Читать книгу The Hopechest Bride - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 9

Joe Colton threw down the newspaper in obvious disgust, and turned to glare at his oldest son. “All right. Who the hell is this Wanda Harris, and who did she talk to out of Law’s office? Damn it, Rand, I can’t believe this. It has only been twenty-four hours, and the wire services have already picked up on the story. I can have the phones controlled here at the ranch, but we’re going to have a million reporters camping outside the gates like damned vultures! Trucks. Lights. Satellite dishes. Idiots trying to breach the fences. Your mother can’t handle this, Rand. We’ve got to do something.”

Rand bent to pick up the newspaper, laid it on the desk in Joe’s study. “Dad, speaking as an attorney now, there’s only so much we can do. Freedom of the press, and all of that.”

Joe wasn’t listening. He was too busy pacing, hands clenched into fists, talking to himself. “And Teddy! Damn it, why did she have to mention Teddy? And to say I won’t be indicted? Indicted for what? Would anyone actually believe that I would have been a willing partner in Patsy’s scheme? Hell, obviously that reporter did. She wondered enough to ask the question and print an answer. Because of Teddy, I suppose. What a mess. Harris is making it all sound like some kind of tabloid scandal.”

Rand rubbed at the bridge of his nose and winced. “Yeah, I know. It was bad enough when the news came out about Emmett, but this one does have all the makings of a tabloid feeding frenzy. You can keep it low-key on Colton Enterprises stations, and my cousin Harrison won’t allow anything sensational in his publications—but this definitely is not going to go away overnight, Dad. You’re a former senator and business magnate, your sister-in-law unbelievably impersonated your wife for ten long years, you fathered her child—”

“I did not— Oh, God,” Joe said, collapsing into the huge leather chair behind his desk. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly as he looked at his son. “Teddy’s not my child, Rand,” he said carefully, looking toward the shut door to the hall. “And that’s when I should have known. She—Patsy—came to me, all excited, telling me she was pregnant, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I knew I was sterile, and had been since that bout of mumps years ago. Your mother and I learned that when we tried to conceive after Michael’s death and couldn’t. But Patsy didn’t know. I should have known then, sensed something then. Teddy’s eight. This mess lasted eight more years than it should have. If only I hadn’t forgiven Patsy, believed that she’d made a mistake, had a short affair because I wasn’t…because I wasn’t paying her enough attention, meeting her needs. God, you’re right. The whole thing does sound like fodder for the tabloids.”

His son remained silent for some moments, lost in his own thoughts, then asked, “Who is the father? Do you know?”

Joe shook his head. “No, and I don’t think I want to know.”

“Teddy might want to know,” Rand put in tightly, avoiding his father’s gaze.

Joe pushed back his chair, stood up. “Not now, Rand, don’t go all ethical on me now. I can’t think about Teddy’s parentage now. I can’t think about that, or the fact that your mother, when she saw Teddy and Joe, Jr. last night, remarked on how they looked very much like brothers. Because if I were to think that Joe is also— No. Like I said, I can’t think about any of this now, about how blind I was, about the mistakes that were made. All I can do is protect your mother, Rand. We all have to protect your mother.”

“That’s a given, Dad,” Rand said, walking over to the window and looking out into the courtyard, to where Teddy and ten-year-old Joe, Jr. were kicking a soccer ball. “Joe showed up on our doorstep, just an infant, only shortly before Mom’s accident, remember? Just before Patsy took Mom’s place here at the ranch. We all know how crazy Patsy is about Joe, about Teddy. It was almost as if the rest of her children, natural, adopted and foster children, were cut out of her life, leaving just those two boys. Could it be? Is it possible that Patsy left Joe on our doorstep, then arranged to move in herself and mother her child?”

Rand turned away from the window and looked at his father. “I think we need DNA tests, Dad. I think we need to know exactly what went on when Joe came to us. For Joe’s sake. And if Teddy isn’t to grow up believing you to be his father, maybe we need DNA testing on him, too. The last thing we need in this house, Dad, are more secrets.”

Joe slowly nodded his head. “I’ll talk to your mother, see what she wants to do. But not yet, Rand. She’s too overwhelmed as it is, and very worried about Emily.”

“We’re all worried about Emily, and I’ve been giving something some thought for a few days now, even before we all came here to the ranch. I know I’m rushing things here, but I watched Emily when we were with Mom’s psychologist in Mississippi. Dr. Martha Wilkes—a good, caring woman Mom really trusted. I was thinking, Dad, maybe we could get Dr. Wilkes to come out here for a while, stay at the ranch? Talk Mom past this media circus we’re sure to have, help her adjust? And maybe talk with Emily while she’s at it?”

“It’s one step,” Joe agreed, sighing. “We have to start somewhere, don’t we? God knows I feel the need to do something. Go ahead, Rand, call the doctor and see if she’s agreeable. We’ll pay all her expenses, of course, and have her here as our guest. And after that, find out if we can visit Patsy at the jail later today. I have some questions for her, and possibly a deal to make with the woman.”

Once upon a time there had been a small toddler-aged girl who was placed in the foster system after the deaths of her parents.

And once upon a time a fairy princess and her big, handsome prince had rescued that little girl from the system, taken her into their fairy-tale palace and raised her as their own. Adopted her, gave her their name while preserving the name of her parents, making sure the little girl still saw her grandmother while that good woman was alive.

Once upon a time that little girl was happy, loved, cherished. She lived in the fairy-tale palace, surrounded by foster and adopted brothers and sisters, adored by her new parents.

And then, when the girl, Emily Blair Colton, was eleven, the wicked witch destroyed all that happiness.

One fateful day, as Emily’s adoptive mother, Meredith Colton, drove the child toward town, to visit her grandmother, there was an accident. A planned accident that drove Meredith’s car off the road, tumbled it into a ditch.

Meredith was knocked unconscious, as was Emily, and when Emily awoke, still strapped into the seat belt in the back seat, she saw two mommies. Her good mommy, and the evil mommy. The wicked witch. Frightened as only an eleven-year-old could be, Emily fainted, and woke much later in the hospital, to see just one mommy.

But which mommy?

Not her mommy. Oh, no. Her real mommy would never yell at her, put a hand across her mouth to stop her from crying. Her real mommy wouldn’t have somehow changed from laughing and loving to cold and accusing. Her real mommy would call her “Sparrow,” and read her stories each night, and never yell, never call her “you bad, bad child.”

Ten years. Ten long, dark years the wicked witch had stayed and the good mommy had been gone. Lost.

Nobody listened, nobody believed. Or did they? Someone finally had believed Emily. Someone had believed her enough to try to kill her, here at the ranch, here in her own bedroom. Someone had felt it necessary to shut up the child who was now a woman, yet still also the child who questioned, who still believed her good mommy had been stolen away by the wicked witch.

Because of that somebody, Emily had nearly died. Three times. And somebody had died, had died protecting her, had died saving her…had died loving her.

“It’s my fault,” Emily said aloud in her quiet bedroom, the yellow November sun slanting through the windows, onto her coverlet. “Toby’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

Detective Thaddeus Law pushed a fresh cup of coffee across the scarred wooden table, then waited as Patsy Portman lifted the cup and drank deeply. A department video camera perched on a tripod in a corner of the room was loaded with a fresh tape and ready to go after their lunch break, which had just ended. He hit the remote button, starting the machine, then once more recited his name, Patsy’s name, the date, the place, the time. Once more he read Patsy Portman her Miranda rights, which she once again agreed to waive.

Everything was set, ready. He looked to his left, at the two-way mirror, and nodded. He’d begin now, ask the questions the men behind that two-way mirror had suggested.

Patsy Portman was dressed in the royal blue T-shirt and scrub pants imprinted with “Prosperino Jail” on the shirt back and one pants leg. Yet she still held her head high, her perfectly combed hair and makeup-free but still classically beautiful face so at odds with her attire, as were her carefully manicured fingernails.

It was only her eyes that told the true story of Patsy Portman. Those flat, dead eyes that could flash manic in an instant. Those eyes that held so many secrets, so much sorrow…and more than a hint of madness. She’d asked for her pills, twice, then refused to tell Thaddeus where they were, who had prescribed them. Without her medication, the thin veil of sanity was rapidly slipping away.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Sgt. Kade Lummus stepped inside, clad in his sharply creased navy uniform pants, his crisply starched dark gray department-issue shirt. “Her lawyer’s here,” he said with a tip of his head toward the hallway. “You want me to send him in?”

“I don’t need a lawyer,” Patsy said, glaring at Thaddeus. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. I’m the victim here, remember.” Her left eyelid began to twitch, but she kept her hands carefully folded on the edge of the table. Tightly folded, her knuckles white with strain. She was holding on, but she’d soon crack, go to pieces or to a place inside her mind where nobody could reach her.

It was now or never, Thaddeus decided, as soon they’d get nothing from the Portman woman. He looked toward the mirror once more. “Send him in, Kade, and then join us. Ms. Portman,” he continued, leaning his elbows on the tabletop, “I know you waived your Miranda rights. You waived them several times, in fact. But even the innocent are advised to accept the services of a lawyer, and Mr. Roberts is one of the best defense attorneys in the state.”

Patsy gave a toss of her head. “Sure. And who’s paying him? Joe? The man’s demented, lost his mind. Why not just lock me up and throw away the key? And my name is Colton, Thaddeus. Meredith Colton. I was a guest at your wedding, remember? I believe we gave you crystal. Baccarrat crystal. Do try to keep that straight in your head, all right?”

“Kade,” Thad called out as the door opened once more and attorney Jim Roberts entered the room, Gucci briefcase in hand. “Three more coffees, if you please. This is going to take a while.”

“Ms. Portman,” Attorney Roberts said after introducing himself, “I’m advising you not to say another word until we’ve been able to confer. And I’d like to have you examined by a psychiatrist as soon as possible.”

“Why? Because Joe says I’m nuts? Oh, yeah, he’d love that, wouldn’t he? He’d just love that. You’d all love that.” Patsy shook her head, then glared up at the attorney, her eyes spitting fire. “No deal. No shrinks. Bring one in here and I’ll have the cops throw out the both of you. I can do that, you know. I have my rights.”

“Yes, you do, Patsy. You do have rights. So let’s forget the doctor for the moment. We’ll take this one step at a time. Detective Law?” the attorney asked, looking at Thad. “I’d like a few moments alone with my client.”

“I am not your client,” Patsy said angrily. “There is no way in hell I’m going to let Joe Colton pick my lawyer.” She shook her head, laughed, a hint of the mania Thad had already glimpsed creeping into her voice. “Man, then I would be nuts, wouldn’t I?” She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, her face contorted, before her features smoothed once again. “Oh, hell, why not? Thaddeus, take a hike why don’t you, and we’ll see what Joe’s offering. He is offering something, isn’t he? They always do…they always do…they always— What? You’re waiting for a bus, Thaddeus? Get out of here!”

Roberts gave a small jerk of his head, indicating that Thad should leave the room, which he did after switching off the video camera, going to join Joe and Rand Colton behind the two-way mirror, but turning off the sound that was piped in from the interrogation room to maintain attorney-client privilege.

“I hope he can persuade her to cooperate before she loses all control,” Thad said, watching as Joe Colton turned away from the glass, his whole posture one of extreme fatigue. “She’s hanging on by a thread, you know. Must be all that practice she’s had, impersonating your wife.”

“He’ll get her to cooperate, Thad,” Rand said, putting a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “All of a sudden Silas Pike is singing his lungs out up in Keyhole. He’s identified Patsy as the woman who hired him to kill Emily. And then there’s Sheriff Toby Atkins. Pike’s facing Wyoming’s stiffest sentence for killing a police officer, remember? He doesn’t have many bargaining chips, and he’d sell his own mother up the river for a chance at serving his time in the most modern facility available.”

Thad nodded. “Oh, he’s singing all right. I got a fax this morning, Rand, one you’re not going to like. According to Pike, he was responsible for Nora Hickman’s hit-and-run death last year. You know we haven’t had any luck solving that one, but Pike knows particulars only the killer would know, so we’re pretty sure we’ve got our man. He says the same woman who hired him to do Emily, hired him to kill Nora, supposedly to shut her up about something. We’ll level charges, of course, but it’s going to be about two lifetimes before Wyoming is done with him. I’m sorry, Joe. I’m really sorry.”

“Poor Nora,” Joe said as Rand rubbed his father’s back. “She worked for us for years, was a part of the family in many ways. Why would Patsy need to silence her? Nora couldn’t have known anything, could she?”

“We’ll find out, Dad,” Rand told him, looking at Thad. “We’ll find it all out, if Jim can get Patsy to agree to an insanity plea in exchange for being committed to a psychiatric hospital. According to Jim, both the district attorney and the judge he spoke to are amenable to a not guilty by reason of insanity plea, if she tells all. She can’t testify against Pike if she’s judged mentally incompetent, but Wyoming says it doesn’t need her, not with Pike spilling his guts faster than the stenographer can type his confession. She goes away, she stays away, and in exchange, as Jim is probably telling her now, we’ll keep Joe, Jr. and Teddy, continue to raise them as they’re being raised.”

“We would have done that anyway,” Joe said, glaring at his son. “It sounded like a good idea when I first had it, but not now. I don’t like threatening her this way.”

“Nobody likes it, Dad, but if we’re going to have answers, and closure, we’ve got to get Patsy talking, don’t we?”

There was a rap on the two-way glass, and they all turned to see Jim Roberts motioning for Thad to reenter the interrogation room. Thad turned up the volume once more, before rejoining the lawyer and activating the video camera.

“It worked,” the lawyer told them all in a whisper, standing close to the glass as Thad went through his little time-and-place speech one more time, “and thank God it did, because this woman is highly disturbed. Highly disturbed. I would have pressed for an insanity plea in any case.” More loudly, looking at Thad, he said, “My client is willing to plead in exchange for immunity from prosecution and commitment to a psychiatric facility, and will make a complete statement immediately. Can we get a stenographer in here?”

“A mother’s love,” Joe said in the small, dark room beyond the two-way mirror. “Even sick as she is, we could touch her love for Teddy and Joe, Jr.”

“There will still be press, Dad, but it will blow over much more quickly now, as Jim can plead to have everything handled in chambers, without anything said in open court. Pike gets punished, and Patsy is placed in an institution for the criminally insane, most probably for the rest of her life.”

“And we get our answers. All the answers,” Joe said, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s enough. It’s got to be enough.”

Josh Atkins shifted his body slightly in the saddle and looked across the distance, toward the outbuildings, the red tile roof of the Hacienda de Alegria.

Must be nice, living in a place like this. Safe, protected. Money coming out your ears.

Money to buy safety, to buy silence. Money enough to sweep all the nastiness under a hand-braided rug and forget about it, go on your merry way, get on with your life. Laugh, dance, sing. Eat good food, sleep in a warm bed.

While Toby lay in his cold grave. Forgotten in his cold grave.

Josh tipped back his Stetson, exposing his thick, unruly brown hair, the piercing blue eyes that narrowed toward the rapidly setting sun. His skin was deeply tanned, with sharp lines around his eyes from a lifetime spent squinting into that sun, riding the range in between stints on the rodeo circuit. Slashing lines bracketed his mouth, grown deeper, harder, since the news had come to him about Toby just as he was up for a big ride in Denver.

Josh’s body was whipcord lean, taut, and solid muscle. Taller than Toby, older than Toby by four years, definitely less handsome than Toby, whose boyish good looks had mirrored a pure and caring soul.

There was nothing pure or caring or good in Josh’s soul as he glared toward the Hacienda de Alegria. There was only hate, a deep and abiding hatred he’d fed with newspaper articles about the grand and glorious Coltons, a hate he nurtured every time he looked at photographs of his brother. His laughing, loving brother who had died because Emily Colton had tricked him into thinking she loved him.

That was how Josh saw it, and he had reason to believe he was right. He had the letters Toby had sent him, letters full of the beautiful Emma Logan, how much Toby admired her, loved her, damn near worshipped her.

Emma Logan. Emily Colton. One and the same woman, the woman who had come to Keyhole, Wyoming, hiding her identity, hiding her reasons for being there.

Josh remembered Toby’s first mention of Emma Logan, how he had checked her out in his capacity as sheriff, because her physical description had closely matched that of a female connected to a car-theft ring operating in Keyhole. How Toby had berated himself in the letter that had followed, explaining to his brother that he’d been wrong about Emma, that the beautiful young woman had come to town to try to forget losing her fiancé in a traffic accident, to try to rebuild her life.

Toby had thought he was just the man to help her do exactly that, and Josh had laughed over his brother’s letters after that, as Toby had told him of his visits to Emma’s cottage, the mega-cups of coffee he drank at the local café where she worked, just so he could be near her. He spoke of her sweet and dimpled smile, her thick mane of long, chestnut-red hair, the graceful way she moved, the softness of her large blue eyes.

Toby had fallen, fallen hard.

And all that time, Emma Logan had been lying to Toby. Emily Colton had been using Toby. Using him so that she’d feel safe, knowing that she’d come to Keyhole, not to get on with her life, but to hide from whoever it was she believed was trying to kill her. All of that, and more, Josh had learned from Toby’s enraged fellow officers in Keyhole when he’d come from Denver to bury his brother.

If she’d told Toby, alerted him to the danger, then maybe Toby would still be alive.

But she hadn’t told him, and Toby had died not knowing why, and probably still believing Emma Logan might have one day loved him. He’d died, alone on the cold floor of a motel cottage, and she hadn’t even stuck around to explain. She’d just left him there as he lay bleeding to death, and she’d run, run back to her cushy family and her money and her life.

Bitch. Cold, heartless, conniving bitch.

Josh pulled on the reins, turning his mount, heading back the way he’d come, back to the nearby ranch where he’d taken a temporary job, just so that he could be near the Hacienda de Alegria, just so he could be near Emily Colton. One day meet Emily Colton. One day tell Emily Colton exactly what he thought of her.

Then maybe he could finally learn to deal with his own guilt.