by Joanna Wayne
He should call Brittany Garner tonight and tell her she had the wrong man.
No. Better to see her face-to-face. If he had sex with her, he’d surely remember her once he was looking at her. If he’d been sober enough to get it up, then his brain cells should have been functioning at least at a minuscule level.
He soaped his body, gingerly, especially over the bruised flesh. Then he rinsed and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed one of the bleached white towels from the shelf and wrapped it around his waist.
The dull pounding at the base of his skull that had been playing background drums for him ever since the fall intensified. He took the bottle of extrastrength painkillers from his duffel and shook two into his left hand. He swallowed them with a chaser of water he’d cupped in his hand from the faucet.
Rummaging in his shaving duffel, he dug out a toothbrush and squeezed a roll of minty jell along the bristles. The brushing did little to rid his mouth of the coppery taste that had taken hold the second he’d learned he might be a father.
Fatigue stitched with dread settled in hard as he walked to the bed, dropped his towel to the floor and threw back the heavy spread. Tomorrow he’d make the long drive to Houston. Tonight he had to get some rest.
Sleep came almost instantly. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. By four in the morning, Cannon was behind the wheel of his pickup truck, pulling out of the hotel parking lot. Brit Garner’s business card was deep in his pocket.
Talk was cheap, especially from a detective who admittedly slept around. A paternity test was all it would take to prove that she was wrong.
* * *
THE CLERK AT the police precinct stared at Cannon, her gaze focused on the angry raw scrape that colored his right cheek. “Are you here to file an assault complaint?”
“No. I’m here to see Detective Brittany Garner. Is she in?”
“The detective is with someone in her office now. What’s your business with her?”
“Personal.”
The middle-aged clerk leveled her gaze, her features hardening as if she suddenly found his visit threatening or just downright annoying. “Detective Garner is very busy, but give me your name and I’ll see if she has time to see you.”
“Cannon Dalton and she’ll see me.”
The clerk rolled her eyes at him as if he was just another nuisance in her day. “Wait here.”
The wait was short. The clerk returned less than a minute later. “The detective will see you now. I’ll walk you to her office.”
He followed the clerk down a narrow corridor, taking a left at the end of the hall. She opened a door and motioned him to go in.
R.J.’s description hadn’t done the stunning woman behind the desk justice. She did look vaguely familiar, but damned if he could place her. Probably reminded him of some movie star or supermodel. She had the body and the looks for either one.
“I’m glad you finally found time to stop by, Mr. Dalton. We need to talk.” Her voice was stern, her manner stiffly authoritative. All cop. Not quite what he’d expected from a woman who was about to say, Hey, guess what? I had your baby.
Maybe Kimmie wasn’t her daughter, after all. But surely the Houston Police Department didn’t have the staff to send homicide detectives out to find deadbeat dads.
Cannon let his gaze travel over her while she slid some loose papers into a brown envelope. Striking eyes, the color of a summer sky. Hair was shiny and straight and fell past her shoulders. Long bangs were tucked behind her left ear.
Finally she sat down and told him to do the same. He settled in the straight-backed metal chair across from her desk. He looked her in the eye. Hers were accusing. They matched her smug expression.
“I’m glad you stopped by. This will be much easier to deal with in person.”
“Might have been easier if you’d talked to me before you dumped your kid on R.J.’s doorstep.”
“I didn’t dump. I delivered Kimmie to her grandfather since her father wasn’t around to accept responsibility for her welfare.”
“Part of your official duties as a detective?”
“As a matter of fact, it was.”
“And how did you reach the conclusion that I’m Kimmie’s father?”
“Maybe I should refresh your memory.”
“You definitely should.”
“Marble Falls, Texas. Last December. The Greenleaf Bar. Does that mean anything to you?”
Marble Falls. Last December. A resort-sponsored rodeo. He groaned as the pieces started to fall together.
“The woman in Greenleaf Bar was you?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Vaguely.”
He struggled to put things in perspective. That had been a hell of a night. He’d stopped at the first bar he’d come to after leaving the rodeo. A blonde had sat down next to him. As best he remembered, he’d given her an earful about the rodeo, life and death as he’d become more and more inebriated.
She must have offered him a ride back to his hotel since his truck had still been at the bar when he’d gone looking for it the next morning. If Brit was telling the truth, the woman must have gone into the motel with him and they’d ended up doing the deed.
If so, he’d been a total jerk. She’d been as drunk as him and driven or she’d willingly taken a huge risk.
Hard to imagine the woman staring at him now ever being that careless or impulsive.
“Is that your normal pattern, Mr. Dalton?” Brit asked “Use a woman to satisfy your physical needs and then ride off to the next rodeo?”
“That’s a little like the armadillo calling the squirrel road kill, isn’t it? I’m sure I didn’t coerce you into my bed if I was so drunk I can’t remember the experience.”
“I can assure you that you’re nowhere near that irresistible. I have never been in your bed.”
“Whew. That’s a relief. I’d have probably died of frostbite.”
“This isn’t a joking matter.”
“I’m well aware. But I’m not the enemy here, so you can quit talking to me like I just climbed out from under a slimy rock. If you’re not Kimmie’s mother, who is?”
“My twin sister, Sylvie Hamm.”
Twin sisters. That explained Brit’s attitude. Probably considered her sister a victim of the drunken sex urges he didn’t remember. It also explained why Brit Garner looked familiar.
“So why is it I’m not having this conversation with Sylvie?”
“She’s dead.”
The words sank in slowly, changing everything. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. The how and why of all of this seemed less important now. A baby would grow up never knowing her mother. A baby that might be his.
He tried to wrap his mind around the new development. The death had to be recent. Kimmie was just a baby. “How did your sister die?”
“She was murdered.”
A new jolt shook his system as the situation grew even more disturbing. He muttered a few careless curse words, not out of disrespect but out of desperation. He didn’t see how things could get much worse, but from the look on Brit’s face, he had a feeling they were about to.
“I get the feeling I should be calling in a lawyer about now,” he said.
“Not if you have nothing to hide. You’re not currently a suspect in her murder, Mr. Dalton, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Currently the operative word. “Have you arrested a suspect?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“A motive?”
“It’s an open investigation. I can’t really discuss the details with you.”
“Exactly what can you share, Detective?”
Brit stood and walked around to the front of her desk, propping her shapely backside on the edge of it. Hard-edged, probably tough as nails, but hard to get past the fact that she looked more like a starlet playing a cop than an actual detective. There had to be a story there somewhere.
“What specifically would you like to know, Mr. Dalton?”
“First, how about calling me Cannon? If I am Kimmie’s father, then we’re practically related.”
“Okay, what do you want to know, Cannon?”
“For starters, why would you hand over your niece to a man like R. J. Dalton, or to me, for that matter, since you think I’m such a lowlife?”
She hesitated, then exhaled slowly as if she were giving in against her better judgment. “I’d planned to take that up with you after we have the results of the paternity test in hand, but since you’re so eager to discuss details, I guess we can talk now.”
“Then we finally agree on something.”
Brit glanced at her watch. “Do you mind if we talk over a sandwich? I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I need some food and decent coffee.”
“Fine by me, as long as I’m not riding to the restaurant in the back of a squad car.”
Her full lips tipped into a slight smile. “Not this trip. There’s an informal restaurant with quick service just around the corner. We can walk.”
“Lead the way.”
Actually he had few hunger pangs growling in his stomach, as well. He’d driven straight through, grabbing snacks for munching when he’d stopped for fuel and bathroom breaks.
Snippets of that night in Marble Falls kicked around in his mind as they walked to the café. He hated that his memories of that night were lost in a whiskey fog. Weird considering he wasn’t even that much of a drinker. A beer or two every now and then. A six-pack on a bad night.
The night in Marble Falls had been far worse than bad.
Right now he figured he wasn’t the only one with questions. And, in spite of Brit’s assurances, he figured he was one wrong answer away from becoming a suspect.
That still didn’t mean she had her facts right about his being Kimmie’s father.
Chapter Five
So this was the rodeo cowboy Sylvie Hamm had found irresistible. Brit had to admit he wasn’t the sort of a man who’d go unnoticed in a bar or most anywhere else.
His skin was tanned. His eyes were penetrating—caramel colored with gold flecks that made them almost hypnotizing when his gaze locked with hers. His hair was a sun-streaked brown, unruly, thick locks falling rakishly over his brow.
He needed a shave, but the rough growth of whiskers only added to his blatant masculinity, as did the angry, skinned blotch on his left cheek.
Worn jeans that fit to perfection, white Western shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. And a sauntering charisma and Texas drawl that left no doubt he was the real deal.
Put that package of screaming virility in a cozy bar with a steamy country ballad for background. A few drinks. A belly-rubbing dance or two. Then a burning kiss that rocked your soul...
Brit swallowed hard and shook the sensual images from her mind. Her relationship with Cannon Dalton was strictly business. She’d been angry with him since the day she’d learned that he was Kimmie’s missing-in-action father.
But he was also the only link to Sylvie. Aggravating him or making him defensive would not help her cause. Sylvie could have said or done something the night they’d been together that would lead Brit to the killer. She also needed enough information to decide if he would be a fit father for Kimmie.
If not, biological rights or not, Brit would do whatever it took to keep him from getting custody of her niece.
That move would be a last resort. Brit knew more about the rodeo than she did about taking care of a baby—and that was absolutely nothing.
“Jodie’s Grill and Deli. Is this the place?” Cannon asked as they approached the green awning that shielded the entrance from the elements.
“Yes. It’s larger than it looks from the outside and mostly a lunch spot, so it shouldn’t be too crowded tonight.”
He hurried ahead to get the door. Their shoulders brushed as she stepped past him. A jolt of unexpected heat surged through her. She stepped away quickly.
What was it about this man that was getting to her?
“Would you like a booth or a table?” the hostess asked when they stepped inside.
“How about that back booth?” Cannon suggested, nodding to one that the busboy was wiping down.
“Certainly, sir.”
“Okay with you, Brit?” he asked after the fact.
She nodded, surprised he’d called her by the shortened version of her first name. Rick was the only male in Homicide who did. To everyone else she was Garner.
It was as if she and Cannon had just skipped a few steps of the introductory stage. Perhaps part of the cowboy way, like his swagger and virility.
They followed the hostess past a cluster of occupied tables to the back corner of the dining area. Brit took the seat that let her see the door. It was a cop thing to always be able to watch and assess what was going on in any situation.
Cannon slid onto the padded bench seat opposite hers and opened his menu. “Any recommendations?” he asked as the hostess walked away.
“Salads are excellent,” Brit said. “My favorite is the Greek salad with a side of hummus and pita bread.”
“You mean for starters?”
“No. They’re large portions.”
“To you, maybe. Show me the beef.”
“In that case I hear their ribs and burgers are great.”
“That’s more like it.”
When the waitress showed up, he ordered the rib platter with two sides and a beer on draft to wash it down.
Brit ordered her usual with coffee.
The waitress returned quickly with their drinks. Cannon took a hefty swig of the beer, wiped his mouth on the white cotton napkin and plunged right into the reason they were there.
“I enjoy a good mystery as much as the next guy, but not when I’m playing a supporting role. So let’s get to the nitty-gritty of this. What makes you think I’m Kimmie’s father?”
“I don’t just think it. I’m reasonably certain. When we searched her apartment after Sylvie’s murder, I found a file that contained a legal document that she’d downloaded from the internet. It wasn’t notarized, but nonetheless, it was still clearly her intent that her written wishes be upheld.”
“And this document mentioned me by name?”
“Yes. It specified that in the case of her death or an injury that left her mentally or physically incapacitated, Cannon Dalton, the biological father of her daughter Kimmie, should be notified that he had a daughter.”
“There must be more than one Cannon Dalton in Texas.”
“Not one whose father owns the Dry Gulch Ranch.”
“She put that in there, too?”
“Yes, either you told her the night she got pregnant or she did some research to make sure Kimmie ended up in the right hands.”
“So you’re just relying on a computer document that anyone could have printed out and Sylvie never mentioned my name to you while she was pregnant?”
“The form was filed with other important papers. I have no reason to believe it was false.”
“Whose baby did you think she was carrying?” A husband’s? A fiancé’s? A current lover’s?
“It’s a very complicated situation, but the truth is I had never met Sylvie. I didn’t even know she existed until she was murdered.”
Brit stirred a packet of sweetener into her coffee and then took a sip before meeting Cannon’s penetrating gaze.
“How is it you didn’t know your twin sister?”
This was getting sticky. She’d rather not delve into her personal life with Cannon. On the other hand, he was Kimmie’s father. She had to tell him something.
Brit explained as succinctly as possible about being called to the morgue, glossing over how intensely disturbing it had been to see what looked like a waxed copy of herself laid out on the metal slab.
“A simple DNA test proved that we were twins,” Brit said, “and that Sylvie was Kimmie’s biological mother. By the time that was verified, I was neck-deep in
the murder investigation.”
“That’s tough. I wish I could be more help,” Cannon said, “but this came at me from out of the blue. Right now I’m drawing a blank about that night.”
“I think the appropriate next step for you would be to have DNA testing to determine for certain that you are Kimmie’s father.”
“I agree. Any suggestions as to how to best go about that?”
“We have a lab here in town that handles the overflow from the police department. That would be the quickest bet. I can call now and find out if they can see you in the morning.”
“Then let’s get this rolling.”
She made the call while Cannon finished his beer and worried the salt shaker with his free hand. She could easily understand his being disturbed by the news he was almost certainly a father.
Fortunately, the lab was able to accommodate.
“They’ll see you at nine in the morning,” she said once she’d broken the phone connection.
“Where is this lab?”
“Not far from here.” She took a business card from her pocket and jotted down the street and web addresses of the lab on the back of the card before handing it to him. “You can get a map with directions at the website as well as pretest instructions about what you can and can’t eat or drink before coming in.”
“I can handle that. When will I get the results?”
“I’ll request a rush, but it depends on how backed up they are at the lab. We should hear in about three days.”
“That seems like long time for a rush.”
“It’s a very busy lab, but extremely reliable. You won’t have to stay in Houston. They’ll call you when the analysis is complete. Be sure to check the box on the form you sign for them that you want phone notification.”
Cannon took another swig of beer, scrunched his napkin and then turned his attention back to Brit. “Once you suspected I was the father, why didn’t you bring Kimmie to me instead of to the Dry Gulch Ranch? I don’t live there now and never have.”
“Your father was easier to locate.”
“Wrong answer. You’re a hotshot detective. You could have found me had you wanted to. I’m sure you checked out R.J. and me before you dropped off a helpless infant.”
