hadn’t recognized the depths of her feelings for him, be so in tune to what she was feeling now?

She didn’t have the answer but was grateful that he seemed to understand the turmoil inside her as she contemplated going into Hope’s room. Deep within, she knew she was grateful that he was here with her.

“It’s all right. I can do this,” she said, as much to herself as to him.

She straightened her shoulders and opened the door. A gasp escaped her as she saw the utter mess inside. She took several steps into the room and stared around in horror.

Ripped clothes were everywhere. The French provincial bookshelf had been turned over, spilling its contents onto the floor. A hole was punched in the Sheetrock wall, as if it had been angrily kicked.

The bed had been stripped. She imagined that the investigators had taken away the bedclothes. “Definitely looks like somebody had a temper fit in here,” Charlie said from behind her.

Grace’s mind whirled with sick suppositions. Was it possible that a rage had been festering in Hope for some time? Their mother’s defection had been difficult on Grace, but it had been devastating for Hope. Grace had been twenty-eight years old when their mother had left, but Hope had been a thirteen-year-old who desperately needed her mom.

“I’ll just grab some clothes,” Grace said. She’d taken only two steps toward the closet when her foot crunched on something.

She looked down and saw the arm of a porcelain doll. She knew that arm. She knew that doll. It had been Hope’s prized possession, given to her on the birthday before their mother had disappeared.

Crouching down, she found the rest of the doll among the mess of clothes and books and miscellaneous items that had fallen from the bookcase.

The porcelain arms and legs had been pulled from the cloth body. The head was smashed beyond repair, and the body had been slashed open.

Rage. There was no doubt that rage had destroyed the doll. The rage of a daughter whose mother had left her with a man who hadn’t been able to understand her needs, her wants?

Hope’s rage?

The breakdown that began in Grace started with a trembling that seemed to possess her entire body. Her vision blurred with the hot press of tears, and for the first time she wondered if her sister had committed the crime, if it was possible that Hope was guilty.