He shifted, and she saw the indecision in his eyes.
“Something happened,” she said and her heart leapt. Maybe he’d found Elizabeth! But, no, he would have said so right from the start.
Shelby saw a movement to her right and realized they were within earshot of the gardener. Nevada caught her reaction and took her by the elbow, guiding her through an arbor to a bench near the pool. A hummingbird hovered over planters where petunias exploded in vibrant pink and purple blossoms. “What is it?” she asked as they sat down, side by side, in the shade of a flowering hedge. His denim-clad thigh brushed up against hers, and warmth from his body radiated from him.
“Probably nothing. I got a call a while ago. When I picked up, no one answered. I could hear music in the background, but whoever was on the other end didn’t say a word.” His lips pulled into a thoughtful frown.
“Lydia took a couple of those here, at the house,” she admitted, feeling edgy.
Nevada’s head whipped up. “When?”
“Just a while ago. I don’t know when the first one was.”
“Hell!” The cords in his neck stood out. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted. “Who do you think it is?”
“McCallum.” He bit out the name.
“Why wouldn’t he say anything?”
“I don’t know, and I’m not sure it was McCallum,” he admitted, “but he’s sure my first guess. And my best.” Nevada glanced at the surface of the pool, his eyes narrowing angrily. “Guess I’m as bad as the rest of the people in town.”
“Meaning?” she prodded.
“Everyone’s jumpy now that McCallum’s back, and there’s talk that he’s gonna cause trouble.”
“That wouldn’t be anything new.”
“But if he’s calling you—”
“Hey, wait a minute.
Someone
called the house. Not me. And we don’t know if it was McCallum.”
Nevada’s lips pulled over his teeth. “There’s more.”
“What?” she asked, apprehensive.
“There’s a reporter pokin’ around, askin’ questions, a woman by the name of Katrina Nedelesky. She writes for
Lone Star
magazine, and rumor has it she’s going to write a series of articles about the Estevan murder and Ross McCallum’s release.”
“So it’ll all be dug up again,” she surmised.
“And then some.” A muscle near the corner of his jaw worked. “I’ve still got a friend in the Sheriff’s Department, and they’re thinking of reopening the Estevan case.”
“To find the real killer?”
The brackets at the corners of Nevada’s mouth deepened, and one hand closed into a fist. “We found the real killer ten years ago, Shelby. Trouble is, now he’s a free man.”
“You think. If Caleb Swaggert lied, maybe Ross didn’t kill Ramón Estevan.”
Nevada’s face became as hard as granite. “McCallum did it, Shelby. I’d stake my life on it.” He stood abruptly and walked to the edge of the pool. The seat of his Levis was worn, one pocket ripping out, his belt hanging low over a tight rear end that she remembered all too well. Broad shoulders pulled his T-shirt tight across his back, the very back where her fingers had dug deep as he’d made love to her. Suddenly warm inside, she dragged her gaze away from him and glanced back to the house. Silently she chastised herself. It was ludicrous to fantasize about him, especially now, when they had to concentrate on finding their daughter.
“Any word from Levinson?” she asked, clearing her throat.
“Nothin’ new.”
Shelby had been afraid of that. She climbed to her feet and stood next to him in the shade of an aging pecan tree. The leaves shimmered and rustled in a gust of wind. Scolding noisily, a squirrel leapt from one branch to another.
“What about other people involved in all this?” he wondered aloud. “The lawyer—what’s his name?”
“Findley. Orrin Findley.”
“He’s as good a start as any,” Nevada allowed, “but there had to be other people who knew about the baby. Who are they?”
She’d asked the same questions of herself. “I spent most of the pregnancy with my father’s aunt in Austin. Everyone thought I’d gone away to school, but I was really taking correspondence courses and fighting with Dad. He wanted me to give the baby up for adoption, and I was bound and determined to keep it. Anyway, my great-aunt knew, of course, but she died three years ago.”
Nevada’s frown deepened. “Anyone else?”
“Sure. Everyone who worked here at the house could have overheard the fights between the Judge and me. Of course Lydia knew. But then, she knows everything.”
More than you do,
her mind teased.
“None of your friends?”
Shelby shook her head and brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Not as far as I know. I didn’t tell anyone, and since I left town before I started to show, no one suspected. They all just thought I went off to school early. They could have heard from other sources later, I suppose, but it never came back to me.” She watched the play of emotions on his face and felt suddenly ashamed that she hadn’t confided in him, hadn’t told him that he was going to be a father. All because of her insecurities, pride and jealousy of Vianca. And the rape. She
couldn’t
have told him about that. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you.”
His mouth turned down at the corners. He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his Levis. “Water under the bridge now.”
“But I should have—”
“Yeah, you should have. But it’s too late for apologies, Shelby.” He turned and faced her with those damning eyes. “Let’s get on with this. What about the people who worked with Pritchart, or nurses at the hospital, someone who was there?”
Bristling slightly, she said, “I’ve called the hospital, asked for records, but all they have is the birth and death certificate. They show that Elizabeth died.”
“There had to be other people. Doctors—your anesthesiologist, aides, someone on the nursing staff or who worked in the maternity ward or pediatric unit.”
“I know. So far I’ve come up with nothing.” She lifted a hand to let it fall again.
“What hospital?”
She’d known this was coming. “Our Lady Of Sorrows in Coopersville.”
“Where Caleb Swaggart is?” he asked and she watched as the wheels of his mind began to turn.
“But it was smaller nine years ago. A lot smaller. It was before my father left an endowment to the hospital in my mother’s name. Then Our Lady Of Sorrows got swallowed up by a bigger system.”
His head snapped up. “When did this happen?”
“My father left his endowment right after I had the baby,” she admitted. “I didn’t know about it until this afternoon, when I saw some of his files.” She glanced at the house, caught Lydia watching them from an open kitchen window, then realized that Pablo was nearby, ostensibly weeding the flower garden on the other side of the arbor that guarded the pool. Was Lydia, from the vantage point of the corner window, observing Shelby and Nevada on one side of the arbor, or keeping her ever-vigilant eagle eye on her brother-in-law?
“How much of an endowment?”
“I don’t know. I just found a letter of thanks from the board of directors and the hospital administrator. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet.”
Nevada’s fist opened and closed. “You think it might have been a payoff, for the hospital’s part in this.”
“Yes.” She was sick at the thought, but it was true.
“Hell.” He raked impatient fingers through his hair. “Why was your father so against you keeping the baby?”
“The shame of it all,” she said with a sigh. “He thought I was hell-bent to ruin my life.”
“Were you?”
She looked into the eyes she’d once loved so fiercely, to the man she would have, years ago, walked through hell to be with. “Maybe. Who knows? I was just a kid. But the way I figure it, it was mine to ruin.”
“And our daughter’s.” A thread of accusation wound through his words.
“Let’s get something straight, Nevada,” she said emphatically. “No matter what, I would never, ever have done anything to hurt my child.”
“Except not tell the father.”
She felt as if he’d slugged her. “I ... I thought we got past that, but obviously not.” As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. She started for her car. He caught up with her, grabbed her wrist and spun her around so fast she nearly collided with him.
“Okay, that was a cheap shot, but I want to believe that now we’re on even turf. You’ve told me everything I need to know. Right?”
“Absolutely.”
Except about the rape. You haven’t come clean about the rape, Shelby.
“Good.” For a minute he didn’t say another word, and she felt his fingertips hot against the skin on the inside of her wrist. Her pulse jumped, and as she stared into his face she wished to high heaven that she was anywhere else on earth. Being this close to him was too nerve-wracking, too emotional, too damned seductive. “I—I have to go.”
“So do I.”
Still he didn’t move, and Shelby was vaguely aware of the gardener’s rake scraping in the dirt and a bird chirping high overhead, but for a second, while she stared up at Nevada, she felt seventeen again—all youth and innocence and rebellion. It had been so long ago. A lifetime. She swallowed hard, and his gaze drifted to her throat.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
“If you get any more phone calls, or there’s any trouble ... Hell, I should come with you.”
“I’ll be fine. You take care of things here. Talk to Levinson. Find Pritchart.”
“Shelby—”
Oh, Lord, was he going to kiss her again? She pulled her arm away and he let go. “I mean it, Shelby. Don’t take any chances.”
The most risky chance I ever took was with you.
“I said I’d be careful and I will be. You do the same, Nevada.” And then she headed for her car. She didn’t say good-bye, didn’t watch as he made his way to his truck and drove off. Behind the wheel of the Cadillac, she blew her bangs from her eyes and adjusted the rearview mirror, where she caught a glimpse of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Oh, yeah, and you’re a moron,” she chided. “A complete and utter moron.” She had to compose herself. She couldn‘t, wouldn’t, let herself fall in love with Nevada Smith again. Hell would freeze over first.
Shep Marson couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had been with him for the past couple of days—ever since he’d pulled Mary Beth Looney and Ross McCallum over. Nope, that uneasiness had followed him around like a bad smell and still tailed after him as he pulled into the Estevan driveway and cut the engine of his cruiser.
Officially, Shep was off duty, but he didn’t want to go home just yet. Peggy Sue was sure to be as snarly as a cornered timber wolf that he was late, but she’d have to wait. This was important. He hitched his pants up as he strode up the front walk.
The Estevan house, an adobe-and-tile bungalow, was well kept, the dry yard trimmed, petunias and marigolds blooming in abundance in planters clustered in pots on the shaded front porch. Fuchsias trailed bright pink from hanging pottery. A well-used tricycle was parked beside the hose bib. On the window ledge, a calico cat scratched at her ear with a back leg, but at the sight of Shep, it hopped off and slunk around the corner.
As he climbed up the steps, he heard a woman singing over the sound of running water. The hot, spicy scent of something made with chili powder and cumin wafted through the screen door. His stomach growled, and he took out his can of Copenhagen and put a fresh pinch under his lip; then he rapped on the door.
The singing abruptly stopped. The water quit running. He peered into the house, where a television was turned on in one corner of a living room, the sound turned down low.
Vianca appeared, her hair wrapped in a towel, water spots on the shoulders of her sleeveless blouse. “Yes?” she said through the mesh.
No need for introductions; they’d met before. Shep tipped his hat. “I thought I’d stop by and see how you and your ma were gettin’ along,” he said, then added, “This ain’t official business, you understand, just a friendly visit. I figure it’s tough on you both now that Ross McCallum’s out of jail.”
“Cabrón!”
she spat out, her eyes flashing with anger.
He didn’t argue. Most people in Bad Luck considered Ross McCallum a bastard or worse.
Scowling, Vianca slid through the screen door and pointed to a couple of plastic chairs on the porch.
“Madre
hasn’t taken it well.”
“I can imagine.” Lowering himself into a dusty chair next to the one Vianca had claimed, he took off his hat and fiddled with the brim. He was usually a confident man, but Vianca Estevan was the kind of woman who made him squirm. Innately sexy, she had a kind of innocence beneath her tough-as-nails exterior, an innocence that he found damned attractive. She was rumored to be easy; Shep found himself wishing the gossip would prove true.