Lone Calder Star (32 page)

Quint unleashed the sharp edge of his temper on Boone. "I don't want to hear another word out of you. Just get in your truck and get the hell out of here."

Boone took a sideways step, hesitated, and pointed an accusing finger at Dallas. "I tell you she's lying. You can't trust anything she says."

"I can't trust you either," Quint fired back. "Now get."

Boone ran a calculating glance over Quint. Satisfied that he had planted all the doubt he could, he sidled clear of the white pickup and backed up a few steps before turning to his own pick up.

Dallas waited in silence, cold all over, but Quint never turned to her until Boone drove off.

When he did, his gaze bored into her demanding and probing.

"Is it true what you said? You've been feeding him information?" Disbelief lingered that she could have betrayed him like that.

The guilt of it weighed on her. "I intended to tell you before now, but ... the time never seemed right," Dallas admitted.

"But how? Why?" His voice was thick with anger.

"That day I came to the ranch and told you Boone made threats against Empty-that part was true. I knew I could never persuade my grandfather to quit working for you, so I did what I had to do to protect him." It was an explanation. Pride wouldn't let her beg for his understanding. "I hardly knew you then, Quint."

He stared at her, wrapped in a fury and pain that ran deep and hot. Too hot. Not trusting himself to speak, Quint turned and walked back to the idling pickup, slipped behind the wheel, and slammed the door.

Dallas watched him drive off. There were always consequences to be faced with every action taken, but Dallas had never guessed there would be so much pain with this one.

The Cee Bar ranch yard was blessedly empty of other vehicles when Dallas drove in. She parked the old white pickup in

front of the ranch house and climbed out, hastily scrubbing the dampness from her cheek with her hand.

But it didn't seem to matter how many tears she wiped away , there was always another waiting to slither down her face. It wasall part of the big, hollow ache in her chest.

Creaking door hinges came from the porch as Empty emerged from the house. "I'll give you a hand bringing the groceries in." Spindly but spry legs carried him quickly down the steps to the walkway.

Dallas pressed a quick finger to a corner of her eye, blotting away a gathering tear, and took a long galvanizing breath, steeling herself for this meeting with her grandfather. In an attempt at normalcy, she lowered the tailgate and went through the motions of dragging the sacks onto it.

But it was the reddening mark on her face from the hard blow Boone had given her, and not the dampness on her cheeks, that Empty's sharp eyes noticed. His demand for an explanation was instant.

There was no longer anything to he gained by avoiding the truth, and Dallas didn't try. She told him everything, omitting only Boone's admission about the anthrax. The explosion that followed was one she had anticipated.

"You did what!" Empty thundered in outrage. Dallas didn't bother to repeat it. He knew exactly
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what she'd said. "How could you do that? My own granddaughter siding with the Rutledges! By God, I oughta take a belt to you. What was going through that head of yours?"

"I explained that." Dallas absorbed his wrath with remarkable stoicism, thanks to a pain of a different kind that had left her numb.

"To protect me!" The contempt in his voice told her exactly what he thought of that reasoning.

"For your information, little lady, I'm not so old that I can't look after myself. And I sure don't need you stabbing me in the back while I'm trying. I tell you, it flat turns my stomach to think of my own flesh and blood doing the Rutledges's bidding."

"Not anymore," Dallas reminded him. "I told Boone that he'd received the last information from me that he was ever going to get."

"A little late, wasn't it?" Empty snapped.

Her head lifted. "You always told me it was never too late to correct a mistake."

Her words took some of the fire from him, but didn't change the glare in his eyes. "You're through with them. That's something, I guess."

He subsided into silence and Dallas reached for one of the grocery sacks. Empty threw her a sideways glance, measuring and thoughtful.

"What did Quint say when you told him?"

"Nothing." Dallas wrapped both arms around the bag, holding it tightly in front of her as if it might provide protection or comfort. "He just got in his truck and drove off."

Empty dragged in a deep breath and let it gust out. "Guess there wasn't much you could expect him to say after telling him a thing like that. Your're probably lucky he didnt tell you to get the hell out of his sight."

He grahbrd up a sack. "Guess we might as well get these groceries in the house and start packing. It's not likely he's going to want us here any more. It might be beter for us to be gone when he gets back."

" No." Dallas was surprised by the forcefulness of her answer. Yet she felt the rightness of her stand. "Somebody has to be here when the hays delivered. And if anyone leaves, it will only be me. I'm not going to let him blame you for what I did."

" You arnn't going to go anywhere without me," he stated firmly.

Dallas shook her head. "Quint needs you. And if he wants me gone he'll have to tell me."

Empty offered no argument, but there was a sadness in his eyes.

" You love him, don't you?" he guessed.

" Yes " She choked up.

" I just wished you had trusted him a little, Dallas."

The words were a poignant echo of similar advice Quint had given not so many nights ago. And trust was the issue-a broken trust that might never be made whole again.

The upthrust of glass and granite soared four stories into the air. Its sleek, polished sides mirrored the blue of the Texas sky and reflected the image of the black pickup that pulled into an empty slot in the parking lot. Quint piled out of the cab, slamming the door behind him, and headed for the building's entrance, a long,striding walk propelling him toward the door.

There was one thought and one thought only in his mind right now. No matter what rawly emotional road his mind had traveled during the drive to Fort Worth, it had always come full circle back to one thing-the Rutledges. Their black heart had been behind it .

When he reached the executive suite on the fourth floor, Quint shoved aside the glass doors, mindless of their wild swing. A trim brunette glanced up from her desk and smiled warmly.

"Good afternoon." Her gaze travelled over his face with open interest.

His glance had already darted past her to the closed door just to the left of her desk. "Is Rutledge In?" Quint gestured to the door without ever slackening his pace toward it.

"Mr. Rutledge is in conference right now. If you would care to..." She broke off in alarm when
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he walked past her desk .Rising from her chair, she protested, "You can't go in there."

Quint spared her a dry, cold look. "Watch me."

A testing turn of the handle revealed the door wasn't locked, He pushed the door open and followed it into the office.

His sweeping gaze ignored the room's sleek, contempory decor and abstract art, and centered instead on the three men in the room. Max Rutledge sat in his wheelchair behind the steel and wood corner desk. Boone stood facing him. A third man dresscd in a western-cut suit and bolo tie hovered next to Max, his manner that of a closely trusted underling.

Boone whirled around, surprise dissolving into a black fury at the sight of Quint. "What the hell are you doing barging in here?"Unaffected by the angry challenge, Quint continued forward, gripped by the cool dispassion of battle. "I might have known you would race straight here to warn Max that you'd lost your informant."

The frantic look Boone darted at his father and the surprise that flickered so briefly in Max's expression told Quint that Boone hadn't gotten around to relating that piece of news. Something snapped in Boone. Teeth bared, he lunged for Quint.

Sidestepping to avoid the onrush, Quint grabbed Boone's arm, twisted it behind him, and gave him a shove into a nearby chair, all without breaking a sweat. Boone crashed into it and lay there for a dazed second, not at all sure what had happened to him or how.

In his side vision, Quint saw the third man pick up the telephone. He pointed a finger at him while keeping a wary watch on Quint.

"I wouldn't make that call to security until you're sure your boss wants them." He warned, and fired a glance at the man in the wheelchair. " Do you Max."

After a small pause, Max waved a hand. "Put the phone down, Edwards."

"Smart move." Quint told him as Boone struggled upright in the chair and appeared on the verge of launching himself at Quint again.

With an almost noiseless whirr, Max rolled his wheelchair from behind the desk and glided between them. "Stay where you are." He told Boone, a curl of disgust on his lip, "before he makes a fool of you again." His hand manipulated the control stick, squaring, his chair around to face Quint. "What is it you want, Echohawk ? " he asked in a perfectly reasonable voice.

Before answering, Quint pointedly divided his glance between the man behind the desk and the brunette poised in the doorway.

" You might prefer to have this conversation take place in private."

The touch of his glance seemed to loosen the brunette's tongue.

" I'm sorry, Mr. Rutledge. I tried to stop him..."

That will be all, Miss Bridges," Max told her, then directed a look at the third man. "Close the door on your way out,

Edwards."

Silence reigned while the two exited the office. During it, Max Rutledge settled more comfortably in his wheelchair and viewed Quint with a look of great tolerance. Boone displayed no such control, pushing himself out of his chair and pacing over to a floor-to-ceiling window, his body rigid in anger and resentment.

With the click of the door latch, Max assumed charge of the merting. "Now what is it that's so all-fired important to talk about?" He smiled in amused indulgence.

"It isn't so much what we have to talk about, Max," Quint responded with a cool smile of his own, "as it is what I have to tell you."

"And what might that be?"

"So far you've been dealing all the hands in this game, and I've played them as they came. But not anymore, " Quint stated. " I'm taking over the deck. From now on, I'll do the dealing, and you aren't going to like the cards."

Massive shoulders lifted in a vague shrug of indifference. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

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"In that case we'll start with the most recent one. Anthrax." The reaction from Boone was instant. He spun from the

windows, a look of rage on his face. "Damn it, I told you that was a pack of lies. She made up that whole thing as a way to get back at us! Why the hell do you think I hit her?"

Quint never so much as glanced in Boone's direction, choosing, instead to observe the sharp, assessing look Max gave him, and the tightening line of displeasure around his mouth.

"You see, Max, I know you infected those cows with anthrax. " Quint stated it as a fact. "I didn't need Dallas to tell me that Boone had admitted it to her."

To Max's credit he showed no reaction to that statement, propably anticipating it.

"Yesterday"-Quint stressed the word-"I put a team of investigators on it, all pros. They'll find out where you got the bacteria, who gave it to you, and any middleman you may have used."

"That's ridiculous," Max scoffed. "I had nothing to do with your cattle dying of anthrax."

"Yes, you did. And I'll prove it. Want to know why?" His smile of challenge was full of confidence.

There was an involuntary twitch of a muscle in a gaunt cheek, but Max offered no reply, choosing instead to match Quint stare for stare.

"I'll tell you why." Quint leaned down and braced his hands on the wheelchair's armrests, pushing his face close to Max and destroying any illusion Max might have entertained that his wheelchair was some kind of throne. Fury and loathing warred in the glaring look Max gave him.

"You've been the he-bull around here too long. That breeds overconfidence every time. And that means you've made a mistake somewhere.Anthrax is an ugly word, Max, and your son has already tied you to it. People who would have kept their mouths shut in the past might be inclined to talk now."

" Your talking nonsense," Max insisted, not quite able to pull off a tone of utter indifference.

" Am i? " Quint challenged, with a cold smile of certainty. "Right now your mind is racing, cataloguing everyone who knew or could have known about the anthrax, wondering if any of them let something slip or might, if questioned, like your son did. You're even wondering if there's someone you can pay to take the fall for this. But you don't dare approach them to make sure there aren't any more leaks, for fear that you would lead my investigators right for them.

And you would. But don't think that's your only worry. The team has orders to look into all your dealings. And we both know they'll find something, because your hands are dirty, Max."

" Are you finished?" His temper shortening, Max all but spat the words.

' Not quite," Quint replied, peripherally aware of Boone watching, the exchange with a kind of shock. "I'll make you a deal, Max.""A deal? You stand there and threaten me, then have the nerve to offer me a deal?" His forceful voice trembled with suppressed rage.

" Isn't that the way you work, Max?" Quint countered. "You make all your threats, then offer an alternative. That's all I'm

doing.And just like you, I'll carry out my threats if it's necessary and it'll be the Rutledge name smeared all over the headlines." He paused as Max ripped his gaze away from him. "Are you finding it hard to swallow some of your own medicine?"

"What are the terms?" Max growled.

"The terms are simple: back off." The steel in Quint's voice matched the steel in his eyes. "Back off from the Cee Bar and the Calders."