Page 12 of One in a Million
She extended her hand. Her handshake was brusque, her palm lightly calloused. Roper didn’t recall having seen her in the saddle. But there could be reasons for that. Maybe Frank didn’t like his cowboys eyeballing his glamorous wife. Roper couldn’t blame him for being jealous. Lila Culhane was a highly desirable woman.
“We can talk in the morning,” she said. “Right now, I need to get home before something else goes wrong.”
“Are you expecting company?”
She shook her head. “Just a feeling I have. . . .”
As she reached down to start the car, her cell phone jangled. With a murmured curse, she pulled it out of the bracket mounted on the dash and took the call. Roper averted his gaze, but he couldn’t help hearing Lila’s end of the conversation.
“Keeping tabs on me, Darrin?” The acid-edged question was followed by dead silence. “What are you doing in the house? So help me, if you’ve touched any of my things, or your father’s . . . What? When?” More silence. “Don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”
She ended the call and dropped the phone into her lap. With tires spitting gravel, the Porsche fishtailed onto the road and roared back toward the McKenna Ranch. Glimpsed against a cloud of dust and moonlit, her profile was rigid, her jaw set in stubborn silence. Was she angry? Maybe scared?
Or was he being set up by clever people who were only pretending to be enemies?
How well did he know this woman? She appeared beautiful, tough, and passionate. But he had yet to see her cry a single tear over her late husband—the husband who’d given her everything Roper could imagine a woman ever wanting.
But maybe not this woman.
As the sleek white Porsche flew through the night, a distant freight train rattled over a metal bridge. He heard the sound of cold steel laid over oiled timber. The clatter of wheels. The hungry wail of the whistle, fading into darkness.
Nearing the ranch, Lila slowed the car, angled off the road, and stopped a few yards from the ranch gate where she’d picked him up. At the click of a button, the latch on the passenger door popped open again.
“Here’s your stop,” she said. “Get a good night’s rest. If a fight breaks out tomorrow, a weapon might come in handy.”
For a moment Roper almost believed her. But then he glimpsed the teasing look on her face.
“You’re joking,” Roper said.
“Me? I never joke.”
“In that case, I think you’d better tell me about that phone call you took. The expression on your face didn’t look much like a joke to me.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?”
“Eavesdrop? Lady, I almost needed earplugs to protect my hearing.” Sensing her resistance, Roper took his stand.
“Lila, I know you need help. But I won’t give it to you, not even for money, if you don’t play straight. I want to hear what that phone call was about and what the hell is going on back at the ranch. If I’m not satisfied that you’re telling the truth, I’ll get out of this car, walk away, and never give you another chance. You’ve got fifteen seconds to start talking. The countdown starts now.”
Lila sank against the seat back and closed her eyes, her moonlit face pale and strained. Roper counted the seconds, half-afraid she would call his bluff, kick him out of the car, and drive away. But at the last possible moment, she met his gaze and began to speak.
“All right, Roper, you wanted the truth. But once you’ve heard it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’m listening. You can start with the phone call.”
“Fine.” She took a deep breath, her fingers worrying the polished texture of the rosewood steering wheel.
“As you might’ve guessed, the caller was His Majesty, Prince Darrin. He was passing on a message from the cop who came to the ranch this morning. Things have changed back at headquarters. There’s been a probable FBI investigator assigned to the case. He’s flying from Chicago to Abilene tomorrow and should be here the following morning. We’re all to be back at the ranch, at first light, for more questioning.”
Lila’s narrative had slowed. She sounded less confident, almost nervous. “I got the feeling that Darrin was impressed by what he heard. He told me the man who’s been recommended has been with the FBI Bureau for eleven years. He’s old school—likes to build his cases from the ground up, taking down every detail of the crime scene and questioning anybody within a half mile.”
Roper had been listening intently. But even so, he almost missed the words that slammed into him like buckshot.Investigator. Case. FBI bureau. Crime scene . . .
“What are you hiding?” he demanded. “What’s got you so scared that you’re afraid to tell me about it?”
She didn’t speak. He could almost feel her quivering.
“We had a deal,” he reminded her. “You trust me. I trust you. We work together. Otherwise, we don’t work at all. What’s it to be?”