The Truth About Jane Doe

A short plump woman, Miss Emma Stevens had a mound of dyed red hair curled atop her head. As a boy he used to wonder how it stayed there so neatly. She frowned at him from behind thick glasses with cat’s-eye frames and rhinestones at the corners. They must have been made in the 1950s.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming in today,” she accused in her irritating high-pitched voice.

He didn’t like having to explain his actions, but remembering the manners his parents had instilled in him, he replied, “Mom’s visiting with the reverend and I thought I’d get acquainted with Dad’s files.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“It’s no big deal, Miss Emma. I only plan to stay for a little while, and I really don’t need any help.”

“How will you find anything?” She waved an impatient hand. “I have a special filing system, and I don’t like anyone messing it up.”

He forced himself to take a calming breath and wondered how his father had put up with this woman for so many years. Diplomacy, that was it. His dad knew how to handle people. He hoped he’d inherited some of his father’s tact.

He looked around at the dust and clutter. “Can you get someone to clean the office?”

“Clean?” she shrilled, her eyes darting around.

“What’s wrong with this office?”

“Everything needs to be cleaned, from the floors to the windows. The place has been closed up for weeks.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Yeah, he thought, she probably had cataracts the size of doorknobs. He smiled his best smile. “Humor me, Miss Emma. Find someone.”

She hesitated, then his smile won her over. “Okay, I could get Bertha. She cleans the bank.”

“Fine, get Bertha.” His smile broadened at the small victory.

She took a step, then turned back, pointing a finger at him. “She’ll cost you. She won’t do it for free.”

His smile immediately vanished. “I didn’t expect her to,” he answered, a slight edge to his voice.

Miss Emma turned on her heel and headed for the door, muttering, “His father never had any complaints. City ways gone to his head. Nonsense, just nonsense.”

As the last word died away, Matthew grinned and sank into his father’s chair. He marveled at the comfort and the way the contours seemed to fit his body. Maybe he and his dad were more alike than he’d imagined.

Reaching for a file, he heard the door open again. Now what? Surely Miss Emma wasn’t going to argue some more.

To his surprise, a tall blond man with a veneer that bespoke money and power entered the room. John Robert William Townsend. Even though Rob, as he was called, was eleven years older than he was, Matthew knew him and his family well. The Cobers, Rob’s mother’s family, had settled Coberville in the 1800s and they stilled owned almost everything in and around the town.

Matthew got to his feet and shook Rob’s hand.

“It’s good to have you back in Coberville, Matthew.” Rob’s smile showed off his perfect white teeth and angular features. Rob Townsend was known for his charm and virility, which were apparently lethal to any and all women. At forty-nine the man still hadn’t lost those qualities.

“Thank you,” Matthew replied.

“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said again. “Have a seat.”

Rob hiked up his tailored slacks and sat in one of the leather chairs opposite the desk. Matthew resumed his own seat, wondering what Rob Townsend had on his mind.

“How long has it been?” Rob mused. “A long time, I’d say, but I remember you as the young hero that led the Coberville Tigers to the state championship. Quite a victory for this town.”

Matthew smiled at the memory.

“I wished my parents had let me finish high school in Coberville, instead of sending me to school back East. All that togetherness and bonding sure could’ve helped me in this election.”

At Matthew’s puzzled look, Rob explained, “I’m running for Dad’s senate seat in the fall.”

Matt raised one dark eyebrow in amusement. “Are you here to ask for my support?”

Rob chuckled. “No, not really.” Then his expression grew serious. “I was glad to hear you’re staying in town, taking over your father’s cases.”

“I promised Dad I would.”

“I didn’t realize you had a Texas license or practiced anything but criminal law.”

“I got the Texas license mostly for my dad’s sake,” he said. “I hadn’t planned on practicing here this soon, but I assure you I can handle most cases.”

“How long do you plan on staying in Coberville?”

“I’m due for a long vacation. So I plan to stay as long as Mom needs me and until I get all of Dad’s cases closed. At least a month.”

“That’s good to hear. I presume you’re familiar with the case your dad was handling for the Townsend family?”

“No,” Matthew said, “can’t say that I am.” He figured this had something to do with the case his mother had mentioned last night. He wished she’d told him more.

“Then you haven’t got a clue about what’s going on around here.” The statement held an accusing tone, similar to Miss Emma’s earlier. It had the same effect on him. But Rob was a client and deserved his patience.

“No,” Matthew repeated. He picked up a pencil and, searching for a pad, came across the Townsend file. “Dad must have been working on it because the file’s right here.”

“Hmm,” Rob murmured. “Sad to say, your dad didn’t give it a lot of attention.”

“Oh?”

“He was dragging his heels so long I was thinking of hiring an attorney from Austin.”

“Doesn’t sound like Dad. He always believed in taking care of business.”

“My mother had a lot of faith in him, but I guess he just wasn’t feeling up to par.”

“Maybe,” Matthew admitted reluctantly, knowing his dad would never let a client down. He touched the thick file. “I’ll review this tonight, but generally what’s the case about?”

Rob crossed his legs and began to talk. “After a lengthy illness my mother passed away about six months ago. Her will was pretty straightforward, leaving everything to her three children. She also stipulated that Aunt Martha could live at Seven Trees until her death with all expenses paid, and she left her a trust fund, as well.”

“You don’t have a problem with any of that, do you?”

“No, it was what we expected. Mother was the sole owner of the Cober estate. She bought out Aunt Martha a long time ago. Dad and my mother had been having marital difficulties for years, and they had separate estates. So we all knew the bulk would go to her children, but what we didn’t expect was an outside party being named in the will.”

“An outside party?”

“Christmas Jane Doe.”

Surprise darted along Matthew’s nerves, but he made sure that nothing showed on his face. “The girl who was left on the Watsons’ doorstep?”

“Yes. Mother left her a hundred thousand dollars and a thousand acres of Cober land.”

“What?” Matthew’s surprise turned to shock.

“You heard me right. My mother had to be insane if she thought we’d accept this. As I said, she was ill for a long time and she wasn’t thinking straight. I want this will broken and I want it done as soon as possible.”

“Was your mother making business decisions up until her death?”

“Yes, although Dad and I advised her. She would never relinquish her power.”

“Let me see if I can find the will,” Matthew said. He opened the file and quickly sorted through the contents.

“Here it is.” He pulled out the legal document and glanced through it briefly. “There’s a personal letter from your mother.”

“Oh, yes, about how she wants us to accept her decision.”

“It’s very heartwarming.” Matthew scanned the letter and wondered at Rob’s coldheartedness.

“Mother thought we took our inheritance for granted, and she wanted to give something to someone who’d appreciate it. It’s all crap. Mother just felt sorry for the girl. We will not accept an outsider inheriting Cober land.”

“I see,” Matthew replied, continuing to read through the papers. One small detail caught his eye. He glanced at Rob. “Did anyone mention the date on this document?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I just assumed she’d made it recently.”

“This document is dated twenty years ago.” Matthew turned the will around so Rob could read the date.

“What?” he choked out. In one swift movement Rob was on his feet, grabbing the document from Matthew’s hand. “Damn, how could this have slipped by us? By your father? Surely he knew the date and he never said a word! I only saw this letter briefly. It’s been in your father’s custody ever since. How could this have happened?”

Their eyes locked. Matthew didn’t miss the slur on his dad’s capabilities as a lawyer—and he didn’t like it. But he also knew his dad had been ill. “I have no idea,” Matthew said slowly, “but did anyone check for a recent will?”

“That was the only will at the bank where she kept all her important papers. I’m sure there isn’t another one.”

Matthew nodded at the document in Rob’s hand. “That’s going to make it much harder to break.”

“Dammit, I’m so tired of dealing with this.” Rob tossed the papers on the desk. “We only plan to spend the spring months in Coberville, so I want to get this settled. I need to concentrate on campaigning, instead of this bizarre mess.” He turned away. “Why the hell would Mother do this to me? To her family?”

Matthew folded his hands across the file. If he was going to represent the Townsends, he had to be completely honest. “I was only a kid when the baby was found, but I still remember the rumors.”

Rob swung around, his blue eyes dark with resentment. “My father and I have nothing to do with that girl’s existence!”

Matthew stared at Rob. His eyes didn’t waver as they challenged that statement.

“Okay.” Rob threw up his hands. “I’ve had my share of women and so has my dad. I’m not denying that, but if either of us had gotten some girl pregnant, she would have bled us for every penny. Instead, she leaves the baby five miles from our house. That doesn’t make any sense. Anyway, just look at C. J. Doe with all that black hair and those green eyes. She looks nothing like us, and no one’s going to make me believe that Mother knew anything about her birth. It’s all just rumors. The truth is, some teenager probably got pregnant and, being scared and alone, decided to leave the baby on the Watsons’ doorstep. Everyone knew how desperately Maggie Watson wanted a baby. That makes more sense than those ridiculous rumors about us.”

Matthew could see the fear in his eyes. Rob wasn’t sure the girl wasn’t a Townsend, but he was never going to admit any doubts. He was a Cober and a Townsend. He didn’t have to.

Suddenly Rob’s eyes narrowed. “Offer the girl a million dollars.”

Matthew frowned. “Pardon me?”

“I’ll pay her a million dollars to keep from dragging this through the courts. I’m sure the greedy little witch will take it.”

“I strongly advise against this. Let me—”

Rob cut him short. “I’m not asking for your advice. I’m ordering you to make her an offer. If you have a problem with it, I can find another attorney.”

Matt’s first impulse was to tell him to do exactly that, but he’d made a promise to his dad and he wouldn’t go back on his word. Besides, there was something going on that made him very curious—his dad’s reluctance to move on the case and the date on the document, among other things. He had to find the answers for his own peace of mind.

Giving in to Rob’s highhandedness wasn’t in his nature, though. He’d been an attorney, and a successful one, for a long time and he didn’t like being talked to like some hack for hire.

He got slowly to his feet, his eyes narrowed with a warning his colleagues knew well. “It’s my job to advise you.”

By the glint in Rob’s eyes, Matthew could see that he was debating whether to tell him to go to hell or to see if the New York lawyer could live up to his reputation. As the blue eyes darted away, Matthew knew the latter impulse had won.

Rob ran a quick hand through his expertly groomed hair. “Hell, man, I know you’re a good lawyer and I trust your judgment, but this whole situation has my family in turmoil. I just want it settled, and I’d rather spend the money than put the family through a long court battle.”

“If your mind is set on this, I’ll make the offer,” Matthew conceded. He knew it was useless to try to persuade him otherwise.

“Fine,” Rob muttered. “You’ll find her at the Watson place. I’ll be waiting for her answer.” With that he turned abruptly and headed for the door. Suddenly he turned back. “A note of caution. Don’t let her wrap you around her finger like she did your father.”

Matthew frowned. What was Rob talking about? His father wouldn’t be involved with C. J. Doe; he was the Townsends’ lawyer. He shook his head. There was so much he didn’t understand. The confusion made him more determined than ever to solve the mystery between his father and C. J. Doe.

LATE AT NIGHT, a light burned in the law offices of Dylan, Kent and Reed in Austin, Texas. Attorney Stephen Reed was hard at work. He had a lot to catch up on after six months in France. He heard a noise and glanced up. A big man with a mask over his face stood framed in the doorway. The gun in his hand pointed at Stephen.

“What do you want?” Stephen asked in a barely audible voice.

“Victoria Townsend’s will,” came the shocking reply.

“That’s confidential and—”

“Are you willing to die for it?” the man asked.

“No.” Stephen headed for the safe, which was installed behind a painting. With a shaky hand, he pulled back the picture. He quickly turned the dial to the correct numbers and the safe swung open.

He saw the gun kept there, on top of the papers. It was his only chance. His hand closed over the cold steel and he turned swiftly around. Before he could pull the trigger the man fired and Stephen fell to the floor.

The man jerked the mask from his face and stepped over the body. Pulling several documents out of the safe, the man searched until he found what he wanted. “Bingo.” The will of Victoria Cober Townsend, dated one year ago. Hastily he put the other documents back and closed the safe.

As he turned to leave, a rattle of keys sounded and a security guard entered the office. Another gunshot echoed in the room. The guard toppled to the carpet.

DALE WEEKS HELD the will in his hand and dialed a number. “I’ve got it,” he said.

“Good,” the voice on the other end answered. “Is it what I expected?”

“Yeah, she tells everything she knew or suspected and changed her will accordingly. It’s very interesting. You really should read it.”

“I have no interest in reading that garbage. Destroy it. Do you understand me?”

“Sure, that’s what you’re paying for. There’s just one small problem.”

“What?”

“Reed was in the office and I had to shoot him…and the security guard.”

“Why?”

“It was unavoidable. Besides, no one’ll ever know the safe was broken into. They’ll think the guard interrupted a routine robbery. Your secret is safe. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone, Weeks, especially you. Just make sure your tracks are covered.”

Dale Weeks hung up the phone, then stared at the document in his hand. A smile twisted his lips. So many secrets. A shame no one would ever know. Except him.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT DAY Matthew headed out to the Watsons’ place with mixed emotions. He knew he could break the will. The task would require a little finesse, but he could do it. He should have made that clearer to Rob, but somehow he hadn’t. The memory of a little girl with a face that never smiled swam before his eyes. Maybe it was time that girl got a break in this world.

God, what was he thinking? He was the Townsends’ attorney!

Had the same thing happened to his father? The will should have been broken weeks ago. What had kept his dad from doing his job? Then there was the date on the will; he wouldn’t keep something like that from a client, would he? And if he had, it must’ve been for a very good reason. At times, his dad had cared about people so much that he’d become involved in their lives, as friend, confidant and advisor more than lawyer. Was that what had happened with C. J. Doe? Well, it was time to meet the lady and answer some of his questions.

The Watsons’ place was on a country road not far from Seven Trees, the Cober mansion and ranch. He drove to the entrance. The gate was firmly locked and the signs that greeted him were hardly welcoming. Posted. Keep Out. No Trespassing. The Watsons weren’t the most hospitable people in Coberville. Now what? he thought.

He could see the house on a hill through the trees and two trucks parked by the garage. Someone had to be home. He slipped out of his suit coat, loosened his tie, got out of the truck and climbed over the gate. He’d come here to see C. J. Doe, and he intended to do so.

Brushing dust from his dark slacks, he reminded himself that he needed to change his wardrobe. Coberville didn’t call for expensive suits and custom-made boots.

As he walked, he sucked air into his lungs, enjoying the outdoors. He had forgotten the freedom and freshness of country life. The place was almost magical with the smell of spring, towering oak trees, green grasses; the small lake in the distance triggered memories of lazy Sunday afternoons spent fishing with his dad. Had he changed so much from that country boy? With a regretful sigh, he knew he had.

Now most of his days were spent in his office or in a courtroom. At first he’d thrived on the long days and hard consuming work, but lately he’d been feeling restless. Something was missing in his life and he didn’t know what.

He had everything he’d worked so hard to achieve: fame and wealth. His fame had started with his first big case—a movie actress who’d killed her husband because he’d been pimping her to his rich clientele for years. Everyone knew the actress was going to be put away for a long time. Everyone except him. He knew that if he could put twelve jurors in her shoes, make them live her life, feel her pain, her degradation, he could get her off. And he did. Many more trials followed, most of the clients wealthy, each one making the news. It wasn’t the course he’d set for himself; it just happened that way.

He only accepted clients he believed in. If he didn’t, he couldn’t do his job. Matthew considered the Townsends. Did he believe in their quest to reclaim Cober land? If he was honest with himself, he had to admit he had no real drive for this case. His only wish was to get it over with and get back to New York. The Peterman case was waiting for him, and the sooner he got back, the better. He felt sure C. J. Doe wasn’t going to turn down a million dollars. Who would? Now if—

Several gunshots pierced the peaceful silence, kicking up dirt at his feet and dusting his boots. He jumped back and then froze. Someone was shooting at him! It happened so fast he didn’t have time to think, to react, to do anything but stand there like a target.

A man appeared from the side of the house. Big and menacing, he had long gray hair and a beard that hung to his chest. A dark hat was pulled low over his forehead, covering his eyes. He wore overalls and a khaki shirt. Two big dogs hovered at his heels. Harry Watson.

Every kid in Coberville grew up fearing Harry Watson. Mothers used him as a disciplinary tactic. “If you don’t behave, the Hairy Man will get you.” Those words struck fear in the heart of every child, including him. All these things went through Matthew’s mind, but only one held his attention. The shotgun pointed at him. Harry was known for shooting first and leaving the questions for someone else.

“You’re trespassing,” Harry growled. The rough voice would have sent the young Matthew running, but the adult Matthew stood his ground, facing the Hairy Man.

Courage was only a breath away. Matthew took that breath, very deeply. “I’m here to speak with Miss Doe.”

“She don’t want to speak to no one. Now git, before I fill you full of buckshot.”

At the threat in Harry’s voice, Matthew’s heart jumped wildly in his chest, but he had no intention of letting Harry intimidate him. “My name is Matthew Sloan and I have news for C. J. Doe.” His message rang out, clear and crisp.

“Matthew Sloan is dead.” The gun was raised a little higher. “‘In delay there lies no peace.’ Now git.”

Matthew blinked, not understanding what the hell Harry was saying. “I’m Matthew Sloan, Jr., his son.” Matthew had the feeling Harry knew who he was. He was playing a cat-and-mouse game, trying to scare him.

Harry studied him down the barrel of his shotgun, but before Harry could reply, a black horse and rider came flying over the fence into Matthew’s vision. It was the girl. C. J. Doe. She reined the horse in next to Harry. No saddle, Matthew saw; she was riding bareback. Dust swirled around the stallion’s dancing feet. Sleek and spirited, the big horse had the look of being wild and untamed—much like the girl on his back. Tossed by the wind, her long black hair hung in disarray all around her, like a silken web. Her slim legs, clad in jeans and moccasins, gripped the horse’s sides with ease.

The horse reared up on his hind legs, but C.J. clung to him effortlessly and patted the rippling muscles in his neck, murmuring in soothing tones. Immediately the horse quieted. Then she turned her head, her eyes settling on Matthew.

“What have you got here, Harry?” she asked in a soft husky voice.

“A trespasser,” Harry muttered.

Continuing to stroke the horse’s neck, C.J. took in the trespasser from his expensive boots to his dark hair. So Matthew Sloan, Jr., had come calling. He stood with a commanding air of confidence. Here was a man who didn’t bend easily, she thought. Not many men would react so calmly to someone shooting at them. He was certainly different from his father, who would have been cursing at Harry by now. Yet the laugh lines around Matthew Sloan, Jr.’s mouth indicated he laughed as easily as his father. But he wasn’t laughing now.

A swath of hair fell across his forehead and his dark eyes gazed at her with undisguised interest. Under that intense gaze, her heart started to pounded rapidly.

Wrong reaction, her mind told her. Be on guard. Matthew Sloan, Jr., was here for a reason.

Matthew watched her long slender fingers stroke the horse. For a crazy moment he envied the animal. If she touched him like that, he’d do what she wanted, too. Rob Townsend’s words echoed dimly through his mind. Don’t let her wrap you around her finger. He knew now what Rob had been talking about. C. J. Doe had the power to distract any man, even him. Annoyed, he shook his head; the gunfire had just impeded the blood flow to his brain, he told himself. He was here to make her an offer, that was all, and he had to do it soon.

“My name is Matthew Sloan, Jr., and I’d like to speak with you, Miss Doe.”

C.J. slid from the horse in a graceful movement and handed the reins to Harry. “Would you rub Midnight down while I talk to Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”

“You don’t have to talk—”

“It’s okay, Harry.”

“You sure?”

She regarded Matthew speculatively. “I’m sure, but if he gets out of line, I’ll let you shoot him. How’s that?”

Matthew didn’t find that amusing, but Harry did. A grin cracked his worn face as he led the horse away, the dogs obediently at his heels.

The only reaction C.J. noticed was a tightening of Matthew’s lips. The New York lawyer—the Townsends’ new representative—was tough, and she wondered how to handle him. She knew without a doubt that Matthew Sloan, Jr., was here on the Townsends’ behalf. Her eyes narrowed to green slits. “What can I do for you, Mr. Sloan, Jr.?”

She said his name slowly, drawing out each syllable in a mocking sort of way. She was baiting him, trying to throw him off guard, Matthew realized. C. J. Doe wanted the upper hand. As he watched her toss her black hair over her shoulder and felt a warmth curl through his stomach, he had to admit she probably already had the upper hand.