Chapter Fourteen #2
“So you never met him?”
“I wanted to. I even called him once and asked to get together. He said that if every bastard who claimed to be his showed up on his doorstep he’d have himself an army. He hung up, and I never called back.”
Jasmine could sense the pain of rejection in his words. “So, did you kill him?” she asked.
“No. I swear to God I didn’t. It might’ve crossed my mind. But I had nothing to gain by it. I guess somebody else had a different idea.”
“How did you feel when you heard he was dead?”
“Sad. Sorry for what I’d missed.” Pausing, he looked as if he had more to say. But he simply shrugged. “Haven’t you about run out of questions?”
“Just one more. Chet Barr, the father who raised you, is a respected man with, as far as I understand, a fortune in land, cattle, and fine horses. You’re his heir. Isn’t that enough? Why would you even care about connecting with your birth father’s family?”
Hayden was silent. Jasmine sensed that she’d struck a nerve—the reason he was here, now, preparing to commit an unspeakable crime.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said.
“My legal father—Chet—was just killed in a private plane crash. When I leave here, I’ll be going home to his funeral.
I’ll inherit the ranch, and the debt that goes with it.
But I never was a son to him. He knew I wasn’t his, and he never treated me like his own blood.
I was more like a hired hand, especially after my mother died.
Finally, I confronted him about the way he treated me.
He admitted he’d never felt any love for me.
I was only a reminder of his wife’s affair.
That was when I decided to connect with my blood family.
“I did my homework first. I learned he had two children by his first wife, neither of whom had given him much satisfaction. The daughter was a playgirl and failed actress—well, what would you call yourself? The son was a sissy-pants lawyer who hated horses. I hoped your father would welcome me to the family—a son by blood who shared his love for horses and ranching. But no—first, he wouldn’t even talk to me.
Then, before I could change his mind, it was too late. ”
“But you kept trying. You contacted Darrin before he was killed. And then me, wanting my DNA. Our father was already gone. What were you thinking?”
Hayden stood. “Figure it out for yourself. I’m through talking.”
He was gazing out through the glass, as if measuring the angle of the sun, when the answer struck her.
Hayden didn’t just want to be a part of the Culhane family.
He wanted to qualify for a share of Frank’s estate.
And the fewer Culhanes there were, the larger his share would be.
Clearly, he hadn’t killed Darrin. But maybe he’d planned to.
Maybe he’d set up the situation, and fate had carried out his wish.
He may have even killed Frank. He was certainly capable of lying about it.
If he succeeded in killing her, Jasmine reasoned, that would leave Darrin’s unborn baby as the only legal blood heir, with Lila and Simone as widows. All three of them could be in danger.
The question was, why was Hayden doing this? Maybe his inheritance from Chet Barr had been drained by debt. Or maybe he just wanted to have something tangible from his birth father. The bottom line was, there was no sane reason behind what he was doing.
But then, maybe Hayden wasn’t sane.
How was he planning to kill her? Jasmine didn’t see a weapon anywhere.
But on the far side of the room, a sliding-glass door opened onto a balcony fronted by a chest-high wrought-iron rail.
If she was immobilized, it would be easy enough to boost her over the rail and let her fall sixteen stories to her death, then arrange the scene to look like suicide.
But he couldn’t get away with it in broad daylight. He would have to wait until after dark, when most people would be watching the Run for a Million, either in the arena or on closed-circuit TV.
He would have to cut her bonds to make a convincing show of suicide.
She would fight for her life if he set her free.
But he could inject her with a drug, render her unconscious with a blow, or twist her head and break her neck while she was still bound.
Then he could cut the zip ties and toss her helpless body off the balcony.
The last time Jasmine had faced death, her mother had stepped in and saved her life.
But her mother was beyond reach now. And so was Sam.
Tonight would be his last chance to arrest her father’s murderer and close the case.
Mingling with the crowd that poured into the arena, he would be focused on his job, alert to everything around him.
Her safety would be the last thing on his mind.
The arena’s outside doors opened at 4:30.
Like water through the floodgates of a dam, the crowd poured in.
Fans wandered among the vendor booths, lined up at the concessions counter, or hit the concourse to find their seats.
This was the big night, with the Race to the Slide starting at 5:00, the Run for a Million opening ceremony at 6:00, and the main event at 6:30.
The festive air crackled with excitement. Country music blared over the shouting, laughing buzz of the crowd. The aromas of popcorn and hot dogs wafted from the concessions stand.
Dressed to blend in, Sam stood near the concourse entrance, watching for people he knew. It was early yet, but he wanted to keep track of who was here and where they could be found.
Stepping out of the way, he checked his phone again. In this noisy place, it would be easy to miss a call. But there was nothing new on the screen—nothing from Nick and nothing from the sheriff in Wichita Falls. Sam muttered a curse. In his line of work, there was nothing harder than waiting.
Admonishing himself to be patient, he set the ringtone to vibrate and slipped it into the chest pocket of his western-style shirt. Glancing up again, he saw Lila making her way toward him through the crowd, trailed by her pale shadow of a daughter.
“Hello, Agent.” She wasn’t smiling. A smile would have been insincere. For all Sam knew, she probably hated him.
“Mrs. Culhane.” He matched her formal tone. “I’m glad to see that you and Gemma were able to be here.”
“Of course we’re here,” she said. “One in a Million is my stallion. Some people tend to forget that.”
“Well, I wish him the best of luck,” Sam said. “He’s a magnificent animal.”
Lila ignored his comment. “The last time we met, I asked you to keep me informed. But I’ve heard nothing.”
Sam exhaled. He should have been better prepared for this. “I know what you’re asking,” he said. “But I’m afraid I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you. Even if I could, I wouldn’t have much to tell you. All I can say is that I’m waiting for more information.”
“I understand.” Her mouth spoke the words, but her lovely violet eyes pleaded with him. Please, please don’t arrest him. You know he’s innocent.
“I have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind,” Sam said. “Do you happen to know Chet Barr’s son, Hayden?”
“Barely. I met him when we had Fire Dance at the ranch. I heard about his father’s crash on the news. Awful.”
“I need to talk to Hayden, but I can’t locate him anywhere. I was just wondering if you’d seen him.”
“Wouldn’t he have gone home to arrange his father’s funeral?”
“I thought so, too, but when I spoke with the sheriff there, he hadn’t arrived.”
“That’s strange. Really strange.”
Sam could almost read the hope in her eyes—that maybe Hayden, not Roper, was the new suspect in Frank’s murder.
For now, he would let her keep that hope.
But tracking down Hayden was mostly a matter of covering his bases.
Only if the DNA on the murder weapon turned out to be Culhane, but no match for Darrin or Jasmine, would Hayden become a person of serious interest.
Hayden did have motive and means. Opportunity would be a stretch, but Sam couldn’t rule it out. Damn, what he wouldn’t give for that call from Nick. Until it came, his hands would be tied.
He watched Lila and her daughter cross the lobby and head toward the concourse, pausing to look at a selection of T-shirts in a vendor’s booth.
Gemma, as always, was very protective of her mother.
If she thought that Frank was mistreating Lila in any way …
But no. The idea of soft-spoken Gemma leaving school in the middle of the night, luring Frank to the stable, and jabbing the powerful man with a syringe was too far-fetched to even consider.
But things were about to get interesting.
Three people had just come in through the main entrance—Cheyenne, her mother Rachel, and a lanky cowboy that Sam recognized as Stetson McKenna, the oldest of the young rodeo stars.
Stetson walked ahead with an air of indifference.
He’d seen his share of big events, and this was just one more.
Cheyenne looked preoccupied and exhausted.
Rachel, a full head taller than her daughter, clasped Cheyenne’s arm.
Dressed in a denim skirt and a faded, western-style blouse with a leather bolo, she was looking around the lobby, taking in the crowd.
When a trio of giggling girls in crop tops, skimpy cutoff denim shorts, and cowgirl boots passed in front of her, she pursed her lips and shook her head as if to say, What’s this world coming to?
In the next moment, her gaze fell on Lila and Gemma standing by the T-shirt stall. Her spine stiffened. She raised her head like a mare sniffing trouble on the wind.
“Go on ahead and find our seats, Stetson,” she said. “We’ll be along shortly.”
Sam checked his phone again. After seeing that there were no new messages, he moved in closer to where Lila stood with Gemma, holding up a blue tee with a horse logo on it for her daughter’s approval.
Experience had taught him that sometimes he could learn more from an overheard conversation than from an interview.
Pulling Cheyenne along, Rachel marched straight up to Lila. “Mrs. Culhane,” she said, not bothering with an introduction, “I think it’s time we met.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. McKenna. I’m glad you could be here.” Lila laid the shirt on the counter and extended a hand.
Rachel ignored the gesture. “I have every right to be here,” she said. “My son will be riding tonight. He invited me to come and watch him.”
“I know,” Lila said. “He’ll be riding my stallion. So we’ll both be pulling for them to win, won’t we?”
Rachel’s only reply was the raising of an eyebrow. A heavy silence descended between the two women. The two daughters exchanged sympathetic glances. This wasn’t their fight.
“I’ll get right to the point, Mrs. McKenna,” Rachel said. “I don’t like you. And I don’t approve of the way you’re influencing my son.”
“Roper’s a grown man,” Lila said. “I couldn’t influence him if I wanted to. If we have a relationship, it’s as much by his choice as by mine.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “I know you think you’re too good for our kind. But the McKennas are a God-fearing family. You’re a woman of the world. Even if you wanted to, you could never be one of us.”
“That was never my intention, Mrs. McKenna. I respect your ways. But I have my own ways, my own morals and values. They’re as good as yours. But they aren’t the same.”
“See?” Rachel hissed. “By your own admission, you’re a sinner, a Jezebel.
And you’re dragging my son down with you.
There’s a lovely young woman who goes to my church—sweet, modest, and pure as an angel.
She’d be a perfect wife for Roper. But he won’t even agree to meet her.
You’ve corrupted his soul—led him down the path of sin and sensuality. ”
“I think you’ve said enough.” Lila’s voice was cold. “We both know where we stand. Go now. Enjoy the competition. We’re done here.”
With a nod to her daughter, Lila turned to walk away. But Rachel wasn’t finished. She flung the words at her enemy’s retreating back.
“No thanks to you, Roper’s about to be arrested for murder. I’m his mother. I know he’s innocent, I can prove it, and I’ll do anything to save him. Can you say the same?”
Gripping Cheyenne’s arm, she stalked away, headed for the concourse, where Stetson had gone. Lila caught Sam’s eye. He made his way to her side. She was trembling. The ever-vigilant Gemma appeared at her side with a small, opened bottle of water. Lila drained it in a few gulps.
“You heard that?” Lila asked Sam.
“I did.”
“I knew Roper’s mother didn’t like me,” she said, “but I’ve never felt such hatred.”
“My guess is that she’s scared,” Sam said. “One way or another, she’s losing her son.”
“I’m scared, too,” Lila said. “And having her attack me like that doesn’t help.”
“This is an emotional time for everyone connected with Roper,” Sam said. “Save yourself some grief and cut the poor woman some slack.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re the one playing God with people’s lives. How does it feel?” Lila demanded.
The words stung more deeply than Sam had expected. “It’s like being an ordinary man with human feelings, trying to do the right thing,” he said. “I respect Roper. I don’t want to find him guilty. But the final decision has to depend solely on the evidence. That’s what I’m waiting for.”
As he spoke, his phone began to vibrate. Lila stared at him as he lifted it out of his pocket.
“Go on inside,” he ordered her, turning away. “I’ve got to take this in private.”