Читать книгу The Missing Mccullen - Rita Herron - Страница 9

Chapter One

“I didn’t kill anyone.” Cash Koker flexed his hands on the scarred wooden table of the interrogation room, barely resisting the urge to punch Sheriff Jim Jasper in the jaw.

He’d answered these damn questions a dozen times already, but for some reason, the bastard thought he could browbeat Cash into admitting to murder.

There was no way in hell he’d confess to a crime he hadn’t committed.

The bloodstains beneath his fingernails mocked him. Blood that belonged to Sondra, the woman he allegedly had killed.

“Just look at her picture,” Sheriff Jasper said. “She was young and beautiful, but you took her life away from her.”

Cash swallowed hard as he glanced at the image. Sondra was twenty-two, with pale skin and blond hair that fell to her shoulders.

That hair was tangled and bloody in the photograph. Her throat had been cut, her eyes wide in shock and horror. Blood soaked her thin white blouse, and her hands, which she’d obviously used to fight her attacker.

“I didn’t kill her,” Cash said again. “I cared about Sondra. We were friends.”

“Friends?” Sheriff Jasper crossed his beefy arms and leaned back in his chair. Although he was only a few years older than Cash, the cocky man thought he owned the town. He also got around. Apparently women thought he was attractive.

Cash didn’t like anything about him.

“Sondra’s daddy said there was a lot more to it than friendship,” Jasper said snidely.

Cash chewed the inside of his cheek. Mr. Elmore was a paranoid, pompous, demanding jerk who was rich as sin but barely paid his ranch hands minimum wage. He couldn’t keep help because he was cheap and damn difficult to work for.

“In fact, Elmore claims that you knocked up his daughter, and that you denied paternity. He says you slit Sondra’s throat to keep her from filing for child support.”

Cash thumped his boot on the floor. “He’s wrong. I’m not the little boy’s father. You know as well as I do that a DNA test can prove it.” Although, he had grown attached to the spunky three-year-old.

“Then who is the father?”

Cash sighed. “I don’t know. Sondra never told me.”

Jasper grabbed him by his shirt collar and practically yanked Cash across the table. “Listen to me, you good-for-nothing piece of trash. Lester Elmore is a respected rancher around here. He doesn’t lie.” He shoved another picture in front of Cash’s face. “Neither does the evidence. We’ve got Sondra’s blood under your nails, and a video cam clip from last night showing you entering the motel where she died.”

Cash shifted, his mind racing for answers. The last thing he remembered was meeting her at the bar, because she’d been upset. He’d had a drink and they’d walked outside.

The rest of the night was a damn blank.

Hours later, he’d woken up in a motel room beside Sondra’s dead body. He’d been in shock, panicked, and had called an ambulance. He’d also called Sondra’s father.

It hadn’t occurred to him that the man would accuse him of murder.

“You could ease your conscience by telling me what happened,” the sheriff growled. “Or let me guess—you had a lover’s quarrel, and she threatened to cut you out of the kid’s life. Am I getting close?”

Cash went stone still. Nothing he could say would convince this man that he was innocent.

Worse, the evidence was damning. Given it, and the fact that Elmore owned half the town, they could lock him away and he’d never see the light of day again.

“You are way off base,” Cash said matter-of-factly. “I told you—we weren’t lovers.” In fact, he would never have gone to a motel with Sondra. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. “Why aren’t you looking at Elmore? He probably had enemies.”

“Elmore is not the problem,” Sheriff Jasper snapped.

“But I didn’t do anything,” Cash’s mind raced. “You should be looking for someone else with a motive. Sondra said some guy named Ronnie was bothering her.”

Sheriff Jasper raised a brow. “Stop trying to put the blame on someone else, and tell me what you did with Tyler. If Elmore gets his grandson back, he might go easier on you.”

Cash’s pulse jumped. “What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know where Tyler is?”

The sheriff shoved him backward so hard the chair legs clacked on the floor. “Don’t act dumb, Koker. If you took that kid, you’re going down for kidnapping and murder.”

Panic streaked through Cash. Someone had kidnapped Tyler?

* * *

Three days later

BJ ALEXANDER HAD made a lot of mistakes in her short career as an attorney. She just hoped coming to Cash Koker’s defense wasn’t one of them.

But her father and Joe McCullen had been friends, and now that Joe was dead, her father had asked her to help his sons find out more about their long-lost brother.

Possible long-lost brother, she amended.

She slipped from the safety of her small sedan, letting the warmth of the summer day chase away the chill inside her as she studied the sheriff’s office.

The building was a one-story, ancient brick structure with mud caking the brick. She’d called ahead and Sheriff Jasper had filled her in on the arrest.

Cash Koker had been locked up for murdering a young woman named Sondra Elmore. Apparently, Cash had once worked for Sondra’s father on the Wagon Wheel Ranch.

Cash insisted he was innocent.

Like she hadn’t heard that before.

A year ago, she’d represented a man named Davis Turner, who claimed he’d been framed for murder. After losing her ex-husband and son, she’d been in a bad place. Vulnerable.

Davis was charming, convincing, and seemed compassionate. She’d broken the cardinal rule of not getting involved with a client and had allowed their relationship to become personal.

She had gotten him acquitted in record time.

Two days later, she realized he’d played her. She’d overheard him talking to his mistress on the phone. He’d admitted he was guilty.

Worse, he was a free man because of her, and he couldn’t be retried for killing his wife.

She’d hated herself for being so naive. Hated that she may have put another person in danger by helping a killer walk.

She wouldn’t make that mistake with this case. If she took it.

Despite her father and Joe McCullen’s friendship, that was a big if.

Cash Koker had to convince her he was innocent.

Resolved, she opened the door to the sheriff’s office and entered. A tiny older woman with gray hair sat at a reception desk. Her name tag read Imogene.

BJ identified herself. “I’m here to meet with Cash Koker.”

A tough-looking man in a sheriff’s uniform, probably in his midthirties, appeared in the doorway. He might have been handsome if his scowl wasn’t so off-putting.

He hitched his thumb toward the back. “You the attorney gonna represent that scumbag in there?”

BJ stiffened. It sounded as if the sheriff had already convicted Cash.

Did he have concrete evidence proving Cash was guilty?

* * *

CASH HAD TO get out of this cell.

He’d been here all weekend, shut off as if he was one of the most wanted people in Wyoming.

Dammit. He hated to be confined. Small spaces triggered bad memories of being locked in the closet when he was a kid in foster care.

He lurched up from the cot and paced the cell. He’d racked his brain all weekend, struggling to piece together what had happened Friday night. Had someone drugged him?

Was he with Sondra when she was murdered? How did he end up in a motel with her?

And what about Tyler? Where was that precious little guy?

Panic seized him at the scenarios that flashed through his head. He’d had his share of bad knocks in foster care and knew the dark side of the human mind. Knew the depravity that existed, and how difficult it was for a little kid to defend himself against those bigger than him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, battling despair. Maybe the sheriff had it wrong. Sondra had been upset when she’d called him to meet her. She could have dropped Tyler with a friend for safekeeping.

If so, wouldn’t that person have come forward when news of her murder was revealed? Surely Elmore and the sheriff had posted an Amber Alert by now and had people searching.

If Sondra’s killer had kidnapped Tyler, though, there was no telling what he’d do to the little boy.

Elmore had money. He’d probably made enemies. If someone wanted to get back at him, killing Sondra and kidnapping her child was the way to do it.

Cash dropped onto the cot and lowered his head into his hands. He’d called the lawyer in town, but got the message machine. So far no one had shown up.

Hell, for all he knew the man was in Elmore’s pocket.

The door connecting the sheriff’s front office and the cells screeched open. Cash braced himself for another interrogation.

The sheriff stomped toward him, but he wasn’t alone this time.

A young woman with hair as black as coal and skin like ivory followed him. Cash couldn’t help himself—his gaze swept over her, from those sexy black stilettos, to the curves hidden beneath her stuffy suit, to the wary look in her startling green eyes.

His body instantly hardened. After all, he was a man. And any man would appreciate her femininity.

Although whatever reason she was here, she didn’t look happy about it.

He lurched up from the cot and raked a hand through his hair, well aware he looked scruffy and hadn’t showered in days. Even though he’d washed his hands, the scent of Sondra’s blood still lingered on his skin, and he wore drab prison clothes.

Jasper’s boots shuffled on the concrete as he approached. When he reached Cash’s cell, he halted, keys jangling in his beefy hand. The woman stood beside him, her dainty chin lifted high as if she was assessing Cash.

“Koker, this woman claims she’s your lawyer.” Sheriff Jasper looked at him as if Cash was an animal who needed to be put down, not have representation.

He narrowed his eyes. “My lawyer?”

The woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Patton had a stroke. My name is BJ Alexander.”

Damn, her husky voice made Cash’s body tighten even more.

“Sheriff Jasper, I need to talk to my client in private,” she said. “Open the cell, please.”

Jasper scowled at her, but jammed the key in the cell door and opened it. For a brief second, something akin to fear flickered in the woman’s eyes.

She might be tough, but she was afraid of Cash.

That didn’t sit well in his gut.

He would never lay a hand on a woman, at least not in violence.

But that damn sheriff had probably already convinced her he was guilty.

* * *

BJ SCRUTINIZED CASH. The man looked rough. Hair a little too long. Eyes deep, dark. Distrustful.

Body...well, hell, he was built. Broad shoulders. Tall. Muscles everywhere.

Which meant he was strong enough to overpower a woman.

The McCullens had just learned they had two brothers who’d been kidnapped at birth. They thought Cash was one of them.

Since she’d spoken to them, she’d done her research.

Cash had grown up in the foster care system. At twelve he’d been placed in a ranch home for troubled boys. He’d learned ranching skills, and as an adult had worked on several spreads across Wyoming. He’d moved half a dozen times, though, which made her wonder if he was searching for something, or if he’d been asked to leave.

The head of the ranch for boys had described him as sullen, brooding, angry. Said he needed guidance from a strong male.

Guidance he’d never received.

Two of his employers claimed he was an excellent rider, a natural cattleman and that he’d kept to himself but done a good job. After a season or two, he’d left of his own accord, saying it was time for him to move on.

He was a drifter. Probably had a new woman in every county he moved to.

All the more reason she should maintain her professional demeanor. She wouldn’t fall prey to his charms like she had with Davis.

Although at the moment, Cash looked beaten—not like a womanizer. The disdain in his eyes was palpable.

“Sheriff, please show Mr. Koker to an interrogation room so we can talk.” At least they would both be more comfortable. Sitting on that tiny cot beside Cash Koker was not an option. Sex appeal radiated from him in waves. There was also an air of danger about him that put her on edge.

The sheriff grunted in compliance, then gestured for Cash to hold out his hands so he could cuff them.

A muscle ticked in Cash’s jaw, but he did as the man ordered. Jasper led him to a small room with a plain wooden table and two chairs. Cash’s expression was grim as he sank into the chair. Handcuffs clanged as he spread his fingers on the table. Calluses and scars marked his hands and arms, a telltale sign that he did manual labor.

The sheriff cleared his throat. “You want me to stay?”

BJ shook her head. She couldn’t show fear or any emotion. “No, I’m fine.”

Jasper worked his mouth from side to side, one hand on his holster. “Yell if you need me.” He squeezed Cash’s shoulder so hard the prisoner’s jaw tightened. “Touch her and you’ll be sorry.”

A frisson of nerves prickled BJ’s spine as the sheriff left the room and Cash turned his rage toward her.

A jagged scar curled beneath his hairline on the right side, making him look frightening and sexy at the same time. She envisioned him riding a bull or galloping across rugged terrain, and her heart stuttered.

She gripped the edge of the table, silently cursing herself. She could not allow herself to think of him as attractive.

“All right, lady,” he said gruffly. “What are you doing here?”

BJ forced herself to remember that he had no clue he was a McCullen. She’d expected the McCullen men would want to meet him, but they’d had trouble with a half brother named Bobby, and were cautious.

After all, Horseshoe Creek Ranch belonged to all of Joe McCullen’s sons, which meant that Maddox, Brett and Ray would have to share land with the lost twins.

They intended to find the truth about Cash’s character before they disclosed their relationship.

“I came to decide if I want to represent you,” BJ said. “To do that, I need to hear your version of what happened the night Sondra Elmore died.”

He arched a thick brow. “Why? You gonna believe me?”

BJ leaned forward, snagging his gaze with a cold look. “Sarcasm is not your friend right now, Mr. Koker. The truth might be, though, if you want to tell it.”

Shoulders squared, she gathered the file, ready to leave. The last thing she intended to do was work for some ungrateful jerk who didn’t want her help. “If not, I’ll leave you alone and you can rot in that cell.”