Shelby scraped her chair back, tucked the damning file under her arm—then heard a truck’s engine slow and stop in front of the office on the deserted street.
Great,
she thought. Someone else who might recognize her. Not that it mattered, she supposed. Unless it was Ross McCallum.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Don’t panic, Shelby. Ross has no business here; you’re just over-reacting. Get a move on. Go to Lydia’s. Demand to know the truth.
Stuffing her own file into the cabinet, she flicked off her flashlight, slid the drawer shut, locked it as well as the desk. She didn’t want to tip off her father that she knew the truth, not yet. Not until she’d seen her baby, talked to her, decided what she was going to do. If the Judge caught wind that Shelby had discovered Elizabeth’s whereabouts, he might sabotage her efforts again.
“Bastard,” she said, rounding her father’s desk as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
She couldn’t take any chances of being caught. Not yet.
A door slammed right outside the office.
“Blast it all,” she whispered.
Adrenalin sped her out of the Judge’s office and toward the back door that she’d used to enter. Headlights flashed against the window facing the parking lot.
Her heart nose-dived as she realized her avenue of escape had been cut off. Peering through the blinds, she recognized her father’s Mercedes as it ground to a stop near the fence.
No!
What was he doing here? Lydia had said he would be out of town the entire night.
Frantic, Shelby realized she had to take a chance and leave through the front door or confront her father on the spot, when the knob to the opposing door rattled. Then there was a sharp knock.
So the Judge wasn’t just stopping by to pick up something or make a late-night phone call or do a little paper work when it was quiet here. Nope, he was meeting someone. This was no time for a showdown.
Without thinking, Shelby ducked into a storage closet and clutched her precious file to her chest. The closet was close, shelves of papers and supplies nearly touching each of her shoulders, and the temperature inside seemed about a million degrees. Sweat ran down her forehead as she heard the back door open.
“What in thunder?” her father’s voice boomed. “Damned fool contraption.” Heavy, uneven footsteps crossed the reception area at the sound of pounding. Shelby heard the sounds of locks opening, saw a crack of light under the door as the overhead fixture was flipped on. “So you made it.”
“Been waitin’ for ya.”
Nevada? Oh, God, Nevada was meeting her father?
Shelby couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Nevada demanded.
“You haven’t come inside yet?”
A pause. “The door was locked, Judge. You just let me in.”
For a second neither man said a word. “You didn’t see anyone come or leave?”
“I just got here.”
Shelby was dying inside. Somehow her father had divined that she’d been around.
“Goddamned Etta,” the Judge growled. “Doesn’t have enough sense to lock the damned back door or set the fool alarm. What’s the use of a security system if you don’t turn the fool thing on?”
Shelby’s heart pounded. Her palms were itchy with sweat. At any moment her father could fling open the door to the closet, snap on the light and expose her.
So what? Breaking and Entering is nothing in comparison with his crimes of falsifying records, fraud, kidnapping and whatever else.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Nevada demanded. “You said something about Shelby and McCallum.”
Oh, God.
Shelby clenched her jaw so hard it ached.
“Come into my office where we can sit down.”
No!
Shelby wouldn’t be able to hear either of them if they moved, but the sound of footsteps retreating indicated that they had, indeed, moved.
This was her chance to escape. She waited a few seconds, then eased open the closet door to a room awash with light. Etta Parson’s desk, complete with a vase of daisies and pictures of her grandchildren, was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree. Shelby looked through the crack over the hinge in the closet door and saw the back of Nevada’s head and shoulders through the open door to her father’s office. Sitting opposite him on the other side of the desk was the Judge. His view of the reception area was complete.
She was trapped unless she wanted to expose herself.
“I know you railroaded McCallum into prison,” the Judge said, his voice surprisingly clear.
Shelby’s heart missed a beat.
“The evidence pointed his way.”
“Did it? Well, bell, it doesn’t really matter, does it? We both know the man deserved what he got.”
“He killed Estevan.”
“Did he?” There was a long hesitation. Shelby was sweating bullets. She saw the cords in the back of Nevada’s neck become more pronounced. “We don’t know that for a fact, but we do know that he raped Shelby, and for that he deserved what he got. Even more.”
What was this all about?
Shelby’s fingers twisted the folder in her hands.
“That’s why you railroaded McCallum. You found out about the rape and got into a fight with him. Landed the two of you in the hospital and cost you some of the vision in that eye of yours. But that wasn’t good enough. The night Estevan was killed, you somehow figured out how to get Ross in your truck and claim that it was stolen. Your gun turned up missing. Estevan was shot with the same make and model.”
“And you think
I
did it.”
“Could be.”
“Why?”
“Convenience. To set Ross up. Besides, Estevan was a mean, uppity prick who roughed up his wife and daughter every once in a while. You were involved with Vianca at one time.” Shelby’s gut twisted. Was this all possible? Did Nevada manipulate the law as much as her own father did? All because of the rape?
“This is bullshit.”
“Conjecture.”
“The bottom line is that Ross McCallum killed Estevan,” Nevada said. “I didn’t set it up, Judge. That’s your kind of game, not mine.”
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we? There’s a leak in the Sheriff’s Department, and I already heard a rumor that the murder weapon’s been found.”
Nevada didn’t so much as flinch. “The .38?”
“Your
.38. It was registered to you. Uncovered in the rock quarry at the Adams place, the one you own now.”
“Now wait a minute—the gun was at the quarry?” Nevada sounded surprised.
“In a cave or mining shaft.” The Judge leaned forward, and Shelby’s heart beat like a tom-tom. “It’s your gun, was found on your property, has your fingerprints on it and is already proved to be the weapon that killed Ramón Estevan.”
“Is that so?”
“The D.A.’s pressing for an arrest, and you don’t have an alibi.”
“Or a motive.” Nevada was on his feet. “As I said, Judge, I didn’t kill Ram6n Estevan. My guess is that McCallum did it and got out on a technicality because
someone
paid Caleb Swaggert to frame him.”
Her father? Her father had bribed a witness?
Shelby’s mind was reeling.
“Someone came up with five-thousand dollars for the old guy. I figure it was you.”
Her father stared at Nevada as if he were sighting a gun. “You can figure from now until forever.”
“And the judge who sent McCallum up the river was an old golfing buddy of yours, wasn’t he?” Nevada was on his feet, leaning over the desk, the denim stretching over his buttocks. “You pull so many strings in this town, Judge, you can’t keep ’em all straight. You’re like a damned puppeteer who’s tangled the strings of all his marionettes.” Jabbing a finger at the older man’s chest, he said, “I didn’t kill Ram6n Estevan, and you and I both know it.”
“Someone did.”
“Maybe it was you,” Nevada accused him. “Now get to the point. Why the hell did you think it was so important we meet?”
“I want you to leave my daughter alone.”
Nevada visibly bristled. Anger fired through Shelby’s blood.
“Why?”
“She doesn’t need you complicating her life.”
Nevada didn’t move a muscle, and the clock ticked over the thudding of Shelby’s heart. “Wait a minute,” he said and dropped back in his chair. “You’ve had it in for me for years, Judge. You always claimed it was because I got into trouble with the law as a kid, but I’ve had the feelin’ that there’s more to it than that, more than you’ve ever admitted.”
“I only want what’s best for my daughter.”
“According to you.” Nevada was leaning low on his back, one booted heel resting over the opposite jean-clad knee. “I suspect this goes way back.”
The Judge looked away.
“What is it, Red? Why do you hate me so much?” Nevada asked, and the air in the closet was too thick, too tense to breathe. Shelby’s nerves were twisted as tight as guitar strings about to break. “Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that your aversion to me has to do with my mother?”
The Judge’s face drained of color. Shelby had trouble standing.
“Don’t tell me you got it on with my old lady?”
“No!” The Judge’s fist smashed against his desk. Shelby jumped. Nevada didn’t budge.
“Then what the hell is it?”
For a long second, Judge Cole stared at his fist and then slowly moved his gaze up to Nevada’s face. “If I tell you, you’ve got to promise to leave Shelby alone.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Sure you can, you no-good half-breed. Because no matter what I think of you, I know you want what’s best for Shelby, and you’re just not it. You’re the goddamned hot-blooded son of an Indian whore and a drunk who couldn’t keep his hands off other women, even those above his station.”
Shelby didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“Meaning?”
“My wife, you bastard,” the Judge said. “Why the hell do you think she took her life? Because I had an affair with Nell Hart? Because I fathered an illegitimate kid? Shit, no. She got back at me for that. With your father.”
Shelby’s ears were ringing, her world spinning out of control, her knees suddenly as steady as pudding. She tried to put the information together. Was her father saying that Nevada was her half-brother? That—oh, God—she was fathered by ... Her stomach turned to acid. It was all she could do not to throw up.
“It was after that, when Jasmine realized what she’d done, that she ... that she died.”
“Killed herself,” Nevada clarified and the Judge didn’t answer. “You slimy bastard.” Nevada was over the desk in an instant. Standing above the Judge, looking down on him with fierce, hate-filled eyes, Nevada reached for the older man’s throat, then clenched his hands into the air. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was,” the Judge said, his shoulders slumping. He reached into his desk drawer and withdrew his fifth. “But I didn’t call you here to bring this all up. I just wanted to let you know that you’d better cover your ass. Unless I miss my guess, you’ll be charged with Estevan’s murder.”
“And you care?” Nevada spat out.
“No, Smith, I don’t really give a shit about what happens to you. I just want to find a way to get McCallum back in prison where he belongs.”
“And you want me to help you?” Nevada sneered.
“He raped Shelby once. What’s to stop him now?”
“Me,” Nevada growled as the Judge twisted off the cap of his bottle of Jack Daniels. “If he so much as looks at her, I’ll kill him.”
“Talk like that will land you in jail.”
Nevada leaned closer to his old enemy. “So be it. The only reason I decided to meet you here is that I want to know about my kid.”
“Yours or McCallum’s?”
“Doesn’t matter. Where is she, Judge? You know. You paid off Doc Pritchart, saw that he left town and somehow got to everyone who worked the night shift when Shelby delivered. On top of that, you left Our Lady Of Sorrows a nice endowment, just for insurance so no one would dare say anything. But it’s time to come clean, Judge. Where’s the kid?”
“I don’t know.”
“Like hell,” Nevada muttered, every muscle in his body tense.
“I found her.” Shelby forced the words from her throat and walked from the closet and into the light of Etta’s office. In three steps she was once again in her father’s sanctuary.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the Judge thundered.
“Getting to the truth.” Judge Cole’s face fell.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Nevada repeated.
“Getting information.” She brandished Maria Ramirez’s file like a sword, slapped it on the desk next to her father’s fifth of whiskey, then stared straight into Nevada’s eyes. “Elizabeth’s being raised by Maria Ramirez.”