Her other outlet had been her mother. They'd always been very close. But her father had taken early retirement with a great buyout package, and they divided their time between traveling and playing golf.
Allison felt bereft, rootless, as if her whole life had shifted and left her in a pit of quicksand.
Of course, that didn't mean Marshal Dillon was her answer, either. Lord, what a stiff neck. She was so used to the flirtatious word games she played with the men she knew, she wasn't quite sure how to proceed with a man who treated conversation as a social disease.
But lordy, he was gorgeous. Now she knew why the men of the West were so popular.
She wondered if she'd ever see him again in more than a casual situation. Of course, with the wedding coming up, they'd be thrown together sometimes. But he'd probably run from her as fast as he could.
Damn! She had no one to blame but herself. Morgan Cutter didn't play the kind of games that she did. She'd seen that at once but couldn't seem to help herself, pushing and prodding at him, probably embarrassing him.
Good going, Allie.
She stamped into her kitchen, dumped the rest of her Pepsi down the drain and pulled an open bottle of wine from the fridge. The hell with it. A glass of wine would help her sleep.
Chapter Three
Morgan was on his fourth cup of coffee when his brother strolled into his office the next morning. He raised an eyebrow as Ryan settled into a chair in front of the desk.
"To what do I owe this big honor? And how come you're here and not with your bride-to-be?"
Ryan grinned at him, leaned back in the chair and rested his booted feet on the front of the scarred desk. “Paige is meeting with Donna and Derek about the wedding reception and I had a client to take care of. I've got some time to kill before I meet her at the D&D for lunch, so I thought I'd come find out about the dead body that everyone from the nursery school to the feed store is talking about."
"Fuck.” Morgan tossed down the rest of his coffee and slammed his mug down on the desk almost hard enough to break it. “Why me? I ask you, do I need this kind of aggravation?” He raked his hand through his thick head of hair. “Who did I piss off to have this fall on me?"
Ryan laughed out loud. “You might actually have to do some real police work, big brother."
"Go ahead. Laugh all you want to, but this is a real pain. I suppose you heard whoever killed him cut off his hands."
"Yeah. Weird, to say the least. Ever see anything like it before? Maybe when you were with the sheriff's department?"
Morgan nodded his head. “A couple of times. Usually with a drug kill. But what the hell would drug dealers be doing in White Tail?"
"No kidding. Half the town doesn't even smoke regular cigarettes any more.” Ryan got up and poured coffee from the little pot on a side table into a Styrofoam cup. “You still making this paint thinner that nobody drinks but you? No wonder your disposition doesn't improve."
"My disposition's just fine and so is my coffee. Here's a picture of the deceased.” He handed over a copy of the head shot one of the officers had taken. “I don't suppose you recognize him? It would sure save us all a lot of trouble."
Ryan studied the photo, then shook his head. “Nope. Nobody I've ever seen.” He handed it back.
Morgan slid the photo back into a folder and looked up to see his brother studying him through narrowed eyes. “What? Have I suddenly grown an extra head?"
"Just trying to figure out how to get some information out of you that will satisfy Paige's curiosity."
"About what?” Morgan was instantly wary.
"About why you asked for Allison Moore's telephone number yesterday, and if you called her."
"None of your damn business.” Morgan made a production out of stacking the folders in front of him and aligning them carefully.
"So did you? Call her?"
"I said it's none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do even if you don't.” He stood up and moved toward the door.
Ryan tossed his empty cup in the wastebasket and unfolded himself from his chair. “Wow. Touchy, touchy. I don't think Paige will be quite as easy to put off as I am."
"You can tell her I said it's none of her damn business, either."
Ryan cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “Is there something here I should know about? Because we have a wedding in less than two weeks, you're my best man, Allison is Paige's maid of honor, and the two of you are going to be thrown together. As a matter of fact, I come with an invitation to dinner tomorrow night."
Morgan stopped and stood completely still. “Dinner?"
"Seven o'clock. Wedding plans. Allison's coming out to spend the night."
A muscle worked in Morgan's cheek. “I can't imagine what I can add to the conversation. Tell Paige thanks but I'm busy. Sorry."
Ryan grabbed his arm. “Busy with what? Your stupid murder investigation? Do you have a clue so hot you can't even take time out to eat?"
"Listen, Ryan..."
"No, you listen. I'm getting married to the most terrific woman in the world, and I won't have you pull one of your lone wolf deals or throw a temper tantrum and spoil things."
"Temper tantrum? We're not little kids any more."
"Then don't act like one. Jesus, if I had Amber in my sights right now I'd wring her neck. But you can't let what happened with her stop you from at least being civil to Paige's best friend."
Morgan turned away and reached for the door to the outer area, saying nothing.
"I haven't asked anything of you in a long time,” Ryan said in a low voice. “Can you manage to behave like a gentleman for the next ten days?"
"Fine.” Morgan spoke without looking at Ryan. “What time?"
"Time?"
"For dinner. Tomorrow night. Command performance, remember?"
"Oh, right. Seven o'clock. Wear clean clothes and your company manners.” He stomped out of the office, shaking his head.
Morgan closed the door and leaned against the file cabinet. He'd known asking Paige for Allison's number would create a problem, but he felt he needed to call. He'd acted like a stiff-necked jerk, and he wanted the chance to apologize. Maybe even ask her out to dinner. But Allison had been offhanded and distant when he reached her.
"Oh.” She laughed dismissively when he called. “Nothing to apologize for. I should have just ridden back with Paige's mother and left you to your work. But thanks for calling."
And she'd hung up before he could say another word. Now he'd have to face her across a dinner table, make polite conversation for who knew how long, and try to pretend they could be polite to each other.
Damn, damn, damn. Could his life possibly be more screwed up than it was?
* * * *
"What do you mean, you've changed your mind about dinner?” Paige was sitting in her favorite corner booth at the D&D when her cell phone rang. She and Donna had just finished discussing the menu for the reception and she was taking a sip from a fresh cup of coffee.
She loved this time of the morning, when the breakfast crowd had cleared out and it was still too early for lunch. Besides herself, the only other people left from the early rush were two hands from The Yellow Rose and Emory Grant who liked to sit by the window nursing his coffee and watching the road through town with curious eyes.
The air was still heavy with the tantalizing scents of Derek's cinnamon pancakes and his fresh muffins, the glass still slightly steamy from the hot fragrance of the special coffee Donna brewed. The homey diner was the town gathering spot, and Donna and Derek, the owners, had become very good friends to her.
She frowned as Allison repeated her statement.
"Exactly what I said. Something's come up and I have to cancel out.” Allison's voice sounded strange.
"Is this about Morgan dumping you on the sidewalk? I wouldn't take offense at that. He's just a very abrupt person. Besides, he asked for your phone number."
"Oh, he called all right. But I blew him off
, Paige. You have to know he's just not my type."
"I'm not sure I know what your type is these days,” Paige told her.
"Well, in any case, my job comes first."
"Allie, I know you, and I know your job. We checked your schedule before we made plans. We're expecting you tomorrow afternoon and that's all there is to it."
Paige waved at Ryan who'd just come in the door.
"Listen, you don't really need me. You should be making these plans with your mother, anyway."
"My mother has plenty to do with this."
Allison, she mouthed at Ryan. Being difficult.
Ryan grabbed the phone from her. “Hey, Allie? Did Paige ever tell you the story of the time she didn't want to meet me and I threatened to come into where she was working and throw her over my shoulder?"
"You wouldn't,” Allison squeaked.
"Care to try me?” When he heard only silence, he said, “Okay then. See you tomorrow.” He handed the phone back to Paige.
"Are you marrying a caveman?"
Paige chuckled at Allie's indignation. “Nope, just a rancher who knows how to hog-tie steers. See you tomorrow.” She disconnected the call.
"I have a feeling there's more here than anyone wants to tell us.” Ryan grinned.
"Why? Have you talked to Morgan?"
Ryan shrugged, then signaled to Donna for coffee. “I'm not sure talked is the operative word. He tried to get out of dinner, too. Don't you get the feeling something's going on we don't know about?"
Paige laughed. “No kidding. Well, whatever it is, I plan to get to the bottom of it. Morgan's lived inside himself for too long and Allison needs to get off the glitz merry-go-round."
"Dinner should be very interesting.” Ryan picked up his cup and winked at her over the rim.
* * * *
"Damn."
Allison leaped up from her desk and grabbed a handful of tissues from her drawer, desperately mopping at the coffee she'd spilled on her desk. Well, it served her right. She should have been paying attention to what she was doing instead of letting Morgan Cutter wander through her mind.
"Damn, damn, damn,” she repeated, as she blotted the dark brown liquid and wiped it off the folders.
At least she hadn't gotten any on herself. Coffee stains were a bitch to get out of clothes.
She dropped the sodden mass of tissues into her wastebasket and dropped back into her desk chair, running her hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. This was ridiculous. She hadn't let thoughts of a man distract her since she'd been a senior in high school. And that was longer ago than she liked to acknowledge.
One three-hour ride in an afternoon, and she couldn't seem to get him to leave her brain alone. He was nothing at all like the men she dated. Where they were charming, he was gruff. Where they were talkative—sometimes more than she wanted—he was taciturn. Where they had slick, sophisticated moves, he'd appeared uncomfortable in her presence, searching for words to fill the silence.
But underneath it all, Morgan Cutter seemed to be a genuinely nice guy, and she'd acted like a superficial flirt, poking at him to find his hot buttons. She'd guessed right away he didn't play the kind of games the people she socialized with did, so why hadn't she just dropped the act and tried to be natural with him? She was still embarrassed at her juvenile behavior.
And when he'd called, had she even given him a chance to say anything? No, she'd been too busy showing him he wasn't even a fly on her wall.
Allison twisted a stray lock of hair with her finger. Maybe she'd been playing games for so long she'd forgotten how to just be herself. Or maybe she didn't even know who ‘herself’ was any more.
But damn it! She'd jumped at his invitation thinking she could use the opportunity to get to know him better. But then he'd started acting as if he'd suddenly discovered she had measles and he couldn't wait to drop her off in a quarantine ward.
When she asked Paige about his past, something that would give her a clue to the anguished look in his eyes, her friend had been worse than close-mouthed. She'd have to find out from Morgan, who would probably never speak to her again.
And now she had this stupid dinner tomorrow night. How was she going to sit across the table from him and make polite conversation when she knew her first reaction would be to take the sheath off her tongue again?
Chapter Four
The long, black Lincoln Town Car slid to the curb in downtown San Antonio. The back door opened and the man waiting on the sidewalk jumped in. This was not a meeting he looked forward to, but one did not turn down a command performance from el jefe.
He eyed the man waiting for him, six feet of muscle was only now going slightly soft but the encroaching flab was carefully disguised by his three thousand dollar custom suit. The hooded silver grey eyes stared back at him with their usual icy coldness. Age had not dulled Emilio Escalante's sharpness. If anything, it had honed it. The people who worked for him were careful to remember at all times that the only people who tried to outsmart the old man were sleeping with the fishes or eating six feet of dirt.
"So?” Escalante said after a long pause. “You screwed up."
Luis Obradors leaned back against the rich leather of the interior and chose his words carefully. “Miscalculated would be a better word."
"Screwed up. However you want to dress it up, you missed the mark."
The younger man shook his head. “All of our intel told us the woman would already be in that tiny turd of a town. The body would be a warning to her, inspire her to open her mouth and answer our questions."
"There's only one question I want answered. Where is my money?"
Obradors paused again before speaking. “She may not be there yet, but she's on her way. When she gets there and hears what happened to her cohort, she'll be in a big hurry to tell us. I promise you."
Escalante shook his head. “And you still have no idea where she is at this moment.” It was not framed as a question.
Obradors desperately wanted a cigarette, but the old man forbade smoking anywhere around him. A drink from the bar he knew was built into the back would have helped, too, but he had no intention of letting Escalante know how unnerved he was.
For ten years he had been el jefe's go-to man, and in all that time he had not made one misstep, one tiny error. But some dumb idiot had given him bad information, which had led to his first disaster.
"I have many eyes looking for her, but she's gone to ground."
Escalante grunted. “I told you she's not stupid. A stupid female would never have been able to divest me of five hundred thousand dollars.” His tone of voice said quite clearly how distasteful the entire episode was to him. Obradors knew his boss prided himself on not being fooled by anyone. That was how he had managed to stay on top in the volatile, violent drug trade for so long. But somehow this polished piece of blonde femininity had wormed her way into the old man's pocket and swindled him in one of the oldest scams in the world—land development.
"And you're sure she'll show up in this place?"
"She has nowhere else to go. That much I know for sure. She'll think she's safe there."
"But the body will be long gone."
"Not so. They'll be talking it about it for the next five years. She'll get the message. I'll be sure it happens."
"Do that.” Escalante reached forward and knocked on the glass that separated the front and back seats. When it rolled down, he said, “Pull over here."
The car slid smoothly to a stop.
"Goodbye, Luis,” the old man said. “I'll see you tomorrow. And don't think I won't be calling you frequently between now and then. I expect results."
In a moment Obradors was back on the sidewalk. Despite the intense heat of the day, he found himself shivering.
* * * *
"I just know this is a big mistake."
Allison repeated the phrase to herself for perhaps the hundredth time. She'd hardly slept the night before, debating with herself the wisdom of
coming to White Tail, knowing she'd be thrown together with Morgan Cutter. On one hand, she was sure the air around them would be frigid enough to cool even the hottest Texas brushfire. On the other, she hated the fact that she really wanted to see him.
How could a man she'd spent so little time with, a man she'd irritated beyond belief and who apparently regretted ever speaking to her, occupy so much of her thoughts?
Because he's gorgeous and sexy and my body has no connection to my brain.
From the corner of her eye she saw the red warning light flash on her gas gauge.
Swell. Just swell. How could I leave San Antonio without checking the gas? At least when Paige did it, she had a good excuse.
The familiar Valero gas station sign came into view and with a sigh of relief she pulled in to the pumps. Cursing her stupidity, she climbed out, slid her credit card into the pump and hauled the nozzle over to her car.
"Need a hand with that?"
The husky male voice startled her, and she almost dropped the gas hose. She hadn't heard anyone come up behind her, but now the owner of that voice was standing barely a foot away from her, six foot plus of Texas male in jeans, denim shirt and a sweaty black Stetson. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with thoughts of Morgan, and trying to get her head screwed on straight, his masculine good looks might have appealed to her. But right now she was developing an allergy to cowboys. Or whatever they were.
She frowned at the one standing too close to her. “Excuse me?"
"I said, would you like some help with that?"
Allison put on what she hoped was her Frozen Face Number Three. “I've been pumping gas since my father taught me to drive. Thanks anyway, but I think I can handle it."
"Hey, sorry.” He grinned and backed up, holding up his hands as if to ward her off. “Didn't mean to insult you. Just holler if it gets to be too much for you.” He touched the brim of his hat and moved away.
Cutter's Law Page 3
