A Necessary Lie Page 8

  “There’s an umbrella in the front closet. You may be here longer than anticipated,” Stanton said. “They say it’s going to storm for a few hours. Visibility is terrible. It might be best if you stay the night.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Grace answered. “I don’t mind waiting out the storm and then heading to the hotel. Unless Daniel has an objection to driving that late.”

  “I don’t mind,” Cowboy said. “I’ll go fetch those clothes.” He waited for the go-ahead from Grace, then rushed to his car. He didn’t want her standing in wet clothes in an air-conditioned room. Plus, it would give him the opportunity to fetch some things he’d stashed in his trunk just in case the opportunity presented itself, as it had right now.

  It didn’t take long before he was back with the grey jersey shorts and sweats and the tshirts he’d tossed in the duffel bag. Stanton’s housekeeper was in the kitchen making tea while Grace hugged the towel around her shoulders, her lips having taken on a tinge of blue.

  “Better get changed. You’re shivering.” Instinctually he took a step forward, wanting to wrap his arms around her. Instead, he held up shorts in one hand and sweats in the other. “Pick.”

  She grinned, nodding toward the sweats as she reached for the shorts. “I’d have to roll those things thirty times.”

  “Bathroom is around corner and down the hall,” the young housekeeper said in a thick European accent. Polish? Russian maybe? The red hair was throwing Cowboy off. “Want I show?” she asked Grace.

  “No, thank you. I’ll find it.”

  “Better you change in my room. Come,” she said, eagerly taking Grace’s arm and leading her out of the kitchen.

  “Lily’s Russian,” Stanton said. “For the life of me I can’t pronounce her full name. An exchange student. Great gal, if a little too eager to please. Her parents have high hopes for her.”

  “You know her family?”

  “No. She told us. We make it a point to employ at least one student. My daughter’s college roommate was on scholarship from Thailand,” he explained. “She introduced us to the exchange program and we’ve stuck with it ever since. They get the hours and the paycheck they need and we get to learn about other cultures on an intimate level, doing our part to help. Win-win.”

  Except it wasn’t how Cowboy remembered the Stantons. In a small town, people talk, and he hadn’t always lived on his mother’s ranch. They had had the big house on the hill, overlooking the rest of the peons. Everyone knew old man Stanton had tried to remove Reverend Cook. The idea of having to look up to a black man on a pulpit every Sunday wasn’t to his liking. He’d cited some bullshit about a Yankee preaching to Southerners. Not many believed him, but when you own the town, no one says anything. Although his son had never come out and defended his father, he sure as hell never went against him.

  “The bathroom’s just around the corner. Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll get you another drink?” Stanton asked.

  “No, thank you. I have to drive Ms. Irvine home.” He didn’t drink and drive.

  “Ms. Irvine is having tea. Would you like a tea or a coffee to warm up then?”

  Coffee sounded good. “Coffee would be nice. Black.” Then he left to change out of his wet clothes, all the while avoiding thinking about Grace stripping down and slipping on his clothes.

  On his return, the young Russian pulled out the pot of fresh coffee and poured him a cup, passing it to him with a shy but flirtatious smile. “You very tall.”

  “My mama fed me well,” he said, giving his usual answer when people commented on his size. He wasn’t sure who’d he inherited his height from. His father and brothers had barely reached six feet and his mother was a tiny thing.

  He nodded his thanks, curious as to how many students Stanton had hired, again remembering old man Stanton’s hatred of anyone not Southern or white. It had always amazed Cowboy how the family had managed to keep his vile opinions out of the press. Though he guessed there were many who shared his views.

  Fortunately, only a few chose to drive the thirty miles to another parish, while most of the town had defended the reverend’s right to stay. And that was enough to infuriate the old bastard, who then recruited parishioners to disrupt services, like spoiled brats in high school. They’d cough or sneeze repeatedly, sing out of key or one line behind. For the most part everyone ignored them until a bad case of food poisoning at a church function pointed fingers at Cook and his wife. Trouble was his family hadn’t prepared the meal. Cowboy’s mom and her friends had. It was one of the few times he’d seen his dad blow a gasket at someone other than himself.

  It was after that event that Jessie caught the eye of Stanton’s son. Even as a kid himself Cowboy had wondered if his pursuit of the reverend’s daughter had been for nefarious purposes, given the grief old man Stanton had given her father. Looking back at it, how much was the old man responsible for Jessie’s rape? Could his grandson have been taking orders or, at the very least, the lead from his grandfather? No denying the kid was a sick bastard, the high school bully and then some. But properly encouraged, would he have taken things so far? And what would that mean for his and Jessie’s secret? With that thought, thunder cracked the sky. The house literally shook. The storm wasn’t letting up.

  Grace returned then and, while another man might laugh at the sight of her in clothes clearly too big for her, it turned Cowboy on. Not only was she wearing his stuff, which was hot as hell, she looked damn adorable. “The perfect fit.”

  She gave him a look and then, with a “thank you,” she took the tea cup from the housekeeper. “Thank God for drawstrings. There’s enough fabric here to clothe three of me. At least I’m dry. Senator, mind if I grab my iPad and we can continue?”

  “That’s my cue to leave.” And it was Mother Nature’s cue to screw things up. The lights flickered once, twice, hesitated, then blinked off.

  From somewhere in the dark, he heard, “Damn. Nobody move. The generators will kick in soon.”

  Twenty seconds later, Stanton was right and the generators powered most of the light. From the hum of the refrigerator it too was back on, and then the air conditioner boomed to life.

  “Well at least we have power,” Grace said.

  “We do,” Stanton said, “but we’re on the same grid as half of San Antonio. And they don’t make generators big enough to power a city.” He went over to the landline phone in the kitchen and picked it up. “It works. That’s good. Let me make a call and find out the damage to the grid. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Following Grace into the family room, they took a seat on one of the caramel-colored leather sofas. “This is going to be a long night.” Cowboy made sure to keep his voice down. In normal circumstances he wouldn’t mind being stranded in a beautiful estate with an even more beautiful woman, but he wanted to see Jessie’s story.

  “You think he’ll ask us to stay?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

  Something told him he should be wary. “Why does that make you happy?”

  She glanced toward the kitchen, checking to see if Stanton was still on the phone. He was. “Look, if I had my car, I’d drive. But I would never ask someone else to.”

  “It’s just rain.” He’d driven in worse, much worse.

  “It’s a torrential downpour, taking out powerlines. Be practical, and besides, the only one here is him, his granddaughter, and the housekeeper. I was in her room. She has earplugs by her bed. This would be a perfect time to snoop.”

  And there he had it. “His grandson is here too. And just what do you think you’re going to find?” The police had questioned the senator. They hadn’t done a search. But he’d packed a kit. And as soon as he could, he was going on the hunt for any signs of a struggle, including blood traces. She, however, didn’t have science behind her.

  “I’m not sure. Something, anything that Jessie might have stumbled on by accident.”

  “Did her article indicate that?” He’d really like to get his hands on it, maybe
send a copy to Monty.

  “No. It painted him an honorable man with a screwy family. It was endearing, could almost make a person cry. It surprised me.”

  “Why?” Considering what Stanton’s son had done to her, it surprised him too. Hell, he was surprised she agreed to write the article.

  “Because, as forgiving and sweet as she was, she wasn’t stupid. She could see through people’s bullshit.”

  “And you think Stanton did a number on her?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  He wanted to ask more questions but Stanton’s voice interrupted him.

  “Looks like we won’t have power for hours. A tree took down a power grid and lightning took out another. The city is working on getting them up but it could be a while. They’re asking residents to stay put and out of the way. The police already have their hands busy with multiple accidents. I’d like to extend an invitation for you to stay the night.”

  She looked at Daniel, who shrugged. “That’s very generous of you. Are you sure we won’t be in the way?”

  “It’s just me and Ella, my granddaughter. She’s suffering a little jet lag, plus she’s a teenager. She won’t even know you’re here. Lily is the only household staff member who sleeps in the house. My grandson has chosen to bunk with the ranch hands out back. He’s determined to learn everything there is about ranching… and politics,” he said with a smile and a shake of his head, “before he makes a career choice. And my father is staying in town.” He sounded pleased in a way that didn’t read as gratitude the old man was safe. There was a definite rift between the two. “You won’t be in anyone’s way. I assure you.”

  “Then thank you. I wouldn’t ask Daniel to drive me back in this rain.”

  “Great. Now that that’s settled why don’t you and I chat? Daniel, you think you can keep yourself busy for a little while? I’m not sure how long we’ll be, but there’s a big screen in the den by my father’s office. Satellite’s down but there’s plenty of DVDs and PlayStation if you’re into that.”

  “You play?” Grace asked.

  “Grandkids insisted. You’ll come to learn, Ms. Irvine, we do anything for those kids. They’re the most important thing to us. Never take that for granted.”

  “Us?”

  “Every adult in this household. My father too much sometimes.”

  “You only have one family.” Cowboy pushed down the regret at the loss of his. It wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on it. “I’ll find something to do. Take your time and enjoy your interview,” he said, not bothering to ask for directions to the den. If he got lost and opened one or two of the wrong doors, well, oops.

  He watched as the senator took a seat opposite Grace, and then went straight to work, counting on her to keep Stanton busy. He headed for the closet in the entrance to retrieve the kit he kept in his car for just such opportunities. He’d have to work fast and then return the black light and testing vials to his trunk before anyone was the wiser.

  He put the senator’s office on the top of his list. He thought he’d lucked out when in the first room he snuck into, pictures of Ella cluttered the desk. In one, she was blowing out six candles on a cake, her mother grinning beside her. In another taken more recently, she held balloons in one hand and a massive bouquet of flowers in the other. It was odd. Something in the girl’s eyes contradicted the smile on her face. There were others at various stages of her life. The man obviously adored his granddaughter. Noticeably, there were no pictures of Mrs. Stanton.

  The room, more modern than he’d expected, had only a few antique pieces, including the desk and a sideboard that doubled as a bar. He slipped on a pair of gloves, not wanting to leave prints should the police ever decide to investigate, then yanked a drawer. It was locked. Given this was a senator’s office, that wasn’t surprising nor was it a problem. Cowboy had been picking locks most of his life. When he hadn’t been trying to break into his brothers’ private Playboy stash, he’d been stealing their off-road bikes, the ones they’d refused to lend him because he was either too little or too young. But he could ride circles around them. And the one and only time he’d crashed had been to avoid a mother duck and her ducklings. His father had grounded him for a month. Added to the rest of his punishments, that summer would have been spent mostly indoors had Cowboy not snuck out his bedroom window nearly every night. It was easy when no one really paid you much attention, other than to yell at you.

  He found nothing to lead back to Jessie. The trash bin had been emptied, not that he’d expected to find incriminating evidence just tossed aside. He ran a small portable black light over the mustard-colored leather sofa and chair and the red-toned Indian area rug in the room, coming up with nada. He did the same over anything heavy enough to be used as a weapon. The built-in shelves were laden with philosophy books from ancient Greece to modern day, everything from Aristotle to Nagel to David Chalmers. The copy of Pride and Prejudice threw him, but maybe it belonged to his wife. Grinning, he now understood Grace’s wet shirt comment. He withdrew a few books here and there but he didn’t have time to search each and every item.

  He moved on to what could only be Lyle Stanton’s office. This room was far more ornate with dark carved paneling and a coffered ceiling. It too had shelves filled with books and again a bigger than life desk was locked. A couple of minutes later, he found several files inside. One for the new bill he’d heard tell the senator was proposing, of which Cowboy knew nothing. Pulling out his cell, he took shots to send to the team later. Underneath that file was a photograph. In it was a young boy, twelve maybe thirteen years of age, playing basketball on an outdoor city court. The black and white photo had been taken with a zoom lens. Why was he spying on young boys? Was the old man a pervert? That could certainly get a woman killed if she’d discovered it. He snapped another picture.

  The rest of the search turned up nothing. On his way out, he spotted paper in the small wastebasket to the left of the desk and figured what the hell. Sometimes people toss things away thinking no one would put two and two together. He drew out the crumbled sheet. Straightening the paper, he discovered lab results, blood to be exact. He took a picture, then balled it up and tossed it back where he’d found it.

  He checked his watch. Thirty minutes had passed. He headed to the den the senator spoke of, knowing he’d need to get his equipment back to his car before he was discovered. He did the same here and again came up empty. How many more rooms did he dare search? It wasn’t likely Jessie had been upstairs, but then again who knew. He opted for a quick peak but first put the kit in the front closet, not wanting to risk being caught with it. At each door he listened, not wanting to chance waking up Ella. Unless the senator listened to Justin Bieber, he knew he’d found her when the soft sound of music came from behind the third door.

  When the pungent smell of stale cigar smoke hit his nose he knew he’d found Lyle’s room. Despite the old man’s habit, it was well known his son was anti-smoking. Come to think of it, he hadn’t smelled stale tobacco smoke anywhere in the house except here. Lyle wasn’t the type to take orders from his son. Had the house been nonsmoking prior to Lila Stanton’s death? Or how much of a backseat had Lyle taken after her death?

  There was nothing of real interest in Lyle’s room, except his computer, which was password protected. Lightning that lit up the room was followed by a megaton boom. That was a close one. He reminded himself to make sure the stables had the proper lightning rods. Then he managed to find Lyle’s appointment book and, twenty photos later, he pocketed the small flashlight he’d been using and left the smelly room, hoping like hell none of the cigar stink clung to his clothes.

  He was in the middle of the hall debating if he could risk searching out the senator’s room when a young voice startled him.

  “You’d better be who I think you are, or I’m going to scream.”

  He turned to find who he assumed was Ella standing in the hall. She wore pajama bottoms that were too small for her and a long sleeve, lo
ose fitting crop top.

  “I’m Daniel. I’ve been hired to find you a horse.”

  “Okay, good, no screaming. Not the kind that makes my grandpa find his shotgun anyway.” She smiled, extending her hand and moving in far too close for his comfort. “I’m Ella, but you already know that,” she said, giving him the once over like a seasoned flirt.

  He didn’t mind women checking him out. Honestly, what warm-blooded man would? But this little girl… damn, someone needed to have a long talk with her. Having no choice, he gave her an over the top handshake, wanting to remind her he was a man and far too old for her. He went to pull away, but didn’t she have the balls to hang on. For a teenager, she had a tight grip. He looked down at their joined hands and noticed the gauze peeking out from around her wrist. “I thought you were in bed?”

  “I was… and now I’m not. The thunder woke me and the rest of the state of Texas up.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “It was a loud one.”

  “Are you lost?”

  That was as a good an excuse as any. “I must have gotten turned around in the dark.”

  “Grandma keeps flashlights in every hall.” She went to scoot past him, then seemed to trip and fell into him. “Oops.”

  Oops his ass, and this kid needed to eat. She wasn’t a little on the thin side. Grasping her by the shoulders and setting her aside, he hadn’t failed to notice she was skin and bones. He heard of waist trainers and thigh gaps—all stupid as far as he was concerned—but she wouldn’t be able to ride a horse if she didn’t gain some muscle.

  “Sorry,” she cooed. “Must have caught my slipper on the rug.”

  She sashayed down the hall, twirling the end of the scarf she had tied around her head with her fingers. The emergency light plugged into the outlets reflected off pale, young skin. She wasn’t wearing slippers. Cowboy pitied her daddy. She opened a small dresser and pulled out two flashlights, flicked them on, and returned, giving him one and keeping the other for herself.