Cowboy Justice cc-2

by Melissa Cutler

  “Can’t wait,” Rachel called with a wave.

  As soon as she was alone, she took a breath, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her whole body ached, but she pushed through it, knowing she had only a small window of time before the pain med kicked in and she lost her ability to form a coherent thought.

  Dragging her IV, she padded into the bathroom and flipped on the light. The mirror was cruel. She looked like she’d spent the past year living in a forest. Dirt was everywhere, in the creases of her earlobes, coating her scalp, stuck in her teeth, and lodged in wrinkles on her face she didn’t even know she had.

  With a groan, she rinsed her mouth out, then grabbed a handful of paper towels for a quick wash that turned into a long wash. She kept scrubbing until she felt halfway human again. Once done, she braced her hands against the sink and stared at her reflection.

  Time to face up to the possibility that she’d lost more in the Parillas Valley than her beloved horse. She’d always prided herself on her ability to circumvent gossip, being neither the fodder nor the circulator. She kept to herself, which was exactly how she wanted to live. But Wallace Meyer Jr. had stripped her of her solitary peace. He and his reckless friends. She wasn’t sure she could survive the exposure the shootout would bring.

  Lincoln was dead, her peace had been compromised, and for what? For Wallace Jr. and his buddies to send a message that she and her sisters weren’t wanted in town? She’d assumed the vandalism had been Catcher Creek protesters of their dude ranch, but the Meyer family lived in Tucumcari, not Catcher Creek. What did Wallace Jr. care if she opened a dude ranch?

  A spinning started in her head. The drug kicking in. Squinting at her reflection, she was struck with the panicky feeling there was something she knew but couldn’t remember, some answer beyond her grasp. She reached into her head for the thought, but it danced out of range.

  Succumbing to the pull of the medication, she shuffled from the bathroom, tugged the privacy curtain closed, and sank into bed with a grunt. At the table near her head was the phone. She reached over with her bad arm, sucking in a tight breath, working to ignore the pain. Get used to it, she warned herself. Tomorrow, no more meds. She needed a clear mind if she was going to solve her problems.

  She lifted Vaughn’s business card and read his name. With her fingertip, she traced the outline of his badge on the paper until the image blurred in her vision. She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life, but it was just her horrible luck that the two worst ones had collided right before her eyes and she’d been helpless to prevent it. She’d shot the son of a powerful person, and now, to salvage her future, she’d have to rely on the man who’d ripped her heart to shreds and kept coming back to poke at the wound.

  She dropped the card on her chest and closed her eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep. But the only image she saw was Vaughn.

  Chapter Three

  With his gourd-shaped figure, bald head, and whiskers, Wallace Meyer reminded Vaughn of the walruses at the San Antonio Sea World he’d seen while on vacation as a kid with his parents and younger sisters. As disarming as Meyer’s appearance was, Vaughn had run charity half marathons with Meyer over the years and knew the secret strength of his lumpy body. He’d waged political battles against the man, and therefore knew the intellect behind the whiskers and bulge of chew in his cheek. He knew the smug superiority hidden behind the genial eyes and ruddy complexion.

  Meyer’s shiny scalp was immediately obvious in the hospital waiting room. Next to him sat the tightly permed blond curls of his wife’s head. Vaughn stood in the elevator hallway, his eyes on Meyer, as he reconstructed the armor of ego Rachel had punched a hole through. He smoothed a hand over his tie and swallowed repeatedly until the tingling craving for cigarettes dissipated from his throat.

  He’d given up smoking cold turkey the day Rachel broke it off with him a year ago last February, to punish himself for ruining everything. It had seemed like a fit plan at the time, but as it stood now, he only craved a smoke when he had Rachel on the brain—a testament to how his dual addictions had become fused in his psyche. Pathetic, how a four-week affair a year and a half ago had screwed him up so royally.

  He shook his arms and fingers out. Get a grip, man.That’s you making yourself miserable, not her. She has no control over your choices. Ha. Right.

  The futile self-affirmation brought a sarcastic uptwitch to the corners of his lips. Excellent. Exactly the face he wanted to present to Meyer. When he played the role of the smart-ass punk with no respect for the county’s established guard, Meyer lost his cool. Vaughn loved it when the visage of paternal condescension evaporated from Meyer’s face to reveal the disdain he usually kept in careful check. Didn’t happen often, but enough to make Vaughn hungry for it.

  He ducked into the gift shop for a pack of gum, dialing Stratis as he paid the cashier. “Where are you?”

  “Outside the post-surgical recovery room, waiting for the all-clear to interview Junior.”

  “Any lawyers buzzing around?”

  “Not yet.”

  Interesting. Vaughn had been so certain Meyer would’ve gone on the defense straight out of the gate that he hadn’t given much consideration to the alternative, that Meyer had reached the decision that his son hadn’t done anything criminal, or at least criminal enough to bring a lawyer into the situation.

  “Did you get blood samples?” he asked Stratis. “If Junior’s on drugs again, that could answer a lot of my questions.”

  “I sent Binderman to the lab with samples. He put a rush on it, so we should have the tox results by the end of the week.”

  The end of the week was four days away. Maddening, how slow the system worked.

  That was the rub of enforcing the law in a rural county. Just about every forensic service the job required had to be outsourced to Albuquerque or Santa Fe. Every so often, they utilized the Tucumcari hospital’s lab, but not when a crime had occurred, and definitely not when that crime involved a high-ranking Tucumcari official’s family.

  The hospital was little more than a sprawling complex of doctors’ offices, an out-patient surgery wing, and an emergency room. At three stories tall, it was one of the larger buildings in town, but wasn’t ideal for treating medical problems greater than broken bones or kidney stones. Or gunshot wounds, for that matter. Hell, broken bones and gunshot wounds were an integral component of life in the wild west of New Mexico’s high desert.

  Outsourcing everything from fingerprinting to tox screens was impossibly slow, which was why Vaughn had come to rely on his ability to get people to talk, perps and witnesses alike. Over the years on the job, he’d become a criminal psychology expert out of sheer desperation to deliver justice to those who deserved it, despite the staggering odds stacked against such an outcome.

  He cracked his knuckles, took a slow breath, and lowered the volume on his radio. Then he sauntered across the lobby, whistling. Showtime.

  When he dropped into the chair next to Kathryn Meyer, Wallace let his hatred for Vaughn shine through for a split second before his eyes shuttered into cool benevolence.

  “Cooper. I was wondering when you’d find your way to me.”

  Vaughn flickered a glance at him before extending his hand to Kathryn. “Mrs. Meyer, it’s been a long time. I’m so sorry we’re meeting again under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  She shook his hand with a strained, dewy-eyed expression. “Thank you.”

  “My deputy informed me Junior’s out of the woods,” Vaughn continued in his most consoling tone. “Sounds like the bullet was successfully removed without complication. You must be relieved.”

  “The Lord has blessed us with His mercy once again.”

  He patted Mrs. Meyer’s hand. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  Wallace stood and hitched his slacks up around his bloated belly. “Kathy, Sheriff Cooper and I are going to step away, talk business.”

  Vaughn stood, following Meyer’s lead. “Would you like a cup of coff
ee from the cart out front, Mrs. Meyer?”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you,” she said.

  He smiled with his kindest eyes, then followed Meyer through the sliding double doors and around the corner, out of sight from the glass-enclosed lobby. They positioned themselves in the sliver of shade on the side of the building.

  It was seven o’clock, a half hour before sundown, but the heat was still oppressive and Vaughn’s long-sleeve uniform and tie weren’t helping matters. When he’d won the sheriff election three years earlier, he’d toyed with the idea of wearing a short-sleeve dress shirt, as he had while a deputy. But with the tie and the pens in his chest pocket, he’d looked like one of those Geek Squad workers who fixed computers, not a high-ranking law-enforcement officer. So instead, he suffered in silence through New Mexico’s months of debilitating heat.

  He jammed his hands in his pants pockets and rocked on his heels. “Chief, I just thought of something funny.”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me about it.”

  “Yeah, well, it occurs to me that you have a press conference on the books for this Friday. One of those grandstanding affairs to publicly congratulate yourself about the drop in illegal drug activity in Tucumcari this year.”

  “What’s so funny about that? I’m damn proud of those numbers.”

  Vaughn fished the pack of gum from his shirt pocket and popped a stick in his mouth. He’d purchased it exclusively for Meyer, because it drove him ape-shit. “You should be. Sure. But it’s ironic timing, don’t you think? I mean, if Junior’s tox results show drugs in his system, which you and I both know will be the case, that could put quite the damper on your media party.”

  “Are you daring to insult my son while he’s recovering from a near-fatal gunshot wound? Classy, Sheriff. Real classy.”

  Vaughn smacked his lips, enjoying the sound of squishing saliva as he bit down on the gum. “Classy’s my middle name, haven’t you heard?”

  Swabbing a hand over his whiskers, Meyer said, “Tell me what happened in the Parillas Valley today.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Son, you are not the first sheriff I’ve worked with in my lifetime, and you won’t be the last. I understand you’re dense when it comes to professional courtesy, being as young as you are, but there are unwritten rules in our profession that you would do well to follow.”

  “Uh-huh,” Vaughn said stupidly.

  Meyer’s eyes flared with anger. His ears turned pink. Oh, yeah. The dumb punk act was crawling under his skin real good. Wouldn’t be long before he blew his top.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time,” Meyer said with a forced grin. “What happened to my son?”

  “Junior can tell you himself.”

  Meyer puckered his mouth and spit a nasty bit of juice from his chew into the potted shrub to his right. “Is the Sorentino property fenced?”

  Guess he already knew some details of the crime scene after all. Didn’t surprise Vaughn that Meyer did his research. He probably had a team of officers scouring Rachel’s personal information, trying to dig up dirt on her. Vaughn had looked her up in the system himself as a matter of due process after her father died. At the time, she hadn’t a single blemish to her name. Not even a speeding ticket.

  “No, it’s not fenced,” he answered.

  “Signed?”

  Vaughn smacked his lips again, chewing the gum openmouthed for maximum effect. “Are you trying to tell me your biggest concern is whether or not I’m going to bring Junior up on criminal trespassing charges? That’s cute. And really”—Stupid? Pompous?—“short-sighted of you.”

  “I’m not worried about you charging my boy with anything. I feel safe in assuming you’ll show the same understanding toward my son as you’ve so graciously done in the past.”

  “True, true. My deputies and I have done our share of ignoring Junior’s growing pains over the years. But what happened today, I think you already realize, was a lot more than boys being boys or whatever bullshit logic we’ve used to excuse his delinquent behavior.” He blew a bubble and popped it with his teeth.

  Sweat broke out on Meyer’s neck as he watched Vaughn’s mouth work the gum. Good. The fucker deserved to sweat it out. With any luck, Meyer would lose his cool right there in front of the Tucumcari hospital’s main entrance, with half his adoring public as witnesses.

  Meyer glanced side to side and leaned in toward Vaughn. “It’s a give and take, Cooper. My officers and I have held up our end of the bargain by looking the other way with regard to your sister. If you pursue criminal charges against my son, I can no longer protect Gwen from the”—he ran the chew along the inside of his lower lip—“consequences of her criminal proclivities. Her sticky fingers are going to catch up with her one of these days.”

  Here we go. Vaughn smiled his broadest smile, but his stomach took a dive. He hadn’t considered what this latest development would mean for Gwen. But he’d always known he couldn’t protect her forever. Especially now, with Rachel hurt. Not to mention that this case was the chance he’d been waiting twenty years for, the reason he’d first thought about a career in law enforcement as a bright-eyed sixteen-year-old—to crush Wallace Meyer Sr. and his entitled, arrogant family with the hammer of justice. Gwen would have to find a way to control herself, because it was time for Vaughn to play hardball.

  He blew another bubble, then matched Meyer’s leanin—just two dudes sharing a secret. “I am profoundly grateful to you and your officers for the associative privileges you’ve afforded my sister.” He gave an exaggerated wink. Meyer sneered. Vaughn allowed his expression to turn taunting. “But there comes a time when we each must face up to the crimes we’ve committed, and there’s a big difference between shoplifting a candy bar and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.”

  Meyer pulled back, nodding. Yeah, he recognized the fight in Vaughn’s words. He knew Vaughn had dropped his gloves, prepared for a bare-knuckled battle. “Funny you should mention aggravated assault,” he said in an oily voice. It was his turn to grin maliciously. “In my estimation, that’s what Rachel Sorentino is going to be charged with.”

  Damn, he hated hearing her name out of the bastard’s mouth, hated even more that she was on Meyer’s radar now. Even though she was justified in shooting Junior, there was no doubt in Vaughn’s mind her actions had marked her and her family for a lifetime of police harassment in Tucumcari. “Tut, tut, Chief. There you go, trying to do my job again. When are you going to get it into your huge melon that events outside your city’s limits are none of your business?”

  The pink of Meyer’s ears flooded the rest of his face. When he spoke, his voice was thick with anger. “This is my damn business because it involves my damn son.”

  Vaughn chewed, fake-contemplating Meyer’s words, and blew another bubble. It was a big one that popped with a crack. “I understand, Chief. Believe me, I do. And what I’d tell any concerned parent this early in an investigation is to go home and take care of your family, and let me do my job.”

  He patted Meyer on the shoulder consolingly, then reached into his pocket. “Would you like a stick of gum? It’s spearmint.”

  Meyer eyed the gum with a rabid look. Vaughn halfway thought he’d start foaming at the mouth. Tamping his giddiness, Vaughn held the gum aloft and kept smiling.

  “You may think kicking me while my only child’s life hangs in the balance is something you can get away with, but you’re wrong,” Meyer hissed. “Seems you’ve forgotten who holds the power in this county. Don’t think it’s escaped my attention that you’re up for reelection this year. If you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself back to picking shit out of horse hooves like your parents.”

  There it was, the look Vaughn had been waiting for. The real Wallace Meyer. The bastard Vaughn was going to nail to the wall. He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised. “Not exactly the insult you intend it to be, Chief.” If he could live his life with half as much happiness and love as his paren
ts did, he’d consider his time on Earth a success. Of course, Meyer only saw their jobs and their economic standing, not the good, honest people they were.

  “It’s good to know you feel that way, because after the November election, your time of power is over.”

  “Yeesh. So dramatic. Guess I’d better make the most of my few remaining months in office.” He flipped open his wallet and withdrew three dollar bills, which he stuffed in Meyer’s shirt pocket. “Don’t forget to buy your wife that coffee. My treat.”

  With a two-finger salute to his temple, Vaughn strode across the driveway to the parking lot. While he waited to question Junior, he’d use the laptop in his patrol car to look through the crime scene photos Binderman had found on Rachel’s camera.

  Given the scope of Meyer’s influence, he could easily cost Vaughn his reelection. But he couldn’t let fear of the future weigh his choices. He’d waited his entire career for a chance to show the world the true nature of Meyer and his son. Call it a personal quest, but he saw it as his life’s work to strip rich, powerful bullies of their authority. If he lost November’s election bid, he’d start over on his quest somewhere else, and this final challenge to Meyer’s policy of corruption would stand as Vaughn’s local legacy.

  He could only hope.

  As soon as Meyer and the hospital coffee cart disappeared from view around the corner, Vaughn spit the wad of gum into a trash can and dialed Nathan Binderman, his buddy Chris’s younger brother and the latest member of Vaughn’s team. He could’ve radioed, which was their usual protocol, but it was impossible to know if one of Meyer’s lackeys were listening in.

  “Binderman here.”

  “You at the scene still?”

  “Logging shell casings, sir. The number’s pushing forty. Looks like it was a hell of a gun battle.”

  “What caliber are the casings?”

  “Mostly 2-2-3s, with a half dozen .38s in the mix. The 2-2-3 casings line up with the images from the victim’s camera of the suspects and their firearms. Looks like they were packing AR-15s.”