Cowboy Truth: Cowboy Justice Association #3

by Olivia Jaymes

  He knelt down and fingered a stray lock of hair, like silk between his fingers. He hadn’t meant to wake her but her lashes fluttered and her eyelids slowly opened. Her lips curved into a smile and joy filled her eyes as she awoke. He felt the now familiar tightening in his chest, so acute it bordered on pain. She’d become everything in such a short time.

  “Logan,” she whispered. “You’re home.”

  He was home and it had nothing to do with the four walls that surrounded him.

  “I am.” He ran his finger down her soft as satin cheek. “You’re sleeping in the living room.”

  She levered up onto her elbow, pushing her hair back from her face. “I am. I guess I fell asleep a few hours ago.” She seemed to shake herself awake and then grabbed his hand. “I have so much to tell you. You won’t believe what I’ve learned. Did your friend have the baby? Is everything okay?”

  “A boy. No name yet. Apparently they’re arguing about whether to call him Elvis.”

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat up straight. “I think I’m missing an inside joke but I’m too tired to care. I need to wake up to be able to show you everything I found.”

  So much for getting a few hours of sleep. If Ava had found something he wanted to hear it.

  “Let’s get some coffee going and we’ll talk.” Logan held out his hand and helped her to her feet before heading into the kitchen. He stopped as he saw the stack of paper and folders. Photos were stuck onto his whiteboard. He winced when he saw the photos of Wade’s mother, her face black and blue.

  “Fuck, I had no idea.” He pulled one from the board and inspected it more closely, a ball forming in his stomach. The Bryson family was a disaster, and he shared their DNA. “Bill?”

  He turned to Ava for confirmation and she nodded. “I think you’re right about that coffee. Do you want me to start a pot?”

  “I want to put an IV line straight into my veins.” Logan scraped at his dry, scratchy eyes and yawned. “But I’ll settle for a big cup. Black.”

  Ava pushed at his shoulder. “Go splash some water on your face.”

  He hesitated, not wanting to make his fatigue any more important than her own. She waved him away and started opening cabinets. “I got a few hours. I bet you’ve been up all night. Go.”

  This time he didn’t argue and headed to the bathroom. By the time he got back, the coffee was brewing and she’d pulled a cheesecake he bought yesterday at the store from the refrigerator.

  “I see you found the dessert.” Logan sat down at the island and began studying the whiteboard.

  “Is this what we were supposed to have after dinner last night?” she asked, pulling down two large mugs from a shelf.

  “Until you started talking about ice cream, anyway.” Logan flashed her a tired smile. “I’m afraid I didn’t pick up any chocolate sauce on the way home.”

  “I’ll let it pass this time. Are you ready?” Ava reached for the stack of papers on the island. “You’re not going to like this. I warn you now.”

  “I haven’t liked anything we’ve found so far so why ruin a perfect record? Let’s do this and get it over with.”

  * * * *

  Ava stepped to the whiteboard and began to review the years of abuse Margaret Bryson suffered at the hands of her husband. Logan’s expression grew more grave with each picture and police report. By the time she’d shown him all the photos, his lips were pressed together and his eyes had taken on a hard, cold quality.

  “Jesus H. Christ. Did Frank do any fucking thing at all while he was sheriff?”

  Swallowing hard, Ava pulled a file from the island. “There’s more.”

  “Of course there is.” Logan laughed but the sound came out painfully.

  Ava opened the folder and took out a few photos, handing them to Logan. “These are from the scene of Margaret’s death, which was ruled accidental. The official report was that she fell from a third floor balcony in her home. Bill Bryson’s statement was that he was at work at the time.”

  Logan’s lips twisted. “Let me guess. He wasn’t. What a charming family.”

  “I don’t think of you as a Bryson.” Ava shook her head. Logan was too much his own man to ever identify himself with a family name like the Bryson boys did.

  “Me neither.” Logan sat up straighter. “So where was Bill if he wasn’t at work?”

  “That’s the mystery. According to one of his employees, he was at the office. According to his own son, Bill was on the balcony with his mother. Wade says his father pushed her.”

  Ava watched as the enormity of what she said sunk in. Logan scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Bill killed his wife? Son of a bitch.”

  Logan’s hands tightened on his coffee cup, the knuckles white with tension. Ava couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to hear your father was a monster of sorts.

  He reached for the reports and she stayed quiet as he read the statements one by one. He finally tossed them aside with a look of disgust.

  “Suddenly not having a father is looking pretty good. It’s amazing Wade, Lyle, and Aaron turned out as well as they did.”

  Ava could only hope so. Her sister had married into this family.

  “Did Wade ever mention what he saw to you?” Ava asked.

  Logan shook his head and stood up, refilling his coffee cup. “No, and that’s what’s weird. If you saw someone murder your mother, wouldn’t that stick with you? Even mess you up a little? Wade never said anything close to that. The few times he’s mentioned his mother he always referred to it as an accident.”

  “How old would he have been when she died? Maybe his father convinced him that he didn’t see what he really saw, if you know what I mean?”

  “I do.” Logan nodded grimly. “Daddy dearest messes with a kid’s mind. Of course the kid doesn’t want to believe his dad’s a killer so he lets himself be convinced. Fuck. I hope Frank is turning over in his grave right about now. If he were here, I’d kick his ass before arresting him for corruption and a bunch of other charges I could name.”

  Ava wasn’t sure Logan was in the right frame of mind but she couldn’t keep the news from him. It was too important.

  “There’s more.”

  Ava held her breath as Logan’s brows shot up. “More? About Bill?”

  Licking her suddenly dry lips, she scraped together all her nerve. This was going to hit Logan hard. “About your mother.” She handed him the folder she’d set aside. “Frank Jesse took a statement about the day your mother disappeared from a Helen Main.”

  Logan’s skin had gone pale and he’d taken a step back as if he’d taken a blow to the chest. “I remember her. She was a nice lady. She took me in after Mom left. What did it say?”

  “That’s the thing. Someone took a black marker to it.”

  Ava pointed to the redacted statement and Logan’s hand crumpled the corner of the paper with his death-like grip.

  “Someone,” he bit out, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Frank. If he weren’t dead, I’d kill him.”

  His voice was low and deadly and Ava’s heart tightened in sympathy. Logan had received so few breaks in life and it looked like the people he’d trusted most had been part of the reason.

  “We need to talk to her, Logan. She may know something. You can ask her about your mother’s relationship with Bill Bryson.”

  Logan was looking off into the distance and she could tell his mind was somewhere else. She placed her hand on his arm. “Logan?”

  Wherever he had traveled to, he was back now. There was a determination to his jaw and a fire in his eyes.

  “Yes, we need to talk to her. I’ll do some research and see if I can find her. Helen moved out of Corville right after I enlisted.”

  “Can I help?” she asked softly. While the day had been successful as far as finding leads for Bill’s murder, personally it had to be a hard one for this man she’d come to care for so deeply.

  “You already have, good girl. Why don’t we lie down fo
r a few hours and get some sleep? We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  Neither of them slept much. Ava dozed on and off and only once when she looked over had she found Logan asleep. The rest of the time that faraway look was back in his eyes. She fought the urge to brush it away and bring him back to the present. He needed to make peace with what had happened so she let him wander on his journey, hoping he could finally make some sense of it.

  She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest, hoping her touch could bring him some peace and comfort. Until he truly dealt with his past, he would never be able to plan a future. And she knew that was something she wanted. Call her stupid or naive, Ava wanted to be with him more than just a few weeks.

  Chapter Twenty

  George Bryson’s housekeeper’s face was ashen, her entire body shaking, when Logan arrived at George’s house. A ringing phone had woken Logan from a fitful sleep. He hadn’t been allowed much time to mull what Ava had found. He was needed at George Bryson’s home. The housekeeper, Alice Greeley, had found him in a pool of blood on the living room carpet early this morning.

  The ambulance and Drake pulled up just as Logan did, and he stepped aside to let the EMTs into the house first. He had little hope but there was a minuscule chance George Bryson was clinging to life inside.

  The EMTs would fuck up his crime scene but the housekeeper had already walked in it. Better to save the victim than preserve a pristine crime scene. Shit, they didn’t really exist anyway. Not in Logan’s experience. Cops had to do the best they could with what they were given.

  Logan put his hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Wait here for me. I need to talk to you, but I have to see what’s going on in the house first. Drake is going to stay here with you.”

  Alice nodded and sniffled, her eyes watery. Logan steeled himself for the bloody scene and crossed the threshold, following the sounds from the living room. Two EMTs were leaning over the body, one shaking his head and packing away the equipment he’d pulled out.

  Logan scraped a hand down his face. He was fucking tired of dead bodies in his town. One of the EMTs came around the couch and up to Logan.

  “We called it. He’s been dead for awhile is my guess. Rigor has already set in so it’s been hours. ME will know more. Al’s calling him now. We’ll get out of your way until you’re ready for us to transport him to the morgue.”

  Both men filed out leaving Logan staring at the dead body of George Bryson.

  The man was lying on his back on an area rug that at one time might have been multi-colored but was now almost black with soaked in blood. His chest had sunk in and a pool of blood had congealed on what had been a crisp white dress shirt. The most haunting aspect was George’s eyes – wide open and fixed as if his assailant had caught him by surprise. Logan was sure George hadn’t expected to be shot. An empty highball glass lay on its side about a foot from George’s outstretched hand. Forensics would tell Logan if the adjacent brown stain was whiskey and if George was drunk.

  Nothing else in the room was out of place. Even the throw pillows on the couch had been artfully arranged. Whatever had happened, no one had been sitting there. There was no sign of a struggle indicating George Bryson had known his killer. Maybe he had trusted him. Or her.

  Not liking the direction his thoughts were moving, Logan walked back outside, the air rapidly warming at this time of year. Alice was sitting on the swing located on the front porch while Drake leaned against the house. Logan beckoned to his deputy who joined him just outside the doorway.

  “Check the perimeter,” Logan directed Drake. “See if there are any signs of forced entry, footprints. You know the drill.”

  Drake nodded while Logan walked over and sat next to the shaking housekeeper. Logan felt like ten kinds of shit making this woman relive what she’d seen but he didn’t have a choice. Pulling a small notebook and pen from his pocket, he took a deep breath.

  “I need to ask you some questions.”

  Alice nodded, a tissue mopping at her eyes. “I understand, Sheriff.”

  Sometimes his job sucked.

  “What time did you arrive?”

  Alice sniffled but her shoulders straightened as if bracing herself. “About seven. Since Mr. Bryson’s divorce, he likes me to come early and start the coffee and breakfast.”

  George had recently divorced his third wife. From what Logan knew, all three of them had a motive to kill George. There’d been no love lost when they’d split.

  “Was the front door unlocked when you got here?” Logan asked already knowing the answer. People in Corville didn’t lock their doors.

  “It was wide open. I walked in and found Mr. Bryson lying on the floor.” Alice’s voice broke. “I couldn’t tell if he was dead or not, but there was a lot of blood.”

  Logan scribbled down the details as Alice recounted her story.

  “What then? Did you touch the body?”

  Alice’s eyes went wide with fear. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t touch him. I called 911 immediately. The operator had me hold on the phone until someone showed up.”

  That was standard procedure, especially as the killer could have been in the house.

  “I’d hoped he was still alive.” Alice was shaking her head and new tears were running down her cheeks. “He was a nice man. He treated me well.”

  The way the blood had congealed and darkened on George’s chest indicated he’d been dead for some time.

  Logan continued to question the distraught woman but it was clear she’d been too shocked to notice much of anything but the dead body on the floor. The killer had probably been long gone anyway so she wouldn’t have seen anyone run from the house.

  Logan stood up and patted Alice on the shoulder. “If you remember anything else, I want you to call me. Day or night, understand?”

  She nodded and another of his deputies escorted her to her car. The deputy knew to follow her to make sure she got home safe. Drake must have finished his investigation of the perimeter because he was standing in front of Logan with a grim expression.

  “Nothing?” Logan asked.

  “Nothing,” Drake replied, a muscle ticking beside his mouth. “No footprints, no broken glass, not a damn thing. Do you think it’s the vigilante?”

  Fighting the overwhelming feeling of frustration, Logan shrugged. “Ballistics will tell the story. I think we have to deal with the idea that if it is, the Bryson family knows the vigilante. Whoever did this didn’t break into the house. Bill’s killer didn’t either. They were welcome.”

  Drake stroked his chin. “Friends. Or family. But why kill all those other people? Did he kill them for the same reason?”

  “Or to cover up what they did to Bill and George?” Logan finished the unspoken thought. “I don’t know. But we’re getting close. I can feel it.”

  * * * *

  Ava was watching the monitor again in Logan’s office. This time she could see the faces of Lyle, Wade, Aaron, and Deke Kennedy, their lawyer. Logan had his back to her but she could hear the tension in his voice.

  He’d wanted to question each one of the brothers separately but Deke wouldn’t allow it, saying that it was all together or none. Logan had given in but she wouldn’t call it gracefully. He’d cursed a blue streak when he’d told her about the ground rules the attorney had set down. Deke also said he reserved the right to stop the interview at any time. So much for wanting Logan to enter the Bryson family fold. Battle lines had clearly been drawn and Logan was on the opposite side of his half-brothers.

  So far that didn’t seem to bother him but he’d been rather stoic this entire time even as secret after secret had been revealed. If it had been her, she would probably have retreated to her fantasy world with a large box of dark chocolate and a bottle of wine. He might be doing fine now but eventually he would need to deal with everything.

  But today wasn’t that day.

  Logan opened the folder he’d retrieved from the kitchen island spreading the photos of a batt
ered and bruised Margaret Bryson on the table in front of the brothers.

  “Did you know about this?” Logan asked.

  Aaron’s mouth fell open and he reached for one of the pictures. “Dear God. Where did you get these?”

  “Police files. Seems your father liked to use your mother as a punching bag. I’ll ask again, did you know about this?” Logan’s tone was hard and unforgiving.

  Lyle shook his head, his complexion pale. “No. No way. I can’t believe this. There has to be some mistake.”

  Lyle’s voice was hoarse. He truly may not have known. He’d been quite young when Margaret died.

  Logan fingered one of the pictures then pointed to the black and blue marks on Margaret’s face. “Does this look like a mistake? Does it?”

  His voice grated and Wade stood up, his expression angry. “Leave him alone. We didn’t know, okay? How could we possibly know something like this?”

  Wade’s voice had gone up an octave but Logan didn’t reply. Instead he reached for another file. Ava tensed as he pulled out the police report from when Margaret Bryson had died. “Sit down.”

  Wade hesitated but his attorney put his hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down, murmuring in his ear. Wade sat back in his chair.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying I knew this, Logan. Goddamn, you’re one of my best friends in the world. Do you think I knew Dad did this?”

  Logan didn’t answer for a long time and then finally slid the paper across the table so it was in front of Wade. “According to this statement you said your father pushed your mother off that balcony. Are you saying you lied?”

  Lyle and Aaron jumped up in shock, both of them talking at once so Ava couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying. Logan let the three brothers go at it until Wade cut them off.

  “Logan’s pulling some police trick. I never said that.” He turned back to Logan. “I never said anything of the sort. It’s cruel of you to say that. When did you become like this, Logan? You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”