“Offer the girl a million dollars.”
Matthew frowned. “Pardon me?”
“I’ll pay her a million dollars to keep from dragging this through the courts. I’m sure the greedy little witch will take it.”
“I strongly advise against this. Let me—”
Rob cut him short. “I’m not asking for your advice. I’m ordering you to make her an offer. If you have a problem with it, I can find another attorney.”
Matt’s first impulse was to tell him to do exactly that, but he’d made a promise to his dad and he wouldn’t go back on his word. Besides, there was something going on that made him very curious—his dad’s reluctance to move on the case and the date on the document, among other things. He had to find the answers for his own peace of mind.
Giving in to Rob’s highhandedness wasn’t in his nature, though. He’d been an attorney, and a successful one, for a long time and he didn’t like being talked to like some hack for hire.
He got slowly to his feet, his eyes narrowed with a warning his colleagues knew well. “It’s my job to advise you.”
By the glint in Rob’s eyes, Matthew could see that he was debating whether to tell him to go to hell or to see if the New York lawyer could live up to his reputation. As the blue eyes darted away, Matthew knew the latter impulse had won.
Rob ran a quick hand through his expertly groomed hair. “Hell, man, I know you’re a good lawyer and I trust your judgment, but this whole situation has my family in turmoil. I just want it settled, and I’d rather spend the money than put the family through a long court battle.”
“If your mind is set on this, I’ll make the offer,” Matthew conceded. He knew it was useless to try to persuade him otherwise.
“Fine,” Rob muttered. “You’ll find her at the Watson place. I’ll be waiting for her answer.” With that he turned abruptly and headed for the door. Suddenly he turned back. “A note of caution. Don’t let her wrap you around her finger like she did your father.”
Matthew frowned. What was Rob talking about? His father wouldn’t be involved with C. J. Doe; he was the Townsends’ lawyer. He shook his head. There was so much he didn’t understand. The confusion made him more determined than ever to solve the mystery between his father and C. J. Doe.
LATE AT NIGHT, a light burned in the law offices of Dylan, Kent and Reed in Austin, Texas. Attorney Stephen Reed was hard at work. He had a lot to catch up on after six months in France. He heard a noise and glanced up. A big man with a mask over his face stood framed in the doorway. The gun in his hand pointed at Stephen.
“What do you want?” Stephen asked in a barely audible voice.
“Victoria Townsend’s will,” came the shocking reply.
“That’s confidential and—”
“Are you willing to die for it?” the man asked.
“No.” Stephen headed for the safe, which was installed behind a painting. With a shaky hand, he pulled back the picture. He quickly turned the dial to the correct numbers and the safe swung open.
He saw the gun kept there, on top of the papers. It was his only chance. His hand closed over the cold steel and he turned swiftly around. Before he could pull the trigger the man fired and Stephen fell to the floor.
The man jerked the mask from his face and stepped over the body. Pulling several documents out of the safe, the man searched until he found what he wanted. “Bingo.” The will of Victoria Cober Townsend, dated one year ago. Hastily he put the other documents back and closed the safe.
As he turned to leave, a rattle of keys sounded and a security guard entered the office. Another gunshot echoed in the room. The guard toppled to the carpet.
DALE WEEKS HELD the will in his hand and dialed a number. “I’ve got it,” he said.
“Good,” the voice on the other end answered. “Is it what I expected?”
“Yeah, she tells everything she knew or suspected and changed her will accordingly. It’s very interesting. You really should read it.”
“I have no interest in reading that garbage. Destroy it. Do you understand me?”
“Sure, that’s what you’re paying for. There’s just one small problem.”
“What?”
“Reed was in the office and I had to shoot him…and the security guard.”
“Why?”
“It was unavoidable. Besides, no one’ll ever know the safe was broken into. They’ll think the guard interrupted a routine robbery. Your secret is safe. Trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone, Weeks, especially you. Just make sure your tracks are covered.”
Dale Weeks hung up the phone, then stared at the document in his hand. A smile twisted his lips. So many secrets. A shame no one would ever know. Except him.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT DAY Matthew headed out to the Watsons’ place with mixed emotions. He knew he could break the will. The task would require a little finesse, but he could do it. He should have made that clearer to Rob, but somehow he hadn’t. The memory of a little girl with a face that never smiled swam before his eyes. Maybe it was time that girl got a break in this world.
God, what was he thinking? He was the Townsends’ attorney!
Had the same thing happened to his father? The will should have been broken weeks ago. What had kept his dad from doing his job? Then there was the date on the will; he wouldn’t keep something like that from a client, would he? And if he had, it must’ve been for a very good reason. At times, his dad had cared about people so much that he’d become involved in their lives, as friend, confidant and advisor more than lawyer. Was that what had happened with C. J. Doe? Well, it was time to meet the lady and answer some of his questions.
The Watsons’ place was on a country road not far from Seven Trees, the Cober mansion and ranch. He drove to the entrance. The gate was firmly locked and the signs that greeted him were hardly welcoming. Posted. Keep Out. No Trespassing. The Watsons weren’t the most hospitable people in Coberville. Now what? he thought.
He could see the house on a hill through the trees and two trucks parked by the garage. Someone had to be home. He slipped out of his suit coat, loosened his tie, got out of the truck and climbed over the gate. He’d come here to see C. J. Doe, and he intended to do so.
Brushing dust from his dark slacks, he reminded himself that he needed to change his wardrobe. Coberville didn’t call for expensive suits and custom-made boots.
As he walked, he sucked air into his lungs, enjoying the outdoors. He had forgotten the freedom and freshness of country life. The place was almost magical with the smell of spring, towering oak trees, green grasses; the small lake in the distance triggered memories of lazy Sunday afternoons spent fishing with his dad. Had he changed so much from that country boy? With a regretful sigh, he knew he had.
Now
