Cowboy Justice (11 page)

He smiled a big old toothy smile full of rows of crooked teeth. “Yes, ma’am. She was very generous.”

“Did Damon and Rudy go over the morning routine in the stable yet?”

“No, ma’am. We were seeing about getting the tractor running.”

“That tractor’s engine hasn’t turned over in two years. There’s no point paying a mechanic to fix it until we’re ready to plant our first crop. Go on ahead to the stable and I’ll meet you inside. I need a quick word with the other Miss Sorentino first.”

“Thank you, Miss Sorentino, ma’am.”

“Rachel will do. And you’re welcome.”

With a nod at Amy, he made his way to the stable.

Amy angled her gaze around Rachel to watch him walk away and gave a little whistle under her breath.

Rachel elbowed her hard in the ribs. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t ogle our employees. Besides, you’re engaged.”

“Technically, he’s your employee, not mine. Kellan knows good and well he’s all the cowboy I need, but just because I’ve got a ring on my finger doesn’t mean I’ve lost my appreciation for all the glories life has to offer.”

Against her better judgment, Rachel tipped her chin over her shoulder and snuck a furtive glance at the particular glory Amy was admiring. Damn it all, she was right. Ben Torrey knew how to fill out a pair of jeans just fine. Still, Rachel didn’t much care for younger men. Didn’t matter how good they looked, they never seemed to know what to do with a woman’s body, at least in her experience.

The peek she took must not have been all that furtive, because Amy started chuckling. “You’re checking him out, aren’t you? Go, Rach! There might be fire in you after all.”

There was plenty of fire in Rachel, but none she cared to reveal to her sister. “I was only curious if he found the stable, is all.”

“Sure you were.” Amy stuck her hands on her hips and gave Rachel a cockeyed look. “I’ve been getting the feeling lately that there’s more to your personal life than you’ve led me to believe.”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“It is so my business, because I’m making it my business. I’m going to find you a man to bring to my wedding. Consider yourself warned.”

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and said another slow count to ten. “Back to Ben Torrey. Are you sure we can afford a foreman? That’s a huge expense.”

“Jenna crunched the numbers. She says we can. She’s starting him off at a decent salary, with bonuses in his contract for crop harvests and sales. I’m sure she’d show you the figures if you want. Your dream is to get the fields producing again. You’ve worked your whole life to help me and Jenna and the farm, so this is the two of us saying thank you and returning the favor the best way we can.”

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Amy threw her arms around her and hugged her hard. “Love you, sis.”

Rachel never knew what to say when Amy or Jenna got demonstrative with their affection.
I love you
sounded corny coming out of her mouth. Her sisters knew how she felt, even if she didn’t ever find a way to say it right.

She patted Amy’s back. “I’d best get into the stable before the horses get concerned about their unfamiliar visitor.”

Amy grinned and stepped away. “See you around noon for supper. Tell Ben he’s invited too. And I’ll see if Kellan has any eligible bachelor friends for you that might join us.”

Oh, boy. “How about you save yourself from a wasted effort by focusing your matchmaking skills on Jenna?”

Amy paused in the doorway, a sassy smile on her face. “Jenna already has a man set in her sights. It’s you who needs some sisterly guidance.”

By midday on Wednesday, Jimmy de Luca was cleared by his doctors for transfer to the medical wing of the county jail. Vaughn served his arrest warrant, then oversaw the transfer paperwork, and provided backup until de Luca was secure in the back of Reyes’s cruiser in the basement of the hospital parking garage.

Vaughn had executed a number of successful hospital-to-jail transports over the years, but he’d never seen a prisoner as nervous about it as de Luca. He
asked
for a flak vest. He wanted to know the details of where and how he was getting from his room at the hospital into the safety—as he put it—of the jail.

“Who are you afraid of, Jimmy?” Vaughn asked him in the elevator.

“Everyone and no one,” Jimmy answered.

Helpful. Real helpful.

Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to take de Luca’s anxiety seriously, he pulled Kirby and Molina from patrol to escort Reyes’s car along the one and a half miles to the jail.

“Should we be on the lookout for Henigin and Baltierra? Do you think they’d want to get you, like maybe they figure you’ve turned on them?”

Jimmy swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Yet his eyes were shifty the whole way down the hospital’s service elevator. He hunkered in the wheelchair like he was trying to melt into the vinyl seat, and when he climbed into the back of the patrol car, he slid so low in the seat he was practically sitting on the floor cross-legged.

Whatever de Luca was nervous about, nothing ever came of it. The transfer went off without incident. The prison guards and staff settled Jimmy de Luca into his new home in the medical wing to await sentencing, while Vaughn remained at the hospital for his daily date with Wallace Meyer Jr. and his lawyer.

Binderman stood watch inside Junior’s open door. He nodded at Vaughn from across the hallway, but maintained his guard posture. He was taller than his older brother Chris by an inch or two and had the same eager youthfulness that Vaughn had when he first started his career, though in Nathan it was tempered by the same natural even-keeled temperament all the Bindermans had been blessed with. Great qualities for a sheriff deputy to possess. With that attitude and his background in crime scene forensics, Nathan had already proven an invaluable addition to Vaughn’s department.

Billy Tsai sat in a chair in the hall, angling an entire muffin into his mouth. It didn’t quite fit, so crumbs rained over his dress shirt and tie as he chewed through partially open lips. When he saw Vaughn, his mouth snapped closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Ever the professional, he stood to shake Vaughn’s hand, and Vaughn tried to ignore the crumbs raining from his clothes onto the floor, Tsai’s loafers, and Vaughn’s boots.

Thankfully, Wallace Meyer and his wife weren’t in sight. Meyer knew the score, that a detainee wasn’t allowed visitors—even police chief fathers. Still, it didn’t mean Meyer wouldn’t try to push the limits. All he needed was a local news crew to film Vaughn turning him away from visiting his own son and suddenly Vaughn would look like asshole number one to his voting constituency.

After greeting Tsai, Vaughn nodded to Binderman. “Lunch break. See you in an hour or so. Heavy on the
or so
. The diner across the street makes an excellent pot pie, but they’re slow about it.”

“Thank you, sir. That would hit the spot today.”

“Come on in, Tsai,” Vaughn said, opening the hospital suite door. He propped it open with his backside and tapped the papers he held. “Let’s get this over with. I’m serving Junior his arrest warrant today.”

Wallace Meyer Jr.’s lanky body stretched to the end of his hospital bed, though the lack of meat on his bones left plenty of room for Tsai to sit on the bed at his side. His eyelids were half closed and obscured behind the mass of shaggy brown hair that fell over his face. Tubes and wires were suspended between his body, the bed, and an IV pole on which three bags hung. His arms and legs were restrained to the bed rails with soft cuffs.

His earlobes had huge floppy holes in them from the rings Junior had stretched them out with. All his jewelry was now sitting in a bag at Vaughn’s station house, including the blunt metal dowel he wore through his nose like a bull and another through his left eyebrow. Reminded him of Gwen, who damn near gave their mom a heart attack during her pierced tongue and pink hair phase several years ago. He’d seen enough of that kind of costume on the job to realize that sort of body art was all about kids advertising their insecurities, wanting people to see the freak and ignore the vulnerability underneath.

Didn’t explain what Junior had to be insecure about. His whole life, everything he wanted had been handed to him on a silver platter. Then again, Gwen had led a pretty vanilla life, but that didn’t stop her from having problems as deep as an oil well—and just as black.

Vaughn walked around to the opposite side of the bed from Tsai, poking the bottom of Junior’s foot through the blanket with his pen as he moved. “How’s it going, Junior?”

Junior turned his head away from Vaughn and closed his eyes.

He whacked Junior’s stomach with the stack of papers. “Hello? Anybody home?”

A second whack and Junior’s eyes cracked open. “What?”

Vaughn leaned in. “That’s more like it. Having fun yet, Junior?”

“Screw you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. You think of anything else you want to share with me about the shooting on Monday? Like where you got the guns?”

“Don’t answer that,” Tsai said.

Vaughn didn’t miss a beat. “See, we looked up the firearms registered to you. Two hunting rifles. No AR-15s.”

Junior’s eyes popped open. His lips curled into a sneer. “You can’t register an AR-15. They’re illegal, dumbass.”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Tsai hissed.

“Who brought the guns to the party?” Vaughn tried again. “All I want is a name to give to the prosecutor. Maybe help your case out, show how cooperative you are. So who was it? Henigin? Baltierra? De Luca?”

Junior raised his right hand as far as it would go given the cuff and flipped Vaughn the bird.

“Fair enough,” Vaughn said. “New question. Why were you in the Parillas Valley?”

“That’s not a new question. You asked me that a million times already.”

“I’m still waiting for an answer.”

Junior shook his head. His stretched-out earlobes wiggled like worms.

Vaughn flipped through the case file until he found the picture of the graffitied boulder and dropped it on Junior’s chest. “
We warned you bitch
. Who was the message for?”

Junior turned his chin up, eyes to the ceiling. “You don’t even know I was the one who sprayed that.”

Vaughn shot Tsai an exasperated look. “Your client isn’t getting it.” He reached into the case file and grabbed the stack of photographs from Rachel’s camera, shaking it in the air over Junior’s stomach. “We have pictures of you shaking the aerosol paint can, then pictures of you painting every letter of every word on the boulder. There are so many pictures of you in action, I could flip through the stack and animate it for you, like a movie.”

A frown of irritation settled on Tsai’s face. “Junior has said from the beginning that he has no knowledge of why he was taken to the valley. He was coerced into acting as he did, fearing for his life.”

Yeah, right.

“Coerced by whom? If Junior here is so innocent, then why can’t he share with me who did all this coercing he’s swearing by?” He tucked the pictures away and slapped the papers on the counter behind him, then turned to Junior’s bed. “Who are you afraid of?”

“I ain’t afraid of nobody.”

Vaughn mashed his lips together, watching Junior’s eyes. Looking for the telltale signs he was lying, but Junior’s face was a mask of defensiveness and immaturity. Nothing for Vaughn to work with. “Your pal Jimmy thinks someone wants to kill him. He was all twitchy today when we transferred him to the jailhouse. Any idea who’s got him so rattled? Someone who’s bold enough to pop de Luca in front of a bunch of cops. Know anyone like that?”

“How the hell would I know what Jimmy’s scared about? I barely know the guy.”

“Is that so? ’Cause I’m wondering if whoever he was spooked about could also be after you. What do you think of that theory?”

“I think you can suck my dick,” Junior said.

Vaughn shifted his gaze to Tsai. “This case isn’t looking so hot for your acquittal record, Tsai. If your client can’t keep his vocabulary and hand gestures respectable, I don’t see how he’s going to win over a jury.”

“Worry about your own job, Cooper, and I’ll worry about mine.”

“Sure, sure. The problem is, my gut’s telling me that Junior is withholding critical information on two dangerous fugitives. When that information comes out, which it will, do you honestly think I won’t add it to the list of charges against him? You’d best be advising him to answer my questions.”

“We’re done here,” Tsai said, rising. “Serve the warrant.”

Vaughn bit back his simmering frustration. “See now? It sounds like you’re starting to worry about my job, and what did you just tell me?”

“My client needs his rest,” Tsai grumbled.

“Don’t get your undies in a bunch.” Vaughn could see why his dad liked the phrase. Rolled off the tongue real nice. “We’ve got a cozy room for him at the jail as soon as the docs clear him for transfer. He’s got a lifetime of leisure ahead of him.”

“Get on with it,” Tsai said.

Vaughn fished the arrest warrant out from the stack of papers and handed it to Tsai. Then he placed his hand over his heart. “I’ve been waiting years to say this to you, Junior. You should know, from the bottom of my heart, I mean every word.” It was a shame Junior’s wrists were already cuffed to the bed, because Vaughn had always wanted to do the honors. “Wallace Meyer Junior, by the power vested in me by Quay County and the state of New Mexico, you are hereby under arrest . . .”

Chapter Eight

As the afternoon sun glinted orange off the windows of the squat, nondescript sheriff’s office perched on the edge of Catcher Creek’s four-square-block downtown, Rachel pulled her rusty red pickup into the parking lot. She walked to the building with grim resolve, the flash drive of graffiti photographs in her pocket, a folder stuffed with hate mail and the petition against Heritage Farm tucked under her arm, and a foil-covered plate of scones in her hand.

Such were the ways of a small town, she thought wryly. God forbid someone arrive at a gathering empty-handed, even if that gathering was a police interview. At least Vaughn’s patrol car wasn’t parked out front. Thank God for small favors.

She’d called ahead and spoken to Irene Beckley, the sheriff’s department dispatcher-slash-office manager, inquiring about when Irene thought the sheriff would return to the office because she had a file to deliver. Irene estimated his return at five or six, so Rachel made sure to arrive at four.

Irene sat behind the welcome desk. A pillar of the Catcher Creek community, she’d worked at the sheriff’s department as long as anybody could remember, doling out divine guidance to near about every person who called or walked through the door. More than once, when Rachel had retrieved Jenna from the station house after she’d been caught for underage drinking and partying, Irene was sitting with her, working to sober her up with black coffee and a stern lecture on the perils of sin.

Undersheriff Stratis was the only other person in view. She’d never been comfortable around Wesley Stratis. He was around town a lot, and from all accounts, he was excellent at his job, but she couldn’t shake the impression that when he looked at her, it was with harsh judgment in his eyes. He’d never been overtly hostile to her, and for the most part, she chalked the sensation up to an effect of the lingering guilt she harbored from her affair with Vaughn.

When Stratis saw her, he rose from his seat, his expression curious. “Ms. Sorentino.”

“I promised Sheriff Cooper I’d bring in photographs of vandalism around my farm.”

Stratis approached her, tapping a handful of files against the palm of his left hand. “I heard about that. Thank you for bringing them so promptly. What’s under the foil?”

“Scones,” she said, feeling like a moron.

He reached for the plate.

On instinct, she pulled it out of his reach. “For the sheriff.”

The second the words crossed her lips, her face turned hot. Stratis’s expression turned sharp, like he knew all about her history with Vaughn and he thought she’d brought him a treat she’d baked. “No, I don’t cook. They’re from my sister—Amy, the chef. It’s nothing, really. You can have one.” She pushed the plate into his hands.

He peered under the foil skeptically. “Okay . . . Now, about those photographs?”

“Yes.” Relieved for the topic change, she handed him the file, then produced the flash drive from her pocket. “The folder’s full of hate mail the farm’s received since opening the inn, and the photographs are on the drive, along with a record of dates and locations.”

He nodded toward the hallway. “Why don’t we go over those dates and locations right now so our department has all the facts straight?”

She glanced over her shoulder, through the glass door at the lowering sun. It was later than she hoped. The evening chores would need to be started soon, and who knew when Vaughn might appear.

“Looking for Sheriff Cooper’s car? I guess you had your heart set on talking to him instead, is that it?”

The way he said it made her hairs stand on end. Maybe he did see her sins when he looked at her.

She raised her chin, defensiveness setting her mouth in a tight line. “I didn’t have my
heart
set on anything. You or the sheriff or any other deputy—doesn’t matter to me who I talk to.” That was absolute horseshit, but how dare Stratis turn nothing into something.

“Well, then. After you.”

Oh, he’d played her, all right. Tapped right onto her rawest nerve, and she let him do it. Irritated with herself, she brushed past him and stalked down the hallway. He followed her into the conference room and, leaving the door open, took a seat on the far side of a dark brown rectangular table. Rachel settled into the nearest chair.

After she’d declined his offer for a glass of water, Stratis propped his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together. “Before we talk about the information on the flash drive, I’m confused on a few points regarding the events that took place on your farm on Monday. I’d be much obliged if you could fill in some of the blank spots in my mind.”

Slick police work, to throw her a curveball like that as soon as he had her trapped in the room. Her fingers fidgety with nervous energy, she reached for a scone and broke off a bite. It tasted like cardboard in her dry mouth. She pushed it around with her tongue, wishing she hadn’t declined the water. “Undersheriff, I don’t mean to be a pain, but I have a lot of work to do before sundown. I agreed to talk about the contents of the flash drive, nothing more.”

“So, for the record, you’re declining to cooperate with our investigation?”

“I didn’t say that. I—”

“Then you don’t mind going over the timeline of events again. I appreciate that. Start at the beginning.”

Oh, he was good. She plucked a raisin from the scone in her hand and squished it between her fingers, wondering why she felt so trapped and defensive when she hadn’t done anything wrong and the sheriff’s department was on her side. Besides the time lost for her evening chores, she had no valid reason to deny Stratis’s request.

Thus resigned, she gathered her memories with a slow inhale, then launched into the story at the start of the trouble, when she and Lincoln first spied the truck on the mesa. As she talked, she picked at the scone, gathering the crumbs into a pile on the table. Stratis listened intently, scribbling notes and prompting her when she paused.

“You thought these were the same vandals you’d encountered before on your ranch?”

“Exactly.”

“What was your theory on why the vandals were targeting you?”

She sniffed. “Turning our farm into a tourist destination has been a sore point for more than a few townsfolk.”

“Like who, in particular?”

She gestured to the file she’d handed him. “All the names are on the copy of the petition I gave you.”

Stratis opened the folder, tapping his pen against the paper as he scanned the petition with a blank expression. “Why didn’t you notify the sheriff’s department about this sooner? You might’ve been able to prevent what happened Monday.”

“It would’ve been bad for business if word got out about the trouble, and I thought if that happened and we lost business because of it, I’d be giving the protestors what they wanted, especially when I knew I could handle it.”

He scratched his neck. “You thought you could handle it? Isn’t that the same flawed logic that got you into trouble Monday, Miss Sorentino?”

Her hackles raised at the accusation in his words. “I suppose it is, Undersheriff. Are you planning to arrest me for using flawed logic?”

His face broke out in a hard smile. “If that were a punishable offense, we’d have every citizen of Quay County behind bars at one time or another.” He lifted a scone from the plate and took a huge bite.

“True enough. Look, as I mentioned, I’ve got a lot of work to do before sundown, so may I go on with the story?”

Stratis set the scone down. “One more question. Why didn’t you call 9-1-1, instead of firing off those warning shots?”

Didn’t she just answer that? She thought she could handle it. What more did he want her to say? “Because I have the right to defend my property and my family, and a warning shot had been effective with the other vandals. One shot and they got in their cars and beat it off my land.”

“Not this time.”

“Obviously.” She kept her expression blank, though her heart rate picked up its pace. His hostility was throwing her off balance. Her stomach acid flared, demanding her attention, but she refused to eat an antacid, not when doing so might tip Stratis off to her inner turmoil.

More than anything, she wanted to leave. To bid Stratis a good day and go. In fact, the more she contemplated the urge to flee, the brighter it burned inside her. She’d give this five more minutes and then she was out of there—no matter what.

He took another bite of scone, then gestured with it in his hand. “Go on with your story, Ms. Sorentino. Please.”

He listened silently. Rachel found herself omitting certain details—her fear, her pain over shooting Lincoln. Her instincts warned her against trusting Stratis with her feelings. When she got to the part where she stuffed her pockets with extra ammo, she did not admit to her desire to kill the four men. She never would have done it. Even though she wanted them dead, as soon as she’d snuck up on them and had one in the sights of her revolver, she knew she’d never shoot to kill, no matter how enraged she was, or how much the men deserved to die.

Stratis raised a finger, a puzzled look on his face, and Rachel stopped talking. “When the four trespassers drew their weapons and you realized you were in over your head, why didn’t you flee?”

“I was hidden from view in the canyon. If I’d have run, I’d have given them a clear shot at me and my horse.”

“As it was, they did have a clear shot, didn’t they? They shot your horse.”

Rachel wiped her hand on her jeans. “Anyone who’s ever fired a gun knows there’s a difference between a clear shot and a lucky shot.”

“But you still didn’t call 9-1-1, even after the men proved they were different from previous trespassers, that they were violent and wanted to do you harm. Instead of dialing dispatch so Irene could get the nearest patrol car to your property, you dialed Sheriff Cooper’s personal cell phone. Why did you do that?” His tone, though matter-of—fact, had a flinty edge to it, like his professionalism barely won out over his urge to shout the words.

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, not that she had any idea what she’d say. She couldn’t very well admit he was the first person who came to mind when she needed help. “I don’t know. I can’t remember why I made that choice.”

Stratis stood so abruptly that his chair tipped and thumped against the wall. He towered over the table, his hands braced near the scone plate. “Can you remember why, even after you phoned the sheriff and knew help was on the way, you didn’t sit tight? Instead, you went on your own violent rampage.”

Rachel flinched, surprised by his sudden and aggressive movement. When had the conversation turned into an interrogation? Using her feet, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood, reestablishing the boundaries of her personal space. Though her legs were weak and shaky with adrenaline from the sudden change of Stratis’s mood and her stomach ulcer burned in protest, she forced herself to be bold. Leaning over the table, she met him nose-to-nose. “What I did was no rampage.”

She willed her lips into a brazen smile.

He countered her smile with a tight-jawed smirk. “No, you’re right. It was premeditated. You reloaded twice—”

“That’s enough, Stratis.”

Rachel’s spine snapped straight. Relief and exhilaration whipped up inside her like a dirt devil in a field. Vaughn stood in the doorway, his expression stoic. The gear belt hugging his waist shifted as he propped his shoulder against the doorframe and smoothed a hand over his pressed blue shirt. He devastated her, wearing that uniform. Drove the breath from her lungs and made her head spin.

He gave Rachel a terse nod, then let his eyes rove over her body, his expression morphing to one of concern, like he expected to find her harmed. “Ms. Sorentino.”

She nodded, too rattled to speak.

His focus shifted past her, to Stratis. “What’s going on here?”

Rachel shifted, positioning her body to keep both men in her line of sight.

Stratis stiffened defensively at Vaughn’s question. “Ms. Sorentino stopped by with a plate of cookies for you”—he gestured to the table—“along with a flash drive of photographs from the vandalism incidents she failed to report initially. It seemed a prime opportunity to ask her some of the questions I had about Monday’s incident.”

She ground her molars together. Wouldn’t do her any good to get defensive about his phrasing like she was tempted to. “Scones,” she bit out, not meeting Vaughn’s eye. “From my sister.”

Just like that, she’d never eat another scone for the remainder of her days.

Vaughn barely glanced at the plate. His boots clomped on the floor as he made his way around the table toward Stratis. “I’ll take over from here, Stratis.”

With his narrowed eyes on Rachel, Stratis rolled his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Fine with me, Sheriff, but the thing of it is, I still don’t understand why Ms. Sorentino didn’t sit tight after she called you for help. She was outnumbered and outarmed.” He stopped and leveled his gaze at Rachel. “What made you do it?”

“Stand down, Stratis.” Vaughn’s tone was tight with warning.

If Stratis hadn’t already insinuated that he knew something was going on between her and Vaughn, he sure would now, with Vaughn springing to her defense like that.

Determined to prove otherwise, she raised her hand to quiet Vaughn. “No, that’s okay. It’s a valid question. What made me take action, you want to know?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stratis answered.

“Because if they’d started firing again, and landed another lucky shot, they might’ve killed me. They might’ve gone after my family next. We may never know what their plan was. So instead of sitting there, hoping on high that they wouldn’t kill me or my family, I decided to make sure they couldn’t. By wounding them.”

Stratis’s brow raised. His lips twitched. “Good answer.”

Asshole.

She shifted her gaze to Vaughn. “I’m done here. You have the flash drive and folder. We can set up an interview for another time if you have questions about the contents.”

Vaughn looked like he wanted to ask her another question. Too bad. She was getting the hell out of the building. She fast walked down the hall. Irene looked at her like she hadn’t missed a word of the conversation. Her Bible was open on her desk, her finger pressed to the words on the page as though holding her place while she watched Rachel. Rachel glared at her until she looked away.