Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston

by Intrigue Romance

  Of course, in the interest of unbiased journalism, it also contained quotes from her, as if she’d been interviewed by her boss, Beauford Jennings. She expounded upon freedom of the press and the unwarranted arrogance of the Sheriff’s Department, one deputy in particular. It named no names, but he knew who he was.

  She’d discussed that with Mitch, too, the night before. The idea was to show the suspect and the world that she’d been chastised, and though she’d had a bone to pick with the deputy in charge, she had agreed to back off. Would it work? Who knew?

  He sure didn’t.

  And was Cara actually going to back off? Hell, no. He knew better.

  She had included a few paragraphs about the other murders—excluding his father’s—reiterating who the victims and their killers were, describing without pointing fingers the links to Lambert & Church and its client Ranger Corporation. The story also hinted that more details were pending.

  This went further than they had discussed, but at least they had resumed their uneasy alliance. And after yesterday’s attack on her, maybe she would take it more seriously.

  Mitch whistled as he strode back home to dress for work.

  Until he let himself consider what else had gone on at Cara’s home that night.

  He’d seen the look in her eyes when she’d thought he’d invited himself home with her for sex instead of scolding. More than he wanted to eat, drink, sleep—heck, anything necessary for living—he’d wanted to forget his purpose and oblige.

  Instead he’d kept his pants on. At least he hadn’t been in his uniform pants then, which he had no business even thinking of removing while he was on duty. Or at any other time with a witness who happened to also be a reporter.

  He’d also intended to give her just a small, cool kiss when he’d left her place. One that simply cemented their agreement. Except… It had erupted into a kiss. A real one that had rocked him. Fortunately, he was used to asserting restraint over every conceivable emotion. He had backed off before losing control altogether…this time.

  “Next time, Cara, if you tease me, be prepared to follow through.” He spoke aloud as he entered his small, shabby but clean living room. “That’s another threat. Another promise. Count on it.”

  He would.

  CARA FOLDED the morning’s Gazette, sat back in her desk chair and laughed. The sound was still hoarse after yesterday’s ordeal, but she was trying to put that behind her. Most of it.

  Except the recollection of Mitch Steele coming to her rescue against an armed assailant.

  Coming to her home for dinner.

  Negotiating the contents of this very article with her.

  And that wonderful, too-brief kiss.

  “Are you watching, Sally?” Cara demanded aloud.

  She was alone in her cluttered office so she could talk to her idol Sally without anyone knowing. Sally would have appreciated the article she’d ghostwritten for Beau. It was just as Mitch and she had discussed. As he’d suggested.

  Had he recalled, in the recesses of his mind, that Shotgun Sally had had such a public feud with her lawman lover in the story they’d discussed?

  Of course, it had been contrived. They were close by then, and the idea had been to convince folks they hated each other’s guts. That way Zachary could disavow knowledge or approval of Sally’s roughshod ways as she ignored laws and conducted her investigation into who killed her sister. Who had wanted, instead, to kill her.

  Not that it had any bearing on the present situation, which in some ways was too bad. Though the story had a couple of conflicting endings, one thing was certain—as certain as any of the Sally stories were. Sally and her lawman had had one heck of a passionate affair.

  And Cara? Mitch Steele was hardly her lawman. But the idea of a passionate fling with him was more than a little appealing.

  Especially now, when they were working together again. Sharing information.

  Not that she would fully trust him to do as he’d promised. Not any more than she figured he trusted her.

  But, oh, how she’d enjoyed being alone with him in her apartment last night. She’d been incredibly turned on by him. She’d seen in his eyes that he wanted her, too.

  And to top it all off, there’d been that kiss, full of promise, passion…and, ultimately, kiss-off.

  He wasn’t seducing her to steal a story or even information. He wasn’t seducing her at all, damn him!

  “Enough,” she said aloud. She wouldn’t keep thinking about Mitch. Instead, she’d focus on the similar Sally story. Though she knew how it ended, she forgot some of the details. Her curiosity was piqued. It would prod at her till she got the answer.

  Rather than be ruled by discomfort, she took a sip of tepid coffee from a white mug on her desk, then lifted the phone. But Della Santoro wasn’t in her office.

  “Hi, Della, it’s Cara,” she said into the machine. “I’ve got some Shotgun Sally questions for you. Call when you get a chance.” She left her work and home numbers, though Della already had them both.

  And then Cara sat still at her desk, frustrated. What was she going to do now?

  Research her primary story, of course. And if she used methods that rubbed Mitch the wrong way? Well, they’d already prepared for that. That’s what the article was for.

  Except…she’d learned her lesson. If she was going to do anything that even hinted at danger, she would call Mitch and let him know first.

  Her next step, then? She reached for the phone, just as it began to ring. “Cara Hamilton,” she answered as she always did, also checking the caller ID as was her habit. It displayed Unidentified Number.

  “You got away yesterday, Cara,” said a distorted voice on the other end. “Again.”

  “Who is this?” Cara demanded, though of course she knew. Her hand lifted to massage her still-aching throat. It was the person who’d attacked her yesterday. Except he sounded different. “What do you want? Did you drive that truck, too?”

  “I want to make sure the Gazette corrects an inaccuracy in the article about the attack on you yesterday,” the voice said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It implies that the Gazette, and one particular investigative reporter, is continuing to look into the Nancy Wilks murder and ties between it and other crimes in the area.”

  “So?” Cara said coldly, forcing herself to hide any sign of fear. “There’s nothing inaccurate about that.”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” said the voice. “That is, it’s inaccurate if you want to stay alive.” There was a click as the caller hung up.

  Chapter Ten

  This was one of those times Mitch wanted to shove Hurley Zeller right in his ugly face. But it was also a time he had to take it and act as if nothing was wrong. Be stoic, or pretend to be, as his mother’s people had to do when defeated by the intruders in their world.

  Not all had succeeded. Mitch would. Outward serenity was a ploy he had learned long ago.

  Inside was a different matter.

  They sat in Sheriff Ben Wilson’s large office. Ben acted as officious as always, backed by the revered flags of Texas and the United States on the wall behind his desk.

  The sheriff was not happy. Resembling a straw-deprived scarecrow in his loose khaki uniform, he clutched a copy of that morning’s Gazette in one hand. His other was clenched white-knuckled on his desk.

  Mitch could have gagged from the strong fumes of old cigars that hung in the rank air of the office. He took shallow breaths.

  “So now the department is the butt of jokes all over town,” Hurley Zeller was saying. He’d brought Ben the paper. Sitting on a low-backed chair beside Mitch, he had pasted a hurt and self-righteous frown on his fat face. He knew exactly what buttons to push to rile Ben further.

  “Not bad enough that you haven’t found the Wilks murderer yet,” Ben growled, his thin face a mass of angry wrinkles. “But you were right there and still didn’t nab a suspect who was in front of you, attacking that big-mouthed-bitch repo
rter, of all people. Of course she’d write an article that makes us appear like fools, even if it’s got Beau Jennings’s name on it. To top it off, it makes us look even worse that you blamed her for your own foul-up. She’s retaliated in print, made it clear where the fault lies.”

  Just as Mitch had told her to do. Any indication they were working together could create even more problems for him.

  “You blew it bad, Steele,” Wilson continued. “Real bad.”

  “Reminds me of someone else he knows,” Zeller said, a barely suppressed guffaw in his tone. “Used to know. You gonna take the easy way out like your old man did, Steele?”

  Before he realized what he was doing, Mitch leaped to his feet. “You—” He stopped himself. The ass was trying to get him mad. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Instead he turned back toward the man he figured had murdered his father, if only he could prove it. “You’re right,” he said to Wilson. “I blew it. Of course, we’d have gotten worse publicity if I’d blown away a couple of high school kids to make sure I took down the suspect. But that’s what I should have done.” He hung his head as if in remorse, forcing his fingers to remain loose when what they wanted to do was turn into tight, lethal fists.

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me, boy,” Wilson hissed.

  “No, sir. And I won’t even mention how bad the department looked when the media reported that one of its own dated a murder victim just before her death.” Mitch didn’t look at Hurley, but if that jerk thought this new problem would overshadow what he’d done, he now knew otherwise.

  “Here’s what you’re gonna do to fix this, Steele,” Wilson said without responding to Mitch’s digs. “First, you’ll stay out of that reporter’s sights. If she wants an interview, you send her to me, and I’ll set her straight. If she’s being attacked right before your damned eyes, you call for backup and let someone else deal with it. If she—”

  Mitch’s cell phone rang. Damn. What a miserable time. “Excuse me, Ben. I’ll make it quick.” He flipped his phone open. “Deputy Steele here.”

  “Mitch? It’s Cara.” There was an uncharacteristic edge to her voice. Excitement? No, it sounded more like fear. “I need to talk to you.”

  Despite how badly he wanted to walk out of there right now, it would do no one any good if he got fired for insubordination. Not if Cara wanted any cooperation at all from the Sheriff’s Department. And not if the Sheriff’s Department had a hope of getting relevant info from the indomitable, exasperating, beautiful investigative reporter who’d burrowed so deeply under his skin that he jumped when she hiccuped.

  But he couldn’t jump right now, no matter what her stimulus.

  “My laundry’s ready?” he said, picturing the shock and outrage on Cara’s pert face. “Good. I’ll call later to arrange to pick it up.” And then he hung up on her.

  CARA GLARED at the phone. She gathered that Mitch couldn’t talk right now. But right now was exactly when she needed to talk to him.

  That damned phone call had really unnerved her.

  She leaned over her cluttered desk, breathing too fast. Tears burned her eyes, though she refused to let them fall.

  Mitch and she were supposed to be partners of sorts. But he had let her down—whether or not he’d intended to.

  She needed to talk to someone. Right now. Someone on her side, who’d be there for her no matter what else was going on.

  Not Beau. He would compare her with his back-biting nephew, Jerry, or at least his illusions about him. Jerry never got scared off by anonymous phone calls. Jerry never let anything stand in the way of a story. Not even integrity.

  The fact that Jerry got his start by stealing from her had never mattered to Beau, who’d put his pet relation on a pedestal.

  Cara sighed. What was she going to do? Sitting there thinking about being scared wasn’t an option.

  She’d done what she’d promised: called Mitch. And look where that had gotten her. He’d just hung up on her.

  She knew exactly who she wanted to call, her dearest friend, Kelly McGovern Lansing. But Kelly and Wade were still in Hawaii on their delayed honeymoon. Cara wasn’t sure where they were staying even if she wanted to interrupt them. And she needed to do more than send an e-mail.

  Instead she called a number she’d used just the other day. She nearly hung up after two rings, though. Heck, she’d already interrupted Lindsey Wellington once at a time she wanted least to be bothered. That was almost as bad as busting into a honeymoon.

  “Hello?” A man’s voice answered. It had to be Bart Rawlins, Lindsey’s guy.

  “Bart, it’s Cara Hamilton. How are you?”

  “Probably better than you sound, Cara. What’s wrong?”

  Damn. Was her distress so obvious? She knew Bart, of course, but not that well. “Nothing,” she lied. “I just had some questions to run by Lindsey. Is she available?”

  “Sure. Just a minute.”

  Though it was less than a minute before Lindsey picked up the phone, it was long enough for Cara to wonder what it would be like to have found one’s soul mate, as Lindsey had. Sure, Bart had gone through hell and Lindsey had nearly followed before they realized what they had together. After all, Bart had been in jail, awaiting trial for the murder of his uncle, when Lindsey, a new lawyer, had been assigned to defend him.

  And Kelly, too, had found the right man for her—Wade Lansing, a guy they’d both known forever. Cara had never even considered looking beyond his bad-boy image, but Kelly had…

  “Cara? What’s wrong?”

  Suddenly Cara didn’t want to go through with what she’d called to do—cry on her friend’s shoulder.

  She wasn’t a wimp. She was like Shotgun Sally, a damned fine investigative reporter.

  So act like it, she ordered herself.

  “I’m still struggling with trying to figure out what poor Nancy wanted to show me,” she said. Not that it had been at the forefront of her mind right then. “We’ve talked before about what’s ethical, but is there any way for me to look at the Lambert & Church files?” After Andrew McGovern’s murder, Lindsey had turned over to his sister, Kelly, what she’d thought were his personal effects. Some of his working files were in those boxes, and Lindsey had been uncomfortable about having unwittingly put them into the hands of someone outside her firm.

  “You know it wouldn’t be ethical of me to hand them to you or discuss them, but I’ve no problem telling you where they probably are right now.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Since the firm is disbanding, most have been sent back to the clients whose files they were.”

  “Oh.” Cara’s sudden bubble of excitement burst and oozed into dejection once more.

  “If the clients want to reveal the contents, they’re the ones who hold the privilege, so…”

  “So all I have to do is to convince someone like Roger Rosales to hand over the Ranger Corporation files.”

  “Right,” said Lindsey.

  “Sure,” said Cara.

  After saying goodbye to Lindsey, Cara took a deep breath and thought of Shotgun Sally. Nothing ever stood in the way of her getting a story. She lifted the phone and made another call.

  “Roger? This is Cara Hamilton. I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  “SO YOU’RE THE DEPUTY I wrote that article about.” Beau Jennings peered over the top of his silver-rimmed glasses at Mitch. “You want to tell me what really happened at the high school yesterday? Cara wrote part of the article and really cut you to shreds. I respect our law enforcement officers, so I figure it wasn’t really as bad as she said.”

  As soon as Mitch broke free from his chewing out by Ben Wilson, he’d come to the offices of the Mustang Gazette. He hadn’t gotten farther than the tiny reception area, its walls plastered with dozens of framed certificates of merit for the small-town paper and pictures of reporters receiving awards.

  Some were of Cara, he’d noticed immediately, suppressing his smile. He wasn’t surprise
d.

  When he’d asked the skinny young man behind the front desk for Cara and identified himself, Beau Jennings had come out. Now, the plump, suspendered editor of the town paper was acting too smug. Once again, to get what he wanted, Mitch knew he had to take it.

  “I happened to be patrolling the area around the school and thought I saw a citizen in trouble. It was Cara, and she’d pretty much fought off her attacker before I got there. The guy pulled a gun, so I drew mine but couldn’t use it for fear of endangering other citizens.”

  “Yeah? Then what? Why did Cara insist on giving you a hard time in the article?”

  “Because I made it clear she wasn’t to take the law into her own hands. She’s got the idea that she’s a superwoman and that she’ll solve the Wilks murder all by herself. I told her that getting herself killed might be one way to do it, as long as she fingers the perpetrator first, but that the town would much rather have her around writing her vicious stories.”

  To Mitch’s surprise Beau Jennings laughed. “You’re okay, Deputy, no matter what Cara says.”

  The idea that Cara had probably gone further than her article and criticized him to her boss didn’t please Mitch. Did it further their alliance for her to put him down? Could be. If their cooperation wasn’t obvious, maybe they could each extract more from people they were investigating. Someone who craved publicity but hated the law might talk to her, while a different person might cooperate with the Sheriff’s Department anonymously, out of media scrutiny.

  Right now, though, it wasn’t philosophy motivating Mitch but concern for Cara. “Do you know where Cara is right now, Beau? She called a while ago and said she had some information to share with me.” An exaggeration, of course.

  Beau’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “That’s what she said? Well, even so, I suspect she’s changed her mind since she left before you got here.”

  “Any idea which way she went?”

  “Northeast, I think. Or is it Midwest?”

  Mitch’s puzzlement must have shown, for Beau Jennings’s large teeth emerged as he smiled hugely. “Ranger Corporation,” he said. “I don’t know where their headquarters are, but Cara was heading for their local offices.”