River Rising

by Merline Lovelace

  The captain glanced down at the diamond solitaire on her left hand, then lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug.

  "Nothing that can't wait if it has to."

  Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise. Carly didn't probe. She'd worn a similar ring herself a few years ago, until time and distance and separate careers had killed both the relationship and the passion it had sprung from. She'd gotten over the hurt and the regret, but didn't particularly enjoy talking about it.

  Chances were the trial attorneys wouldn't call West back unless she came up with something startling during this interview. Something she hadn't included in her original statement.

  She didn't. With a keen recall of detail, she recounted her actions exactly as she'd described them to the police that rainy afternoon.

  "So you didn't see anyone in the vicinity of the deceased?" Carly asked when she finished.

  "No one... except Ryan, of course."

  "Ryan?"

  "Ryan McMann." West shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't recognize him right away. He's sure changed."

  Changed? Carly sat forward, her pulse skipping.

  Another coincidence? This case already had a few too many of them.

  "Do you know Mr. McMann personally?"

  "Personally, no. Professionally..." The captain smiled. "I grew up in Wisconsin, Major. I also have five brothers, three of whom played hockey in high school and college. I slapped a few pucks myself before I was even old enough to tie my own skates. Ryan McMann is one of my all-time heroes."

  Some hero. Carly kept the observation to herself as Jo West continued.

  "I can tell you The Mann's total career goals, how many championships he skated in, what brand of wax he used on his stick, even the average number of minutes he spent in the penalty box per game."

  "Quite a few, I'd imagine."

  The drawled comment drew a smiling protest from the captain.

  "Not compared to most of the pro players. McMann's a natural athlete, and one heck of a smart stick handler. He brought his own brand of respectability to the sport in addition to his mind-blowing skills on the ice. No one could believe it when..."

  She broke off, obviously unsure of how much she should relate of the hockey star's background.

  "When he pled guilty to transporting a minor across state lines, statutory rape, and possession of illegal substances," Carly finished for her.

  "He didn't do it," the captain said flatly. "Whatever he said at his trial, he didn't do it."

  The utter conviction in her voice made Carly blink. During their brief interview, she'd formed a solid impression of this woman's intelligence. She didn't seem the type to keep someone with proven clay feet on a pedestal.

  On the other hand, McMann's potent brand of animal magnetism had affected even Carly for a few breathless seconds... little as she wanted to admit it.

  "Mr. McMann's case isn't the one I'm concerned with," she said briskly.

  "Sorry. Guess I got carried away."

  "Is there anything else you can tell me about that afternoon, either before or after you found Colonel Dawson-Smith? "

  "No, ma'am. I think we covered everything."

  "Here's my card. You can reach me or my voice mail any time. Will you call if you remember anything, any small detail or impression we didn't discuss?"

  "Roger that." She whipped up her right arm and executed a sharp salute, then spoiled the military effect with a cocky grin. "See you around campus, Major."

  Smiling, Carly sent the stenographer off to lunch and flipped back through her notes. She'd go over what she got this morning. This afternoon she'd begin meeting with the long list of students and acquaintances of both Elaine Dawson-Smith and Michael Smith who provided evidence of their troubled marriage.

  Wondering if Lt. Colonel Smith and his attorney would show for these sessions, she tried to reach G. Putnam Jones. His secretary apologized for his nonappearance this morning, explaining that he'd been detained in court and would call her personally the moment he finished.

  Carly didn't kid herself that she'd hear from him any time today. He knew darn well she was expected to complete her report within the ten working days allowed in the Manual for Courts-Martial. He'd stall as long as possible, wait until her back was to the wall, then roll out the objections. Carly could hear them now. He hadn't had sufficient time to prepare. The pretrial investigation was flawed and prejudicial because his client hadn't been present at the interviews. The charges against Colonel Smith should be thrown out.

  It was a dangerous game, one that might work in the civilian world but could seriously backfire in the military, where the accused could sit through the entire proceeding with counsel and learn about the government's case without playing any of their own cards. Carly would have given her client far different advice.

  "Please remind Mr. Jones that his client is an officer in the United States Air Force and subject to the Uniformed Code of Military Justice. As such, Colonel Smith is required to provide me a statement, even if he chooses not to sit in on the other interviews." She glanced at her printed schedule of appointments. "Tell Mr. Jones that I want his client here at oh-eight-hundred on Thursday morning."

  "I'll pass on the message."

  That done, Carly waited for the rest of the long string of witnesses to appear.

  Twilight had begun to darken the conference room's windows when she locked the files in her briefcase and left the base headquarters building. The mental image of the victim she carried away with her had become sharper, harder, more complex.

  People had either loved Elaine Dawson-Smith, or they'd hated her. Interestingly, as many women fell into the first category as men. The colonel had burned with the intensity of a beacon, in class, at parties, even in her off-duty pursuits like riding and skydiving. With her stunning looks and razor-sharp mind, she was usually the focus of attention, which often amused and sometimes annoyed her.

  She would have made a hell of a general, Carly thought as she headed for her car. The rain had finally stopped, thank goodness, and left her white MG glistening under the photosensor street lights triggered by the early gloom. A law school graduation gift from her grandfather, the MG had since racked up more than a hundred thousand miles. It still purred like a kitten.

  On her return to Montgomery six months ago, the Judge had decided it was time Carly put the relic out to pasture. He'd even offered to buy her another, newer model, since her air force salary barely covered the cost of maintaining the Antebellum carriage house she'd insisted on purchasing instead of living at home with her kinfolk. Smiling, Carly had patted his whiskered cheek and reminded him that some relics only improved with age and hard use. His response to that bit of impertinence had made his nurse blush a fiery red and Carly grin.

  The urge to see the crusty old barrister who'd fired both his daughter and granddaughter with a love of the law had Carly slinging her briefcase onto the back seat. She'd stop by the house, find out how her mother was doing in the polls, then spend a few hours with the Judge before heading home to transcribe her notes to her computer.

  Wet pavement hissed under the MG's tires as she drove out the Bell Street gate. The cotton gin that spread its scent over the city or the base, depending on the direction of the wind, loomed just outside the gate. Carly had grown up with its cloying, peanut-buttery stink. She never noticed it any more except on days like this, when low-hanging clouds caught the odor and trapped it. Wrinkling her nose, she whizzed past the gin and a few blocks of graffiti-scarred storefronts. The area outside the base was straggling to make a comeback. It had a ways yet to go.

  Ten minutes later, she turned off the interstate that cut through Montgomery's heart and entered a world she knew and loved. The MG slowed, its low slung frame hugging the road as it took the curves along Woodley Lane. Moss-bearded cypresses leaned over the street, their branches forming a thick canopy. Banks of azaleas glowed pale and white amid darker, pinker hues. Gas lights flickered at the entrances to long, winding dri
veways.

  Nearing her childhood home, Carly could almost taste the sour corn mash whiskey the Judge loved and would insist she sip to ward off the wet, almost feel herself relaxing as she dropped into the leather armchair beside his bed, kicked off her shoes, and plopped her feet on the hassock. She hummed in anticipation. The hum sank to a low groan when she turned off Woodley onto Melrose.

  Parked cars lined the half-block long street, as well as the drive leading to the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Lights blazed from every window in the gracious two-story Greek-revival. So much for relaxing, Carly thought with a wry smile. Her mother was hosting another of the lively cocktail parties that had won her almost as many votes and campaign contributions over the years as her shrewd politicking.

  The daughter of a three-term member of Congress, Carly knew her duty. She'd have to make an appearance before she slipped away to see the Judge. Resigning herself to an hour of grinning and gripping, she wedged the MG into an open space along the curb. After swiping on some lipstick and checking her hair in the car mirror, she gave the legislative aide who did butler duty on these occasions a cheerful greeting.

  "Hi, Jackson. Looks like you've got a crowd tonight. Anyone special I need to make nice with?"

  "The lieutenant governor, the chairman of Alabama Electric, and a reporter from Newsweek," the aide replied succinctly. He and Carly had worked enough of these functions to know the drill.

  "Point me in the reporter's direction."

  "He's the one in the gray suit, talking to your brother and Parker."

  The crowd shifted, giving Carly a glimpse of the tall, tanned blond standing next to her brother and the gray-suited reporter. As she started for the small group, she tried to understand her mixed emotions at the sight of Parker Stuart.

  She'd enjoyed the time they'd spent together since they'd paired off at her mother's campaign kick-off party two months ago. Even more, Carly enjoyed his agile mind. A smoothly ambitious assistant DA, Parker had his eye on his boss's job. By all accounts, he had a good chance of nailing it when Steele retired next year, particularly with Congresswoman Samuels's political clout behind him.

  Carly liked him. By his own admission, he more than liked her. But she wasn't ready for the commitment he already wanted from her. She'd gone down that road once. She wasn't going to race down it again. Making her way through the crowd, she looped an arm around her brother's waist.

  "Hey, stud."

  Dave returned her affectionate squeeze. "Hey, soldier girl. Did you finally convince the secretary of defense that you've got things under control enough to leave the base before midnight?"

  "Did you finally convince my sister-in-law to trust you enough to keep your cell phone turned on so she can reach you when she goes into labor?" Carly returned sweetly. "Oh, shit!"

  Dave shoved his drink into his sister's hand and fumbled for the phone tucked in his suit-coat pocket. The comical look of relief on his face when he saw the flashing indicator light had Carly laughing.

  Pushing the phone back in his pocket, he reclaimed his drink. "I hate these damned things. I feel as if I'm on an electronic leash."

  "You need a leash," his loving sister retorted. "A very short one."

  Still grumbling, he waited while she greeted Parker, then introduced her to the reporter. Within moments, she was caught up in the twin passions that had consumed the Samuels household for as long as she could remember: politics and the law. The law and politics.

  After dissecting the platform put forth by her mother's opponent, the status of the mandatory school testing bill currently in committee, and the recent drug bust of the Auburn starting quarterback, Carly excused herself.

  "I need to find Mom, then go up to visit with the Judge."

  Parker stayed with her as she wove through the crowd toward the vibrant redhead holding court on the glassed-in veranda. An oasis of bright chintzes, white wicker, and lush ferns, the veranda ran the length of the west side of the house. Carly had spent so many happy hours and dreamed so many girlish dreams here. Tucked in a little island of privacy between two ferns, she and Parker waited to catch Adele Samuels's eye.

  "How about some dinner after you see your grandfather?" the assistant DA suggested.

  "I'd love to, but I'm going to curl up with some leftover lasagna and a stack of case files when I leave here. I'm up to my ears in a pretrial investigation."

  "And very pretty ears they are, too," he murmured, bending to nibble at one lobe.

  She smiled, but hunched a shoulder and edged away an inch or two. The air force discouraged public displays of affection while in uniform. Nor did Carly consider a crowded cocktail party the appropriate time or place for such casual intimacy.

  Parker took her withdrawal with good grace. "What's with the investigation?" he asked casually. "I thought you professorial types didn't work real live cases."

  "I'm running this one for the base JAG."

  "Colonel Dominguez?" His blond brows shot up. "Don't tell me you're working the Smith murder! How'd you snag that one?"

  "I didn't. It snagged me."

  "I'd give my eyeteeth to have someone hand me a juicy headline-grabbing case like that one."

  "And very nice eyeteeth they are, too," Carly teased.

  "Com'on, girl. Spill. Tell me the gory details."

  "You read most of them in the papers."

  "Most of them?" His friendly interest turned sharp and predatory. "What didn't I read?"

  Carly hesitated. She was surprised that some enterprising, self-styled investigative reporter hadn't nosed out Ryan McMann's involvement in the Smith case before now. She could only imagine the media barrage that would erupt when one did.

  "Look, I don't want this leaked to any of your reporter pals, but the key witness in the case is a former hockey player who served some time here in— "

  "Ryan McMann!"

  "You know him?"

  Amazement blanked his handsome face. "You don't?"

  "I didn't until I started on this case."

  "Lordawmighty, Carly, The Mann led the NHL in scoring six, seven years. He's a legend."

  She fought a sharp bite of irritation. For some reason, the idea of Parker and bright, breezy Captain West singing the praises of her uncooperative witness didn't sit well.

  "Well, your legend is now a convicted felon. One who doesn't hold the legal system in high esteem, I might add."

  "Give you a hard time, did he?"

  "Let's just say that old she-mule the Judge used to ride the circuit on had more personality."

  Parker tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin. The entire Samuels family loved to recount the tales of Carly's many childhood encounters with the yellow-toothed, cantankerous hinny put out to pasture on the family farm outside town.

  "You shouldn't have any trouble getting McMann's cooperation," he commented. "He's on probation now, isn't he? Doing community service? Just yank his probation officer's chain a bit."

  She hated to admit that she'd threatened to do just that... or that her recalcitrant witness had flung the threat back in her face.

  "I read that he's doing his community service at the prison," Parker added. "Running some kind of counseling or education program for the inmates or something. I know the warden. I'll give him a call, get him to put some pressure on your witness."

  "No, thanks," Carly said briskly. "This is my case. I'll handle it... and McMann. Look, Mother's waving to us. I'd better get in a quick a hug while she's between contributors."

  The cheerful downstairs hubbub muted when Carly at last climbed the spiral staircase and walked down the carpeted hall to her grandfather's room. The plantation shutters at either end of the hall were closed to the night, but their pristine white paint brightened the gloom of the faded red and gray Aubusson runner and massive antique sideboard that dominated the center of the hall. Family treasures decorated the sideboard's many shelves, from the delicate Severes vase Carly's mother had purchased during her honeymoon in Europe to the s
tuffed and mounted bullfrog that had won Dave a ribbon at some science fair or another.

  The Judge occupied the room at the end of the hall, as he had since the degenerative arthritis that was destroying him joint by joint had finally forced him off the farm. His nurse answered Carly's quiet knock, shaking her head when asked how he was doing.

  "This rain's hard on him. Real hard. He didn't even want to go down to the party tonight. We've upped his prednisone to try control the inflammation, but at that level, the darned stuff eats into his liver and..."

  "Now don't be going on about my problems," the Judge protested from the wheelchair drawn up beside a reading lamp. "I can't think of any subject less interesting to two pretty girls than an old man's liver."

  That drew a snort from Betty, who'd passed fifty an indeterminate number of years ago. Carly crossed the room, swallowing the pain that stabbed her at the sight of her grandfather's bent frame and clawlike hands. They were curled tight on the wheelchair arms and knobbed with bony proliferations. Feathering a kiss on his whiskered cheek, she dropped into the chair opposite his.

  "Mom said she'd be up when she finishes working the crowd."

  "Sounds like a good one tonight. Betty, pour Carly something to wash the tickle of all that talking down her throat. Pour yourself a shot, too, while you're at it. Maybe it'll loosen you up some."

  As familiar with their routine as with her patient's frequently improper suggestions, the nurse was already splashing bourbon into a single tumbler.

  "Just a short one," Carly pleaded. "I've got some case notes to go over tonight."

  Her grandfather cocked a head wreathed in silver gray. "Big case?"

  "The pretrial on the Smith murder."

  Like Parker, the Judge lit up at the mention of the case that had grabbed the local headlines. Unlike Parker, he didn't push her for details. He didn't have to. One of Carly's greatest joys since her return to Montgomery was the hours she spent here with the Judge. She valued his wit and keen insight, and trusted his discretion implicitly.