I looking at the death penalty?”
“No. They’ll charge you with first-degree murder. Only capital murder carries the death penalty in Texas, and for this case to be classified as capital murder, there would have to be other factors involved.”
“Other factors?”
“Like the victim was a police officer. Or the murder was intentionally committed in the course of another felony. Or more than one person was killed as part of the same scheme or course of conduct. The most severe sentence you can get for a first-degree murder charge is life in prison.”
“That sounds the same as death to me.” Elbows on the table, he tented his fingers in front of his mouth and blew a stream of air through them. “Give it to me straight. My chances don’t look good, do they?”
If she had more experience, maybe she would have been ready for the question. She’d have a prepared spiel that was both comforting and realistic. As it was, she didn’t have a clue what to say.
“That bad, huh?”
“No. Not that bad. We’ll get to the truth, Bart. I promise.”
He dropped his arms to his sides and looked deeply into her eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Wellington.”
“You can call me Lindsey.”
“Thank you, Lindsey.”
A shiver crept up her spine at the sound of his Texas drawl caressing her name. But this time the shiver wasn’t only the result of physical attraction, it was one of fear. Because this time, losing didn’t mean embarrassing herself in moot court or lowering her grade point average.
This time losing could cost a man his freedom.
Chapter Two
Bart grimaced as the needle sank into the tender spot at the inside of his elbow. Once the needle was in place, Doc Swenson attached the vacuum tube, filling the vial with deep red blood. His blood. Blood that, if he was lucky, might still be spiked with Rohypnol or some other drug. “Damn.”
Lindsey Wellington leaned her sweet body close. The scent of roses tickled his nose. Her shiny chestnut hair draped over one shoulder and brushed his arm despite the clips securing it back from her face. “Does it hurt?”
“What, the possibility of being a victim of the date-rape drug? Damn straight it hurts. It hurts my sense of manhood.”
A smile teased the corners of her soft-looking lips. “I doubt your sense of manhood is that fragile.”
“Maybe not when you’re around. You’re ladylike enough to make even a gelding feel like a stud.”
That pretty pink color stained her cheeks again. God, she was a beautiful woman, delicate as a China doll with her clear blue eyes, porcelain skin and long, silky hair. But that wasn’t all. In addition to looks, Lindsey Wellington had intelligence to burn and a refined Boston accent that reminded him of the Kennedy family.
And she was his lawyer. Amazing.
With the possible exception of Paul Lambert and Don Church, he’d grown up with a healthy belief that lawyers were bloodsuckers at best, sharks at worst. But Lindsey Wellington had destroyed every preconceived notion in his head the moment he laid eyes on her.
It was a damn shame he hadn’t met her last week, last month. Before he had a murder charge hanging over his head. Maybe he wouldn’t have been at Hit ’Em Again last night. Maybe he would have been too busy trying to win her to be hanging out at the local watering hole. It was a twist of fate too cruel to be believed that he’d finally found a woman who set a spur in his side when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Doc Swenson pulled the filled vial from the needle in his arm, capped it and attached an empty one in its place. More blood flowed.
“Are you planning to drain me dry, Doc?”
The crusty old coot peered at him over little reading glasses. “Word has it you’re the one draining people dry, Bart. The whole town is talking about what you did to your uncle Jeb.”
He should have known. He’d been arrested just this morning, but waiting for a bail hearing had taken much of the day. He shouldn’t be surprised that the news of his arrest for murdering Jeb had already swept through town. Gossip traveled fast in Mustang Valley. Especially gossip over something as juicy as family feuds and murder. Of course Doc would have learned about Jeb’s murder even without the gossip. Jeb’s body was probably waiting in the autopsy room this very minute for Mustang Valley’s only doctor and coroner to poke and prod. “I didn’t kill Jeb, Doc.”
Doc waved a hand, as if he hadn’t believed it from the beginning. But the sharpness in his old blue eyes suggested different. He nodded at Bart’s arm. “What do you want this blood for, anyway?”
“We want to have it tested for any kind of drug that might have altered Bart’s consciousness. We also need a urinalysis done for Rohypnol or any similar tranquilizer,” Lindsey explained.
Doc capped the second vial, pulled out the needle and snapped off the rubber tourniquet wrapping Bart’s biceps. Rummaging through stacks of supplies on the adjacent counter, he grabbed a plastic specimen cup. He held it out to Bart. “Fill this.”
Bart looked down at the cup and shifted his boots on the floor. Discussing bodily functions had never bothered him before. He was a cowboy born and bred, used to dealing with anything cattle or horses could come up with. But somehow with Lindsey looking on, his bodily functions took on an entirely different meaning. And focus. He forced himself to take the cup from Doc’s hand.
“So you think he got drugged up the night of Jeb’s murder?” Doc smiled stiffly at Lindsey, the old buzzard’s best shot at charm.
Lindsey ignored the doc’s question. “When can you have the results?”
Doc’s smile faded. “We don’t have a lab here. Got to send the sample out.”
Lindsey nodded and fished a card from her briefcase. She scrawled something on the back and handed it to the doc. “Here’s the lab I’d like it sent to. And on the back, I’ve written my home address. Have them send the results there and to my office. I want to make sure I see them as soon as they come in.”
Doc took the card. “Could take a few days, could take a few months, depending on how busy the lab is. Then there’s always the chance the drug won’t show up at all.”
“What do you mean? If it’s in his system, it should show up, right?”
Doc scowled down at Bart. “Boy, what time did you take those drugs last night?”
“I didn’t take drugs, Doc.”
“Well, what the hell is this good-looking lady asking me about then?”
“Someone might have put something in my beer last night when I wasn’t paying attention. A drug to make me black out.”
“More likely you just got a little too friendly with a whiskey bottle.”
Bart
