Читать книгу Dangerous - Diana Palmer - Страница 9

Winnie stormed out into the hall. Her face was taut with anger.

“Who is she?” Keely asked Boone, concerned. His own face had gone hard. “Our mother,” he said bitterly. “We haven’t seen her since she left. She ran away with our uncle and divorced our dad to marry him.”

“Oh, dear,” Keely said, biting her lip. She looked up at his angry expression. “I think I’ll go on upstairs. It might be better if the two of you saw her alone.”

“I was thinking the same thing myself. I’ll tell you all about it later,” Boone said gently, kissing her.

“Okay.”

WINNIE HAD ALREADY thrown open the front door. She looked at the older version of herself with seething hatred. “What do you want here?” she demanded hotly.

The woman, tall and dignified, her blond hair sprinkled with gray but neatly combed, wearing a dark pantsuit, blinked as if the assault was unexpected. She frowned. “Winona?” she asked.

Winnie turned and stormed back into the living room.

Boone’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re here looking for money,” he began in a cold tone.

“I have a good job,” she replied, puzzled. “Why would I want money from you?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. He stood aside, stone-faced, and let her in the door. She was carrying a briefcase. She looked around, as if she didn’t recognize her surroundings. It had been a very long time since she’d lived here.

She turned to Boone, very businesslike and solemn. “I have some things for you. They belonged to your father, but your uncle took them with him when he … when he and I,” she corrected, forcing the words out through her teeth, “left here.”

“What sort of things?” Boone asked.

“Heirlooms,” she replied.

“Why didn’t our uncle come with you?”

Her eyebrows arched. “He’s been dead for a month. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Sorry,” he said stiffly. “It must be sad for you.”

“I divorced your uncle twelve years ago,” she said flatly. “He’s been living with a woman who makes her living as a low-level drug dealer, selling meth on the streets. She’s an addict herself.” She indicated the briefcase. “I told her these things belonged to her boyfriend’s family and that legal proceedings might ensue if she didn’t hand them over.” Her expression was determined. “They belong here.”

He motioned her into the living room. Winnie was sitting stiffly in an armchair, as welcoming as a cobra.

The older woman sat down gracefully on the sofa, her eyes going to the mantel, over which hung a painting of Boone and Winnie and Clark’s late father. Her gaze lingered on it sadly, but only for seconds. She put the briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. She drew out several items, some made of gold, including pieces of jewelry that were worth a king’s ransom.

“These belonged to your great-grandmother,” she told the other occupants of the room. “She was a high-born Spanish lady from Andalusia who came here with her father to sell a rancher a prize stallion. Your great-grandfather was a ranch foreman who worked for the owner. He had very little money, but grand dreams, and he was a hard worker. She fell in love with him and married him. It was her inheritance that bought this land and built the house that originally sat on it.” She smiled. “They said she could outride any of the cowboys, and that she once actually fought a bull that had gored her husband, using her mantilla as a cape. Saved his life.”

“There’s a painting of her in the upstairs guest bedroom,” Boone said quietly, lifting one of the brooches in his strong, dark hands.

“Why did you bother to bring them back?” Winnie asked coldly.

“They’d have been sold to buy drugs,” she replied simply. “I felt responsible for them. Bruce took them when we left.” Her face hardened. “He felt that he was deliberately left out of your grandfather’s will. He was furious when your father inherited the ranch. He wanted to get even.”

“So he corrupted you and forced you to run away with him,” Winnie said with an icy smile.

“I wasn’t forced,” the older woman said kindly. “I was naive and stupid. And I don’t expect to be welcomed back into the family because I returned a few heirlooms.” She picked up her briefcase and stood up. Her eyes went from her son to her daughter. “Is Clark here?”

Boone shook his head. “On a date.”

She smiled sadly. “I would like to have seen him. It’s been so long.”

“Your choice, wasn’t it?” Winnie demanded. She stood up, too, dark eyes blazing. “Dad hated you for leaving, and I look like you, don’t I? I paid for his pain. Paid for it every miserable day he was alive.”

“I’m sorry,” the older woman said haltingly.

“Sorry. Sorry!” Winnie jerked up her blouse and turned around. “Want to see how sorry you should really be?”

Boone caught his breath at the marks on her back. There were scars. Two of them. They ran across her spine in white trails. “You never told me he did that!” Boone accused, furious.

“He said that if I told, you and Clark would have similar souvenirs,” she bit off, pulling her blouse down.

The older woman winced. So did Boone.

“I’ve wanted to see you for years,” Winnie said, reddening. “I wanted to tell you how much I hated you for running off and leaving us!”

She only nodded. “I don’t blame you, Winona,” she said in a steady, calm voice. “I did a terrible thing, to all of you.” She drew in a long breath and smiled sadly. “You won’t believe it, but there was a price that I had to pay, too.”

“Good,” Winnie bit off. “I’m glad! Now please leave. And don’t come back.”

She whirled and ran up the staircase.

Boone walked his mother to the door and opened it for her. His expression was unrelenting. But his eyes were curious, especially when he saw that she had a passenger in her car. It wasn’t a new car, but it was well kept. He noted her clothing. Not from upscale stores, but serviceable and not cheap. Her shoes were thick soled and laced up. She was immaculately clean, even her fingernails. He wondered what she did for a living. She seemed a sensible woman.

“Thank you for bringing the heirlooms home,” he said after a minute.

Gail Rogers Sinclair looked up at him with quiet pride. “You look like your father, as he did when we were first married.” She frowned. “Didn’t I read that you married this year?”

“Yes. Her name is Keely. She works for a local vet.”

She nodded. “Her mother was killed.”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“At least that crime was quickly solved,” she replied. “This new murder in Jacobsville is getting a lot of attention from the Feds. I don’t think it’s going to be as easy to catch the perpetrator.” She searched his eyes. “There may be a tie from the case to your uncle,” she said calmly. “I’m not sure yet, but it could mean some bad publicity for all three of you. I’ll try to keep it quiet, but these things have a way of getting out. There’s always some resourceful reporter with a reputation to build.”

“That’s true.” He was curious about her familiarity with the case. “How are you involved?” He wanted to know.

“That’s need to know, and you don’t,” she said, gentling the words with a smile. “I understand that Winnie works as a dispatcher with emergency services. I’m very proud of her. It’s a generous thing she does, working for her living. She would never have to.”

“Yes. How is our uncle concerned with the murder?”

“I don’t know that yet. It’s still under investigation. Messy,” she added. “Very, very messy, and it may involve some important people before it’s over. But it shouldn’t cause any problems for you three,” she added. “The murderer doesn’t have anything to fear from you.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to go. I came down to confer with a friend, and I’m late. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see Clark. What does he do?”

“He works with me on the ranch,” Boone said. He was adding up her attitude and her indifference to their wealth and her sadness. “Someday,” he said, “maybe we need to talk.”

She smiled at him with quiet eyes. “There’s nothing more to be said. We can’t change the past. I made mistakes that I can’t ever correct or atone for. Now, I just get on with my job and try to help where I can. Take care. It was very good to see the two of you, even under the circumstances.” She looked at him for a moment more, so much pain in her eyes and in her face that it made him feel guilty.

Finally, she turned and walked down the steps toward the car. Boone watched her, scowling, his hands in his pockets. She got into the car, spoke to a shorter person in the passenger seat, started the engine and slowly drove away.

WINNIE CAME BACK down after the car was gone. Her eyes were wet, her face red with bad temper despite Keely’s comforting upstairs. “She’s gone, then. Good riddance!”

Boone was pensive. “I wish you’d told me what Dad did to you.”

She managed a wan smile. “I wanted to. But I was afraid of what he might do. He really hated me. He said that I was the image of my mother, but he was going to make sure that I never wanted to follow in her footsteps.”

“He kept you in church every time it was open,” he replied quietly.

“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “And threatened every boy who came here to see me. I ended up with a non-existent social life.” She sighed. “I suppose I’m very repressed.”

“You’re also very nice,” Boone said. He put his arms around her and hugged her fondly. “You know, despite the misery of our childhoods, we’ve done pretty well, haven’t we?”

“You certainly have,” she said, wiping away the tears. She smiled. “I love Keely. She’s not only my best friend, now she’s my sister-in-law.”

He was somber. “You saved her life after the rattlesnake bit her,” he said quietly. “She would have died, and I would have been responsible.” His face hardened. “I can’t imagine why I believed such lies about her.”

“I’m sure your ex-girlfriend’s detective was convincing,” she said. “You shouldn’t look back. Keely loves you. She never stopped, not even when she thought you hated her.”

He smiled. “I was a hard case.”

“Well, we’re all victims of our childhood, I suppose. Dad was tough on you, too.”

“He couldn’t beat me down,” he recalled. “He got furious at me, but he respected me.”

“That was probably what saved you from the treatment I got.” She sighed. “It was twelve years ago when she left. I was ten. Ten years old.”

“I was technically an adult,” he recalled. “Clark was in junior high.” He shook his head. “I still don’t understand why she left Dad for our uncle. He was a shallow man, no real character and no work ethic. It’s no surprise to me that he was dealing drugs. He always did look for the easy way to get money. Dad bailed him out of jail more than once for stealing.”

“Yes.” She looked at the heirlooms lying on the coffee table. “It’s surprising that our mother brought those back. She could have sold them for a lot of money.”

“Quite a lot of money,” Boone said. He frowned, recalling what she’d said about their uncle’s possible connection to people suspected in the local murder. He looked at Winnie, but he didn’t say anything about it. She was too shaken already. It could wait. “I wonder who she had with her in the car?” he added suddenly.

She turned. “A boyfriend, maybe,” she said curtly. “I could tell he was male from upstairs. But he looked pretty short.”

“Not our business,” Boone said. He picked up a brooch with a tiny painting of a beautiful little Spanish girl, in her middle to late teens by the look of her, dressed all in black with a mantilla. Her red lipstick and a red rose in her hair under the black lace mantilla were the only bright things in the miniature. Her hair was long, black and shiny. She had a tiny, strange little smile on her lips. Mysterious. He smiled, just looking at it. “I wonder who she was?” he mused aloud.

“Turn it over. Maybe there’s initials or something,” she suggested, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

He did. He frowned. “It’s labeled with a piece of tape. Señorita Rosa Carrera y Sinclair.” He whistled. “This was our great-grandmother, when she was first married! I should have known, but the portrait of her upstairs was painted when she was older.”

Winnie looked at it, took it from his hands and studied the lovely face. “She was very beautiful.” She laughed. “And she fought bulls with a mantilla! She must have been brave.”

“If what I remember hearing from Dad about our great-grandfather is accurate, she had to be brave.”

“Truly.” She put the brooch down and looked at the other treasures. “So many rubies,” she mused. “She must have loved them.”

“You should pick out some of those to wear,” he suggested.

She laughed. “And where would I wear expensive jewelry like this?” she chided. “I work for Jacobs County dispatch. Wouldn’t the girls have a hoot seeing me decked out in these? Shirley would fall out of her chair laughing.”

“You should get out more,” he said somberly.

She gave him a long, sad look. “I’ll never get out, now. Kilraven is leaving after Christmas,” she said. Her face fell. “I gave him the raven painting at the party. He glared at me as if I’d committed murder under his nose and stormed out without even speaking to me.” She flushed. “Nothing that ever happened to me hurt so much.”

“I thought the presents were anonymous.”

“They were. I don’t know how he knew it was me. I’ve never told him that I paint.”

“He’s a strange bird,” Boone commented. “He has feelings. Sort of like you do,” he added with a grin. “Sending backup when you thought he was going to a routine domestic fight with no weapons involved.”

She nodded. “He was furious about that, too. But it saved his life.”

“You really ought to see Cash Grier’s wife, Tippy. She has those intuitions, too.”

“She knows things,” Winnie replied. “Whatever sort of mental gift this is, I don’t have her accuracy. I just feel uncomfortable before something bad pops up. Like today,” she said quietly. “I felt sick all day. Now I know why.”

“You do look like her.” He was going to add that their mother used to have odd feelings about things that later happened, but he didn’t.

“Yes,” she said curtly. She looked at the jewelry. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. She did a good thing. But it will never make up for leaving us.”

“She knows that. She said she didn’t come for forgiveness.”

She frowned. “Why did she come?”

“She’s meeting someone.”

“A boyfriend here in Jacobs County?” she asked curtly.

“No, she said it was business.” He frowned, too. “You know, she seems to know a lot about that recent murder here.”

“Why would she?”

Boone grimaced. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but it seems our uncle may have had ties to the case.”

She let out a breath. “Oh, that’s great. Now he’s not just the man who stole our mother, he’s a murderer!”

“No, not that sort of involvement,” he replied. “I think he might have had some connection to the people involved. From what she said, he was a heavy drug user.”

“Not surprising. I never liked him,” she confessed. “He was always picking on Dad, trying to compete with him in everything. It was sort of sad to me at the time because anybody could see he wasn’t the equal of our father at business or ranching or anything else.”

“Our father had some good qualities. Hitting you like that wasn’t one of them,” he added coldly, “and if I’d known about it, I’d have knocked him through a wall!”

“I know that. It was only the one time,” she said quietly, “and he’d been drinking. It was just after he and our mother met that time, when he thought she wanted to come back. It wasn’t long after she’d gone away with our uncle. He came back home all quiet and furious, and he drank like a fish for about two months. That was when he hit me. He was sorry afterward, and he promised never to do it again. But he hated me, just the same, because I looked like her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said with a sigh. “It sort of turned me against men, at least where marriage was concerned.”

“Except with Kilraven.”

She flushed and glared at him. “He’ll probably never speak to me again, after what happened at the party. I don’t understand why he was so angry.” She sighed. “Of course, I don’t understand why I painted a raven for him, either. It’s not one of my usual subjects. I like to do flowers. Or portraits.”

“You’re very good at portraits.”

“Thanks.”

“You could have made a name for yourself as a portrait artist, even an illustrator.”

“I never had the dedication,” she replied. “I really do love my job,” she added.

“So does Keely,” he replied with an indulgent smile. “It’s not a bad thing, working when you don’t have to.”

“You’d know,” she accused, laughing. “You work harder on the ranch than your men do. That reporter for Modern Ranching World had to learn to ride a horse just to interview you about your new green technology because he could never find you unless he went out on the ranch.”

“They’re putting me on the cover,” he muttered. “I didn’t mind doing the article—I think it helps ranching’s public image. But I don’t like the idea of seeing myself looking back at me from a magazine rack.”

“You’re very good-looking,” she said. “And it is good PR. Not that you’ll ever sell the idea of humane beef cultivation to vegetarians,” she added with a chuckle.

He shrugged. “As long as people want a nice, juicy steak at a restaurant, there’s not much chance that ranchers are going to turn to raising house cattle.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you could put a diaper on a calf and bring him inside …”

She hit him. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “And when I get upstairs, I’m going to tell Keely what you just said.”

“No!” he wailed. “I was only kidding about it. She’d actually do it!”

She laughed. “There wouldn’t be room. Bailey’s as big as a calf.”

The old German Shepherd looked up from his comfortable doggy bed by the fireplace and wagged his tail.

“See?” she asked. “He knows he’s a calf.”

He shook his head. He bent to ruffle the dog’s fur. He glanced at Winnie. “You going to be okay?”

“Sure.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being my brother. Don’t leave the jewels lying around,” she advised. “If Clark comes home and sees them, he’ll beg some of them for whatever girl he’s crazy over at the moment.”

“Good thought,” he said, grinning. “I’ll put them in the safe and drive them to town Monday and lodge them in the safe-deposit box.”

“She could have sold them and we’d never have known,” she replied quietly. “I wonder why she didn’t? She’s not driving a new car. Her clothes are nice, but not expensive.”

“There’s no telling why,” he said.

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

He shook his head. “Just that she was meeting a friend.”

“At this hour? I wonder who she knows here?” she mused. “She used to be friends with Barbara, who runs the café. But Barbara told me years ago that she hadn’t heard a word from her.”

“It might be some newcomer,” Boone said. “Not our business, anyway.”

“I guess. Well, I’m going to bed. It’s been a very long day.”

“For you, it sure has,” he said sympathetically. “First Kilraven, now our mother.”

“Things can only get better, right?” she asked, smiling.

“I hope so. Tell Keely I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, and I’ll be up. You sleep well.”

She smiled. “You, too.”

KILRAVEN HAD JUST pulled up in the driveway of his remote rental house in Comanche Wells when he noticed a sedan sitting there. Always overly cautious, he had his.45 automatic in his hand before he opened the door of his car. But when he got out and saw who his visitor was, he put it right back in the holster.

“What the hell are you doing out here at this hour of the night?” he asked.

She smiled. “Bringing bad news, I’m afraid. I couldn’t get you on your cell phone, so I took a chance and drove down.”

He paused by the car. “What’s wrong, Rogers?” he asked, because he knew it had to be something major to bring her from San Antonio.

She didn’t correct him. Her last name had been Sinclair, but she’d taken her maiden name back after she divorced Bruce Sinclair. Now she went by the name Gail Rogers. She leaned against the car and sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s Rick Marquez,” she said. “Someone blindsided him in an alley near his apartment and left him for dead.”

“Good Lord! Does his mother know?”

She nodded. “She’s at the hospital with him. Scared her to death. But he looks worse than he is. Badly bruised, and a fractured rib, but he’ll live. He’s mad as hell.” She chuckled. “Whoever hit him is going to wish they’d never heard his name.”

“At least he’ll walk away,” Kilraven said. He grimaced. “This case just keeps getting more and more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Whoever’s behind these murders seems to feel that the body count no longer matters.”

“He’s feeling cornered and he’s desperate,” Kilraven agreed. His eyes narrowed. “You watch your back. You’re in as much danger as Marquez. At the very least, they should put you on administrative until we get some sort of lead on what’s happening.”

“I won’t sit at a desk and let everyone around me take risks,” she replied calmly. “Still …”

She held up a hand. “Give up. I’m stubborn.”

He sighed. “Okay. But be extra cautious, will you?”

“Of course. Has forensic turned up anything interesting about the DB down here?” DB referred to dead body.

“Alice Jones is handling the case. She’s got a piece of paper that they’re teasing secrets out of, but she hasn’t told me anything new. Senator Fowler’s actually cooperating, though. It shook him up when one of his female employees turned up dead. Somebody tried to make it look like suicide, but they didn’t do their homework. Had the pistol in the wrong hand.”

“I heard about that,” she said. “Sloppy. Real sloppy.”

“That’s what worries me.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m going to ask for some time off to work this case. Now that our newest Junior Senator Will Sanders has stopped putting obstacles in our path, maybe we can catch a break. With Marquez sidelined, you’re going to need some help. And I have good contacts.”

“I know.” She smiled. “We might actually solve your case. I hope so.”

“Me, too.” His face was taut with pain. “I’ve spent the last seven years waiting for something to help crack the case. Maybe this latest murder is it.”

“Well, it’s going to be slow,” she said. “We’re no closer to the identity of the man found dead in Jacobs County, or to the people who killed Senator Fowler’s employee. Now we’ve got Marquez’s attack to work on, as well.” She shook her head. “I should have gotten a job baking cakes in a restaurant.”

He gave her a look of mock surprise. “You can cook?”

She glared at him. “Yes, I can cook. On my salary who can afford to eat out?”

He laughed. “Come work for me. I have an expense account.”

“No, thanks,” she said, holding out both hands, palm up. “I’ve heard about some of your exploits.”

“Lies,” he said. “Put out by jealous colleagues.”

“Hanging out of a helicopter by one hand, firing an automatic weapon, over an ocean,” she related, emphasizing the last word.

“I did not,” he said haughtily.

She just stared at him.

“Anyway, I was not hanging on by my hand.” He hesitated. Then he grinned. “I wrapped one of my legs around a piece of cargo netting and held on that way!”

“I’m going home,” she said with a laugh.

“Keep your doors locked,” he advised firmly.

“You bet.”

She climbed in under the wheel and shut the door. Beside her, a shadowy figure waved. He waved back. He wondered who her companion was. He couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness, but he looked young. Maybe a trainee, he thought. He turned back toward his house.