her usual with coffee.
The waitress returned quickly with their drinks. Cannon took a hefty swig of the beer, wiped his mouth on the white cotton napkin and plunged right into the reason they were there.
“I enjoy a good mystery as much as the next guy, but not when I’m playing a supporting role. So let’s get to the nitty-gritty of this. What makes you think I’m Kimmie’s father?”
“I don’t just think it. I’m reasonably certain. When we searched her apartment after Sylvie’s murder, I found a file that contained a legal document that she’d downloaded from the internet. It wasn’t notarized, but nonetheless, it was still clearly her intent that her written wishes be upheld.”
“And this document mentioned me by name?”
“Yes. It specified that in the case of her death or an injury that left her mentally or physically incapacitated, Cannon Dalton, the biological father of her daughter Kimmie, should be notified that he had a daughter.”
“There must be more than one Cannon Dalton in Texas.”
“Not one whose father owns the Dry Gulch Ranch.”
“She put that in there, too?”
“Yes, either you told her the night she got pregnant or she did some research to make sure Kimmie ended up in the right hands.”
“So you’re just relying on a computer document that anyone could have printed out and Sylvie never mentioned my name to you while she was pregnant?”
“The form was filed with other important papers. I have no reason to believe it was false.”
“Whose baby did you think she was carrying?” A husband’s? A fiancé’s? A current lover’s?
“It’s a very complicated situation, but the truth is I had never met Sylvie. I didn’t even know she existed until she was murdered.”
Brit stirred a packet of sweetener into her coffee and then took a sip before meeting Cannon’s penetrating gaze.
“How is it you didn’t know your twin sister?”
This was getting sticky. She’d rather not delve into her personal life with Cannon. On the other hand, he was Kimmie’s father. She had to tell him something.
Brit explained as succinctly as possible about being called to the morgue, glossing over how intensely disturbing it had been to see what looked like a waxed copy of herself laid out on the metal slab.
“A simple DNA test proved that we were twins,” Brit said, “and that Sylvie was Kimmie’s biological mother. By the time that was verified, I was neck-deep in the murder investigation.”
“That’s tough. I wish I could be more help,” Cannon said, “but this came at me from out of the blue. Right now I’m drawing a blank about that night.”
“I think the appropriate next step for you would be to have DNA testing to determine for certain that you are Kimmie’s father.”
“I agree. Any suggestions as to how to best go about that?”
“We have a lab here in town that handles the overflow from the police department. That would be the quickest bet. I can call now and find out if they can see you in the morning.”
“Then let’s get this rolling.”
She made the call while Cannon finished his beer and worried the salt shaker with his free hand. She could easily understand his being disturbed by the news he was almost certainly a father.
Fortunately, the lab was able to accommodate.
“They’ll see you at nine in the morning,” she said once she’d broken the phone connection.
“Where is this lab?”
“Not far from here.” She took a business card from her pocket and jotted down the street and web addresses of the lab on the back of the card before handing it to him. “You can get a map with directions at the website as well as pretest instructions about what you can and can’t eat or drink before coming in.”
“I can handle that. When will I get the results?”
“I’ll request a rush, but it depends on how backed up they are at the lab. We should hear in about three days.”
“That seems like long time for a rush.”
“It’s a very busy lab, but extremely reliable. You won’t have to stay in Houston. They’ll call you when the analysis is complete. Be sure to check the box on the form you sign for them that you want phone notification.”
Cannon took another swig of beer, scrunched his napkin and then turned his attention back to Brit. “Once you suspected I was the father, why didn’t you bring Kimmie to me instead of to the Dry Gulch Ranch? I don’t live there now and never have.”
“Your father was easier to locate.”
“Wrong answer. You’re a hotshot detective. You could have found me had you wanted to. I’m sure you checked out R.J. and me before you dropped off a helpless infant.”
Right again. He wasn’t as gullible as she’d expected and definitely not awed by her badge.
“I did investigate you, Cannon. You went into the Marines right out of high school. You list your uncle’s ranch near Midland as your permanent address, but he said you haven’t actually lived there in years. You have never been married and have no arrest record.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m trying to find Sylvie’s killer and I didn’t have time to chase you down at a rodeo. And I wasn’t about to leave my niece at a dirty arena with a bunch of sweaty cowboys and smelly livestock.”
“Don’t pretty it up on my account.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is new, but this has all been rather shocking to me, as well. Once I learned that your father lived on a large ranch surrounded by family, I decided they could handle taking care of Kimmie and getting you in to see me.”
“Fair enough, but if you disapprove of me and my lifestyle so vehemently, why drop her off at all? You could have raised her yourself. I didn’t know she existed.”
“That would have been illegal and unethical once I found that document. Besides, I couldn’t in good conscience ignore my sister’s written wishes.”
Not to mention that she’d tried caring for Kimmie and found it nearly impossible to work night and day on finding Sylvie’s killer, work the rest of her cases and take on the extremely demanding job of taking care of an infant.
She couldn’t begin to imagine how Cannon would handle it, but he was the father. He’d have to work out something.
“Where is Kimmie now?” Brit asked.
“At the Dry Gulch Ranch, but that’s temporary. I don’t have any ties with R. J. Dalton and I don’t want him
