“I’m no doctor.”
“I need to be held.”
“Sorry. I’ve got other plans.”
“Don’t you care that I’m appealing to you for help?”
“Not really.”
She hated him for making her beg. Nevertheless, she threw down the last vestiges of her pride and said, “My Grandma Graham died resenting me for ruining Celina’s life. She wanted her to marry Junior, and blamed my untimely birth when that didn’t happen. Now, dammit,” she said, “I need to know that you don’t despise me, too.
“Can you imagine how terrible I feel, knowing that I’m the reason my mother married another man when she loved you? If it hadn’t been for me, you could have married her, had children, loved each other for the rest of your lives. Reede, please stay with me tonight.”
He closed the distance between them, backed her into the wall, and gave her a hard shake. “You want me to hold you and tell you that everything is okay, and that the sun will come out tomorrow and things will look better?”
“Yes!”
“Well, for your information, Counselor, I don’t do bedtime stories. When I spend the night with a woman, it’s not because I want to comfort her if she’s hurting, or cheer her up if she’s sad.” He took a step closer. His eyes narrowed until they were mere slits. “And it’s for damn sure not because I want to play daddy.”
Chapter 28
Gregory Harper, district attorney of Travis County, Texas, was clearly furious. He was on his third cigarette in five minutes. His anger was directed toward his assistant, who was seated on the other side of his desk, looking like she’d been socked hard in both eyes.
“Who’ve you been sleeping with, Dracula? You look like you’ve been sucked dry,” Greg remarked with characteristic abrasiveness.
“Could we stick to one crushing blow at a time, please? Don’t confuse the issue.”
“Crushing blow? Oh, you mean the part where I told you that your investigation is over and done with and you’re to return to Austin pronto, posthaste, lickety-split, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, haul ass?”
“Yes, that crushing blow.” Alex flattened her hands on the edge of his desk. “Greg, you can’t ask me to drop it now.”
“I’m not asking—I’m telling.” He left his swivel chair and moved to the window. “What the fuck have you been doing out there, Alex? The governor called me yesterday, and he was pissed. I mean p-i-s-s-e-d.”
“He’s always pissed at you.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Hardly. Greg, everything you do is politically motivated. Don’t pretend it isn’t. I don’t blame you for it, but don’t play Mr. Clean with me just because your hand got slapped.”
“The governor thinks his racing commission can do no wrong. To admit that the commission made a mistake in selecting Minton Enterprises for a license is tantamount to the governor admitting that he made an error in judgment, too.”
“Minton Enterprises is above reproach, as far as the horse-racing business goes.”
“Oh, I see. The only hitch is that you suspect one of the Mintons is a murderer, or if not them, a peace officer. Gee, for a minute there, I thought we had a problem.”
“You don’t have to get sarcastic.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “To hear the governor yesterday, Angus Minton is a cross between the tooth fairy and Buffalo Bill Cody.”
Alex smiled at the analogy, which was uncannily accurate. “That’s a fair assessment, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of killing someone.”
“What happened to his barn the other night?”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
Reluctantly, she told him about Fergus Plummet and the vandalism done to the Minton ranch. When she was finished, Greg ran a hand down his face. “You’ve upset a real big applecart, full of shiny, bright apples.” He selected another cigarette and spoke around it. It bobbed up and down with each word, making lighting it difficult. “I didn’t like this case to start with.”