by Karen Hughes
Rand plucked a brass paperweight shaped like an oil rig off the desk, weighed it in his hand. “I plan to file discovery papers tomorrow so I can get a look at all the reports and evidence the police have. I’ll arrange for my experts to conduct independent ballistic tests and fingerprint comparisons on the Luger. I also want my handwriting specialist to examine the signature on the insurance policy someone bought in your name. Those tests will take a couple of days. In the meantime, we need to address Cheyenne’s dilemma.”
“That’s right, we do,” Jackson said.
Cheyenne’s heart clenched when he rose, stepped to her chair and placed a palm on one of her shoulders. “She isn’t going to spend one minute in jail on my account. I want that understood up front.”
She placed her hand over his, then looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t want to give Law a formal statement about where I saw you at the party.”
Jackson’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Dammit, Cheyenne, we’ve talked about this. I told you what Law can do to you. Your being stubborn isn’t helping.”
“I disagree,” Rand said mildly.
Jackson slid his cousin a narrow-eyed look. “She’s trying to protect me by putting herself in a situation where Law can arrest her. That’s not going to happen. Deal with it.”
“Cheyenne’s testimony doesn’t prove you pulled the trigger, but it places you at the location—at almost the exact time—from where the shot was fired at Dad. It won’t help our case to have a jury hear that.”
Jackson reached down, hooked a finger under Cheyenne’s chin and nudged it up. “This morning Thad Law as good as told me he’ll arrest you if you don’t make a formal statement. He’s not bluffing. He’ll toss you in a cell. Trust me, it isn’t a pleasant experience. I know.”
Swallowing hard, she took the leap. “He can’t arrest me if we’re married.”
“What?” Jackson stared in astonishment as her face began to burn.
“I’ve… In college, my roommate was in pre-law. I remember her talking about how a wife can’t testify against her husband. That the police…” Cheyenne’s voice hitched. “I’m not trying to force you into something you don’t want, Jackson. It’s just that if we were married, Law couldn’t make me testify against you. You’re innocent. I won’t testify against you.”
His mouth thinned. “In other words, you’re giving me permission to use you to try to keep my butt out of prison.”
Cheyenne’s stomach jumped with nerves. “I don’t see it that way. Someone’s trying to make it look like you’re guilty. I’m trying to even the odds.”
Rand slid off the desk and walked to Jackson’s side. “You’re not looking at this objectively, cousin. The protection angle works both ways.”
Jackson dropped his hand from her chin and faced Rand. “The two of you have discussed this?”
“Cheyenne mentioned her idea to me while you were in the shower.”
“In that case, you should have mentioned to her that certain situations aren’t covered under the marital privilege law. One situation being that the criminal act in question can’t have occurred prior to the legal marriage of the spouses to each other. The first attempt on Uncle Joe’s life was nearly a year ago. The second one four months ago.”
“True.” Rand slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks. “However, the law being the law, there are always exceptions. I made a couple of calls before dinner. A California appeals court ruled just last month that a woman who witnessed a crime committed by her then-fiancé can’t be forced to testify on the grounds that the man is now her husband. The court felt that if she were forced to testify, her testimony could jeopardize their existing marriage.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “A higher court could overturn that ruling.”
“It’s possible. If that happens, it won’t be for years. In the meantime, citing the court’s ruling is enough to prevent Law from getting his statement. Cheyenne will no longer be in danger of being arrested and charged with impeding an investigation.” Rand placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “There’s another aspect to this. With everything you’ve been through today, I imagine you haven’t had a chance to think things through.”
“What things?”
“If Cheyenne gives a statement to Law, the D.A. will plan to call her as a witness for the prosecution. He may even consider her his star witness. If that’s the case, I can’t represent both of you. She’d have to find another attorney.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “Which means you’d get a shot at cross-examining Cheyenne.”
“Exactly. And, as I do with every prosecution witness, I’d look for the peel.”
“The peel,” Jackson repeated, his mouth tightening.
Not understanding their use of the term, Cheyenne met Joe’s gaze. “Lawyer talk,” he said quietly.
Rand kept his eyes locked with Jackson’s. “I believe you know I would find what I need in Cheyenne’s background.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jackson clenched his fists. “Forget it, Rand. I won’t let you do that.”
“Would you rather go to prison?”
Jackson ran a hand over his face. “Dammit—”
“If you and Cheyenne get married, she’ll remain my client,” Rand pointed out. “She can claim spousal privilege. That will give us more time to concentrate on finding who set you up. Whoever did that had a very well-thought-out plan. It’s going to take some effort on our part to unravel that plan and find who’s behind it.”
Rand glanced across his shoulder. “Dad, why don’t you and I clear out and give Jackson and Cheyenne a chance to talk? Everyone’s had a long day. We can meet back here in the morning.”
“Sounds good.” Rising, Joe moved around the desk to stand at Jackson’s side. “You’ve got quite a woman here, son.” He winked at Cheyenne. “If you don’t marry her, I just might.”
Jackson arched a dark brow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Joe slapped Rand on the back. “You didn’t have a chance to say more than a hello to your mother when you got here.”
As she rose from her chair, Cheyenne saw a shadow flicker across Rand’s eyes as he said, “You’re right, I didn’t. I’ll have to be sure and mention to her that I had some business in Sacramento.” He turned and followed his father out of the study.
Cheyenne waited to speak until the door clicked softly behind them. “I’m sure you feel like I’ve pushed you into a corner, Jackson. That wasn’t my intention.”
He gazed down at her, his eyes unfathomable. “No, your intention is to protect me. Because you believe I’m innocent.”
“I know you are.”
“You know that because a vision sent you to me.”
“Yes. My visions are only for good.”
“I’ll tell you what isn’t so good. You heard Rand mention finding the peel in your background?”
She furrowed her forehead. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s Rand’s term for his ability to get under some aspect of a story, or of a witness, so he can ‘peel’ the testimony back and damage the witness’s credibility.” Jackson reached, ran a hand down her long hair that she’d left loose and flowing. “Growing up, Rand heard the same rumors about you that I did. He’s got a memory that won’t quit.”
Cheyenne blinked. “You’re talking about my gift.”
“Yes. If you become a prosecution witness, Rand will conduct a background on you. One visit to the reservation and he’ll know all about your visions. In court, he’ll call witnesses to testify that you’re known to ‘see things.’ When he gets you on the stand he’ll ask if you’re sure you saw me near the service hallway just before the shooting. When you answer yes, he’ll suggest that, instead of actually seeing me, you just pictured me there in your head. Like you do so many other things. By the time Rand gets done, the jury will look at you as if you’re just some crackpot visionary.”
Cheyenne felt herself go pale. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
&nb
sp; “No, all you’ve thought about is protecting me.”
“A vision sent me to you because you need my help. That’s what I intend to do, Jackson. Help you.”
He cupped her cheek, his flesh warm against hers. “Is anyone else in your family this stubborn?”
Pride flared, had her angling her chin. “Mokee-kittuun means People of the Red River. The blood of my mother’s ancestors turned a river red before they surrendered to the white man.”
“Well, that explains it,” Jackson said, his gaze locked with hers. “I’ve never wanted a wife, Cheyenne. I can’t honestly tell you I want one now. That’s because of a lot more reasons than there might be a cell in my future. I grew up watching my parents’ hollow marriage. I saw Uncle Joe and Aunt Meredith’s relationship disintegrate. All that makes staying single look good.”
She took a deep breath. “I understand how you feel.”
“No, you don’t.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “I care about you, more than I’ve ever cared about another woman. Right now, I don’t know how deep those feelings go. All I know is that you’re who I want to be with. Make love with. I just don’t know if I can give you what you need.”
The lightning response of her body to his words no longer surprised her. “What I need—all I need—is for you to believe in me. In who I am.”
His eyes turned eloquent. “The same way you believe in me? In my innocence? No questions asked.”
“Yes. No questions asked.”
For the first time that evening, his expression softened. “How could I not believe in you?”
She raised on tiptoe, brushed his lips with hers. “Make love with me, Jackson.”
“We’ll get to that.” He nudged her back, yet kept his hands tight on her shoulders. “If you refuse to give Law a statement, you’ll wind up in jail. If you cooperate and testify for the prosecution, Rand will tear you apart in court. All because of me. The thought of either of those things happening to you ties my gut into knots. This isn’t your fight, Cheyenne, it’s mine. It may not be the right thing to do, but if the only way I can keep you out of this is to marry you, that’s what I’ll do.”
Her heart turned over. What would she give to hear him say those words under other circumstances? “It sounds like we’re protecting each other. I can’t bring myself to think that’s wrong.”
“A man ought to be able to give his wife guarantees. Make her promises. I can’t do either of those, Cheyenne. Even without your testimony, I could wind up in prison.”
“If that happens, we’ll deal with it.”
“If that happens, you’ll file for divorce. No way are you going to be saddled with a husband who’s locked in a cell.”
Reaching up, she cupped her hand against his cheek. If the thought of him going to prison terrified her, she could imagine how it made him feel. “Now’s not the time to think about that.”
He rested his brow on hers and slid his arms around her waist. “You’re right, I don’t want to think about it.”
“Then don’t.” She smelled the scent of his soap, his own spicy male tang, and nuzzled her face against his neck, wanting to absorb it. “Kiss me, Jackson. Tonight you don’t have to think about anything else but kissing me.”
He lowered his mouth and plundered. Need and pleasure burst through her in one sizzling ball of heat. Her arms wound around him, banded around him until it seemed his heart wasn’t merely thundering against hers but inside hers. The mindless pleasure she’d felt the previous night was back, and she surrendered to it.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured. “Never enough.”
His lips left hers, but before she could protest, he pressed them to her throat. “Stay with me tonight,” he breathed against her flesh. “All night.”
Her breasts ached for his touch, her thighs trembled. “All night,” she promised.
He caught her face in his hands and stared down at her, his eyes dark and searching while his hard, lean body pressed against hers. “We’ll get married tomorrow, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. To even consider that their nights together might be numbered, that he would wind up in a cell for years—maybe even for life—had a terrible dread curling inside her belly.
She closed her eyes against the prospect. “Yes, Jackson, marrying you is what I want.”
Ten
Patsy knew that Graham habitually rose before sunrise and took a walk on the beach. For that reason, she had crept out of her bedroom when the first thready light of dawn slid over the horizon. Now she stood on the beach, positioned out of sight from anyone who might peer over the rocky cliff that edged the rear of the Colton property. She knew damn well if Graham saw her he wouldn’t venture down the wooden staircase built against the cliff’s rocky face.
The air was lush with ocean spray as foamy waves slipped onto the wet sand. In her haste to leave the house she had pulled on snug slacks and a cashmere top, and forgotten to grab a jacket on the way out the door. The predawn chill prickled her skin, but she didn’t dare go back for something warm to wear.
She needed to talk to Graham.
With so many people staying at the house, this was the first chance she’d had to get him alone. And after Rand’s nonchalant mention last night that he’d been conducting business in Sacramento when Joe summoned him to Hacienda de Alegria, she had to do whatever it took to force Graham into resuming the blackmail payments.
At Rand’s mention of the city in which Meredith had attended college and worked, Patsy had murmured something about how lucky it was he’d been so close to Prosperino when Jackson got arrested. Smiling until she felt her face would crack, she then told him she was tired and going to bed. She’d had to wash down two Valiums with three fingers of vodka just to calm down. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. How could she?
He knew. The bastard had sent her the message through those cold-as-glacial-ice eyes of his. When she’d first taken over Meredith’s identity, Rand had treated her with deference, like a loving son. Over the years he had pulled away, grown distant. She no longer expected a hug and kiss on the cheek when she saw Rand. Lately a perfunctory nod was all she got. None of that had prepared her for the edgy suspicion she had seen in his eyes last night. It was as if he were waiting for something he knew would happen. Just waiting.
All of her senses screamed that he was close to putting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was a criminal attorney, for Christ’s sake. All it would have taken for him to start digging in the right places was one phone call from that runaway bitch, Emily. The thought had Patsy’s nerves slithering like restless snakes. What if Emily had remembered seeing her “two mommies” the day of the accident? What if, after that idiot Pike bungled killing Emily, she’d run to Rand for protection? He was smart and cunning and, like all lethal predators, he knew exactly when to bide his time and when to move in for the kill.
Patsy stared out at the sea, her eyes narrowing while her blond hair danced in the wind. She might still have some time to do damage control. After all, the cops already knew Meredith had a twin sister. Patsy closed her eyes and gave silent thanks that Meredith had saved the letter she, Patsy, had forged announcing her own death years ago. Lucky for her that the fire in the mental clinic’s basement had destroyed all of her records.
Still, Rand had gone to Sacramento for a reason, and he’d made a point to let her know he’d been there. What if Meredith had been fingerprinted when she was hired on at the nursery school she’d worked at? What if Rand had gone to Sacramento because he’d discovered what the police hadn’t—that some obscure nursery school had his mother’s fingerprints on file?
Identical twins didn’t have identical fingerprints.
Patsy put an unsteady hand to her throat. All Rand had to do was take a glass she’d used, or maybe go into her bedroom and retrieve a bottle of perfume, and he would have her prints. He could then have them compared, and he would know she was not Mered
ith. He would know she was Patsy, Meredith’s twin who had killed a man named Ellis Mayfield when she discovered he had sold their sweet baby, Jewel. Because goody-goody Meredith wouldn’t agree to lie for her, Patsy had been tried, convicted and sentenced.
Twenty-five years to life.
The vicious resentment she felt for Meredith bubbled up instantly. Her loving sister, her twin, had left her in a cell to rot for all those years. There was no forgiveness for that. Just revenge. Patsy had been taking that revenge, parading as Meredith, enjoying the Colton wealth and power for ten years.
The pinpricks of unease that surged up Patsy’s spine told her that her life as Meredith Colton might soon end.
If Rand suspected enough, if he got Meredith’s fingerprints and compared them with hers, he would know the truth.
She needed money—a lot of money—and she needed it now. Any minute she might have to pack up Teddy and Joe, Jr. and take off. She couldn’t do that, couldn’t survive without a stake. Dammit, Graham Colton had promised to pay her to keep her mouth shut about his being Teddy’s father. Pay was exactly what he was going to do.
She had gotten Jackson out of the way—just because Joe had cried to some judge to get his nephew out of jail on bond didn’t make a difference. Her getting Jackson’s fingerprints on the gun ensured that he was headed to prison, maybe for life. Served him right for sticking his nose into her business and putting a stop to Graham’s payments to her. Now that the son was essentially out of the way, it was time to deal with the father.
Her gaze drifted to the small, rocky alcove where she’d seen the person who’d actually tried to kill Joe hide the gun. She would love to see the shooter’s amazed face when the news came of Jackson’s arrest…and that his prints were on the gun.
The clatter of footsteps coming down the wooden staircase brought up Patsy’s chin. She leaned, her mouth curving when Graham came into view. She took a moment to appreciate his strong good looks, the thick blond hair threaded with gray, that evidenced a stylist’s touch. Even this early in the morning he was perfectly groomed, his heavy sweater and pleated chinos a complement to his well-toned body.
