скачать книгу бесплатно
“Connie Rasula. And it’s doubtful she did the smuggling. The police found nothing to tie her to Smythe. And they looked hard, believe me.”
She could imagine. No one in law enforcement liked to be thrown a curve ball like the one they’d been tossed. If they couldn’t clear up the question about Smythe’s DNA double, DNA evidence could be called into question in courtrooms across the country. But to her, that possibility paled in comparison to the prospect of never seeing her son again. “So we find out who visited him.”
Dex nodded, his gaze glued to the twisting road ahead. “And hope we come away with some answers.”
“Hope? That isn’t very reassuring.”
“It’s all I have. If you have a better idea, spit it out.”
Alyson bit her bottom lip and stared out the windshield as Dex pulled the car up to the outer gate of the prison. Rolls of razor wire glinted in the sun. Sharp and brutal and unforgiving.
She shivered. Just the thought of venturing inside the gates with the kind of men she did her part to put behind bars every day—men like Andrew Smythe—made her skin crawl. But if it meant finding a name on those visitor logs or phone records that would lead them to Patrick, she would walk a gauntlet through the cell blocks alone.
She glanced at Dex. Jaw set and eyes narrowed, he looked ready to fight the world. Despite his anger toward her, despite his judgment of her, despite all that had happened between them, he was with her now. And he would fight with her to find their son.
For the first time in over a year, she didn’t have to fight alone.
DEX LEANED against the stainless-steel counter in the prison vestibule and paged through the visitor’s log, scanning for Smythe’s name in the Inmate Visited column. Alyson stood beside him, close enough to read the names scrawled on the battered pages. Too close. Her body heat made the already warm day that much warmer. Her sweet scent teased his senses. And when she moved her head, wisps of auburn hair trailed across his arm.
Having her sleep under his roof last night had been pure torture. Even though the master bedroom was on the main floor of his house and the guest bedroom was upstairs, she’d been far too close to afford him any semblance of a night’s sleep. And even when he did manage to shut his eyes, dreams of the son he’d never seen haunted him.
He forced his attention to the names in the sign-in book. He had to concentrate. He had to find a lead, any lead, that would take him to Patrick. They’d found nothing of note in the prison’s telephone logs. Only an occasional call to Smythe’s lawyer. He prayed these pages would reveal something. Because they had nothing but Smythe’s word that Patrick would be safe. And Dex knew just how little Andrew Clarke Smythe’s word was worth.
Alyson grasped Dex’s hand before he could turn the next page, her fingers clamping around his. “There.” She pointed to Smythe’s name on the form. Tracing her finger along the page, she landed on the name of the visitor. She exhaled. “Oh. Lee Runyon again.”
Dex nodded, noting several more entries for Runyon on the following pages. “He must have been working on an appeal.” As Smythe’s attorney, Runyon had flooded the appellate court with a constant stream of paperwork on Smythe’s behalf. All the appeals money could buy. It was no wonder he had to telephone and visit his client often.
“That doesn’t mean Runyon isn’t helping Smythe in other ways. Making contacts for him. Helping with arrangements,” Alyson said.
Dex had never liked Runyon much. No district attorney did. He won far too many cases he should lose. He had a way of charming the jury and creating a smoke screen around his client that blurred the truth. And he had an overactive ego. But that didn’t mean he was a criminal. Or that he would cross that line, even for a client with as much money as Smythe. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“But not probable?”
“No. Not unless he has a damn good reason for risking everything he’s built.”
Alyson nodded, but the narrowed look of suspicion in her eyes didn’t let up.
Dex skimmed over the remaining entries in the visitor’s log. He flipped page after page until there were no more pages to flip. Besides Runyon, no other name showed up as a visitor for Smythe.
“Wait.” Alyson grabbed his hand again. “There’s a page missing from the book.”
Dex paged back. Sure enough. The page numbers skipped from twenty to twenty-two. He raised his eyes to the corrections officer behind the bulletproof glass. “There’s a page missing from this visitor’s log. Do you know anything about this?”
The stocky woman shook her head. “No, sir. But I’ll check for it back here.” She disappeared into the office where the visitor logs were archived.
“Wait a second. Maybe we can…” Alyson leaned over the book, straining for a closer look. A wisp of silky hair trailed across Dex’s hand. Her breast pressed against his arm. Heat stirred inside him. Heat he didn’t want to feel. He stepped back, allowing her free access to the log.
She examined the page, her freckled nose mere inches from the paper. Suddenly she shot up from the book and turned to him, her face animated, her eyes glowing like green embers. “There’s an impression of the writing from the missing page on this page. Look.” She moved to the side, allowing Dex to examine the paper.
Sure enough, inkless lines had been etched into the page by the force of the pen writing on the now missing page. Adrenaline spiked his blood. He opened his briefcase, located a pencil and tore a blank piece of paper from a legal pad. Placing the paper over the log page, he traced across it lightly with the pencil until the etched impressions came into focus.
Although the lines jumbled with other writing in the log, he could make out the name “Smythe” in the middle of the page. He kept tracing. Another name took form in the visitor column of the log. His jaw clenched.
“What?” Alyson looked from his face to the book. “What do you see?” She leaned close.
Dex gritted his teeth. “There might be a logical explanation. There had better be a logical explanation.”
Alyson turned wide eyes on him once more. “For what? I can’t make it out. Whose name do you see?”
Dex traced the name with his finger. “John Cohen.”
Alyson’s eyes widened.
Of course she would know the man. John Cohen had worked in the district attorney’s office longer than Dex had. Nearly as long as her father, Neil Fitzroy. And John and Fitz had shared political affiliations.
Alyson swallowed hard and shifted her feet, soles scraping against waxed tile. “Why would John Cohen visit Smythe?”
Dex shoved memories of Neil Fitzroy’s scheme to sell justice to the back of his mind. For now. Maybe John had a good reason for visiting Smythe. Maybe there was also a good reason for the page with his signature on it to go missing. Maybe. But the ache in Dex’s shoulders said something different. “That’s what I’m damn well going to find out.”
Chapter Four
Alyson walked through the door Dex held open and into the jumble of aromas and laughter in the Schettler Brew Pub. Her stomach knotted with tension. She clutched her hands together in front of her to keep them from trembling.
She scanned the crowd of faces. A pair of dark eyes met hers. Eyes that belonged to the receptionist at the district attorney’s office. Maggie Daugherty had joined the district attorney’s office only a year before Alyson’s father died, but she had always been so open and friendly, Alyson used to think of her as a sister. Or at least a friend. But judging by the way Maggie narrowed her eyes at the sight of Alyson and Dex together, Alyson’s fears about venturing into the brew pub were more than justified. No doubt other D.A.’s office employees would lose their smiles when they spotted her. The pariah. Neil Fitzroy’s daughter.
She shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have come to the spot Dex said had become the afterwork hangout for A.D.A.s—assistant district attorneys. She should have done as Dex wanted and let him handle questioning John Cohen.
No.
She raised her chin and stepped forward into the pub. She would face whatever scorn she had to, to find Patrick. Even the contempt of the whole damn town. And if John Cohen was carrying on her father’s legacy, if he had helped Smythe in exchange for money, she would face that, too.
Dex leading the way, she marched across the hardwood floor and wound through tables and patrons until they reached a vacant spot at the bar. Jovial laughter and conversation jangled in her ears. Laughter and conversation that stilled as she bellied up to the bar.
Trying to appear oblivious to the stares, she focused straight ahead. Two men worked behind the gleaming oak bar, tapping the famous Schettler beer and chatting with patrons. But one of the men wasn’t a bartender by trade. Not by a long shot. The tall, dark-haired Texan serving drinks and hobnobbing with his fellow district attorneys after work was one of the best and most dedicated prosecutors in this or any other county. And he used to be her father’s right-hand man.
The man her father had tried to kill.
“It’s about time you joined us down here, Dex.” Dillon Reese’s smoky drawl rose over the laughter and hum of voices in the bar. “You haven’t been in here since my wedding.”
Dex gave him a nod. “I don’t want to do too much socializing with the troops, you know. Bad for the image. Pretty soon they’ll start seeing me as human.”
“No one would make that mistake.” Dillon lowered one lid in a teasing wink.
Alyson was surprised by the camaraderie forged between the two men. They hadn’t seen eye-to-eye on anything before her father’s death. Of course, her father had nurtured the rift between them.
Dillon gave Dex one last grin before focusing on her. The smile fell from his lips. “Howdy, Alyson.”
Somewhere she found the strength to nod. “Dillon.”
A thousand beats of her heart passed before he spoke again. “The Hefe Weizen is wonderful. You should try it. Jacqueline really outdid herself on this one.” His lips stretched into a gentle smile. An accepting smile. “On the house.”
Alyson’s breath escaped in a tortured whoosh. Dillon Reese had a heart the size of his native state if he could welcome her after what her father had tried to do to him and the woman he had since married. “Thanks, Dillon.”
As if she’d heard Alyson’s thoughts, Jacqueline Schettler Reese rounded the corner into the bar, flashing her husband a wide smile. Even though she was dressed in a boxy apron, the round shape of her pregnant tummy was clearly visible.
Neil Fitzroy’s crimes against Jacqueline were the worst of all. He and his accomplice, Buck Swain, had tried to kill Jacqueline’s daughter to keep her quiet after she’d witnessed her own father’s murder. Alyson had never met Jacqueline. And even after Dillon’s reaction, she didn’t want to meet her now.
“Dillon, I have to go pick up Amanda from her gymnastics class. Can you hold down the fort until the night shift gets set up?”
“Sure thing, darlin’.”
Jacqueline’s gaze landed on Dex. She gave him a big smile and poked her husband in the shoulder. “Haven’t you gotten Dex a beer yet, Dillon? It isn’t often we have the district attorney himself here. How are you doing, Dex?”
Dex returned her smile. “Nice seeing you again, Jacqueline.”
Jacqueline’s gaze moved to Alyson. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Alyson held her breath. She would give anything to crawl into a hole about now.
Dex didn’t even flinch. “This is Alyson Fitzroy.”
Jacqueline’s blue eyes widened. “Alyson—”
“Fitzroy.” Alyson pulled herself up, ready to take Jacqueline’s contempt square in the face. “I’m sorry for the hell my father put you through.”
Jacqueline took a deep breath. When she exhaled, a polite smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Thank you. I’m sorry for the hell he put you through, as well.”
Alyson’s throat closed. Since her father’s death she’d felt ostracized from her former life, her former friends. People who knew she was Neil Fitzroy’s daughter had cooled toward her as if her father’s sins had tainted her. She’d lost more than Dex and her father the day Neil Fitzroy died. She’d lost who she was—who she used to be.
Never had she expected to be welcomed by Dillon and Jacqueline. Never had she dreamed she’d be welcomed back into the fold by the two people her father had hurt most. “Thank you.”
Dex looked down at her.
A chill sank into her bones.
Jacqueline’s and Dillon’s acceptance was small comfort when faced with the hard line of Dex’s mouth and the judgmental glint in his eye. She’d lost so much. So much that she’d never get back. No matter how much kindness strangers showed her, she could never regain the relationship that had meant the most to her. She could never undo the choices she’d made.
“SO WHAT will it be? Dex? Alyson?” Dillon drawled. “Two pints of Hefe Weizen have your names on them.”
Dex held up a hand. He really should take Dillon up on the offer sometime, try to do more to smooth over the rift that had been between them. But now wasn’t the time. “We’ll have to take a rain check, Dillon. I need to talk to Cohen. Thought he might be down here. Have you seen him?”
Dillon nodded and pointed to a booth in the corner. Tall and thin, John Cohen hunched over a beer alone. Perfect. He nodded his thanks to Dillon and started across the pub.
Alyson walked close enough behind for him to catch the ghost of her scent, even over the aromas of cigarette smoke, fried food and beer. He’d tried to talk her out of coming to the Schettler Brew Pub. As angry as he was with her, he didn’t want to see her hurt. And he’d been sure coming here, digging into old wounds Fitz had left in his wake, would only hurt her.
He blew a relieved sigh through tense lips. Leave it to Dillon and Jacqueline to push aside their hatred for Fitz to embrace his daughter. Now if Dex could only push aside his concern for Alyson and focus on getting answers from Cohen, maybe they would get somewhere.
Reaching his destination, Dex folded himself into the booth, opposite Cohen. He moved over enough for Alyson to slide in next to him. “Hello, Cohen.”
Cohen looked up from his beer. A smile touched with the fine edge of cynicism spread over his lips. “Dex. Finally coming down from your ivory tower to join in the fun?”
Cynicism wasn’t uncommon in the district attorney’s office. God knew they dealt with enough nasty people doing nasty things to one another to get a bit jaded over the years. But John Cohen elevated cynicism to an art form. Dex gestured to the bar. “The fun looks like it’s going on over there, Cohen. Not here.”
“Are you saying I’m not fun?” Cohen shrugged. “What else is new?” Cohen’s gaze flicked to Alyson. He sized her up with deep brown eyes that had no doubt melted a few women’s hearts along the way. This time, the smile that spread over his lips was one of pure amusement. “I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen you in a long time, Alyson.”
Alyson smiled and nodded. “We have some questions for you, John.”
Cohen crooked a brow and glanced from Alyson to Dex. “So the two of you are a ‘we’ again?”
“No,” Dex said without looking at Alyson. He couldn’t bear to see the hurt look on her face. He leveled a pointed stare on Cohen. “We just came from the prison in Grantsville.” Dex paused, watching Cohen’s eyes.
If Cohen had any reaction, he hid it well.
Dex pushed on. “It seems you’ve been out there recently, as well.”
“And you want to know why?” Cohen’s gaze darted away from them and landed on a waitress walking toward him with a plate stacked with a burger and thick wedges of fried potatoes. “About time. I’m famished.”
The waitress served the food. “Would you like to order?”
“No. Thank you,” Dex said without taking his eyes from Cohen.
Next to him, he could feel Alyson shake her head. Satisfied everyone was taken care of, the waitress left.
“So why were you at the prison, Cohen?”
Cohen paused, seemingly sorting through his memory. “What prison was that?”
Dex balled his hands into fists beneath the table. If the A.D.A. didn’t start giving him some straight answers, he’d either have to charge him with conspiracy or beat him to a bloody pulp.
“The one near Grantsville. Grant County,” Alyson supplied.
“Oh, yeah. I went there to talk to Smythe, your rapist the governor just let loose.” He eyed Dex, one corner of his lips crooking into a cynical grin. “But of course, that’s why you’re asking, isn’t it?”
“What did you talk to him about?”
Cohen took a bite of burger. “Damn. I forgot to ask for ketchup. I can’t stand being without ketchup.” He set the burger on his plate and opened the briefcase set beside him on the table. Reaching inside, he pulled out a handful of foil packets containing ketchup. Ripping open a packet, he spread the condiment on his burger. He ripped open another packet.
One more evasion and Dex would have to risk an assault charge. “Put down the damned ketchup, Cohen.”
John Cohen raised surprised eyes to his face.
“What did you talk to Smythe about?”
Sighing, Cohen set down the ketchup and shook his head. “Nothing earth-shattering. Same old, same old. Remember that assault case where one convict jumped another in the county lockup? Just about killed the guy?”
“I remember.”
“Smythe was a witness. It happened a while ago, back when he was still in jail, before he was transferred to Grantsville.”
