Lawful Engagement

“Okay, let’s get to what happened last night,” Mitch said. “You received a phone call from Ms. Wilks about when?”

Putting her grieving aside for the moment, Cara went through the story again, not changing any of it. As far as they were concerned, Nancy had called because she was depressed about losing her job and needed someone to talk to.

No way would Cara mention that Nancy had something important to show her. Not until Cara knew what it was.

Obstruction of justice? Maybe, though she hoped not. Mostly she was trying to protect her source. Though that source was now dead.

Cara’s mouth worked on automatic as she continued describing her arrival, what she had found.

Her mind continued to spin. Maybe Nancy’s reputation had been on the line, and that was why she’d called Cara. Despite her apparent efficiency and dedication, had she done something shady at the law firm and been ready to ’fess up? Did she have evidence she’d intended to show Cara?

Cara had to know. She had to write the truth about the Nancy Wilks’s murder.

And about the others.

“Ms. Hamilton?” Mitch Steele’s deep, irritated voice broke into her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Tell us again what you did between the time you called 911 and when the authorities arrived.”

Conducted my own quick, fruitless search. “I tried to do something for Nancy, but I could tell she was gone.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but had to swallow suddenly. Damn him. She wanted to stay remote, objective, observe it all like a good reporter. But when she was asked questions that made her relive how she’d found Nancy, would she always want to cry?

“Right,” Mitch said. “And did you touch anything?”

Had they found her fingerprints? That could be explained. She’d been at Nancy’s apartment before, though not recently.

“Well, I touched Nancy, and her bedclothes. And of course the doorknob when I came in, and the door to her room, I think.”

“Ms. Hamilton, I don’t think you’re being entirely forthcoming here,” the sheriff drawled softly from behind Mitch.

“Pardon?”

“We’ve reason to believe that Ms. Wilks called you for a different reason. That you came to her home in a panic and killed her, and that you searched the place, then called for help. What did you find, and where did you put the gun?”

Cara felt the color drain from her face. She glanced at Mitch. Did he think she killed Nancy, too? She couldn’t read his expression, though the way his mouth was set, she thought he was angry. At her?

No. She was suddenly sure that Mitch was mad at the sheriff for going on a fishing expedition.

Relief warred with anger. Mitch Steele, the deputy at the scene, might not have ruled her out, but she doubted he considered her a viable suspect. Yet he wasn’t going to contradict his boss.

She, on the other hand, could do just that. And more. For the main reason she had agreed so easily to come in for questioning was that she’d hoped to get some questions of her own answered.

She looked over Mitch’s wide shoulder toward Sheriff Ben Wilson. He regarded her with what appeared to be impassive curiosity.

She’d get him to show more emotion or she’d eat her favorite notepad—which she still carried in her purse.

Coolly she stared back at the man who’d just accused her of murder. “Sorry, Sheriff. You’ll have to do better than that. Nancy called me, I came, and I found her body. Period. I can’t be a real suspect in her murder, and you know it. Did your technicians find any gun residue on me? Any other reason to suspect me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Look. Nancy was depressed about losing her job at the law firm. You know, Lambert & Church? Where one of the lawyers, Andrew McGovern—” Her fiancé years ago. She swallowed and continued, “Andrew McGovern was murdered by our esteemed former mayor, Frank Daniels. A friend of mine, Andrew’s sister, Kelly, solved that one.”

“Now, wait a minute.” The sheriff was on his feet. “You’re under a misunderstanding there.”

“I don’t think so.” Cara glanced at Mitch, whose dark eyebrows were raised. Was he laughing at her, or with her? She continued, “Then there was the murder of rancher Jeb Rawlins. He was killed by Paul Lambert, and that case was solved by a new associate at the firm, Lindsey Wellington, who’s also my friend. She’s now engaged to Mr. Rawlins’s nephew, who’d been wrongfully accused of the killing. There seem to be a lot of false allegations around here, instead of crime solving, don’t you think?”

“You’re out of line, Ms. Hamilton.” Fury turned the sheriff’s face flaming red. Should she feel afraid? Maybe, but she didn’t.

Instead, she finished with the question that she’d come here with. “Suppose you tell me, Sheriff Wilson, what the connection is among the three murders. There has to be one. They all involve Lambert & Church. And why is it that your department failed to solve the first two killings? Can we be sure you’ll solve this one, or should everyone in town who had any connection with Lambert & Church be afraid for their lives?”

Chapter Three

Since Ben Wilson had become sheriff, Mitch had stirred up his ire a lot, mostly unintentionally. He’d always stifled his impulses and pulled back to avoid jeopardizing his own covert and frustrating investigation. As a result, he’d never seen Ben’s leathery face as scarlet as it was now.

Damn, but he liked it!

Ben’s mouth was open, as if to expel the air pumped out by his heavy breathing. Leaning toward Cara across the conference table, he sputtered, “Ms. Hamilton, if you even so much as hint in your paper that this department is doing less than a fine job, I’ll—” He broke off as he obviously searched in vain for something dire enough to threaten her with.

She rose and stood behind her chair, hands resting on its back. Mitch noticed that her nails were short and unpolished, businesslike. The hands of a woman who didn’t pamper herself.

“I report the facts, Sheriff Wilson,” she said. “That’s all.” Her smile was so sweet that she might have been eating cherries. But there was an intensity in her glare, a tilt to her chin, all evidence that Cara Hamilton wasn’t intimidated.

Mitch wanted to grab the sassy reporter and kiss those grinning lips. Like other urges, though, he kept this one to himself. Cara was standing up to the irritating, heavy-handed Ben Wilson as Mitch would have done, given a choice. And Mitch was enjoying every moment of it.

“Well, just watch your facts, missy,” Ben hissed. “You’d better make good and sure they’re true, or I’ll sue you and your paper for slander. You tell that to your editor, Mr. Beauford Jennings, hear? In fact, I think I’ll give Beau a call myself a little later, set him straight.”

Cara’s smile faded. “Beau doesn’t buckle under threats, Sheriff, and neither do I.” But the hint of uneasiness in her expression suggested Ben had scored a hit. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have research to do.”

“I’m not through with you, Ms. Hamilton.” Ben walked around the table till he faced down Cara. Mitch nearly smiled when she did not step back.

“I’ve told you all I know, Sheriff. Now, go do your job and find out who killed Nancy.” The sureness in her tone wavered a bit at the last. “She was my friend.” Cara finally dropped her gaze, and Mitch figured she didn’t want the sheriff to see any sign of weakness, like tears.

They might not move Ben Wilson, but Mitch had an urge to soothe the brash, yet altogether human, reporter. Instead, he stayed out of it.

“That act won’t convince me you didn’t kill her,” Ben growled. “In fact, I will go do my job, like you said. I’ll conduct a nice, thorough background check on you, interview everyone you’ve ever known, make sure Beau knows how close we’re observing you. You’ll be so busy watching your own behind that you won’t have time to write lies about anyone. You can go write about weddings and funerals like a good little girl.”

“Not on your life,” Cara retorted, raising her head once more to glare up into the sheriff’s looming face. Ben’s scowl could have etched steel, and Mitch could all but see the steam rise in Cara. “And I told you not to threaten me.”

Time for Mitch to break this up before something irreparable happened. Maybe Cara belonged in jail, though he doubted it. But if she did, it shouldn’t be for irritating the sheriff. “Okay, Ms. Hamilton. We get the picture, and I think you do, too. You can go now, but we’ll be in touch. I’m sure we’ll have more questions.”

She turned her glare on him and opened her mouth as if to fling him an angry retort. Before she said anything, though, the door to the interrogation room opened and Hurley Zeller burst in. “How we doing here? Boss, there’s an important call for you.” He waved a portable phone handset. “Want me to continue the interrogation?”

“No, it’s over,” Ben said.

As he turned away from Cara and took the phone, Mitch said, “Allow me to show you out, Ms. Hamilton.”

“No need,” she said quickly, but Mitch nevertheless led her around Ben and Hurley, who eavesdropped on his boss’s conversation.

The call must not have been that important, for it only took Ben a few seconds. Or maybe it had just been Hurley’s excuse to interrupt.

“Don’t go far, Steele,” Ben called as Cara stepped in front of Mitch into the reception area. “We need to talk.”

“In a second, chief.” Mitch took a few more steps so Ben couldn’t see him, then bent slightly, inhaling Cara’s fresh scent once more. “Watch your step,” he whispered into Cara’s ear, then turned and headed back.

In the interrogation room, Ben and Hurley were engaged in a private discussion, heads together, oblivious to his return. He froze in the doorway, straining to hear.

“The bitch’ll ruin the election,” Hurley grumbled. “We’ve gotta—”

“Okay, Steele,” Ben interrupted, raising his head abruptly as he apparently noticed Mitch. “You’re evidently tight with Ms. Hamilton, so here’s what I want. You talk to her, make sure she understands we’re all working hard here. We’re focused on this latest murder and we’ll bring the perpetrator to justice. Like she figured, she’s not our top suspect, but we won’t let her off the hook. Not yet. Tell her I’ll grant her an interview sometime when we’re not all so riled up, okay? Better yet, I’ll talk to her boss, Beau, tell her that. Just keep an eye on her.”

Frustration and fury shot through Mitch so fiercely that they burned like lightning bolts. He’d just been given his latest little assignment to keep him busy while someone else conducted the investigation.

Not that spending more time with Cara Hamilton would be a painful pastime, though a guy had to consider every word around her. But he wasn’t about to baby-sit while this investigation was bungled like the others. For she’d been right on target. Outsiders had solved the last murders, instead of the Sheriff’s Department, who should have.

And that could be of major significance to Mitch and his own quest. At least one person in the department had to have been involved in his dad’s murder but had been cagey enough to prevent Mitch from gleaning all but the most circumstantial evidence for two long and frustrating years. The cover-up was deep. That could mean it came from the top.

And…election? What election were they talking about?

Mitch thought fast. “Sure, chief. Promising to talk to her is a fine way to get on Ms. Hamilton’s good side so she’ll spill what she knows. It’ll help me run the investigation of the Wilks murder.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ben said, one hand in the air as if to halt contradiction by Mitch. “Hurley’ll take over.”

Mitch would have given anything to be able to punch the smirk off Deputy Zeller’s ugly face, but he didn’t. He stood still. He also stood his ground. Sure, he remained here because of his own investigation, but that didn’t mean he’d turned his back on his law enforcement career. “Not a good idea,” he said with more calmness than he felt. “I was there first and got a good walk-through of the crime scene even before the techs arrived. I have a sense of what was there, the neighbors’ reactions, a lot of insight—”

“Yeah, like you can just call up a vision and solve the murder.” Hurley’s tone was derisive.

“Maybe some of my ancestors could have done just that,” Mitch replied, forcing the words out mildly. He knew better than to respond to harassment revolving around his Native American blood. Despite being charged with upholding the law, the Mustang County Sheriff and his department were unconcerned about protecting anyone from discrimination based on ancestry, origin or anything else. But Mitch wasn’t about to point that out. He was after something much bigger than whistle-blowing about harassment.

Keeping the flames of his temper on low, he continued, “Managing Ms. Hamilton will be a priority, but I want to head the investigation. Of course, I’ll have to solve it fast or risk her writing a story that claims I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Would Ben be smart enough to bite on that not-so-subtle bait? For what Mitch had left unsaid was that he would wind up as the public scapegoat if the department failed, once again, to solve the murder.

On the other hand, he hadn’t been on the other investigations. He hadn’t been the one who’d blown them.

And he didn’t intend to fail on this one, any more than proving what had happened to his father.

“Okay, go ahead,” Ben said finally. “Hurley’ll be your backup. You need any help, you go to him.”

Right, Mitch thought. Just like I’d go to a rattlesnake for first aid.

“Yeah.” Hurley sneered again. “I’ll help you, Steele.”

Mitch gave a quick, purposely inexpert salute. “I’d better get back to work, then.”

As he exited the room, he saw that Cara had not yet left. She leaned over the reception desk, an alluring smile on her face as she spoke in undertones to the young deputy seated there. He was clearly in over his head. His face, bright red, wore a stupid grin. The phone was ringing, but he made no move to answer.

Cara obviously wanted something from the deputy. Since she was in the information business, Mitch could guess what it was.

“Going to answer that?” Mitch drawled. The deputy’s eyes widened at being caught flirting. He grabbed for the phone.

Cara’s charming smile melted as she looked at Mitch. “I thought you’d leave as fast as you could,” he said.

“So did I.” Cara headed toward the exit at last. Mitch walked beside her. “So are you still in charge of the case?”

“How—” He blinked. Could she have heard his conversation while standing out here flirting? Or was this just a diversion so he wouldn’t try to extract what the deputy had disclosed to her?

“How did I guess you might not be?” She gave an enticing little laugh. “Research. Intuition. A combination. But you took charge at the crime scene, and my initial checking on the Sheriff’s Department shows you’ve never been put at the head of any investigation more exciting than a bungled burglary. You’ve cracked major cases when someone else was in charge, though. My suspicion is it’s not lack of skill that keeps you from getting the responsibility.”

“Could be.” Mitch was amazed at her perceptiveness, though realized he shouldn’t have been. This was one smart woman. As he’d already figured, he’d have to watch himself.

“So,” she said as they stood on the concrete landing right outside the door. “Are you still in charge?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

“Good. I’ll be at the coffee shop of the Lone Star Lodge at noon today for lunch.” The Lone Star Lodge was a seedy motel on the outskirts of town with a greasy spoon eatery attached. Not a place anyone who cared about respectability would head for. That meant it was a good place to go and not be seen.

“I’ve a proposal for you,” she continued. “Care to listen?”

Her smile was so wily and irresistible that he had an unexpected urge to run his fingers through the curly red hair that gave her the contradictory appearance of imp and angel all at once. Kiss those beguilingly clever lips.

She was daring him. He knew it. But he also knew she might have information he needed. And so he’d play along—so smoothly that she’d imagine she was in control.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

BEFORE CARA HEADED for the Lone Star Lodge and her meeting with Mitch Steele, she had work to do.

Though the idea of going to a lodge with that delicious hunk of a deputy, a place with rooms for overnight or hourly stays, a place with beds…well, it certainly made her think of more than cooperating with him on a news story.

Her legendary idol Shotgun Sally, star investigative reporter of her time, was reputed to have had a lawman lover….

You’ve a murder case to look into, she reminded herself brusquely. You might be the reason Nancy died. That notion punished her for her incorrigible ideas. So did sliding into her car, which was stiflingly hot from sitting under the summer Texas sun.

She’d flirted with the desk deputy at the sheriff’s station but learned nothing. Maybe she was foolish in using everything at her disposal, including feminine wiles, to get what she wanted.

Maybe not.

After all, Shotgun Sally always said, “Folks’ll talk a lot plainer to a female who acts dumb and keeps her ears open while she yammers than one who looks too smart and keeps quiet.”

Cara had a lot to say to Deputy Mitchell Steele. It might even involve telling him what he wanted to know. But only if he would reciprocate.

For now, though, she headed for the offices of the Mustang Gazette, in a big, old building on Main Street.

Though she dreaded it, first thing she did was visit her boss’s office. Beauford Jennings was, unfortunately, in. His nose was buried in the front page of their latest edition. Other Texas papers were stacked on his desk.

“Hi, Beau.” Cara slung her purse over the arm of a chair and sat down across from him. “I’ve some stuff to tell you.”

“Anything new on the Wilks story?” Beau put down the paper and regarded Cara as if she were a sheet of newsprint he was trying to read. He squinted beneath glasses perched on the end of his pink-tipped nose.

Beauford Jennings, sixty-two years old, had inherited the Gazette when he was in his forties. He prided himself on being an old-time newspaper man, complete with wrinkled white shirt, suspenders and an honest-to-goodness antique manual typewriter buried under the mounds of paperwork always heaped on his desk.

He kept in close touch with his nephew, Jerry. Followed Jerry’s career as he climbed each rung of his ladder to success on the Dallas News. And undoubtedly, despite all Beau had promised Cara, hoped that someday Jerry would return to run the Mustang Gazette.

“I’m working on it,” she replied to his question.

“Handle this one carefully. In fact I may just take over. You did a good job reporting on those other murders, but you weren’t as close to the victims then.” She didn’t bother to remind him that she once had been close to Andrew. “I think I’ll—”

No way! “You’ve heard from our esteemed sheriff?” Cara interrupted. This one was hers. It wasn’t just a story. As in the killings of Andrew McGovern and Jeb Rawlins, it could involve deep-down-and-dirty investigative reporting. This time she was in the thick of it, since she had found Nancy’s body. She could handle the story. She would handle it.

“You bet I’ve heard from Sheriff Wilson.” Beau removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “He’s awful touchy about this. Said he’d sue the pants off me if I dared to criticize his department’s handling of the case. He said you and he have already had words, too. Maybe someone else with more objectivity would be better on this one.”

“I’m damned objective, Beau, and you can’t say otherwise.” Cara picked up the Gazette from where he’d laid it and pointed to her article. “There’s not a thing wrong with this.”

The story she’d e-mailed soon after leaving Nancy’s last night appeared on the front page: a straightforward report on the murder, interviews with neighbors that she’d obtained after the techs took samples from her, and who to contact at the Mustang County Sheriff’s Department with information that could lead to the killer. Vanilla stuff. No controversy. A damn fine job of reporting.

“No, it’s a good story, Cara. But—”

“Promise you’ll let me stay on it, Beau.”

“Only if you—”

“And promise that this will be the one. If I can break the story about who killed Nancy, and tie it to the other Mustang Valley murders—”

“What do you mean?” Beau stood behind his desk. Concern and confusion etched wrinkles on a high forehead that was already well pleated.

“The Andrew McGovern and Jebediah Rawlins killings both had something to do with the law firm Lambert & Church.”

“You’re stretching things, Cara. Just because the first victim worked there and the murderer in the second case was a partner—”

“The third also worked there. And there’s more. The first two killings also had something to do with land that one of the firm’s main clients, Ranger Corporation, has been buying. I don’t know yet how that fits in with Nancy’s death, but I’ve a hunch it does.” Could whatever Nancy had wanted to show Cara been the link? “Promise me, Beau. This could be Pulitzer material. If I break the case, you’ll promote me this time to editor in chief.”

“Sure, Cara, but—”

“Promise me. Or this time I will pull a Jerry and leave.”

“Your family’s here in town, Cara,” Beau said. “You grew up here. And—”

“Same went for Jerry. He’s gone. I’m here…for now. Promise me.”

Beau’s deep sigh of resignation was probably audible even over the hum of the high-tech printing presses on another floor of the building. “Well, okay. But—”

“Thanks, Beau.” Cara grabbed her purse and ran.

CARA WAS ALREADY SEATED in one of the old-fashioned high-backed booths at the Lone Star Lodge coffee shop when Mitch arrived. It was a good place to go if one wanted to be out of the way. Not that he’d truly be anonymous in this dump; his uniform garnered glances from the few patrons.

He shook some of the dampness off his Stetson, for it was drizzling outside, unusual at this time of the year.

The only restaurant employee in sight was a plump, aproned waitress who leaned over the counter talking to one of the customers. Mitch joined Cara before the waitress could show him to a table.

Cara had fastened her curls back with combs, maybe because of the rain. As much as Mitch liked her earlier wayward, untamed look, he found this one becoming, too. The oval shape of her face, the loveliness of its soft features, were framed rather than overpowered by her attention-snatching red hair. Of course, noticing details was just part of his job.

She glanced at her watch as he slid onto the cracked vinyl seat, setting his hat down beside him. “Not bad,” she said. “Are you always this prompt?”

“Are you always early?” he countered.

“Depends on who I’m meeting.” Her saucy grin nearly made his socks slide down his ankles.

She was flirting! Not that he trusted it. Especially when she leaned toward him, enough that her blue knit top pulled taut across her breasts.

Some men, he expected, would babble anything that came to their mouths after a tantalizing view like that, for their minds, and the rest of their bodies, would be occupied elsewhere.

Not him. He was adept at forcing his attention where it belonged, not succumbing to distractions. “You want to talk cooperation?” Crossing his arms, he leaned back till his shoulders met the stiff wood of the booth and stared into her sparkling hazel eyes, not where her posture invited him to look.

“Absolutely.” She leaned back and crossed her own arms.

“Then let’s get serious.” Not that he hadn’t thought seriously of taking her up on her unspoken promise. What if he’d kissed those now-pouting lips right there, in front of the lackadaisical waitress and the patrons who, till now, had paid Cara and him scant attention? Maybe she’d let down her guard if she thought she’d succeeded in distracting him.