“I was,” she said, ignoring the skeptical set of his mouth.
“So what was in these papers?” Beau asked. “And what did you mean about them being something that could’ve gotten him killed?”
“I’m asking the questions here,” Wallace warned before returning his attention to Emma. “He, um, he didn’t have any passwords written, did he? Because I’d like to take a look at Jorgenson’s laptop, just as a formality, before I turn it back over to his family.”
Emma shook her head, a chill rippling through her as she recalled unfolding the gridded pages, which she suspected had been torn from the small field notebook her assistant had always carried in his pocket. In Russell’s neat, small print, she’d found several long, handwritten columns.
“No password. What I found instead was data,” she said as her mind spun with the repercussions, “documentation of far more bird strike deaths than we’ve recorded in our study’s database. Enough deaths of protected species, if they’ve been intentionally hidden, to get Green Horizons Wind Farm shut down forever—”
“And cost a hell of a lot of local jobs,” the rancher finished for her, his handsome face looking stricken.
Wallace snorted, flinging a disdainful look in his direction. “Cost you a pretty penny, too, now wouldn’t it, what with all that money you’re about to rake in with that new turbine construction?”
“What construction?” Emma asked.
“How’d you know about—”
“Your new pal here didn’t tell you?” the sheriff scoffed before thumbing a gesture at his cousin. “This one’s in tight with those Green Horizons fellas. Talked ’em into nearly doublin’ the project’s size, building turbines galore once they get past the little inconvenience of your damned birds—and writing him a big, fat check for—”
Beau made a scoffing noise, as if the amount meant nothing to a man in possession of the land and cattle he was. “It’s not about the money, but this is clean, sustainable energy, bringing good-paying jobs to an area of the state that desperately needs them.”
“At this point,” Emma insisted, “I don’t give a damn about who loses what jobs or how much money. All I care about is figuring out who murdered my graduate assistant—and if I’m next on his list.”
* * *
Wallace screwed up his face in that stubborn way that Beau remembered from years back, so it didn’t surprise him a bit when his cousin held up a hand to shut down Emma. “Wait a minute. Hold up. Last thing I remember, you were at the turbine spoutin’ nonsense about how you were sure your ex had gone after your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? Where on earth did you get that?” Her face flushed an angry red. “Russell was my student, and I won’t have you slandering his reputation or mine, either, suggesting that I’ve overstepped professional boundaries.”
“Well, the way you’ve carried on about him, tellin’ me about your former husband being jealous, I thought that maybe—”
“Then think again,” she spat out. “Because I’m telling you, you’re way off base with that idea.”
Beau believed her, since she’d never radiated anything more than a professional concern, along with an educator’s protectiveness, when speaking of Jorgenson.
“All right, your student then,” said Wallace, backing off so easily that Beau figured he’d been only half-heartedly probing to see if her reaction might yield pay dirt. “But before, you were certain your ex had something to do with his death.”
“I was, and for good reason since he’d called and threatened me that very morning. And Jeremy did make that phone call. I’m standing by that claim.”
Unable to stay silent any longer, Beau interjected. “But now you’re figuring that Russell’s death’s more likely got something to do with these papers you had in your purse, right? And that somehow this is wrapped up with what happened to you this afternoon.”
“It has to be. Don’t you see it? This can’t be a coincidence.”
Beau wasn’t sure about that, but he could see how badly Emma wanted to believe it. Just the way she’d wanted, perhaps needed from the start, to believe that the unthinkable—a senseless accident—could not have possibly taken the life of a capable, vibrant young assistant.
“Listen to me, please,” she went on, her beautiful green eyes looking from one man to the other, “if we can prove those unrecorded bird deaths my assistant documented really happened, it’ll mean big trouble for a lot of people. What I can’t understand is why Russell would’ve kept something like this from me. He cared as deeply as I do about saving hawks, falcons and eagles, and he’d have to know that we could end up with huge problems, too, if the government ever figured we were intentionally misreporting...”
“So let’s suppose these papers really do exist—” started Wallace.
“Those records are real,” Emma insisted. “I just wish I knew what Russell was up to. Maybe he felt the need to double-check his data before coming to me, or...”
“Or maybe he threatened the wrong party,” Beau finished for her. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
“I warned you to stay out of this.” Wallace glared at him. “So why don’t you slink back to that fancy mansion you’re squattin’ in and let me do my job?”
“I don’t think you want to go there right now, cousin.” Voice dropping to a low growl, Beau felt his hackles rise. “Not unless you want that badge my father bought you kicked so far up your—”
“Russell was a dedicated wildlife researcher, passionate about the raptors we were here to save,” Emma interrupted. “It’s possible he was so infuriated by what he discovered, he said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Someone who assumed that I must know, too.”
Still, the two men’s gazes remained locked, years of grievances crowding the tight space between the ER bed and curtain. Grievances that had re-flared the day Beau’s father had, out of guilt or compassion or in response to Aunt Alicia’s pleas, extended an olive branch and invited his prodigal son to return home with the remains of his shattered family. Recovering from the same rollover that had cost his wife her life, Beau was too broken, physically and emotionally, to refuse the offer...or the chance to heal the rift with the family he’d walked out on so many years before.
All except the cousin who’d apparently figured that, with both Kingston sons estranged from their father, he had stood to profit. Just thinking of Wallace’s calculation, of the years he had spent scheming and the accusations he was making now in his damn fool lawsuit, had Beau aching to rearrange his cousin’s dental work. But Emma, who had been through so much, deserved far better than a ringside seat to a family blowup.
Wallace, however, had apparently come to a different conclusion, for he abruptly turned his scowl on Emma. “You forget, we already have a man in custody, a two-time loser sex offender with his face all scratched to pieces and you there with at least one broken nail that I’m bettin’ has his blood and skin under it. Yet still here you sit, carrying on about some crazy, convoluted plot to kill you over a few damned birds.”
“Murder me. Like Russell,” she said flatly.
“His death was ruled an accident. By the medical examiner.”
“You made your decision from the ground,” she accused. “You didn’t even wait to see the body before you’d closed your mind to anything I had to say.”
“First off, I viewed the scene from live-feed video, examined photos of the body carefully before I cleared it for removal in a way that would ensure that no one else ended up hurt.”
“Removal by technicians from the company—”
“Your ex-husband’s uncle filled me in on the way you are,” said Wallace, “and now, as far as I’m concerned, you’re crying wolf again.”
“I’m not crying wolf! If you’ll get out there and find my purse—”
The curtain was pulled back, and a imposing woman with a mass of tiny black braids gathe
red like a crown and a nurse’s badge clipped to her blue scrubs frowned at them over the rims of her half-glasses. “Excuse me, Sheriff, but it’s getting a bit loud in here,” she said, quietly but firmly. “And we do have other patients. But if you need to continue this discussion elsewhere, we’ll be discharging her shortly.”
“Sorry, Trixie,” Wallace said, sounding as if he might actually mean it. “We’ll keep things down from here on in.”
He waited for the nurse to leave before returning his attention to Emma.
“We’ll do our level best to find your purse,” he said more quietly as he shoved his hat back onto his head. “In the meantime, you’ve been through an upsetting experience, getting pawed at by some pervert. Why don’t you get a good rest tonight,” he went on, “maybe take the edge off with whatever they’re giving you for pain? Then we’ll talk again tomorrow, once you’ve had the chance to catch your breath.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “So does that mean that this time, when I stop by, you won’t sneak out the back door?”
Wallace flushed an angry shade of red that had Beau snorting in amusement. She’d been telling him the truth before. She might’ve been through hell, but she didn’t have it in her to play the passive victim.
“Oh, I’ll be there, all right—” a fat vein pulsed at the sheriff’s temple “—ready to get this case sewn up and you and your Austin entourage on your way out of my county.”
As Wallace made his exit, Emma grimaced before asking drily, “Why is it I get the feeling that he’s not my biggest fan?”
“I can’t imagine,” Beau said, “especially when he’s so very fond of me.”
She snorted before the brightness in her eyes dimmed. Shoulders sagging, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, carefully avoiding the bandaged area.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Not really, no. Today was—it’s been a nightmare. And I don’t know what to tell my students. I can’t keep lying to them, letting them believe that Russell’s death was accidental.”
“You don’t know it wasn’t. Not for certain. And they’ve been through a lot, too. They were his closest friends, right?” At her nod, he continued. “Do you really want to upset them late at night, before you’ve had the chance to think this all through?”
She looked up at him, her expression stricken. “You don’t believe me either, do you? You don’t think I can prove that Russell was onto something real?”
“I’m reserving judgment,” he said, keeping his words as steady as he could, “until I see more evidence. And you might want to consider holding back on any more accusations until you’ve recovered from this shock—and you have that proof in hand.”
“Oh, I’ll find the proof. I have a good idea where, too. All I have to do is get back to the turbines as soon as possible and find the—”
“No way,” he said sharply. “You’re not going out there. You saw the email, right? About Green Horizons’ safety review?”
She gave him a disgusted look. “Of course they want to keep everyone away. If they’re somehow involved in all this, they’ll drag out their review forever. And leave any evidence cleaned and sanitized for their own protection.”
“Or they’re trying to keep from being on the hook for any further accidents. Either way, I said no, Emma. I don’t want you or your students taking any unnecessary chances.”
“I’d never involve them. Never. After Russell, there’s no way I would chance that.” She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I was—I was the one to call Russell’s parents. I insisted on it. It nearly killed me, breaking that news to them.”
“Then you’ll understand how I feel,” Beau said, “when I tell you I’m not making that call to your folks, your boss or anyone else when you go getting yourself hurt again. Or worse.”
She made a scoffing sound. “You’ve helped me out a couple times, sure. That doesn’t make me your responsibility.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dr. Copley. I take everyone who lives on, works on or sets foot on my spread as my responsibility,” he said, sincerity ringing in his every word, “which is why, from this point forward, I’m barring you from Kingston property. And telling everyone who works the ranch you’re absolutely not to set foot beyond those gates.”
Chapter 5
Arrogant. Controlling. As Emma tossed and turned throughout the long night and dragged her sore body to the shower in her motel room the next morning, her thoughts kept returning to how Beau had gone from supporting her so completely to flatly refusing to further discuss his decision to bar her from his property. As if he expected her to meekly accept that the head Kingston had the final word.
More irritating still, when Josh and Lucie had been allowed back in to see her, Beau had shaken their hands before advising them, “Best not to leave her alone tonight if you can swing it.”
Was it because he really cared that she might have a concussion, or did he imagine that if left to her own devices, she’d grab the spare Jeep key she kept as a backup and attempt to defy his order?
“You don’t have to worry,” Josh had said, restless energy giving his warm brown skin a light sheen of perspiration. A graduate student who had roomed with Russell back in Austin, he looked as if he’d aged years since his friend’s death. “I know the sheriff said they got the guy, but we aren’t planning on leaving her a minute. No offense, but I don’t trust this jerkwater little town of yours one bit.”
“Under the circumstances, I can’t say as I blame you,” Beau had told him. “I just want to be sure Emma has someone there with her just in case.”
Shifting the day pack with Emma’s clothing from one hand to the other, the younger Lucie had nodded, her eyes red-rimmed and her multicolored pixie cut sticking up in places like a tropical bird’s crest. With little money and even less family support for her studies, she had often referred to Josh and Russell, who’d taken her under their wing, as her big brothers. “We’ve got it covered, Mr. Kingston,” she had said. “Josh took the vacant room next to Dr. Copley’s, and I asked the manager to move a cot into her room so I can be there if she needs me. We’re not letting her out of our sight until we get her back to Austin.”
Emma had grimaced, knowing that her students had meant well but not at all liking the idea of being “managed” like this. Watched over...and then herded as far as possible from the proof she needed to blow wide open whatever secrets had cost Russell his life—and possibly resulted in her attack as well.
As she picked at the breakfast Josh had dropped off while she was in the shower, Emma startled when the old-fashioned black phone in her room rang loudly. With her cell missing with the stolen purse, it hadn’t occurred that anyone would try to reach her on a landline.
Her stomach tightened and her thoughts flew to Jeremy and the recent lengths he’d gone to in order to trick her into answering his calls. But she was closer to the phone than Lucie, so Emma held her breath and answered—and sighed with relief to hear it was the university’s director of human resources calling to check on her.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Reddy asked, concern tingeing her faint Indian accent. “I understand there was some more...unpleasantness in Kingston County last night.”
“I’ll be fine, but how did you hear about what happened to me down here?” Emma asked before glancing toward Lucie, who was adding salsa to her egg-and-bacon taco at the room’s small table while River sat near her feet drooling hopefully.
Not from me, Lucie mouthed in response, the silver stud on her nose winking in the light as she shook her head.
“First thing this morning, there was an email from your department chair,” Mrs. Reddy said.
“But I haven’t had the chance to reach out to him yet—or call anybody.”
“The important thing,” the HR director hurried on, clearly eager to get to the real purpose of her call, “is that we ge
t you back home to facilitate your recovery, and to cover some freshman-level sections when the new semester starts in two weeks. Professor Paulsen’s had to take an unanticipated leave of absence this semester.”
Sorry as Emma was for her colleague, whom she’d heard was dealing with a spouse in hospice, alarm bells blared in her brain. “But what about my research?” She’d lobbied hard to block off time and secure funding for a project intended to protect endangered amphibians from agricultural runoff. As much as she valued the semesters she spent in the classroom, this project, like the turbine study, was work she’d always dreamed of doing. Work that could go industry-wide to save living animals in practice, not just theory.
Only now she was being relegated to teaching section after section of the one freshman-level class the aging Paulsen still taught—a watered-down version for non-science majors checking off their life studies requirement. For Emma’s burned-out colleague, coasting toward retirement, it was a tedious but unchallenging assignment. For anyone motivated to make a difference, it could only be seen as torture. Or a punishment.
“No one’s told you?” Mrs. Reddy sounded surprised. “That project’s on hold for now, some sort of issue with a grant. And considering everything that’s happened, for your own mental and physical health and safety, we feel it’s best for you to return to the more...structured campus environment. As soon as possible.”
“I don’t understand,” Emma said, but Mrs. Reddy quickly made it clear she had only called to impart the university’s wishes, not its explanations. As she ended the call, questions swirled through Emma’s mind. Was she being blamed for a student’s death?
Or was there some sort of behind-the-scenes conspiracy to get her out of Kingston County as quickly as possible—and keep her too occupied to stir up further trouble?
It was a question still on her mind later that morning when Josh came to the room, his dark curls damp from the shower he’d taken after making their breakfast run. But the way he was holding another white paper bag, supporting its weight from the bottom, made her think he had something heavier than egg tacos in it. As did the troubled expression on his face.
Deadly Texas Summer Page 6
