Lord. Holbrook ran a hand over his eyes. Then he looked up at Roan and his eyes hardened, became splinters of cold steel. His voice, hushed to begin with, rose with anger to a muted roar. Are you saying this waswhat, some kind of self-defense?
No, Im not saying that at all. I dont think it was, not in the legal sense. Im just-
The senators clenched fist thumped the desktop. She-or somebody-shot my son, dammit. He pushed himself upright, leaning on that closed fist, until he loomed above Roan like a thunderhead. His voice grated harshly between clenched teeth. Jason wasnt any saint. Hell, I know that. But he was my son. I want whoever did this to pay for it. If this woman shot my boy-no matter what he did, she had no right to take his life. I want her arrested, prosecuted and locked up, you understand me? He straightened, and his rugged face spasmed with grief as he turned to go. Then he paused, and his voice quivered slightly as he added, You do this for me, son. Im countin on you.
Roan sat still while a storm raged inside him, gripping the arms of his chair to hold himself steady against the battering of the anger and too many other emotions he couldnt name. Through a shimmering haze he watched the other man walk toward the door, the man hed looked up to as a boy and young man and secretly believed-or perhaps wished-was his own biological father, seeing him suddenly stooped and old. He heard himself ask, in a hard, cracking voice, Where are you staying? You realize your house is still being processed as a crime scene?
Cliff Holbrook hesitated, then turned to look back at him. He seemed dazed. Almostlost.
Vulnerable. Roan didnt want to think it. Couldnt help it.
Tell you the truth, Ihadnt really thought, the senator said, smiling slightly.
Roan sure as hell didnt want to feel sympathy for the man, not right now anyway. But he couldnt help that, either. Why dont you go on out to the ranch? he heard himself say in a voice like a washed-out gravel road. Youre welcome to stay as long as you need to. Ill call Boyd, tell him youre coming.
There was a momenta flicker of something in the other mans eyes, there too briefly to reada softening, perhaps, or evenregret? Then Senator Clifford Holbrook seemed to gather himself and grow tallerstrongerharder. Thank you, he said crisply, more like himself again, but Ill make do with the local motel until my house is released. I want to make this understood right now, Roan- he jabbed the air with a forefinger and his voice took on the timbre and conviction of a man making a campaign speech -I am not leaving this town until the person who murdered my son is behind bars. Count on that.
Roan watched the door thump shut behind the senator, then blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head. Half of him felt small and disappointed and rejected and wanted to kick something because of it. The other half wanted to laugh at himself for being so stupid. When was he going to stop thinking anything between him and Clifford Holbrook was ever going to change?
Time to go home, he thought, but a glance at his watch gave him a jolt of surprise and sent a squirt of guilt through him, too. Way past time. Susie Grace would be sound asleep by now, and Boyd most likely, too, snoring on the sofa in front of the television, which would be playing away on Mute, tuned to the History Channel. Thered be dinner left for Roan in the kitchen, but he didnt relish the idea of eating microwaved leftovers alone, or going home to a cold silent house, for that matter, tiptoeing like a thief into his daughters room to kiss her good night, his belly sore with knowing hed disappointed her again.
Then he thought about the man whod just left his office to go alone into an empty motel room, knowing the son whose room hed once tiptoed into for a goodnight kiss was lying cold and dead on a table at the morgue.
Ive got a job to do, Roan thought.
He swiveled his chair around and punched the button that would bring his sleeping computer to life. Say what you would about the Internet, at least it never closed. If nothing else, he could still do some checking up on the lady named Mary Owen.
Mary lay shivering in a tumble of clammy sheets and watched daylight slowly wash color into the featureless gray of her bedroom. Shed been awake for hours, tossing and turning, afraid to go back to sleep, knowing shed dream of Diego again. Not the Diego of last nights unexpectedly awakened memory, smiling and sexy-eyed, handsome as sin. The Diego DelRey who waited for her in the shadowy darkness of her nightmares was the other Diego, the one whod looked at her that last time with eyes that were filled with hate. The one who had stabbed the air with a finger like a dagger and vowed in words only she could hear that he would find her one day. Find her and make her pay.
Why is this happening to me now? Diego isnt coming to kill me. Hell never find me. I thought I was over the fear.
Was it because, for the first time in many years, she was without the comfort of a weapon? Orwas it something else entirely? He violated my space got under my skin inside my head. Made me vulnerable.
She wasnt thinking of the man whod tried to rape her.
She lay still, concentrating on breathing evenly and deeply, and once more closed her eyes. I wont be afraid, she thought. I have nothing to be afraid of now.
Little by little she felt the tension ease from her muscles, and her body take on the heaviness of impending sleep. Cautiously, she released her mind, letting it drift through memories of happier times, like a boat floating down a river past pleasant scenes on its banks: the apartment in New York, the dear, dear face of her roommate, Joy. Diego again, leaning toward her across a table, his eyes flickering in the light of a guttering candle, the air soft with humidity and fragrant with the scent of tropical flowershis hands so warm, holding hers, the sudden lovely coolness of the ring he placed on her finger.
Marry me, I remember he said to me in his husky, sexy voice, and I will make all your dreams come true. And I looked into his eyes, filled with so much love for meand how could I not believe him?
But nowthose eyes faded into shadows and another pair came to take their place, not the dark and smoky Latino eyes of Diego DelRey, not even the ones from later on, hard, now, with hate. These eyes were an intense and glittering blue, and squinted a little, as if from a lifetime of gazing at sunshot horizons. They seemed to look straight into Marys soul, down into the deepest darkest places where all her secrets slept.
She opened her eyes, shaking, as fear swept through her like a cold Montana wind.
Deputy Tom Daggett knocked on Roans office door at seven forty-five Saturday morning.
Yeah? Roan grunted, trying to look as if he hadnt just been asleep with his head on a pile of expense reports.
Tom looked wary, but came on in anyway. Sorry to bother you, Sheriff-thought youd want to know. Just got a call from the crime lab in Helena. That evidence we sent over-too soon for DNA on that second blood sample, but the slug we dug outa the dashboard of Jases truck? He paused, flushed with the import of the news he bore. Its from a Colt 45 revolver.
A Colt 45. No kidding. Roan scrubbed a hand over his stubbly jaw and glowered at his deputy, who he considered had no business being this fresh and enthusiastic so early in the morning. His own mouth tasted like the bottom of a chicken coop, and even the stations off-duty-room coffee was sounding good to him right now. A damn six-shooter, he muttered on an exhalation. The dispenser of so many doses of frontier justice. It seemed fitting, somehow.
And not a Ladysmith. Which should have made him feel better, but for some reason didnt.
He leaned back in his chair, making it squawk, and dug the keys to his patrol vehicle out of his pocket. Theres a couple of evidence bags in the back of my car, he said as he lobbed the keys at Tom. They need to get over to Helena right away. Likeyesterday. Lori can do it-I hate to keep using those state detectives for errand boys. Then I want you to get over to the courthouse-they ought to be opening up about now. Get on over there and look up the deed to that beauty shop Queenie Schultz sold when she left town last winter. Find out everything you can about the person who bought it. Her names Mary Owen. I want to know what address she gave Queenie and how she paid for that shop. Then I want her bank records, her social security number, her birth certificate, passport and drivers license numbers. I want you to find out where she parks her car and get me the license plate and VIN off it. I want to know where that woman lived before she came here, where she went to school, what she did for a living, who she was married to, what childhood vaccinations she got. Anything and everything. You got that?
Uhyeah, butits Saturday, Sheriff. Courthouse is closed. Tom looked as if he was beginning to regret being the one to bring the sheriff up to speed on the latest developments. Anyway, dont you need a warrant for some of that stuff?
Yeah, you do, for pretty near all of it, Roan admitted grumpily. Frustration gnawed at him. He didnt like being thwarted when he had a mystery to solve. Okay, since its Saturdayheres what you do: call up Miss Ada and ask her to get hold of the circuit court judge. Hurry up if you want to catch him before he goes off fishing.
Me, sir?
Roan heaved a cranky sigh. Just tell Miss Ada we need the judge today. Ill take it from there. Okay?
Tom muttered something Roan couldnt hear, which was probably a good thing. He went out, closing the office door behind him.
Alone again, Roan leaned back in his chair and had himself a good stretch, which didnt do a lot to relieve the crick in his neck or the stiffness in his legs, either one. He put his hands flat on his desktop and was about to unfold himself and go find a bathroom and a cup of that lousy coffee, in that order, when the door to his office opened once again, without a warning knock this time.
He heard a gravelly voice he knew well say, Little bit, whatd I tell you-
And the eyes hed rather have looking back at him than any others in this world were peeking around the edge of the door, those blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, lighting up the morning like the sun coming up over the top of a hill. A little girls eyesand so much like her mothers he felt a stab of pain every time he looked into them.