Son of a Gun (12 page)

“We can talk in Dad’s old study,” Damien said.

Emma, Sheriff Garcia and the attorney followed Damien down the hallway to the same room where Damien had stripped away the bloody wrap last night. Today, the room crackled with tension and the sheriff’s unfriendly vibes.

Emma settled in the same chair she’d sat in last night. Damien dragged a reading chair from the opposite corner and pulled it over to sit next to her. Making it known whose side he was on, she thought.

He wouldn’t have chosen hers had she not leveled with him about Caudillo. Hopefully the sheriff was not as good at seeing through her lies as Damien had been.

Sheriff Garcia waved off Damien’s offer of the black leather swivel chair and instead decided to prop his backside on the edge of the desk. A power position, she guessed, though as far as she was concerned his title of Sheriff provided that.

Cletus Markham rolled the leather chair into a position that let him face either the sheriff or Emma with a turn of his head.

Cletus made her more uneasy than the sheriff did. He was somewhere in the mid-fifties with gray, thinning hair and a body that suggested he made regular trips to the gym. He wore an expensive blue suit, a stiff-collared maroon shirt and a silk tie a shade or two darker than the shirt.

His formality set him apart from the jeans, sweater and Western boots Damien wore and even further apart from her in the slightly baggy jeans and loose-fitting sweater Carolina had let her borrow for the day.

The sheriff took her personal information, name, date of birth and address.

“So you live in Mexico?”

“I did. I don’t plan to return.”

“Don’t blame you for getting out,” Garcia said. “It’s getting dangerous down there, what with the drug cartels taking over. What took you there in the first place?”

“A relationship, but it ended months ago.”

The sheriff scratched behind his right ear and stared at the bandage on her arm. “What happened to your arm?”

“Julio tried to rape me. I fought him off and he swung a knife. It sliced my arm.”

“Julio?”

“The man who was found dead this morning. He drove the truck that smuggled me and many others across the border.”

Damien said almost nothing during the rest of the interrogation, but Cletus Markham made sure he earned his fee. He objected so many times, it was difficult for Emma to get her prearranged story out.

Finally, she interrupted the attorney. “I don’t have anything to hide. I didn’t kill Julio. The knife was never in my hands. Even if it had been, I would have been no match for him. I had Belle cradled in my rebozo and Julio was twice my size.”

“Was there anyone else in the truck or the trailer when the alleged rape attempt took place?” the sheriff asked.

“I’ve already told you that he kept me locked in the trailer after releasing the others. He drove for about fifteen minutes and then stopped again. That’s when he attacked me, and I resent the word
alleged
being used.”

“Ask your questions,” Cletus protested, “and stop trying to put words into my client’s mouth.”

The sheriff stared at Damien. “Does this joker have to be here?”

“He’s Emma’s attorney, so he has every right,” Damien countered.

This was fast becoming a circus.

“You say you didn’t have a knife, but you were engaged in a fight?” the sheriff said, rephrasing a question he’d already asked in a dozen different ways.

“I told you. He tried to rape me. I tried to stop him. We struggled and I finally got in one good kick that buckled his knees and took him down. I took off running and got away from the truck as fast as I could.”

“And when he went down, you think it’s possible that he fell on his knife.”

“We established that fact twenty minutes ago,” Cletus said.

“Where is this baby that you smuggled into the country now?”

“Mother’s watching her,” Damien answered. “And I can vouch for part of Emma’s story. I found her bleeding, freezing and cradling Belle on my spread out near Beaver Creek. All she asked for was shelter and food for the baby. Blake Benson came over and stitched up the arm.”

No mention of the aunt or the ditched car. It would only confuse the issue, Damien had suggested to her earlier.

Sheriff Garcia patted the pocket of his khaki uniform shirt as if feeling for a pack of cigarettes. Habit, no doubt. The pocket was empty.

“So let’s see if I have this clear, Emma,” the sheriff said. “You’re claiming accidental death while trying to defend yourself?”

“She’s told you what happened,” Cletus said. “Emma knows she made a mistake by smuggling Belle across the border, but she’s an American citizen who was being attacked. She had every right to defend herself.”

“The investigation is far from over,” the sheriff said. “I’m running fingerprints and DNA testing on the victim and the knife. It’s likely he has a record in the U.S. If he does, that will give us positive identification.”

“Then you’re not pressing any kind of charges against my client?” Cletus asked.

“That all depends.”

“On what?” Damien asked.

“Whether or not you want to take on the responsibility of seeing that she doesn’t flee. There aren’t many men I’d trust that way, but everyone in these parts knows that a Lambert is as good as his word.”

“I’m willing,” Damien said. “She can stay at the ranch and I’ll make certain she doesn’t leave the house unless I’m with her. Or unless one of my brothers is accompanying her.”

Cletus jumped to his feet. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“No need,” Damien said. “The decision is made.”

The sheriff crossed the room and stopped near Emma’s chair. His cold stare seemed to penetrate her skull.

“Even if Julio’s death was self-defense, if I find out that you were involved in the human-trafficking operation, I’ll do whatever I can to see that you get everything the law can throw at you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, and I would deserve it.”

“Now, what do you plan to do with that baby?”

“I’ll hire a private investigator to find the father,” Damien said.

“You realize I’ll have to notify Child Protective Services. They’ll investigate and handle this as they see fit.”

“Do what you have to,” Damien said. “But assure them she’s being well cared for.”

“I also have to notify the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agency,” Garcia said. “Of course, with the backlog ICE has, Belle may be in college before they get around to checking it out, unless this Juan Perez is an illegal with a criminal record.”

“Is that all?” Damien asked.

“That and the fact that the investigation into the victim’s death will be ongoing. If I want to get in touch with Emma, I expect her to be available, Damien.”

“You can reach me at my cell number twenty-four hours a day.”

“Then it’s settled. Emma, you can be exceedingly grateful that you were found by a Lambert.”

“I am.”

But the poisonous anger toward Caudillo was swelling inside her again. He’d reduced her to lies and schemes and fear that kept her from using her own name or reclaiming her life.

He’d robbed her of the person she was inside and left her a shell of the person she’d been.

She lost track of the conversation until Damien took her arm and his touch nudged her back into the present.

“Thanks,” she whispered as they walked the sheriff to the door.

“Hang in there, Emma. This will all work out.”

Easy for him to say. He didn’t know Caudillo…
yet
.

* * *

RELIEVED THAT THINGS HAD gone so well with the sheriff, Damien rejoined Cletus in the study. Cletus jumped up from his chair and closed the door. “What the hell were you thinking, Damien?”

Cletus’s reaction didn’t surprise him, but it did irritate him. “I’m helping out a woman in trouble. What part of that do you have a problem with?”

“How about the part where you just agreed to be responsible for a woman you know nothing about?”

“I know enough to believe she didn’t kill this Julio guy.”

“And how do you know that? Because she said it? Because she made gooey, innocent eyes at you? Because you have the hots for her?”

“I don’t make decisions based on hots, or colds, either, for that matter.”

“Or good sense, apparently. Did it cross your mind that the baby’s mother might not be dead? Emma Smith—not likely her real name—may be one of those women who can’t have children and doesn’t meet adoption criteria.”

“What’s your point?” Damien asked.

“She could have bought that baby on the black market. Then smuggling the infant into the U.S. makes sense. Believe me, that happens a lot more often than you think, though most find a safer way of getting back into the States.”

“She didn’t buy the baby.”

“Then how about the fact that for all we know she was the victim’s accomplice? Or she might be wanted by the law here and had to keep a low profile when crossing the border? There is any number of scenarios to explain why she’d be on that truck, none of them pretty.”

And none as bizarre as the story of the kidnapping. Yet Damien was convinced that Emma was telling the truth about Caudillo. If he was wrong about that, he’d never be able to trust his instincts again.

“Bottom line,” Cletus said, “is that you don’t need to be sticking your neck out for that woman.”

“That’s my decision to make.”

“Have you talked to Carolina and your brothers about her staying here?”

“I have, and they’re good with it.”

“If your father were here, he wouldn’t be.”

“I’m not so sure about that. Dad was the first to lend a hand when someone needed help.”

“He was always there when a
friend
needed help,” Cletus argued. “Emma Smith doesn’t fall into that category. Hugh was passionate about a lot of things, but he always got his facts straight before he made decisions. You’d be wise to do the same.”

Damien agreed. That’s why even though he trusted Emma, he was having Caudillo investigated. Quietly. Covertly. By a man he knew he could trust. He saw no reason to discuss that with Cletus.

“I appreciate your coming out today, Cletus. I know it was short notice and the roads are not in the best of shape.”

“They’re fine now, but the temperature is dropping down into the low twenties tonight, so by dark those bridges and overpasses will start icing up again.”

Cletus stuck out his hand. The handshake, signifying the discussion had finished, was firm and friendly in spite of their differences of opinion.

“Just be careful, Damien. This woman could be trouble.”

Cletus didn’t know the half of it.

* * *

CAROLINA STOOD AT THE oversize range and stirred the rich chocolaty mixture. The fragrant odor of snickerdoodle cookies baking in the oven filled the room.

Nothing like cookies and hot cocoa on a snowy afternoon.

The last time they’d had a good ground cover of snow was three years ago—when Hugh was still alive. She remembered it vividly. Hugh had insisted she go four-wheeling with him. They’d ridden all the way out to the north property line.

She’d made snow angels. He’d laughed and teased her about still being a kid. After he’d helped brush the snow from her backside, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. She’d felt as giddy as a schoolgirl.