by Cindy Dees
She skidded to a stop as George waved her back. He was bent over something in the rocks above the pond. Water tumbled merrily through the jumble of stones and into the pool below, masking his raspy voice. “Stay back, Miss Willa. You don’t wanna see this.”
“What is it, George?” she asked frantically.
“Rabbit. Dead.”
She frowned, looking around the otherwise serene garden. “How did it die?” There was too much tree cover here for a hawk to have gotten it, and coyotes wouldn’t show themselves at this time of day, let alone this close to a human habitation.
“Head’s ripped off,” he answered shortly. “Nasty piece of work.”
There’d been a predator in the garden? Where was it now? This side of the garden was bordered by a forest of nearly ten acres’ sprawl. It would be easy to disappear into the trees from here. “Why would some critter sneak into Mom’s garden in broad daylight to kill a rabbit?” she demanded. “That makes no sense, whatsoever.”
“I dunno, Miss. I’m just sayin’ it ain’t got a head, and it looks like somethin’ tore it clean off. You go on back to the house now, Miss Willa. I’ll get a shovel and clean this up.”
“You’ll hose down the spot? It would upset Mother to see blood.”
“Of course,” he muttered, frowning down at the mess at his feet.
God, even the safety of her mother’s garden had been destroyed! She walked toward the house, her steps getting faster and faster until she broke into a shambling run. She felt eyes staring at her, malevolent and evil. Creeped out beyond belief, she sprinted the rest of the way to the house.
She burst into the kitchen, panting, its pickled pine cabinets and cheery yellow walls incongruous in the face of her terror. She dashed away the tears streaming down her face.
Louise looked up from unloading the dishwasher as Willa came to a stop. “Oh, there you are, Willy girl. The sheriff called a minute ago. He wants you to come down to the station in the morning.”
Great. Now what?
Chapter 3
Gabe took a deep breath and reminded himself yet again not to lose his temper. But the young police officer seated across the steel table from him was doing his level best to drive Gabe crazy. This was the third time they’d called him down here to ask him the exact same questions as the first two times he’d been here.
“Tell me one more time, Mr. Dawson, what you and Senator Merris argued about at the Petroleum Club.”
He sighed. He knew what they were doing. Get a person to tell the same story three times, and if it changed each time, the person was lying. If it stayed exactly the same, the person was probably telling the truth.
“I went to the club because I knew John Merris would be there. I offered to buy his company from him.”
“And that’s why he lost his temper and slugged you?”
Gabe shrugged. “More or less. He seemed insulted at the amount I offered him.”
“Was it your intent to insult him?”
“I offered him more than a fair price for Merris Oil. He just didn’t happen to agree with me on what constituted a fair price.”
“And that’s why he hit you?”
“I honestly don’t know, Officer Radebaugh. You’d have to ask him.”
“Senator Merris is dead.”
Duh. “I’m aware of that,” Gabe replied drily. The cop stared at him, and Gabe didn’t bite on the tactic to get him to babble to fill the silence. The stalemate stretched out for close to a minute, ending only when the door to the interrogation room burst open.
“Deputy Green,” Gabe said evenly. Green was a good ol’ boy who’d been on the Vengeance police force ever since Gabe could remember. He’d hassled Gabe plenty as a teen, but then in fairness to Green, he’d hassled the police plenty back then, too. He was a little surprised Green hadn’t been named acting sheriff when Sheriff Peter Burris was found dead next to Senator Merris. The third victim was a young man, recently married, who’d been in town to visit his family. Although rumors were running rampant, no one had figured out yet how the three men—or at least their deaths—were connected.
“Dawson,” Green replied as surly as ever.
“Is there anything more I can do to help you with your investigation, gentlemen?” Gabe looked back and forth between the two cops, neither of whom would meet his eyes. They wanted him to be guilty so bad they could taste it, but the poor bastards couldn’t figure out for the life of them how to pin the recent murders on him. Particularly since he’d been in Malaysia when his assistant and then the cops called to tell him his ex-wife had been kidnapped. Pretty hard to commit murders when a guy was literally halfway around the world from the victims. As alibis went, it was pretty damned ironclad.
Green finally growled, “Don’t leave town, Mr. Dawson.”
“Until my ex-wife is found and released, I’m not going anywhere,” he declared. He’d been divorced from Melinda for nearly a decade, but she’d been his wife. He still felt responsible for her safety. Of course, she would scoff and call him a Neanderthal for thinking he had to take care of the little woman.
But he couldn’t help it. He’d been raised to open doors and hold chairs for ladies, and yes, to look out for their safety. Melinda could just get over it. Although, she pretty much had when she’d divorced him. The old pain of her betrayal of their marriage vows spiked through him again. Damn. He kept thinking it would get better. Hurt less. But it never did.
“If you’ve got nothing more for me, gentlemen, I’ve got a company to run.” No harm in reminding them he wasn’t some local punk from the wrong side of the tracks anymore. Gabe stood up and Radebaugh stood hastily as well, knocking over his chair. Deputy Green looked chagrined as the young cop clumsily righted the chair. Amused, Gabe watched Green beat a retreat.
Officer Radebaugh escorted Gabe into the main station, where a dozen messy, paper-laden desks were huddled. Gabe was startled to spot a familiar pair of slender shoulders and strawberry-blond French twist at the far end of the room. What was Willa Merris doing here? Probably getting an update on the investigation into her father’s murder, or maybe answering more questions. Of course, she didn’t get hauled into an interrogation room, and treated like a criminal. That pleasure had been reserved for him, apparently.
The cop opened the front door for him, and Gabe recoiled at the crowd of reporters clustered at the bottom of the steps. “What’s up with the mob?” he asked his escort.
Radebaugh glanced over his shoulder and then muttered under his breath, “They probably got wind of what Willa Merris is up to.”
“What’s she up to?” Gabe muttered back, not moving his lips.
“We asked her to come in to answer a few questions, but when she got here, she announced she wanted to file charges against James Ward.”
James Ward, as in the golden boy of Vengeance, Texas? Now that John Merris was dead, the Wards were the preeminent family in town, and James was the heir apparent to the family’s fortune, power and social position. Not to mention everyone loved the guy. Betting types were picking him to be the successor to John Merris’s political career. Gabe had always found Ward a little slimy in that friendly, politician way, but a decent guy, overall.
Surprised, Gabe asked, “What’s she charging him with?”
“Assault.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped. “As in he attacked her?”
“Yup.”
Well, that certainly explained the way she’d reacted when he’d tried to hug her yesterday. She’d yanked away like he’d tried to kill her instead of offer a little comfort.
“James Ward?” Gabe couldn’t help asking. He’d known the heir to the Ward fortune for most of his life, and he had a hard time believing that the fun-loving, charming young man had an angry side, let alone a violent side. James was always the center of attention and popular with all the girls. “When did this happen?”
“She says it happened a month ago. Not a shred of proof. Sheriff’s trying to talk her out of pressing
charges because it’s gonna boil down to a he said-she said, and she’s gonna lose.”
“Why’s she going to lose?” Gabe asked.
Radebaugh stared at him as if the answer was so obvious, he couldn’t believe Gabe had bothered to ask the question. “Because he’s a Ward, and her father’s dead.”
“Since when does justice depend on power or social status?” Gabe snapped.
Irritated, he stomped down the steps and plowed through the phalanx of reporters who knew him well enough after the past two weeks to leave him the hell alone. He climbed into his Cadillac Escalade, grateful for its blacked-out windows. Gripping the steering wheel until his hands ached, he stared ahead at nothing. Willa Merris assaulted? The idea made him so mad he could hardly breathe. She’d been such a sweet kid. So innocent. Why the hell did life have to dump on her all at once like this? Although in his experience, life was rarely fair.
A commotion across the street drew his attention as the mob of reporters rushed up the courthouse steps. He swore as he spotted the source of the ruckus. It was none of his business, and his interference emphatically wouldn’t be appreciated. And yet, he leaped out of the vehicle and strode back across the street, swearing every step of the way.
* * *
Willa recoiled as a shouting crowd of reporters charged her, microphones brandished like swords. A cacophony of voices crashed into her. “Is it true...James Ward...what proof...publicity stunt?”
How on earth did these jackals already know that she’d filed charges against Ward? Someone in the police station must have leaked it. Wow, that had been fast. And then the gist of the questions registered.
“...provoke him...trying to catch a rich husband...how sexy were your clothes...entrapment...”
They thought she’d tried to get herself raped? Horror poured over her like a waterboarding until she choked and gagged on it. She reeled back from the vicious assault and looked over her shoulder for help from the police. But Deputy Green merely stood in the doorway observing the mauling, his gaze totally impassive.
She tried to shove through the crowd of reporters, but they weren’t about to let her slip away. They smelled fresh meat, and the feeding frenzy was on. As the press of sweaty bodies closed in on her, panic and bile rose in the back of her throat. Strangers were banging into her. Touching her. Oh, God. She felt light-headed, and then faint.
Without warning, the crowd parted, and like a dark, avenging angel, a furious Gabe Dawson loomed in front of her. He threw his arm over her shoulders, dragged her up against his side and with his free arm, commenced shoving reporters out of the way like pesky bugs.
He hustled her across the street, shoved her bodily into the passenger seat of his big SUV and slammed the door shut. In seconds, he was in the driver’s seat and the vehicle pulling away from the curb. Someone banged on the hood of the SUV and nearly got run down for his trouble.
“You almost hit that reporter!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure not to miss,” he retorted.
She grinned in spite of herself. And the release of tension felt good. Even though the devil himself had rescued her, she wasn’t complaining. She didn’t want to think about how ugly that mob of reporters could’ve gotten with her. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“No problem. Pissing off journalists is a favorite pastime of mine, and I just took away their new toy.”
She nodded and subsided, remembering a conversation with her father once, where he’d confessed to loving sparring with reporters. How could he possibly have relished that kind of attention? She shuddered. The public eye was definitely not her cup of tea.
“Where to?” Gabe asked.
“Umm, home, I suppose.”
“Your place or your parents’?”
He knew she had her own house in Vengeance? He’d relocated to Dallas nearly a decade ago, and yet he still kept tabs on where she lived? “My parents’ house, I suppose. I’m staying there to keep my mother company and help her deal with...everything.”
Gabe nodded and pointed his vehicle toward the south side of town. He drove in silence, and she didn’t interrupt the quiet that fell between them. What could she say to a man like him, anyway? He was smart and confident and powerful—totally out of her league. And she’d thrown him out of the house less than twenty-four hours ago.
The SUV turned onto the road that led to her parents’ estate, and she groaned aloud. Both sides of the tarmac were lined with cars and vans—all brightly painted with the call signs of various radio and television stations. Gabe accelerated, passing right by her parents’ driveway without slowing down.
“New plan,” he announced.
“Back to my place?” she replied glumly.
“Are you kidding? If the press has this place staked out, they’ll be crawling all over your house. We were lucky no one spotted us as we drove past, but we may not get that lucky next time.”
“Where will I go?” she asked in alarm.
“Relax. I’ve got it covered.”
She frowned. That wasn’t an answer. And she didn’t like the idea of turning over any more control to this man than she absolutely had to. She knew the type; after all, her father was one of them—rich, arrogant and accustomed to everyone around them kissing up and doing whatever they were told without question.
But what choice did she have? She’d accused a pillar of local society of a heinous crime, sullied a man’s reputation and attacked one of the richest and most powerful families in this part of Texas. Now, the gloves would come off, and the reporters would take whatever potshots at her they thought they could land. It would be a free-for-all. She’d seen over the years what the press did to her father at the slightest hint of a juicy story, let alone a full-blown scandal. They attacked like rabid dogs, tearing at every scrap of information and tossing it in front of the public no matter what the personal cost to her father or his family. And he’d been a rich, powerful politician with the ability to hurt the reporters’ careers, which had kept the press in check. She was neither rich nor powerful. They’d destroy her.
What had she been thinking, pressing charges against James Ward? It had been a foolish impulse. Insane. She’d gotten so carried away with the notion that now she could say or do whatever she wanted, that she’d forgotten the consequences the good people of Vengeance, Texas, would level at her.
The SUV rolled smoothly down I-35, its powerful engine devouring the forty miles between Vengeance and Dallas. She frowned as Gabe guided the vehicle into the jungle of modern skyscrapers that was downtown.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“I thought you might like a bite to eat.”
Although it was a little early for supper, her stomach was roiling ominously. “I couldn’t possibly eat—” she started.
“Nonsense. You’re thin as a rail, and I bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks.”
It was kind of him not to mention her father’s murder. But Gabe was right. Neither she nor her mother had been able to eat much since John Merris’s death. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.
“No, you’re not. You’ve had a lousy day and a big scare, and you’re pale. You look on the verge of fainting.”
“I don’t faint!” she retorted indignantly.
He flashed her a brief grin that knocked her indignation into the next county over. “I recall that about you. You’re a lot stronger than you look. I’ll never forget the way you and that crazy horse of yours ran me into the ground.”
He remembered that fox hunt? She’d been seventeen, so that would make it eleven years ago. He’d made some snarky comment about girls not being able to keep up with the boys, and she had bet him a dollar that she would beat him in the annual cross-country race.
“Speaking of which, you still owe me a dollar,” she declared.
“Double or nothing at next spring’s fox hunt,” he retorted jauntily as he guided the car through downtown Dallas.
She made a face.
“I haven’t ridden a horse since I left for college. I’ll just take my winnings and call it good, thank you.”
He stopped the car and a valet opened her door for her. Good grief, where were they? She looked up and was shocked to see he’d brought her to the Rosewood Mansion Hotel on Turtle Creek, known locally as simply, The Mansion. Its restaurant was routinely selected as one of the top ten in the world. He handed over the keys and joined her, offering his wool-suited forearm to her.
“This is a bit more than a bite to eat, Gabe.”
“How better to tempt a reluctant eater than with the finest food on earth?”
She had to admit that every time she’d ever eaten here the cuisine had been nothing short of exquisite. “I’m not dressed properly—” she started.
“Balderdash,” he declared. “I’ll get us a private dining room, and no one will see or care what you’re wearing.”
She couldn’t decide whether to ask where he’d learned the word balderdash or if The Mansion really had private dining rooms, and ended up merely following him in disbelieving silence.
Of course, a billionaire with more money than sense was clearly the sort of customer who rated a private dining room, which was fine with her tonight. The main dining room was a place where people went to see and be seen. In spite of the city’s size, Dallas’s elite social stratum was actually a fairly small and tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone else. The last thing she needed was to be seen sharing an intimate meal at The Mansion with her father’s archenemy.
The maître d’ led them down a small, dim hallway. They passed briefly through the lobby of the hotel proper, and were ushered into a beautifully furnished room that looked like the parlor of a fine European estate. Floor-to-ceiling French doors overlooked a formal rose garden even her mother would envy, and beside the doors sat a linen-covered table set for two.
