Lawful Engagement. Linda O. Johnston
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Nancy had wanted to show Cara been the link? “Promise me, Beau. This could be Pulitzer material. If I break the case, you’ll promote me this time to editor in chief.”
“Sure, Cara, but—”
“Promise me. Or this time I will pull a Jerry and leave.”
“Your family’s here in town, Cara,” Beau said. “You grew up here. And—”
“Same went for Jerry. He’s gone. I’m here…for now. Promise me.”
Beau’s deep sigh of resignation was probably audible even over the hum of the high-tech printing presses on another floor of the building. “Well, okay. But—”
“Thanks, Beau.” Cara grabbed her purse and ran.
CARA WAS ALREADY SEATED in one of the old-fashioned high-backed booths at the Lone Star Lodge coffee shop when Mitch arrived. It was a good place to go if one wanted to be out of the way. Not that he’d truly be anonymous in this dump; his uniform garnered glances from the few patrons.
He shook some of the dampness off his Stetson, for it was drizzling outside, unusual at this time of the year.
The only restaurant employee in sight was a plump, aproned waitress who leaned over the counter talking to one of the customers. Mitch joined Cara before the waitress could show him to a table.
Cara had fastened her curls back with combs, maybe because of the rain. As much as Mitch liked her earlier wayward, untamed look, he found this one becoming, too. The oval shape of her face, the loveliness of its soft features, were framed rather than overpowered by her attention-snatching red hair. Of course, noticing details was just part of his job.
She glanced at her watch as he slid onto the cracked vinyl seat, setting his hat down beside him. “Not bad,” she said. “Are you always this prompt?”
“Are you always early?” he countered.
“Depends on who I’m meeting.” Her saucy grin nearly made his socks slide down his ankles.
She was flirting! Not that he trusted it. Especially when she leaned toward him, enough that her blue knit top pulled taut across her breasts.
Some men, he expected, would babble anything that came to their mouths after a tantalizing view like that, for their minds, and the rest of their bodies, would be occupied elsewhere.
Not him. He was adept at forcing his attention where it belonged, not succumbing to distractions. “You want to talk cooperation?” Crossing his arms, he leaned back till his shoulders met the stiff wood of the booth and stared into her sparkling hazel eyes, not where her posture invited him to look.
“Absolutely.” She leaned back and crossed her own arms.
“Then let’s get serious.” Not that he hadn’t thought seriously of taking her up on her unspoken promise. What if he’d kissed those now-pouting lips right there, in front of the lackadaisical waitress and the patrons who, till now, had paid Cara and him scant attention? Maybe she’d let down her guard if she thought she’d succeeded in distracting him.
“Okay.” She grinned. “Just testing. I’ve practiced all sorts of ways of getting people to talk to me. Men seem to prefer that one.”
“I’ll bet.”
The waitress took their order: burger and fries for both, cola for Mitch.
“Coffee for me,” Cara said. “Black. Oh, and bring me an extra pickle, please.” When the waitress walked away, she told Mitch, “I considered a salad but doubted I’d feel safe that the ingredients were handled as they should be in this place.”
“I read your exposé of how some restaurants treat food,” Mitch said.
“Really?” Her face lit up. This time it appeared genuine.
He nodded. “Very enlightening.”
“That’s what I want to do.” She leaned forward again, a serious expression on her face. Her top was no longer taut against her curves, but Mitch noticed them, anyway. “I want to enlighten people. I need to report the truth, Mitch. About Nancy’s death and the others, too, if I can prove the connection. Will you help me?”
“Only if you help me.” He gritted his teeth but kept his mouth closed. Though he had grown up far from his mother’s family, she had imparted to him the Native American lore she’d grown up with—much of it involving the natural world that was once theirs in the land now known as the United States. As a result, Mitch suspected that his maternal ancestors might call him, at this moment, as foolish as a clod-headed coyote cheated out of its food by a crafty fox.
But he had a feeling that, acceptable procedure or not, cooperating in a limited way with the persuasive, single-minded Cara Hamilton would buy him a greater likelihood of solving the Wilks murder faster than pulling rank on her as a law enforcement professional. Having things made public too fast could ruin his chance to get this case solved right. Of course, she wasn’t the only reporter he might need to deal with. But for now she was closest to the situation.
“Of course I’ll help.” But she spoke too quickly for Mitch to believe her.
“You’ll share information?” he demanded.
“If you will.”
“Some things I have to keep confidential to do my job. I won’t tell you about a piece of evidence and have it blabbed in a story if keeping it quiet would help convict a suspect.”
He didn’t like this new stoniness in her expression. What was she thinking?
“Understood,” she finally said. “But if I hear of something and tell you about it, I expect reciprocity. You’ll share as much as you can. Tell me it’s off the record, if you have to, as long as you don’t overdo it. And let me know when I can put it on the record.”
Was this becoming a deal with the cagey fox who would hide the food and starve the rival coyote? Maybe. But working with her, in limited cooperation, would be a hell of a lot better than working totally against her.
But before agreeing to anything, he decided to test her. “Fine, as far as it goes. But I want to know one thing first. What were you hiding from me before when I questioned you? Why did you really go to Nancy Wilks’s house so late last night?”
She hesitated, as if deciding whether to show him the cards she held before he revealed any of his own. She finally nodded. “Nancy did call me. She said she had something to show me.”
“Like?”
Cara shook her head, and the curls held back from her face shimmied enticingly. “I wish I knew. And, yes, I told you a fib. I wandered around her place looking for it after I saw her…her body but didn’t find a thing.”
“I see. What do you think it was?”
Her shrug appeared frustrated, and her reply was interrupted by the waitress’s arrival with their drinks. When the woman left again, Cara said, “Something from the law firm, maybe. I’ve no idea what, but it was important enough that she wanted me to come over at one in the morning. Unless your crime-scene guys found something I didn’t, I suspect the killer took it.” She drew in her breath. “I also suspect it could be why she was killed.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they shimmered with tears. “If I’d gotten there sooner—”
“Then you could have been killed, too,” Mitch said bluntly.
Cara blinked. Her soft lips parted as if she was about to protest, but she didn’t. Mitch guessed what he’d said hadn’t escaped her notice.
Plates with burgers and fries—and two pickles for Cara—were placed in front of them by the waitress, who slapped their check down, too, mumbled something about enjoying their meals and hurried away.
“Was there anything at the crime scene that points toward a suspect?” Cara asked as she lifted the top bun from her burger