Читать книгу Midnight Rider - Joanna Wayne - Страница 14
ОглавлениеSo this was the rodeo cowboy Sylvie Hamm had found irresistible. Brit had to admit he wasn’t the sort of a man who’d go unnoticed in a bar or most anywhere else.
His skin was tanned. His eyes were penetrating—caramel colored with gold flecks that made them almost hypnotizing when his gaze locked with hers. His hair was a sun-streaked brown, unruly, thick locks falling rakishly over his brow.
He needed a shave, but the rough growth of whiskers only added to his blatant masculinity, as did the angry, skinned blotch on his left cheek.
Worn jeans that fit to perfection, white Western shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. And a sauntering charisma and Texas drawl that left no doubt he was the real deal.
Put that package of screaming virility in a cozy bar with a steamy country ballad for background. A few drinks. A belly-rubbing dance or two. Then a burning kiss that rocked your soul...
Brit swallowed hard and shook the sensual images from her mind. Her relationship with Cannon Dalton was strictly business. She’d been angry with him since the day she’d learned that he was Kimmie’s missing-in-action father.
But he was also the only link to Sylvie. Aggravating him or making him defensive would not help her cause. Sylvie could have said or done something the night they’d been together that would lead Brit to the killer. She also needed enough information to decide if he would be a fit father for Kimmie.
If not, biological rights or not, Brit would do whatever it took to keep him from getting custody of her niece.
That move would be a last resort. Brit knew more about the rodeo than she did about taking care of a baby—and that was absolutely nothing.
“Jodie’s Grill and Deli. Is this the place?” Cannon asked as they approached the green awning that shielded the entrance from the elements.
“Yes. It’s larger than it looks from the outside and mostly a lunch spot, so it shouldn’t be too crowded tonight.”
He hurried ahead to get the door. Their shoulders brushed as she stepped past him. A jolt of unexpected heat surged through her. She stepped away quickly.
What was it about this man that was getting to her?
“Would you like a booth or a table?” the hostess asked when they stepped inside.
“How about that back booth?” Cannon suggested, nodding to one that the busboy was wiping down.
“Certainly, sir.”
“Okay with you, Brit?” he asked after the fact.
She nodded, surprised he’d called her by the shortened version of her first name. Rick was the only male in Homicide who did. To everyone else she was Garner.
It was as if she and Cannon had just skipped a few steps of the introductory stage. Perhaps part of the cowboy way, like his swagger and virility.
They followed the hostess past a cluster of occupied tables to the back corner of the dining area. Brit took the seat that let her see the door. It was a cop thing to always be able to watch and assess what was going on in any situation.
Cannon slid onto the padded bench seat opposite hers and opened his menu. “Any recommendations?” he asked as the hostess walked away.
“Salads are excellent,” Brit said. “My favorite is the Greek salad with a side of hummus and pita bread.”
“You mean for starters?”
“No. They’re large portions.”
“To you, maybe. Show me the beef.”
“In that case I hear their ribs and burgers are great.”
“That’s more like it.”
When the waitress showed up, he ordered the rib platter with two sides and a beer on draft to wash it down.
Brit ordered her usual with coffee.
The waitress returned quickly with their drinks. Cannon took a hefty swig of the beer, wiped his mouth on the white cotton napkin and plunged right into the reason they were there.
“I enjoy a good mystery as much as the next guy, but not when I’m playing a supporting role. So let’s get to the nitty-gritty of this. What makes you think I’m Kimmie’s father?”
“I don’t just think it. I’m reasonably certain. When we searched her apartment after Sylvie’s murder, I found a file that contained a legal document that she’d downloaded from the internet. It wasn’t notarized, but nonetheless, it was still clearly her intent that her written wishes be upheld.”
“And this document mentioned me by name?”
“Yes. It specified that in the case of her death or an injury that left her mentally or physically incapacitated, Cannon Dalton, the biological father of her daughter Kimmie, should be notified that he had a daughter.”
“There must be more than one Cannon Dalton in Texas.”
“Not one whose father owns the Dry Gulch Ranch.”
“She put that in there, too?”
“Yes, either you told her the night she got pregnant or she did some research to make sure Kimmie ended up in the right hands.”
“So you’re just relying on a computer document that anyone could have printed out and Sylvie never mentioned my name to you while she was pregnant?”
“The form was filed with other important papers. I have no reason to believe it was false.”
“Whose baby did you think she was carrying?” A husband’s? A fiancé’s? A current lover’s?
“It’s a very complicated situation, but the truth is I had never met Sylvie. I didn’t even know she existed until she was murdered.”
Brit stirred a packet of sweetener into her coffee and then took a sip before meeting Cannon’s penetrating gaze.
“How is it you didn’t know your twin sister?”
This was getting sticky. She’d rather not delve into her personal life with Cannon. On the other hand, he was Kimmie’s father. She had to tell him something.
Brit explained as succinctly as possible about being called to the morgue, glossing over how intensely disturbing it had been to see what looked like a waxed copy of herself laid out on the metal slab.
“A simple DNA test proved that we were twins,” Brit said, “and that Sylvie was Kimmie’s biological mother. By the time that was verified, I was neck-deep in the murder investigation.”
“That’s tough. I wish I could be more help,” Cannon said, “but this came at me from out of the blue. Right now I’m drawing a blank about that night.”
“I think the appropriate next step for you would be to have DNA testing to determine for certain that you are Kimmie’s father.”
“I agree. Any suggestions as to how to best go about that?”
“We have a lab here in town that handles the overflow from the police department. That would be the quickest bet. I can call now and find out if they can see you in the morning.”
“Then let’s get this rolling.”
She made the call while Cannon finished his beer and worried the salt shaker with his free hand. She could easily understand his being disturbed by the news he was almost certainly a father.
Fortunately, the lab was able to accommodate.
“They’ll see you at nine in the morning,” she said once she’d broken the phone connection.
“Where is this lab?”
“Not far from here.” She took a business card from her pocket and jotted down the street and web addresses of the lab on the back of the card before handing it to him. “You can get a map with directions at the website as well as pretest instructions about what you can and can’t eat or drink before coming in.”
“I can handle that. When will I get the results?”
“I’ll request a rush, but it depends on how backed up they are at the lab. We should hear in about three days.”
“That seems like long time for a rush.”
“It’s a very busy lab, but extremely reliable. You won’t have to stay in Houston. They’ll call you when the analysis is complete. Be sure to check the box on the form you sign for them that you want phone notification.”
Cannon took another swig of beer, scrunched his napkin and then turned his attention back to Brit. “Once you suspected I was the father, why didn’t you bring Kimmie to me instead of to the Dry Gulch Ranch? I don’t live there now and never have.”
“Your father was easier to locate.”
“Wrong answer. You’re a hotshot detective. You could have found me had you wanted to. I’m sure you checked out R.J. and me before you dropped off a helpless infant.”
Right again. He wasn’t as gullible as she’d expected and definitely not awed by her badge.
“I did investigate you, Cannon. You went into the Marines right out of high school. You list your uncle’s ranch near Midland as your permanent address, but he said you haven’t actually lived there in years. You have never been married and have no arrest record.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m trying to find Sylvie’s killer and I didn’t have time to chase you down at a rodeo. And I wasn’t about to leave my niece at a dirty arena with a bunch of sweaty cowboys and smelly livestock.”
“Don’t pretty it up on my account.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is new, but this has all been rather shocking to me, as well. Once I learned that your father lived on a large ranch surrounded by family, I decided they could handle taking care of Kimmie and getting you in to see me.”
“Fair enough, but if you disapprove of me and my lifestyle so vehemently, why drop her off at all? You could have raised her yourself. I didn’t know she existed.”
“That would have been illegal and unethical once I found that document. Besides, I couldn’t in good conscience ignore my sister’s written wishes.”
Not to mention that she’d tried caring for Kimmie and found it nearly impossible to work night and day on finding Sylvie’s killer, work the rest of her cases and take on the extremely demanding job of taking care of an infant.
She couldn’t begin to imagine how Cannon would handle it, but he was the father. He’d have to work out something.
“Where is Kimmie now?” Brit asked.
“At the Dry Gulch Ranch, but that’s temporary. I don’t have any ties with R. J. Dalton and I don’t want him in my daughter’s life—if I have a daughter. I’m far from convinced that I do, no matter what your sister wrote on some form.”
“The DNA testing will settle that.”
“It won’t settle what I’m supposed to do with her if the test comes out positive. I can’t take care of a baby. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you got my sister pregnant.”
“If I’d been sober and thinking, she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant. And, contrary to what you infer, it takes two to tango. I don’t push myself on women.”
“That you remember.”
Cannon emptied the glass of beer and set it down with a loud clunk. “I say we table the rest of this conversation until we know the results of the paternity test.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket, took out a few bills and tossed them on the table, then stood to leave. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I’d prefer to eat where the air doesn’t crackle with animosity.”
She’d said too much. Her boss had warned her that if she gave her this case Brit would have to keep her emotions out of it. But she’d lost a sister she’d never gotten to meet, a sister who had left a precious baby behind.
The waitress arrived with the meal. Great timing. The overflowing plate of ribs, fries and coleslaw had an immediate effect on Cannon’s demeanor.
“I’m sorry for the last comment,” Brit said. “It was out of line. Stay and eat. Please.”
Cannon sat back down and ordered another beer. After that, he gave the food his full attention.
Brit waited until he bit the remaining shred of meat from the last rib before getting back down to business. This time she made sure to keep her tone nonaccusing.
“Can we start over?” Brit suggested.
He stared her down. “Will it make a difference?”
“Yes. If I could ask you a few questions, it might help with the investigation. I promise to maintain a civil tone.”
“That would be worth seeing.”
Brit did her best to put aside the irritation toward Cannon she’d been nursing for almost a week.
“I know you said you don’t remember much about the evening you met my sister, Cannon, but if I ask you a few questions, maybe it will trigger a memory.”
“Worth a try,” he agreed. “I’d like to help you. No one deserves to be murdered, especially not a young mother minding her own business.”
“Was Sylvie alone at the bar that night or with a friend?”
“I don’t remember seeing her talking to anyone else. That doesn’t mean she didn’t come in with someone.”
“Did she mention a boyfriend, maybe one that she was supposed to meet there or had recently broken up with?”
He shook his head. “Not that I remember.”
“Did she seem afraid or talk about being afraid?”
He hesitated, his facial expression grim as if he really was attempting to remember a useful detail.
“I’m sorry. I was dealing with some heavy stuff of my own that night. All I remember about your sister is that she was there, drinking beer and putting up with me. I’m not proud of this, but to be totally honest, I don’t even remember her being in the hotel with me.”
“Then she wasn’t still in the room when you woke up?”
“No. That I would have remembered. Did you question the bartender and waitresses who work there to see if they knew her?”
“I questioned everyone,” Brit said. “No one remembered either of you. But then it has been a year. Some had moved on to other jobs, some to other parts of the country.”
Cannon shifted in his seat, looked around until he caught their waitress’s eye and signaled for a check. Obviously he was eager to escape her and her questions.
She wouldn’t push further tonight. Cannon was probably too bogged down with worrying over the paternity test results to think about anything else.
Brit was convinced the test results would be positive. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. But she had to admit that she could see why Sylvie had felt an immediate attraction to the sexy cowboy. He was a virile, rough and tough bull rider with a Texas drawl and a piercing stare that could shake a woman to her soul.
Some women. Not Brit, of course.
* * *
BY THE TIME Cannon reached his hotel, he was dead tired and ready to crash. Even so, he doubted sleep would come quick or last long. He’d received bad news on top of bad news over the past twenty-four hours and the hits just kept coming.
The murder of a lover he didn’t even remember being in bed with. A gorgeous homicide cop who thought of him as a disgusting rodeo bum.
A baby who’d curled her short, stubby finger around his callused one. His heart twisted inside him at the memory. But it didn’t change anything. Definitely didn’t mean he could give Kimmie what she needed.
Brit surely realized that. Or maybe not. He’d never been good at figuring out women. Brit was even thornier to figure than most.
She had an intensity about her that most of the young buckle bunnies who hung around the arena in their short shorts, bulging cleavage and ready temptation lacked. But then she was older than most of them and a homicide detective.
The kind of woman who either irritated the hell out of a man or turned him on to the point he couldn’t think straight. She had both effects on Cannon.
He had an idea there was a real flesh-and-blood woman behind that tough detective veneer but doubted he’d get a chance to see it. He dropped to the side of the bed and pulled off his boots as he gave that thought more consideration.
Brit in a more intimate setting, dressed in something skimpy and lacy. He imagined tangling his fingers in her shiny hair and gazing into those sky-blue eyes and seeing them glazed with passion.
Enough, cowboy. He yanked off his shirt, then stood and wiggled out of his jeans. He tossed them over a chair and headed for the bathroom.
He was about to step beneath the spray when his cell phone rang. He raced to grab it from his jeans pocket. The ID screen read R. J. Dalton. He resisted the temptation to ignore the call. Like it or not, R. J. Dalton and the Dry Gulch were in his life for the time being.
“Hello.”
“How’s it going?” R.J. asked. “Did you find out whether or not you’re Kimmie’s father?”
Cannon explained that the testing would be done the following morning.
“Did you get a chance to talk to Brittany Garner?”
“I did.”
“Is she Kimmie’s mother?”
“No. Turns out she’s Kimmie’s aunt.” Cannon figured there was no reason to go into details about Sylvie’s murder until he knew for certain whether or not Kimmie was his daughter.
“How are things going with the babysitting chores?” Cannon asked.
“Hadley is loving every minute of it. She’s like a kid with a new doll. Went shopping today and bought Kimmie a whole wardrobe, like she needs to be gussied up at that age.”
“Tell her not to get too attached yet.” Or ever, for that matter. Whatever happened, Cannon had no intention of making the Dry Gulch Ranch or R.J. part of his future.
“Baby’s right here, kicking like a Rockette in training,” R.J. said. “Want to tell her good-night?”
“No.” No way was he coochy-cooing over the phone.
“I’ll hold the phone close to her,” R.J. said, ignoring his response.
Soft cooing and gurgling sounds reached Cannon’s ear. His chest tightened. His stomach grew queasy. The tug on his emotions left his throat so dry he could barely manage a mumbled hello.
“She’s smiling,” R.J. said. “Must know you’re her dad.”
“Then she knows more than I do at this point.” Cannon said his goodbyes and broke the connection.
Heaven help them all if he was Kimmie’s father.
He was toweling off after the shower when he suddenly remembered something Sylvie had said that night they’d been drinking together. He rushed out of the bathroom in the nude, grabbed his jeans and dug Brit’s card from the pocket.
He’d punched in all but the last number when he changed his mind. What he remembered wasn’t a game changer. It could wait until morning. Give him a good reason to see her again.
And that’s when it hit him how much he wanted to see the condescending detective again. Could his life get any more screwed up?
* * *
BRIT WAS SLAMMED by the terrible sense of mysterious loss again as she pulled into the garage of her tri-level town house. She’d had a twin sister. They might have shared so many things, a closeness only twins are said to experience. If only they’d met before a killer had claimed Sylvie’s life.
Now Brit couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets were hiding in her past. Were there other siblings? Had she and Sylvie both been put up for adoption or was it only Brit their biological mother hadn’t wanted? Why hadn’t her adopted parents ever told her about her twin?
Could she have saved Sylvie from the brutal murder had they met sooner?
Now another question seared into her mind. Why hadn’t Sylvie told Cannon that she was pregnant with his child? Now that she’d met Cannon, it was hard to picture him as a man to fear.
Self-confident. Lived on the edge. Might never settle down. A heartache in cowboy clothing. Perhaps not the best of men to hang your heart on, but still he’d deserved to know he was a father.
The mystery continued to plague her thoughts as she killed the engine and climbed out of her silver Acura sedan. Hitting the garage button, the door began its descent as she entered the house though the small laundry-mudroom.
She left her keys on the hook by the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Anxiety hit like a bolt of lightning. She wasn’t alone. Her hand went for her gun as a pair of large, meaty hands grabbed her from behind. He yanked her arms behind her back with so much force she cried out in pain.
He shoved her into the wall, his own large body pushing into hers as he plied her weapon from her fingers. A heavy clunk sounded as it hit the tiled kitchen floor. A heartbeat later the sharp blade of a knife pricked the flesh at the base of her neck.
“A lesson you should have learned from your father. Piss off the wrong people and there will be hell to pay.”
Waves of adrenaline combatted the anxiety, revving all her police intuitions and training. Even with the knife at her neck, she struggled to turn enough to see the man’s face. His hold was too tight and the knife drew a stream of blood that trickled down her neck.
“How do you know my dad?”
“Wrong question.” He laughed and then coughed a raspy rattle that seemed to come from deep in his chest. The blade of the knife slid across her jugular and then down her arm, a promise of the hell to come.
If she did nothing, he was going to kill her.
Brit kicked backward, connecting with the attacker’s right leg hard enough to throw him off balance.
The knife slid to her shoulder, slicing through the flesh painfully as it slashed across her skin, but still he held her arm behind her back so tightly she couldn’t move.
“You bitch. Your payback is waiting in the bedroom, all your fault.”
He was going to rape and kill her. She bucked the back of her head against him with all the strength she could muster. She heard it crack against his chin.
Unfazed, her assailant pounded his fist into her back and then spun her around to face him. Dizzy from pain, she struggled to focus. All she could make out was a pair of onyx-black eyes glowing like coals.
He hammered her head against the wall with his fist. She sank to the floor, the room a hazy mass of shifting images.
Somehow she spotted the pistol he’d knocked from her hand. She reached for it and her finger found the trigger.
Before she could aim it, his foot connected with her head. Dizzy and disoriented, she aimed into the foggy blur and pulled the trigger.
A filmy black curtain slowly descended on her world.
