One Night Standoff (7 page)

Clayton took a deep breath, walked out to the sunroom and found her seated in a white wicker chair.

She was crying.

The second she spotted Clayton, however, Lenora swiped away the tears, jumped to her feet and went to him. She backed him out of the bright light and into the laundry room off the kitchen. The overhead light was on there, but she slapped it off.

“I’m so sorry, Clayton.”

Hell. He didn’t want an apology. He took off his glasses, hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. “We don’t even know if Quentin had any part in this. Everything’s speculation at this point.”

Well, everything except that she felt pretty darn good in his arms. He didn’t need any more reminders of why the two of them had landed in bed, but he got one anyway.

A short reminder, because she pulled away from him.

“I need to leave, to put some distance between us,” she whispered.

He would have bet a year’s salary she would say that. “Not a chance. Again, no guarantees that you and you alone are the target. If we’re not together, it might make it easier for someone to pick us off.”

Harsh but true.

“Plus, there’s the baby,” Clayton continued. “I want to protect him or her. And don’t start talking about how I don’t remember you, how I don’t remember the night the baby was conceived. That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. I read your background, Clayton, and there’s nothing in it to indicate you ever considered having children.”

“True,” he readily admitted. “I didn’t exactly have a stellar childhood, so it didn’t make me eager to be a father.”

Even though it was dark and he could barely see her expression, Clayton figured he hadn’t convinced her.

Nope.

She’d run first chance she got. But before he could try to say something else that would prevent her from running, his phone buzzed, and when he saw Harlan’s name on the screen, he knew it was a call he should take.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Clayton told her, and he pushed the answer button. “Please tell me you have good news, Harlan.”

“Well, it’s news. Don’t know how good it is, though. I just had an interesting conversation with a friend who’s an FBI agent and did a lot of deep-cover work. He cut through some red tape and got us fast answers about Agent James Britt.”

Good. It was exactly what they needed. Clayton put the call on speaker so that Lenora could hear. “
We’re
listening,” he said to alert his brother this was no longer a private conversation.

Harlan hesitated a couple of moments. “I’m not sure you’ll want to hear all of this, but I dug up some things about him. And Lenora.”

“She was a criminal informant,” Clayton supplied.

“And a criminal,” Lenora added.

An unknowing one, from what Clayton had heard so far. A man she’d loved had dragged her into a situation that could have put her in grave danger. But yeah, that still made her a former criminal.

Harlan hesitated again. “Remember Corey Dayton?”

Even with his memory problems, that was one name Clayton would never forget. “He’s the guy who shot me in the diner.”

“Yeah,” Harlan verified. “Like Lenora, Dayton was once a criminal informant. There’s no official record of it, but my friend says he used some info that Dayton provided during an investigation.”

Clayton looked at Lenora to see if she knew that, but she obviously hadn’t. She shook her head.

“There’s more,” Harlan said, and there was a lot of concern in his voice. “According to my agent friend, when Dayton worked as a CI, he reported to none other than Special Agent James Britt.”

Chapter Eight

Lenora forced herself to eat, though the way her
stomach was churning, she wasn’t sure she could keep it down. Still, she did it
for the baby’s sake. And for Clayton’s. She was tired of seeing the worry in his
eyes.

Worry that she’d put there.

Worry that was now mirrored in his brothers’ eyes, too.

There were three of them at the dinner table—Harlan, Wyatt and
the youngest, Declan. Stella, the family friend, was there as well, and even
Clayton’s foster father, Kirby. The man was in a wheelchair and looked every bit
as sick as Clayton had said he was—salt-white hair, and his veiny skin seemed
paper thin. He wasn’t eating but instead had an IV bag hooked up to his arm.

An odd gathering indeed.

There seemed to be lots of silent communication going on, as if
they were all wired into each other’s thoughts. Except for her, of course. While
all of Clayton’s family seemed sympathetic to the danger she and the baby were
in, she figured there was a massive amount of suspicion, too. Probably because
of her criminal past.

“You okay?” Clayton asked her.

Lenora realized she was staring at the plate of lasagna again,
so she took another bite and nodded. “It’s my first time eating with four
lawmen.” She wanted to keep the conversation light since the mood was anything
but. “I keep waiting for one of you to read me my rights and arrest me.”

Her attempted humor didn’t work that well. The corner of
Clayton’s mouth lifted. Stella’s, too. But the remaining trio of marshals and
their foster father didn’t crack a smile, and the quiet tension returned.

They had plenty to discuss, but no one was discussing it. Maybe
because they were all so familiar with what was going on. Or maybe the lack of
discussion was to spare her feelings. It wasn’t working, but then discussing the
investigation wouldn’t help in that department, either.

All afternoon Clayton had tried—and failed—to get more info on
James’s association with the dead man who’d shot Clayton. Ditto for more info on
Quentin. He was a suspect now, along with James, and either one of them could be
working for Riggs. However, Clayton had been able to find out that James was in
serious debt from two failed marriages and child-support payments. Maybe the
debt had made him desperate enough to turn to Riggs for cash and murder for
hire.

“Heard you got a clean bill of health from the doctor,” Stella
commented.

It took Lenora a moment to realize the woman was talking to
her. She nodded. Dr. Cheryl Landry had given Lenora a checkup and said all was
well. A huge relief. Despite all the craziness going on, her baby was still her
first priority.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Stella continued, “how long have
Clayton and you been together?”

Lenora nearly choked on the bite of lasagna she’d just taken.
She looked at Clayton, trying to figure out what or what not to say.

“We’re not actually together,” Clayton answered.

“The baby wasn’t planned,” Lenora added.

“But he or she is still very much wanted,” Clayton added, as
well.

That caused the others to glance around. If there’d been a
picture of awkward in the dictionary, this would have been it.

“A grandbaby,” Kirby said, his voice a weak whisper. “Always
wanted one of those.”

Stella nodded. “Well, if you’d asked me which of Kirby’s boys
would be the first to be a daddy, I wouldn’t have said Clayton or Slade. Wyatt,
for sure.”

Wyatt didn’t say a thing.

Clayton scraped his fork over the cheesy top of the lasagna but
didn’t eat it. In fact, he was eating less than Lenora was. “You don’t think I’m
father material?” he asked Stella.

“Didn’t say that. I think you’ll make a fine one, but before
Kirby brought you here to the ranch, none of you boys exactly had good role
models for daddies.”

Lenora remembered the discussion with the Ranger investigating
Webb’s murder. And there were also the notes she’d read about Clayton’s
childhood. It’d been miserable. But then, so had hers.

“I didn’t know my dad,” Lenora said without thinking. It
definitely wasn’t something she volunteered often, but somehow it seemed less
awkward than discussing her own pregnancy or Clayton’s qualifications as a
father. “My parents never married, and my mom never even told me my dad’s name
until after he’d died.”

Clayton looked at her from the corner of his eye. Frowned and
mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Yes. So was she, and unfortunately her mother’s actions had
affected Lenora’s own. Sometimes for the good. Others, not so much. She’d gone
through life needing her father, and she had learned his identity too late.

“I’m hiring a surrogate,” Wyatt said out of the blue.

It was suddenly so quiet, Lenora could hear her own heart
beating. Judging from everyone’s expression, this was unexpected news. But at
least the attention was off her for the time being.

“Before Ann died, we’d planned on having kids,” Wyatt went on.
His gaze swung to Lenora’s. “Ann was my wife, and she passed away years ago from
a rare blood disorder.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. She didn’t know Wyatt well, but she
could see the pain still in his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted a kid,” Wyatt added. Not defensively. He
had a smoothness about him. Not just in his voice but his expression. “I figured
I might never find another woman like Ann. In fact, I’ve decided I want to quit
looking, so I’m hiring a surrogate.”

“You think the timing is wise?” Harlan asked. “We’re all pretty
much suspects as an accessory to Jonah Webb’s murder. And unless his wife comes
out of a coma and clears our names, we’re likely to stay suspects.”

With everything else going on, Lenora hadn’t given that
investigation much thought, but it was clearly a dark cloud hanging over all of
them.

“The Rangers could be investigating Webb’s death for years,”
Wyatt argued. “After that, it could be something else. The job, the ranch, you
name it. I figure there’s no perfect time to be a father, and I don’t want to
put my life on hold.” He paused. “Besides, next week would have been Ann’s
thirty-second birthday, and that’s when we’d planned to start our family.”

Stella made a sound of agreement, but that was the only
response for several moments.

“How many embryos did Ann and you store before her treatments
started?” Kirby asked.

Now Wyatt looked uncomfortable. “Only one was viable.”

Lenora guessed that one viable embryo might not be enough to
assure a pregnancy. She felt for Wyatt, but her level of discomfort went up a
notch for another reason. This was a family discussion about a private matter,
and she shouldn’t be part of it. Still, it didn’t seem right to just stand up
and excuse herself.

“So there’s to be two kids. Yours and Clayton’s,” Harlan
grumbled. He was opposite of the smooth Wyatt. His voice was a rusty growl, and
his sheer size made him intimidating.

“He’s just worried he’ll have to change diapers,” Stella joked
and gave Harlan’s beefy arm a playful jab with her finger. Her expression turned
more serious when she looked back at Wyatt, then Clayton. “News like this is
good for the family and for you. Isn’t that right, Kirby?”

Kirby made a sound that could possibly have been agreement.
Everyone’s attention came back to Clayton and Lenora again. Maybe because
everyone was waiting for them to verify they would indeed be a family.

Something she couldn’t verify at all.

Thankfully, the sound of the footsteps gave her a reprieve. But
when she saw that it was another marshal brother, Dallas, Lenora wasn’t sure it
was much a reprieve this time.

“Sorry to interrupt your dinner.” Dallas dropped the folder on
the table next to Clayton. “Agent James Britt had it delivered to the office.
It’s the file on Quentin Hewitt, and I thought you’d want to see it right
away.”

“I do.” Clayton pushed his plate aside to make room so he could
open the folder.

“Agent Britt’s still not returning my calls, though,” Dallas
added, looking at Clayton. “Did you manage to get in touch with him?”

“No.” And Clayton clearly wasn’t pleased about that. Neither
was she. Because they wanted answers about James’s association with the dead hit
man. “I’ve gone over his head and called his boss. Maybe that’ll get some kind
of reaction.”

It would. But Lenora prayed it was a reaction that didn’t lead
to another attack.

Lenora pushed away her plate, too, and moved closer to Clayton
so she could see what was inside the folder. Hopefully no more surprises. She’d
already had enough of those for one day.

The first thing in the folder was a report saying that Quentin
had disappeared from WITSEC five months earlier and included accounts of the
three sightings of him since then. One of those sightings had been on a
gas-station security camera in San Antonio. Another at a bank in Austin, where
he’d accessed a safe deposit box. Probably where he had some cash stashed.

The third sighting, however, put her heart in her throat.

Oh, mercy.

Two days before Clayton was shot at the diner, Quentin had been
spotted outside her house in Eagle Pass. Clayton lifted the report and
underneath were copies of photos.

Definitely Quentin.

And he was skulking around her house. Specifically, outside her
back door.

“Who took these photos?” Lenora immediately asked, and she
picked them up to have a better look.

Clayton put his attention on the rest of the report. “Says here
that the task force had you under surveillance.
For your
safety.
” His tone was skeptical, and for a good reason. The leader of
the task force, James, was one of their other suspects. “And an agent took the
pictures.”

She wanted to curse. “I guess it didn’t occur to James to tell
me that someone from my past, a man who might want to harm me, was hanging
around my house in the dark.”

And maybe even doing the break-ins.

Someone certainly had. And they hadn’t just hung around. The
person had broken in, destroyed an expensive antique panel and vandalized the
place.

Why hadn’t this been reported to the cops who were
investigating the break-ins? But Lenora didn’t need anyone to answer that.

She knew.

If James or anyone else on the task force had reported it, then
it would have blown Quentin’s identity in WITSEC. Of course, Quentin had already
skipped out of WITSEC by then, but maybe James hadn’t reported it because he
would have had to explain her association with Quentin. That might be
classified.

But still...

Lenora got up from the table. “I need to talk to James. And
Quentin.”

Clayton was already shaking his head when he turned to her, and
he stood, as well. “Too dangerous.”

“Not if I take precautions.” She had to tamp down the
frustration just so she could speak. How dare James do this to her and not even
have the guts to tell her when he was face-to-face with her.

None of the lawmen or even Stella looked as if they were
willing to help her contact the men. That wouldn’t stop her.

“Do you even know how to get in touch with Quentin?” Clayton
asked.

“Not directly, but maybe I can still reach him. Before he went
into WITSEC, when he still thought we were on the same side, Quentin said if I
ever needed to get in touch with him, I should send him an email. He apparently
set up the account just for the two of us to use, and he gave me the
password.”

“And did you ever use it?” Clayton wanted to know.

“No,” she quickly answered. “Never had a reason to communicate
with him.” Her gaze snapped back to the photo of him on her porch. “Until
now.”

Clayton huffed. “How would emailing him help?”

“An email might not tell me anything, but talking to him
would.” She waited a moment until the groans died down. “I could try to make
contact with him and then give him the number of a prepaid cell that he couldn’t
trace.”

Yet more groans, grumbles and plenty of raised eyebrows.

“I’ve known Quentin for years, and I think I can tell if he’s
lying when I ask him if he wants me dead. If he’s not behind this, then James
probably is.”

“We have a secure laptop so she can send the email,” Harlan
offered. “A burner, too,” he added, using the slang term for a prepaid
phone.

Clayton shook his head, apparently ready to nix it, but Dallas
spoke first. “It might take us days or longer to find Quentin so we can question
him. This might be the fastest way to get answers. And it doesn’t put Lenora or
you in danger.”

It was a good argument, but Clayton still didn’t jump to agree.
When he finally cursed, she knew he’d just conceded.

Harlan left the dining room, and a few minutes later he came
back with both a phone and a laptop. He turned on the cell, booted up the laptop
and went to a secure server. She put in the email address that included the name
of his company plus her birth year.

Her hands were shaking when she wrote: “Are you there, Q? Call
me. We need to talk.”

She typed in the cell number, hit Send and then held her
breath. If the message bounced, then it meant Quentin hadn’t kept the account
active. After all this time, that was a distinct possibility.

But it didn’t bounce.

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t eventually. It also didn’t mean
Quentin would answer right away, or at all, but this was the first step to try
to reach him.

“It could take hours for him to respond,” Clayton reminded her.
“Why don’t you finish your dinner and then get some rest? I can monitor the
computer and the phone. You’re in the guest room just across from my room, so I
can come and get you if he calls or emails.”

She wanted to refuse, since she hated putting this unpleasant
duty on Clayton’s shoulders, but the truth was, she was exhausted.

“But you need rest, too,” she pointed out. She knew for a fact
he’d been battling that headache since the attack at the church.