For The Right Reasons

“It was a necessity in med school and during residency. Now that my schedule is a little less hectic, I could wean myself off. But then I have a day like today. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours and it’s not likely I will for another twelve.”

“I guess there are worse vices.”

“Sorry if I’m a little hyper,” she said in a voice that sounded deliberately slower and softer. “I delivered a baby this morning.”

“Really? In the E.R.?”

“By the time they wheeled her in from the ambulance, the baby was crowning. It happened so fast. Basically all I did was catch the kid as he came out. But still... It certainly doesn’t get old.”

“Did you ever think about becoming an obstetrician?”

“Oh, sure. Most med students do. I mean, babies and all those excited parents, seeing the start of a new life. But the other side of the coin...I don’t think I could handle that.”

“You mean when things go wrong.”

“Yeah.” She grew still, and for a moment she was very far away.

He stirred his coffee and took a sip. He had no idea what to say.

She snapped out of her reverie, smiling brightly. “Did you watch MacKenzie being born?”

Eric really didn’t feel like sharing anything about those days. He’d lived in a different world back then—perfect job, perfect wife, perfect kid. He’d known poverty and loss, and he’d convinced himself that those days were over. He didn’t like being reminded of how fragile life was, how everything could change in one heartbeat. One minute he was driving home, looking forward to a nice dinner with his family. The next, he was staring at his wife’s brutalized body on the kitchen floor and trying to calm his screaming daughter while dialing the police.

“I’m sorry,” Bree said when he didn’t answer. “I’m babbling like a crazy person, prying into things that are none of my business. Blame it on sleep deprivation.”

“It’s okay. Bree, you’ve never asked me why I went to prison.”

“You said your conviction was overturned.”

“They thought I murdered my wife. Turned out her lover did it. So you can understand why I don’t really want to talk about the tender moments with her.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll pay for breakfast—no arguments.” His macho pride still stung a little from letting her buy him dinner Tuesday night. The waitress motioned for them to pick up their breakfasts at the counter.

Eric drove to San Antonio while Bree fidgeted in the front seat. He sipped his coffee and ate his burrito while Suzy the GPS led them unerringly to the run-down home of Mildred Hayes. It didn’t take as long as he’d feared, only about ninety minutes from Tuckerville.

Eric was glad he drove a modest car. Back when he was a hotshot real-estate lawyer, he’d driven a BMW. Those chrome rims wouldn’t have lasted long in this neighborhood.

He found a parking spot along the edge of the curbless street, having strong reservations about bringing Bree to a place like this. But before he could voice his doubts, she was out of the car and charging toward the apartment building where Mildred Hayes lived. He grabbed a folder from the backseat and hurried to catch up to her.

The interview with Ms. Hayes was a waste of time. The friendly silver-haired woman could tell them only that the call had come from her hoodlum grandson, Jerome Taylor Hayes, who had probably called her from a “borrowed” phone. She didn’t know how to locate him, as he’d never given her a permanent address. She thought he was in a gang, and probably a drug dealer.

“So some hood has Philomene’s phone? This isn’t good. Not at all.”

“I agree. So maybe the sheriff’s department will listen now.”

“I doubt it. They’ll just say this Jerome person must be a friend of hers.”

“If the sheriff’s department won’t do anything, maybe the San Antonio police will.”

“Or maybe it’s up to us. How can we find this Jerome character?”

“Whoa. Bree, we aren’t cops. We can’t go around interrogating people like we are. Jerome’s not the kind of person we want to tangle with.”

“If you won’t help me, then I’ll just do it myself.”

“Get in the car, okay?” Great. Now Bree knew just how to push his buttons. She knew he was just protective enough of her that he wouldn’t want her poking and prodding at lowlife drug dealers by herself. “I’ll go with you to talk to the sheriff. And if he doesn’t take it seriously, I’ll drop Daniel’s name. Sometimes that’s all it takes to light a fire under someone.”

For the next few minutes, Eric focused on getting them out of the hood. He breathed easier once they’d found the freeway.

“You know Daniel Logan pretty well?” Bree asked.

“Some. He’s hard to get to know. My brother doesn’t get along with him—Daniel threatened to kill Travis at one time. But despite that, Daniel offered me a job when I got out of prison. He knew I’d be a mess, and he gave me a safe place to land. That was pretty generous of him.” If Eric did drop Daniel’s name, he’d have to be careful not to come out and say his interest in Philomene was official Project Justice business. The work he and Mitch were doing was completely unofficial, and Daniel would blow a gasket if he thought Eric was invoking his foundation’s name where it wasn’t legitimate.

But no harm in letting the sheriff—and maybe that obnoxious D.A.—know that Eric knew Daniel Logan.

“He seemed really nice when I talked to him. I thought if anyone even read the application I sent in, it would be some intern or something. I was shocked when the head guy himself called me.”

“Most of the time Daniel doesn’t get personally involved in cases. But occasionally he sees something that intrigues him.”

“I really thought he was going to help me.”

Eric felt that twinge of guilt, which was becoming way too familiar. “You were right—it was my fault the case got dropped. But I felt like I didn’t have any choice.”

“You did, though,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t have let a personal vendetta get in the way of justice.”

Oh, hell, he shouldn’t have brought this up. They were just going to end up yelling at each other again.

But Bree didn’t yell. “Maybe you could talk to him.”

“Talk to who?”

“Kelly. Maybe if you guys talked about what happened—”

“Are you insane? There is no way I would ever go face-to-face with that guy again. Not ever.” Eric fervently hoped that Kelly had forgotten about him. What a horrible mistake it would be to jog the convict’s memory. “It was a long, hard battle getting myself out of that hellhole. No way would I ever set foot in Huntsville again.”

Bree was silent for a while, then said, “Now imagine if you didn’t have people on the outside who loved you and wanted you to be free. Imagine if you’d been stuck in that disgusting place the rest of your life. I am the only one standing between Kelly and that fate. He doesn’t deserve what he got. He doesn’t deserve what you got.”

Ah, hell, she was crying. Before, she’d shown him only anger. That he could deal with. But the tears?

“I’m sorry, Bree. I know it has to be hell for you. But I did what I believe is the right thing.” Except, perhaps, for telling Daniel that huge lie. Daniel was not a man to be lightly crossed. If he ever found out, the results wouldn’t be pretty. But Eric would face the consequences if he really believed Kelly was harmless. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t the case.

Bree said nothing, just dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Eric couldn’t think of one thing to say that might comfort her. For a guy known for his facility with words—one of the reasons he’d joined the legal profession—he was remarkably unskilled at saying the right thing when he was with Bree.

* * *

“NOT THIS AGAIN.” Becker County sheriff Bobby DeVille was a caricature of a bumbling but corrupt local cop. In fact, he had more than a passing resemblance to Jackie Gleason as he’d appeared in Smokey and the Bandit. So far he’d been barely civil to Bree, and he’d shaken Eric’s hand only with obvious reluctance. “How many times am I going to have to listen to this story?”

“I have new information,” Bree said in a calm, neutral voice. Eric admired her control. “Philomene’s phone was stolen. It turned up in the possession of a drug dealer.”

“And how did you come across this information?” the sheriff asked.

“The drug dealer’s mother found the phone and started calling the recently called numbers to find out whose it was.” This was the story Bree and Eric had agreed on, rather than implicating Mitch in what had obviously been some kind of illegal access to phone records. “It’s sounding more like Philomene met with foul play, right?”

“Do you know how many cell phones get stolen in a day?”

“Sheriff DeVille,” Eric began, “I know you don’t have the resources to chase down every person who leaves town without telling someone where they’re going. But a number of factors grouped together like this—”

“Save me your big-word lawyer speech,” the sheriff said tiredly. “Find me some blood. Or find her car abandoned someplace. Then I might think about suspecting foul play. But Philomene Switzer isn’t some innocent kid. She has a checkered past—been arrested a time or two.”

“Not for a long time,” Bree objected. “She’s worked so hard to straighten out her life. She had a good job, an apartment—”

“And a boyfriend who’d run up her credit cards.” The sheriff raised one eyebrow. “I see I’ve surprised you. I’m not as ill-informed as you seem to think. It’s entirely possible she disappeared to avoid paying her debts.”

“You’re right,” Bree said, sounding just short of defeated. “I didn’t know that.”

“What does this boyfriend look like?” Eric asked. “Maybe he’s the one we saw at her apartment Wednesday night.”

“I got a picture of him. He’s not exactly a stranger here.” The sheriff disappeared but returned shortly with an old-fashioned mug book. God, was the sheriff’s department not even computerized? How could any modern law enforcement agency survive without access to the NCIC database? Or AFIS, to run fingerprints through?

DeVille flipped a couple of pages in the book until he found what he wanted. “There. Jerrod Crowley.”

Bree and Eric both bent their heads over the book. They were so close that Eric felt her hair brush against his ear as it fell across her cheek. He could smell her. A certain part of his anatomy stirred and he jumped. The sensation was both familiar and alien—alien because it had been so long since he’d let a woman do this to him.

Why her? Why now?

“Is that the guy?” Bree asked.

Eric forced himself to concentrate on the mug shot of Jerrod Crowley. Large build, straggly medium-length brown hair, fair skin. “It could be him. I’m not a hundred percent sure—he ran by really fast.”

“Was he wearing overalls?” the sheriff asked.

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

“’Cause that’s all Jerrod Crowley ever wears. Musta been him, then. Came over for a booty call, found the place deserted and decided to see what he could steal.”

“Or he did something to her.” Bree’s hard-fought-for calm had deserted her. “Aren’t you even going to question him?”

“Please. Crowley doesn’t have the brains or the drive to commit a murder and then conceal it. He tried to steal a car once.” The sheriff burst out laughing. “What an effing joke that was.”

“But he might know something,” Bree insisted. “He might have seen something.”

“If I run across him, I’ll have a chat,” the sheriff said mildly. “Anything else?”

Bree and Eric exchanged a look. She wanted him to play the Daniel card, but he honestly couldn’t figure out a way to work it into the conversation.

“Well, maybe Daniel Logan will talk to him,” Bree said. “Eric works for him, you know. Mr. Logan is very interested in the Kelly Ralston case and everything associated with it, including Philomene.”

Eric took a sharp breath. What was Bree doing?

“Am I supposed to know who this Logan fella is?” the sheriff asked.

“Daniel Logan. The oil billionaire, runs Logan Energy?”

The sheriff shrugged one of his massive shoulders. “Means nothing to me.”

“He’s a very powerful man,” Bree said. “He’s personal friends with the governor.”

“Well, if he comes here throwing his weight around, I’ll tell him the same thing I told you. No sign of foul play, no investigation. He’s welcome to look into it all he wants.”

“Sheriff DeVille—Philomene wanted to recant her testimony about Kelly. She said she felt pressured to identify him in the lineup. What if the real murderer—”

“I don’t want to hear this crap!” the sheriff exploded.

“Now, wait a minute,” Eric objected. “You can’t talk to your constituents that way.”

“Oh, really? In my office, I can talk any way I damn well please. Now get out, both of you. Before I find something to charge you with.”

“Fine,” Bree said tightly. “But when she turns up dead, it’ll be on you.”

Eric held his tongue until they were outside. “Bree! I thought we agreed we weren’t going to lie about Daniel’s involvement.”

“I didn’t. Well, not exactly. Daniel was very interested in Kelly’s case. Until you ruined that.”

“I’ll only warn you once more. Daniel will not take kindly to anyone using his name without permission. He’ll come after you.”

“So you never intended to play the Daniel card at all?”

“If I had, I’d do it without crossing the line. Which you left far behind in your rearview mirror.”

She challenged him with her blue-eyed laser stare, but he didn’t back down. He was right about this, and she needed to understand about Daniel, for her own good.

Finally she looked away. “Okay. Maybe I got a little carried away. Didn’t matter anyway. DeVille was completely immune to the threat of Daniel’s involvement.”

“A possible sign that despite his rudeness, he’s not corrupt. Or derelict in his duties, at least not to his mind. He didn’t show a lick of fear.”

“No, he didn’t. So what now?”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider giving up? No,” he said quickly when she shot him a venomous look.

“We’re gonna talk to Jerrod Crowley.”

“I was afraid of that.”

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