leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, frowning thoughtfully. She was still shaken by Marc’s unexpected appearance, but her mind was sharp and she focused on the matter at hand. “According to my research, Dale Jennings has a mother, a widow. She’s practically an invalid. Just recently she fell for some sort of financial scam. She lost her life savings and her home. She was going to be evicted this week. Dale knew. I can’t help but think his murder has something to do with that. Maybe he was trying to get money for her in some way.”
“You think he was blackmailing somebody, and his victim hired a killer to stop him?”
Josette nodded slowly. “It’s conjecture, of course. But what if he had information that would hurt somebody? Bib Webb, for example. And what if he demanded money for his silence? Webb stands to lose everything if he’s involved in another scandal. Nobody would believe that he was an innocent bystander if he was connected with a second murder. Besides, he’s ahead in the polls in the senate race. Being proven guilty of murder would sure sour his chances of election.”
“He’s the lieutenant governor, and a successful businessman,” Simon reminded her.
“Only successful because his partner, Garner, died,” she reminded him right back.
“Yes, and Garner was a widower with no children. Webb was named sole beneficiary.”
“He inherited those millions and used his inheritance to buy into a successful agricultural concern and the balance went into the coffers for his political campaign. He won the lieutenant governor race two years ago, although a lot of people said he won it by default, by having his staff dig up dirt on his opponent and forcing him out of the race with it.”
“That was never proved,” Simon reminded her.
“I know. But Jake Marsh’s name was mentioned, and not only in connection with Dale. Now, Webb is well on his way to the nomination for the United States Senate. He’s a rising star.”
“There’s one little hole in your theory, Josette. Murderers don’t usually stop at one murder, unless they’re crimes of passion,” Simon remarked, thinking out loud.
“Nobody stood in Webb’s way until now. If Dale Jennings had something on him, some sort of proof, what would a man in Webb’s position do?”
“First, he’d make sure proof existed.”
“I don’t know how there could have been any tangible proof since nobody saw Mr. Garner’s murder. The only real evidence was the blackjack they found in the passenger seat of Dale’s car. I never saw it, but he didn’t deny that it was his. He never pointed his finger at anybody else. I don’t see what could have spooked anybody into killing him. No, if there was blackmail, there had to be something else, something that would prove Webb guilty of something besides Garner’s death. But the burden of proof will be on us. Otherwise Dale’s death will be another senseless, unsolved homicide.”
“Okay. Take the ball and run with it. But you have to work with Brannon.” He held up a hand when she started to protest. “I know, he’s a pain in the neck and he’s prejudiced against you. But he’ll balance your prejudice against Webb. Besides, he’s one of the best investigators I’ve ever known. I got involved in this to put Jake Marsh away. That’s still my primary goal. I think he’s involved. If he is, the investigation is going to get dangerous. Brannon,” he mused, “is good protection. He’s a master quick-draw artist, and he can even outshoot my brother Rey.”
“Rey won medals in national skeet-shooting competition,” Josette recalled.
“He’s still winning them, national and international ones, too, these days.” He stood up. “Keep this conversation to yourself,” he added sternly. “The governor and Webb are good friends. Webb has powerful allies. I don’t want to get anyone in San Antonio in trouble. We’re investigating a murder that we hope we can link to a notorious mobster who’s probably paid off a lot of people. Period.”
“I’ll be discreet.”
“I hope you and Brannon and the San Antonio CID can turn up something on Marsh. And the sooner the better,” Simon added with a wry smile. “Because I’ll go loopy if Phil Douglas has to take over your job as well as his own.”
“Phil’s a nice boy, and a good cybercrime investigator,” she defended her colleague.
“He’s a computer expert with a superhero complex. He’ll drive me batty.”
“You’re the attorney general,” Josette reminded him. “Send him on a fact-finding trip.”
“There’s a thought. I’ve always wanted to know what the police department’s computer system looks like in Mala Suerte.”
“Mala Suerte is a border town with a population of sixteen, most of whom don’t speak English. Phil isn’t bilingual,” she pointed out.
Simon smiled.
Josette held up a hand. “I’m history. I’ll report in regularly, to keep you posted.”
“You do that.”
She nodded, picked up her files and left.
But once she was outside in the hall, the pleasant expression left her face and she felt as if her knees wouldn’t even support her. Running into Marc unexpectedly like that had shattered her. It had been two years since she’d set eyes on him, since the trial that had made him her worst enemy. She felt drained from the conflict. She only wanted to go home, kick off her shoes, and curl up on the sofa and watch a good black-and-white movie with her cat Barnes. But she’d have to pack instead. Tomorrow, she had to go back to San Antonio and face not only a murder investigation, but the pain of her own past.
Josette walked back into her office and stopped dead. Marc Brannon was still around and he was now occupying her desk chair. His Stetson was sitting on one of the chairs in front of her desk. Marc was sitting behind her desk, in her swivel chair, with his size thirteen highly polished brown boots propped insolently on her desk. Her heart jumped up into her throat for the second time in less than an hour. Despite the years in between, she still reacted to his presence like a starstruck fan. It made her angry that she had so little resistance to a man who’d helped ruin her life. His angry words from two years ago still blistered her pride, in memory.
“I thought you left,” she said shortly. “And I don’t remember inviting you into my office,” she added, slamming the door behind her.
“I didn’t think I needed an invitation. We’re partners,” Brannon drawled, watching her with those glittery gray eyes that didn’t even seem to blink.
“Not my idea,” she replied promptly. She put the files down beside his boots and stood staring at him. He didn’t look a day older than he had when she’d first met him. But he was. There were silver threads just visible at his temples where his thick blond-streaked brown hair waved just a little over his jutting brow. His long legs were muscular. She knew how fast he could run, because she’d seen him chase down horses. She’d seen him ride them, too. He was a champion bronc buster.
“You think Bib Webb hired a hit man to kill Jennings,” he said at once.
“I think somebody did,” Josette corrected. “I don’t rush to judgment.”
“Insinuating
