Читать книгу The Marriage Profile - Metsy Hingle - Страница 12

Angela sucked in a sharp breath, taken aback by the stinging remark. Determined not to be intimidated, she hiked up her chin. “It’s good to see you again,” she said, and extended her hand.

For a second, something hot flashed in those green eyes before he looked down at her outstretched hand. But when he lifted his gaze to hers, those eyes were as cold as his voice as he said, “Too bad I can’t say the same.”

Angela’s smile died, along with any hope that Justin would make this easy for either of them. She dropped her hand to her side. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I know we didn’t part as friends, but I had thought…” She swallowed, tried again. “I had thought that after all this time we could at least be civil with each other.”

“Then you thought wrong.”

“Apparently,” she conceded. “Still, I had hoped…”

“What? That maybe I’d forgotten how you walked out on me five years ago?”

“I didn’t walk out on you.”

“Funny, that’s sure how it looked to me when you packed your bags and hightailed it off to San Antonio.”

“I asked you to come with me,” she reminded him.

“Because you knew I wouldn’t go.”

It was true, Angela admitted in silence. She’d known he would never leave Mission Creek. So she’d run away to save both of them from hurting each other even more.

“Evidently you forgot what I told you when you left here.”

“I didn’t forget,” Angela told him. It was a scene she would never be able to forget no matter how hard she tried. Just as she’d never forget that look of shock and disbelief on Justin’s face when she’d told him she was taking the job in San Antonio. Nor would she ever forget seeing that shock turn to desperation when he’d pleaded with her to pass on the job, to stay in Mission Creek with him and work out the problems in their marriage. Even now she could still hear the lie trip off his tongue as he’d insisted that her being unable to have a baby didn’t matter to him. And when his attempts to reason with her had failed, his passionate pleas had turned into a white-hot anger that bordered on disgust and had left her chilled to the bone. She pressed a fist to her heart at the ache that came as she remembered the frigid way he’d looked at her and the coldness in his voice when he’d warned her that if she walked out that door, their marriage was over and he never wanted to see her again. Two weeks later she’d saved him the trouble and had filed for divorce.

“Then you know you’re not welcome here. Go back to San Antonio, Mason. You don’t belong here.”

Angela tipped her chin up a notch higher, met his cool gaze. “You don’t own Mission Creek, Justin. And you certainly don’t own the hospital. I have as much right to be here as you do.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you give a damn about Mission Creek? You wanted the bright lights of the big city, remember?”

“That’s not why I left, and you know it,” she told him, irritated with herself for letting him goad her. “We both know why I left Mission Creek.”

“Yeah. You left to get away from me,” he said, his voice bitter, his expression hard. “So I’ll ask you again, Mason, what are you doing here? Better yet, when are you leaving?”

His words stung, hurting her more than she’d ever thought they would. But after growing up in a household where her visions had made her a frequent target for her father’s verbal and physical lashings, she’d learned long ago that it was better not to show pain or fear. So she lifted her gaze and met Justin’s chilling green eyes. And with an aplomb she thought worthy of an acting award, she said, “In answer to your first question, I’m here as a guest. As to when I intend to leave, I’ll go when I’m ready. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

He blocked her path. “No. I won’t excuse you. I don’t want you here.”

He was so close, Angela caught the woodsy scent of his aftershave and spied the muscle ticking in his jaw. “You’ve already made that clear. Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want.”

Johnny Mercado clamped a hand down on his son’s shoulder. “Ricky, quit badgering Sal here and go see to your lady friend. Looks to me like the sheriff is giving her a rough time.”

Ricky shifted his gaze to where the woman in question was in what appeared to be a heated discussion with Sheriff Justin Wainwright. “Angela can handle herself,” Ricky informed him.

“What kind of talk is that?” Johnny countered. “The lady came with you, didn’t she?”

“Angela Mason’s no schoolgirl, Pop. She knows what she’s doing. Give it a rest.”

When Ricky started to turn back to Sal, Johnny cuffed the back of his son’s head—something he had done many times when Ricky had been a teenager, hell-bent on getting into trouble. “You show some respect for me, and for that girl.”

Ricky smoothed a hand at his nape, eyed his father warily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Johnny sighed. “I know you didn’t,” he said, softening toward this dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger that was his son. It had always amazed him that such a handsome and fierce young man had actually come from him and Isadora. Ricky had always been so much braver, so much stronger than he had been, Johnny thought. He still didn’t know what the hush-hush military mission was his son had just returned from, but he had no doubts that it had been dangerous. Ricky had never shied away from danger. And whatever this mission was his former commander sent Ricky on, it hadn’t frightened his son. Ricky hadn’t hesitated to go. Since his return, the boy had seemed different, more serious. But Ricky had said little about what had happened. Perhaps if he himself had been half the man his son was, Johnny thought, his Isadora would still be alive.

“Pop, you okay?”

Johnny shook off thoughts of his many failures. “I’m fine. Now, quit fussing over me like an old woman and go see about your lady friend.”

Ricky hesitated a moment, his gaze shifting from Johnny to Angela and back again. “All right. But you and I are going to talk, Pop. And I need you to be straight with me. I want to know what Del Brio said that’s got you upset.”

“Who says I’m upset? Do I look upset to you?”

“Cut the act, Pop. Sal told me you and Del Brio had words. I want to know what it was about.”

Johnny eyed his friend. “Salvatore doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now, go see about little Angela and quit fussing over me. I can take care of myself.”

“Pop—”

“La Madre di Dio! Basta! Leave it alone, Ricky. Just leave it alone,” Johnny commanded, and stalked away from his son toward the bar.

By the time the bartender handed him the glass of red wine, Johnny’s hands were no longer trembling from the rage that had been burning inside him for weeks now, ever since he’d put two and two together and had realized the truth—that Frank Del Brio had played a hand in Isadora’s death. Mixed in with the rage was shame. Shame at his own cowardice. He stared at the glass of red wine, remembered the sight of his Isadora lying in the hospital bed all battered and bruised. What kind of man was he to have gone along with Isadora’s claim that she’d been mugged when in his heart he’d known the truth? She’d been beaten as a warning because he had not followed Del Brio’s orders.

He hadn’t been a man at all, Johnny conceded. He’d been a coward, a yellow-bellied coward and a weakling. And because of him, Isadora was dead. He took a swallow of the merlot and squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of his sweet, tiny wife who had never had an unkind word for anyone.

Forgive me, Isadora. Forgive me.

How could he have been so blind? Johnny wondered as he left the festivities and wandered outdoors, away from the noise, away from the lights, away from the memories. He stared up at the sky, noted the dusting of stars, the half-moon. Yet his thoughts remained on Del Brio. How could he have failed to see before now how truly evil the man was? And to think at one time he had even condoned the man’s offer and allowed him to become engaged to his daughter, Haley.

Haley. My pretty, smart Haley. You knew what he was, didn’t you? That’s why you disappeared. It’s why you pretended to drown and let us believe you were dead. But all these years, all these years, your mama knew. She knew you were alive. And that baby girl, the little one called Lena that was kidnapped, she’s your baby, isn’t she? My granddaughter. My flesh and blood.

“I’m going to get her back for you,” Johnny murmured. And once Haley’s baby was safe, he would make Del Brio pay. He would pay for destroying his family. For forcing his daughter into hiding. For what he’d done to Isadora. Johnny clutched the now-empty wineglass between his palms as anger festered inside him. And when the pig was pleading for his life, when he was begging that he not be killed, Johnny would show the dog the same mercy that he had shown Isadora. None.

“Johnny, I’m sorry,” Sal said as he came up behind him. “That boy of yours, he tricked me. He said you’d told him you and Del Brio had had an argument. So I thought he knew.”

Johnny held up a hand to stem his friend’s apology. “It doesn’t matter. Ricky’s a smart boy. Both he and his sister have always been smarter than their old man.”

Sal frowned at him. “You talk as though Haley’s still alive. I thought you said you didn’t believe all that stuff Del Brio’s been spouting off, you know, about her not dying in that boating accident.”

“I don’t believe it,” Johnny lied, and silently cursed his slip of tongue. It was bad enough that he’d persuaded his son that Del Brio was right in his suspicions that Haley was alive. Now he wished he hadn’t. While he was convinced that the nun the nurse reported seeing in Isadora’s room shortly before her death had been Haley, he’d probably have been wise to keep that to himself. “Sometimes I get confused and forget that she’s dead. Too much vino, I guess,” he explained, holding up his empty glass.

Apparently satisfied, Sal nodded. “So, you going to tell Ricky what you found out? You know, that stuff about Del Brio ordering that potass…that potass…”

“Potassium chloride,” Johnny said, supplying the name. He’d read up on the subject after learning that Del Brio had taken a keen interest in the substance shortly before Isadora’s death. He’d also discovered that potassium chloride was one of the four electrolytes found in the body, but if injected into an IV in large doses it would be lethal and cause a victim to suffer a heart attack. His Isadora had never had a heart condition. That she had suffered a heart attack within a week of her hospital stay was reportedly a coincidence. Well, he’d lived too long and seen too many people he cared about hurt to believe in such coincidences. “And no, I have no intention of telling Ricky. I don’t want him involved. This is between me and Del Brio.”

Sal’s eyes darted around, searched the shadows. “Talk like that will get you killed,” Sal hissed in warning.

“I’m not afraid of Del Brio.” And he wasn’t, Johnny admitted silently. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid.

“Then you should be. You know what kind of man he is, Johnny. He sees shadows when there are none. He thinks you’re out to get him, and he won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Not if I kill him first.”

Sal swore. “You’re my oldest friend, Johnny. I’m godfather to your son. I’m begging you to listen to me. Forget about this plan of yours,” Sal pleaded. “You’re no match for Del Brio. Not only is he almost half your age, he’s dangerous, and he has the power of the family behind him. His taking over for Carmine the way he did instead of Ricky, it only made him more dangerous. For you to even think of taking him on would be suicide.” He placed a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Let it go, Johnny. Forget what I told you about Frank ordering that drug. It’s too late to help Isadora now. And she wouldn’t want you to do something stupid that could get you killed.”

Johnny shook off Sal’s hand and whirled around to face his friend. “You think I really care what happens to me now?”

“You should,” Sal told him. “Frank isn’t like your brother, Carmine. He’s ruthless. He’ll kill you, Johnny. He’ll kill you without blinking an eye.”

“I told you, not if I kill him first. I intend to have my vengeance. An eye for an eye.” Una vita per una vita. A life for a life, he added silently.

Sal looked furtively around them again. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this, not here. You know as well as I do that the shadows have eyes and ears.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. Maybe you’ve lost Isadora and Haley, but you’ve still got a son, Johnny. And Ricky’s still part of the family.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Ricky,” Johnny said, and stared at Sal Nuccio, a man much like himself. Someone who had been born into the life of corruption and had followed the dictates of the ruling family all of his sixty years. It wasn’t the life he’d wanted for either of his children. Haley had been smart enough to try to get out. But instead of escaping, Ricky had used the skills he’d learned as a marine to grow more entrenched in the family business. It was one of his greatest regrets, Johnny admitted. Maybe if he could make things right now, find Haley and her little girl and take out Frank Del Brio, Ricky would finally break away, lead an honest life, the life that he and Isadora had wanted for their son. “This is between me and Del Brio.”

“Do you really think that will matter to Del Brio?”

It would, Johnny promised. Just as soon as he found Haley and his granddaughter, he’d make sure that Del Brio never hurt anyone in his family again.

He was being a real bastard, Justin admitted. Though she’d tried to hide it, he hadn’t missed Angela’s wince before she had lowered her gaze. Disgusted with himself, he didn’t have to stare into those blue eyes of hers to know that he’d hurt her. He could remember all too well that bruised look she got when he’d hurt her feelings in the past. Hell, he’d been haunted by the memory of those sad blue eyes of hers for more years than he’d wanted to admit. Just as the woman herself had haunted every corner of his life for the past five years.

When she’d first walked out on him, he hadn’t been all that sure he would get over her. Those first few weeks had been a real bitch. But eventually time and burying himself in work had helped to dull the pain.

He’d gotten over Angela Mason. Or at least he’d thought he had gotten over her—until she’d walked through the doors of the hospital for tonight’s party. And now in less than an hour after seeing her again, she had him all tied up in knots.

He didn’t want her here. At least he’d been honest with her about that. What he hadn’t told her, and had no intention of telling her, was that he didn’t want her here because he didn’t want to remember what it was like to be with her, to hold her, to touch her, to taste her.

Justin shoved a hand through his hair. Dammit, he didn’t need this kind of grief. Not now. Not when he had so much on his plate trying to train a rookie deputy, finding the judge’s murderer, dealing with Del Brio and finding that missing baby. Having Angela show up now would only screw up his head, something he could ill afford at the moment. She would simply have to go, Justin reasoned.

“Justin? Are you all right?” she asked, and touched his arm.

Justin stilled even though his body went on full alert. Angela had always had that affect on him, from day one when he’d first seen her at the police academy. With a look, the brush of her fingers, one little word, she set off some primal instinct in him—an instinct that had caused him to practically bully her into marrying him because his need to bind her to him had been so strong. It was also an instinct that invariably led them to bed where the sex had been mind-blowing. And thinking about having sex with Angela was the worst thing he could do. He jammed his fists into his pockets to keep from reaching for her as that instinct kicked in again now. “Go away, Mason,” he told her, his voice deliberately hard. “Just go away.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, in much the same way she had that day when she’d told him that their marriage wasn’t working and that she was taking the job in San Antonio. “Truly, I am.” There was regret in her voice and in her expression as she turned away from him.

It was like déjà vu, Justin thought, watching her walk away from him. Five years ago, he’d been a lovesick fool. He had swallowed his pride and pleaded with her to stay. When she’d refused and kept right on packing, he’d resorted to threats and then anger. But nothing had worked. She’d walked away from him, anyway. He’d almost gone to San Antonio after her—until what little pride he had left kicked in and kept him from making a bigger fool of himself. And it was that same stubborn pride that kept him from going after her now. Pride and the fact that he wasn’t the same lovesick fool he’d been all those years ago.

But not even pride could stop him from tracking her movements as she crossed the room. And pride didn’t have a thing to do with that kick in his gut when he saw her hook up with Ricky Mercado again. Irritated with both Angela and himself, Justin marched over to the bar.

“What can I get for you, Sheriff?”

Justin glanced up at the petite redhead he recognized from the Lone Star Country Club. “Erica, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Erica Clawson,” she replied, and gave him a smile that was a shade too saccharine for his taste. Not at all like Angela’s warm smile, he thought, then chastised himself at once for thinking of her again.

“You got anything besides soda pop and wine back there, Erica?”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked, tipping her head to one side flirtatiously.

“Whiskey, neat,” Justin said, choosing to ignore the come-on. Besides the fact that he wasn’t interested, he’d heard noises that little Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Erica Clawson had been keeping company of late with Frank Del Brio.

“Here you go.” She slid the glass toward him, gave him a soulful look.

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the drink and turning his back to her. He tossed the whiskey back, welcomed the fiery burn down his throat and the way it spread like acid in his stomach. Like radar, his gaze sought out Angela. She was still with Ricky, their heads bent close together, the two of them in what appeared to be a deep conversation. Justin tightened his fist around the glass, wishing it was Ricky Mercado’s throat. Agitated with himself for letting her get to him, he turned away and slapped the empty glass down on the bar.

“Another one?”

“Yeah.” He had the glass halfway to his mouth, was already anticipating the fiery kick, when he noted Ricky leading Angela toward the exit. In the blink of an eye, he had an image of Ricky sliding into the car next to Angela, reaching across the seat to touch her face, to taste her mouth.

Unable to shake the image, Justin slapped his glass on the counter. Ignoring the slosh of whiskey, he started to get up and follow them when a firm male hand clamped down on his shoulder. “You might want to let your head and your blood cool before you go after her,” Hawk Wainwright told him.

Justin narrowed his eyes, stared into the sun-darkened face of his half brother. Although he’d been aware of his father’s long-ago affair with the Native American beauty who had been Hawk’s mother, only recently had he and Hawk acknowledged the blood bond between them. The relationship was tenuous at best, and there were old wounds that needed time to heal. But tonight he was feeling too edgy to mince words with Hawk and blurted out, “That a Native American thing? You being able to tell what’s going on inside a man’s head?”

Hawk smiled, something Justin realized that he could rarely recall the other man doing. “More like an observation.”

“Then you have some pretty amazing observation skills,” Justin told him, and went back to nursing his drink.

Hawk declined a drink with a shake of his head and urged Justin away from the bar. “Not all that remarkable. I remembered that the woman you watch with hot eyes was once your wife.”

“Was being the operative word here. We’re divorced now, have been for more than five years.”

“There are still strong feelings between you.”

“Not the kind you’re talking about,” Justin assured him. “Whatever Angela and I had ended a long time ago.”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”

“Neither. And since discussing my ex isn’t exactly one of my favorite things to do, I’d just as soon drop the subject.”

“Whatever you say.”

Noting his brother’s stoic gaze, Justin asked, “What?”

“I was just wondering if you’ll be able to shut off your feelings for her as easily.”

“What are you talking about?” Justin asked.

“I’m talking about the green-eyed monster that eats at your heart now as you think of your woman with another man.”

“She’s not my woman anymore,” Justin insisted.

“But you want her to be. Or am I wrong?”

Justin gritted his teeth and met Hawk’s steady gaze, refusing to answer the question even to himself. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that complicated, either.”

“You don’t understand,” Justin told him.

“Maybe I understand far better than you realize. I may have Apache blood in my veins, but I also have Wainwright blood,” Hawk explained. “I know what it is to want something, to want someone, until that want becomes a hunger that burns like fire in the belly. And I know what it is to feel the steel talons of pride digging deep into the soul until it’s pride that rules one’s tongue and actions instead of what’s here,” he said, thumping a fist against his heart.

But Justin didn’t need to be reminded that Hawk had spent much of his life wanting to be accepted, to be acknowledged as Archy Wainwright’s son and not merely the bastard half-breed who had been at the root of Archy and Kate’s divorce. Even now Justin couldn’t help but feel a measure of shame at the callous way their father had treated Hawk. Justin also couldn’t help but feel shame of his own, as well as regret, for not doing more to bridge the gap that had long existed between Hawk and the rest of the Wainwrights. Not only had Hawk lost all those years, but he and the rest of his family had lost, too.

“I nearly let pride cost me the thing I wanted most—Jenny,” Hawk told him, referring to the interior designer who’d recently become his wife. “Don’t make the same mistake I almost did and let pride cost you what you want most.”

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Audrey Lou Cox told him the following morning as Justin prepared to take a sip of the coffee he’d just poured himself.

“Why? You lace it with arsenic so you can have my job?” Justin teased the stern-faced secretary he’d inherited along with the sheriff’s office. Somewhere between the age of fifty and eighty, the woman had served more than twenty-five years under a string of Mission Creek sheriffs. “You don’t have to kill me to get the job, you know. I keep telling you, the folks in this town would vote you in over me in a heartbeat.”

“And why on earth would I want your job?”

“You’d get to wear a badge,” Justin offered.

The woman didn’t even crack a smile. “I got all the jewelry I want already. Besides, somebody has to keep this place running, and it don’t look like that person’s going to be you if you keep spending all your time traipsing from one end of the county to the other.”

“You got me there,” Justin told her, and took a sniff of the coffee.

“Heard there was quite a turnout for the dedication of the maternity ward at the hospital last night.”

“Yeah, I think half the county was there. You should have come,” Justin told her.

Audrey Lou sniffed. “And why would I want to spend my evening eating puny little sandwiches, drinking watered-down punch and listening to long-winded speeches from politicians when I could eat a nice hot meal, put my feet up and watch my favorite crime show?”

“When you put it like that, I guess I can’t think of any reason.” Justin certainly wished he had skipped the ceremony last night. If he had, he wouldn’t have seen Angela and might have actually managed to get some sleep. As it was, he’d barely slept a wink. Soured by thoughts of Angela, he stared at the inky contents of his cup. “So what’s wrong with this stuff?”

“That boy you hired made it about an hour ago, and he put enough grinds in the thing to make six pots.”

“Strong, huh?”

“I wasn’t about to drink any to find out. I was waiting for a free minute so’s I could come in here and throw the stuff out and make a fresh pot. But since you’re here, you can do it. I’ve got work to do.” And on that note, she turned and exited the little kitchen.

Desperate for the caffeine, Justin took a sip. And he nearly gagged. Audrey Lou had been right. While he generally liked his coffee black and strong, he drew the line at drinking brew that could pass for tar. Not that the extra caffeine would hurt, Justin admitted as he went about the business of measuring coffee grinds and water. After his chat with Hawk, he’d driven around and thought about what his brother had said. Hawk’s remark about pride had hit close to the mark. Too close.

More than once after Angela had left him, he’d missed her so much that he’d almost gone after her—until pride had kicked in and he’d abandoned the idea. Hawk had also hit the nail on the head about his feelings for Angela. Seeing her with Ricky had made him jealous, he admitted. And it had been that jealousy that had been the driving force behind his anger toward her last night.

As he waited for the coffee to finish dripping, Justin grimaced as he remembered swinging by the town’s two hotels, intent on apologizing to her for his behavior. Only there had been no Angela Mason registered at either establishment. He’d gone home to the ranch wondering if she’d driven back to San Antonio or if she was spending the night with Ricky Mercado. And it had been thoughts of Angela with Ricky that had kept him awake most of the night. Sometime during the early hours of the morning, he’d finally fallen asleep, only to dream about her. The way she’d looked at him on their wedding day in the small church when she’d pledged her love. The sweet, shy smile that curved her mouth on those mornings when he’d awakened her with a kiss. The way she’d gasped his name as he filled her when they’d made love. The way he’d felt when he’d been inside her.

Justin scrubbed a hand down his face. Was it any wonder he’d awakened with a dull, throbbing ache in his head and a painful hard-on for his ex-wife?

“Sheriff, the mayor’s on the line for you and your sister Rose wants you to call her, something about a dinner party,” Audrey Lou told him.

“Thanks,” Justin said, and forgoing the coffee, he headed for his office.

More than an hour later when Justin hung up the phone, the dull throbbing in his head had escalated into a bruiser of a headache. And he wasn’t at all sure how much of it had to do with his sleepless night or the workload. Rubbing the muscles at the base of his neck, Justin sat back and stared at the piles of paperwork and messages that covered his desk.

Maybe now was a good time for that coffee, Justin decided. After pouring himself a mug of the no-longer-fresh brew, he went back to his desk and began sorting through the endless reports and files and messages. For a county that he had always considered small by Texas standards, Mission Creek had certainly been a hotbed of activity lately, he thought as he sorted the open case files jammed with reports.

He opened the file containing a report on the abandoned baby girl named Lena who had been found on the Lone Star Country Club’s golf course last year—the same little girl who had since been kidnapped and he had yet to find. Picking up the snapshot of the smiling sweetheart that Josie Carson had taken only days before the kidnapping occurred, he traced her tiny face with his fingertip. Once again he felt that familiar pang as he thought of the little angel being snatched from the Carsons. And on the heels of that ache came frustration and anger. Anger with the person who had taken her. Anger with himself for failing to find her. Whooshing out a breath, Justin put the photo aside and reminded himself that as sheriff he couldn’t afford to let his emotions become involved. Anger and resentment weren’t going to help him find Lena. Only solid skills and dogged determination would do that.

And he would find her, he promised himself. He had to. Because it sure didn’t look like the FBI was going to be able to do it. If anything they only hampered his own efforts.

Thumbing through the file, he scanned the DNA tests that had been run on select members of the country club and the final paternity test that had revealed Luke Callaghan as the girl’s father. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Luke must feel, returning home from some sort of business trip out of the country during which he’d been blinded. And then discovering he not only had a daughter he knew nothing about, but that the girl had been kidnapped. What still puzzled him was how Luke could be the baby’s father and not know who the mother was. Justin rubbed a hand along his jaw. Had it been any other man, he’d have sworn the guy was lying. But not Luke Callaghan. He didn’t doubt for a second that Luke had told him the truth.

For the next twenty minutes Justin fielded calls while he went over the notes on Lena’s kidnapping. And once again he found himself with more questions than answers. Closing the file, he picked up the next folder in the stack and sighed at the sight of the label that read “Bridges, Carl—Murder Case.” He didn’t even have to open the file on this one because he could recite the details of Judge Carl Bridges’s murder from memory. The fact that the case remained unsolved gnawed at him almost as much as Lena’s kidnapping. As he made a note to follow up with a call to Dylan Bridges that evening, he snatched up the ringing telephone.

When he hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, Justin reached for the next file, which was not only the oldest working file in his office, but the thickest by far because it contained information on the Mercado crime family. Since Carmine Mercado’s death eight months ago and the shifting of power within the organization to Frank Del Brio, Justin hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was brewing within the family ranks. From all accounts, Johnny Mercado had been acting strangely of late. That scene he’d witnessed between Johnny and Del Brio last night attested to that fact. But it was more than that, he admitted. There was something about that look in Johnny’s eyes, his sudden spirit, that nagged at him like a splinter under his skin. Maybe now that Ricky was back in town, he should pay the younger Mercado a visit, ask him what was going on between his father and Del Brio just so Ricky knew that the sheriff’s office had an eye on them.

And what if Angela is with him?

Justin gritted his teeth at the taunting voice in his head and shut his eyes to block out the images of Angela with Ricky last night.

“Sheriff,” Audrey Lou called from the doorway, her voice impatient. “Something wrong with your hearing, son? Bobby’s on the line for you. Said it’s important.”

“Wainwright.” Justin all but barked out his name as he grabbed the telephone.

“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, boss.”

Just what he needed, Justin thought. “All right, spit it out.”

“I lost Del Brio.”

Justin swore. “What happened?”

“He pulled a switch on me.”

“I told you not to let him out of your sight.”

“And I didn’t,” Bobby contended. “I tailed him to Mercado Brothers Paving and Contracting this morning just like you told me. And I’m positive it was Del Brio that I followed when he left there. I stayed with him all morning through this string of back roads outside of Mission Creek and all through Goldenrod—even down some private road—until he went back to his spread. Only when he reached his place and got out of the truck, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Del Brio. It was a dude dressed up just like him, and the truck was a dead ringer for the one Del Brio was driving.”

“If you were following him the whole time, how could he make the switch?” Justin demanded.

“The only thing I can think of is that he arranged to have the dummy driver in a look-alike truck waiting around one of those curves. Because I swear that’s the only time the man was ever out of my sight.”

Trying to contain his frustration, Justin wiped a hand down his face. He’d ordered the tail on Del Brio after that exchange with Johnny last night—in part because he didn’t want a full-scale war erupting between the Mercados and Del Brio and his men, and in part because there was a rumor on the street that a big deal was about to go down.

“I know I screwed up. I’m sorry, Sheriff.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Justin told the kid. “It happens to the best of us. Del Brio didn’t get where he is because of his brains. He’s got the instincts of a cat. Evidently he spotted your tail. I just wish I knew where he was going that he felt the need to shake you.”

“You want me to see if I can pick him up again?” Bobby asked.

“No. We’ve got too much to do. We can’t afford to spend any more time playing games with the likes of Del Brio. Come on back to the office. The phone’s been ringing off the hook all morning, and I swear the paperwork is multiplying faster than rabbits.”

“Boss, there’s something else you should know,” Bobby told him.

Justin paused, sensing he wasn’t going to like what his deputy had to say. “What?”

“I wasn’t the only one tailing Del Brio. So was Johnny Mercado.”

Justin scowled, not at all happy to learn his own instincts had been right. Something was brewing between Johnny and Del Brio, and whatever it was, it could only mean trouble. “I was afraid of that.”

“You think Johnny plans to fight Del Brio for control of the family?”

“No.” At least Justin hoped that wasn’t the case because Johnny, even with this newfound spirit he’d shown, didn’t stand a chance against a ruthless thug like Del Brio. His son, Ricky, however, was another story. “But something’s going on, and I intend to find out what it is.”

“You going to go see Johnny? Try to talk to him again?”

“No. The old man is playing his cards close to the vest. I was planning to pay Ricky a visit later. But I think maybe I’ll drive out to the Mercado place and have that little talk with Ricky now. I’ll see you when I get back.”

After hanging up the phone, Justin shoved away from his desk and headed out of his office. He grabbed his hat and paused in front of Audrey Lou’s desk. “Bobby’s on his way in, and I’m going out to Johnny Mercado’s place. I need you to hold down the fort for me until I get back.”

The woman didn’t so much as bat an eye. “What do you want me to tell your sister? Rose has called for you twice already.”

“Tell her I’ll call her when I get back.”

But when Justin got back, after striking out on catching either Ricky or his father at their place near Goldenrod or the Mercado Brothers Paving, Audrey Lou was manning two phone lines and Bobby was taking down Mrs. Elkinson’s weekly complaint about the randy bull on the neighboring homestead bothering her milk cows. Wanting no part of that scene, Justin reached for the stack of phone messages Audrey Lou held out to him and headed for his office when Audrey Lou hung up the phone.

“That was Dylan Bridges’s office returning your call.”

Justin looked up from the messages he’d been skimming. “He still in his office?”

“No. That was his assistant who called to say he’s tied up until late this afternoon, wanted to know if he could call you at home tonight. I said I didn’t see why not since you don’t do much of anything but work and sleep, anyway.”

Justin ignored the dig at his lack of a social life. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Nothing except that you’ve got yourself a visitor. I put her in your office to wait.”

“Damn! She’s here already?” Justin asked, assuming it was his sister. Granted he’d called her from his vehicle and agreed to meet with her back at his office, but he’d told her he needed at least an hour. Evidently Rose decided not to wait. Which seemed to be par for the course where his younger sister was concerned this past year—starting with her running off to Aunt Beth’s in New York and shocking everyone when she came back with the news that she’d married Matt Carson of all people and was expecting his child. While the wedding hadn’t sat well with either the Carsons or the Wainwrights, the early arrival of the baby and the illness that had threatened both Rose and the baby had not only scared everyone but it had eased some of the tensions between the two families. However, his sister didn’t appear to be content with the strained truce. No, now that the danger was past, the darned female seemed hell-bent on ending the feud between the two families that had spanned seventy-six years. And for some reason, she had decided he was to be a key player in her fence-mending plans.

“You knew she was coming?”

“Sure. I talked to her about twenty minutes ago and told her to come by. Of course, I told her to give me an hour to return some of these calls. Obviously, she didn’t hear that part,” Justin said, but he wasn’t really irritated. He both liked and loved his sister, and he especially liked getting a chance to see his nephew.

“Well, you might have seen fit to tell me she was coming,” Audrey Lou sniffed. “And she might have told me you was expecting her instead of just saying she needed to see you and that she didn’t mind waiting.”

“She probably thought you knew,” Justin said, not wanting Audrey Lou angry with Rose. “She got the baby with her?”

“You mean to tell me she’s got herself a baby?”

Justin frowned. Obviously his sister Rose wasn’t the woman waiting in his office because everyone in Mission Creek, for that matter, half of Texas, knew about the recent birth of Wayne Matthew Carson and the danger that both the baby and Rose had faced. It had been the near loss of his sister’s life and the birth of the baby that had prompted Archy Wainwright to begin making amends with the Carsons, Hawk and even with his ex-wife, Kate. From what he’d seen the previous night, Justin suspected his parents were well on their way to a reconciliation—three decades after their divorce.

“Well, she never said a thing about any baby.”

“Audrey Lou, why don’t we start over? I take it that that’s not my sister Rose waiting in my office.”

Audrey Lou blinked, her big brown eyes magnified by the wire-rimmed glasses, reminding him of an owl. “Who said anything about Rose?”

“No one. My mistake. So who—”

The phone rang and she grabbed it. “Lone Star County Sheriff’s Office. Audrey Lou speaking.”

Justin strove for patience as he waited for Audrey Lou to finish the call. She’d no sooner hung up when the phone rang again. When she started to reach for it, Justin grabbed the receiver. “Lone Star County Sheriff’s Office. Hold on a minute. Now,” he said after punching the hold button on the phone, “who am I going to find waiting in my office?”

The woman gave him a look so stern, he felt like an errant schoolboy who needed to apologize for his poor manners and not the county’s sheriff and her boss.

“Thought you just said you was expecting her,” Audrey Lou told him with a sniff.

“Audrey Lou…”

“It’s your wife.”