The Second Son. Joanna Wayne
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for the first time since he’d pinned the badge on his chest, he wished it wasn’t there. What Lacy Gilbraith needed was a friend, a man to stand by her the way that snake she’d almost married apparently hadn’t.
Damn, he was doing it again. His family was obviously wrong when they claimed he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. It was just that his romantic inclinations were few and far between. And not to be trusted.
Here he was, letting a woman mess with his mind. Again. Convincing him she was who and what he wanted to believe when the facts said differently. Only this time he would not be taken in.
Lacy Gilbraith was part of the job. She might need a man to stand by her. But he was not that man.
LACY STEPPED through the open door and into the night air. She and Branson had exited the restaurant on the lower level, putting them directly onto San Antonio’s famed Riverwalk.
It was a beautiful May night, and the paved walkway that bordered the narrow, shallow river bustled with the Friday-night crowd of work-worn revelers. A couple passed them, their arms entangled, their laughter adding to the chorus of chatter and music that spilled into the night. Lacy wondered if her heart had ever felt that light, if her laughter had ever bubbled that freely.
She shivered and hugged her arms around her chest.
“We can go back inside if you’re cold.”
“No, it’s not the temperature,” she said. “I like it out here, but I’m not sure it’s conducive to serious talking.”
“Not here in the midst of hotels and restaurants, but there’s a quieter area if we follow the river for a few blocks. Are you up to the walk?”
“I could use it after that meal,” she said.
Branson was right. A few blocks north, the crowd thinned considerably. He led her to an unoccupied bench a few feet from the water’s edge. “Is this quiet enough for you?” he asked.
“It will do.”
Branson sat down beside her. “I know you’re finding this extremely difficult, Lacy, but you don’t have much choice. Bullets and bombs can be deadly. Your sister is keeping vicious company.”
He was right, of course. Kate had a history of bad choices in friends and lifestyle, but a lot of those had been a matter of survival. The truth was, Kate had a heart of gold. But that kind of thing never showed up on a police rap sheet. That’s why people like Branson couldn’t begin to understand a woman like Kate.
But Lacy didn’t need him to understand her. She needed him to find her and protect her.
“I’m not sure where this story begins, Sheriff, so I’ll give you a little of the background.” She searched her mind for the right words, the right facts to share with the eager lawman. The right ones to keep secret.
“Kate moved back to Texas a year ago. She was broke. I asked Charles Castile if he could help her find a job.”
“Your fiance´?”
“Only he wasn’t my fiance´ then, just my boss. He pulled strings, got her a job in spite of her lack of skills and her police record.”
“What kind of job?”
“She went to work as a waitress out at Joshua Kincaid’s San Antonio nightclub. Charles does a lot of work for Kincaid, and he hired Kate on as a favor. I know a lot of people don’t like Mr. Kincaid, but he’s been nothing but nice to my sister and to me when I’ve been around him.”
“I don’t think anyone complains about Joshua Kincaid’s social skills. It’s his lack of scruples that brings the criticism.”
“Anyway, Kate went to work for Kincaid and through that job she met and got involved with Ricky Carpenter. Apparently he’s a friend of Joshua Kincaid’s. He played pro football until he suffered that career-ending injury a couple of years ago.”
“So how does Ricky enter into all of this?”
“He and Kate have been a thing ever since they met. She’s crazy about him. He acts like he’s just as crazy about her. She moved into his town house a few months ago.”
“The one that just got bombed?”
She nodded.
Branson crossed an ankle over his knee, man style. “So, tell me how Ricky enters into Kate’s taking a bullet in the shoulder.”
Jittery spasms attacked Lacy’s nerves. Charles and Ricky had both warned her that this should go no further, that if she talked to the police, she might well be signing Ricky’s and Kate’s death certificates. But now she couldn’t trust Charles, and even before she’d run out on her bargain with him, someone had tried to kill Kate.
“I can’t help you, Lacy, unless you talk to me.”
“I’m not sure you can anyway.”
“Someone is trying to kill your sister. How much worse do you think it can get?”
Branson was right. She’d tried to play by the bad guys’ rules. She couldn’t afford to do that any longer. She sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to talk. “Ricky came to see me one night about four weeks ago.”
“What about?”
“Trouble. He showed up at my apartment about midnight, ringing the doorbell and banging on the door. I probably wouldn’t have let him in at that time of the night had he not looked as if he might die on my doorstep if I didn’t.”
“Was he ill?”
“No. His face and arms were bruised and blood was caked on his forehead and matted in his hair.”
“Did you call for help? An ambulance? Police?”
“No, he begged me not to. And instead of being cocky and arrogant the way he usually is, he seemed fearful, desperate.”
“What explanation did he give you for the bruises?”
“He said he’d been jumped and attacked by two men who had beaten him within an inch of his life and promised more would return if he didn’t come up with the fifty thousand dollars they said he owed them. A gambling debt. Only next time they promised it wouldn’t stop with a beating. It would end in a death—Kate’s.”
She was shivering again, inside and out. Branson touched a hand to her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to lean into him, not to bury her head against his broad chest. She trembled but didn’t give in to the tears that pushed at the back of her eyelids.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Just get the story out. Then we’ll decide what to do.”
“I’m not usually like this.” Her voice broke.
“You don’t usually have to worry about the safety of your sister.”
“More often than you know. It’s just that this is the first time I haven’t been able to at least talk to her.”
“Still, it’s no crime to show emotion.”
She bit her bottom lip. It might not be a crime, but she’d learned long ago what showing weakness got you. And she doubted if the good sheriff sitting beside her ever indulged. He was too much in control, too unruffled by explosions to believe him capable of ever losing his cool or exposing his vulnerabilities.
“Did you give Ricky the money?” Branson asked, his gaze fastened on her face.
She lowered her own gaze to the concrete walk beneath her feet. “I would have in a second if I’d had it. I didn’t. But I didn’t have to think about it long. Ricky begged me to go to Charles and ask for the money.”
“Four weeks ago. By that time you and Charles must have been engaged?”
She nodded, knowing it was the same as lying. She drew into herself, alone with the rest of the secrets,