Stonebrook Cottage. Carla Neggers
Their instructions to Kara were simple: stay out of it.
Jack found the injured-bluebird theory unpersuasive. Was the pool deck wet from rain, someone swimming, watering the flowers? What was Big Mike’s blood-alcohol level? Who else was at his rented house that day? Who owned the house? Kara had to explain Big Mike’s passion for the Eastern bluebird, a native species that had lost ground to the more aggressive starling and English sparrow non-native species that were also cavity nesters and competed with bluebirds in an increasingly scarce habitat. Mike had been a big promoter of bluebird trails, uninterrupted networks of bluebird houses suitable for nesting, thus encouraging a resurgence in the bluebird population.
Her brother had listened to her, dumbfounded. “A bluebird with a broken leg ends up in the pool of a man who happens to have a thing for bluebirds and can’t swim? I don’t buy it,” he’d said. “Not for one damn second.”
It was obvious his fellow Texas Ranger didn’t, either. Kara had tried to insert her own professional opinion into the conversation. “The police need proof of a crime.”
Jack was unmoved. “It’s not going to drop out of the sky into their laps. It’s their job to investigate.”
“They are —”
He’d turned his dark gaze onto her, but she’d never been intimidated by her brother. “Then why did a local detective check your story instead of one of the state detectives on the case?”
“Zoe West is new to Bluefield, but I understand she’s like that. Very independent. I’d bet the state cops would slap her down hard if they knew she was meddling in their investigation. It doesn’t mean a thing that they haven’t called me themselves—I’m the last person anyone would suspect of killing Big Mike.”
She’d hated even saying it. Killing Big Mike.
“Who else knew he couldn’t swim?” her brother asked.
“I don’t know.”
Jack didn’t like that, either. There wasn’t anything about the events in Connecticut that he or Sam liked. “No one wants the unsolved murder of a governor on their hands. I understand that. If it’s an accident, it’s over. Everyone can move on. What toes do the investigators have to step on even to look into this as a possible homicide?”
Kara saw his point, but disagreed with it and didn’t mind saying so. “If you and Sam were in their place, would you worry about what toes you stepped on? Not a chance. You wouldn’t give up until you were satisfied that you knew exactly how Big Mike died. Give Connecticut law enforcement some credit. I think they’re inclined to regard what happened as an accident because that’s what the evidence suggests—”
“Then they know something we don’t know or they’re idiots.”
Sam concurred. “Jack’s right. This thing stinks.”
Kara knew it did, too, but she couldn’t resist arguing with them. Maybe it was the attorney in her—maybe it just gave her something to do instead of worrying about Henry and Lillian. More likely, it kept her from looking at Sam the wrong way and alerting her brother to what they’d done after they’d had coffee two weeks ago.
“Lord,” she muttered as she reached her car, “no wonder I have a bad stomach.”
She’d forgotten about the two home pregnancy test kits still in her tote bag when she’d dug out the kids’ cards and letters. She could just imagine the scene if either man had spotted them.
“Kara—wait up.” Susanna trotted down the walk to Kara’s car, coming around to the driver’s side. “Are you all right? That was a little rough in there. I’d like to strangle those two. You’d think you were a murder suspect.”
“I’m fine, Susanna. Thanks. I put up with that kind of attitude all the time in my work. I didn’t tell anyone Big Mike couldn’t swim. I didn’t push him into his pool. End of story. I just want to find Henry and Lillian.”
“I know. But do you think Governor Parisi was murdered?”
“I’m trying hard not to get too far ahead of the facts. Anyway, I have no say—it’s up to the investigators.”
Her sister-in-law crossed her arms on her chest, the milky, humid darkness deepening the green in her eyes. “You hid it well tonight, Kara, but I know something happened between you and Sam at the Gordon Temple opening. Come on. I know. I admit he’s one of my favorites, but he’s not—well, you’re not stupid. You know what Sam’s like.”
Sexy, straightforward, independent, dedicated to his work as a Texas Ranger. Ambitious. People liked him—Jack often said Sam could be governor if he ever wanted to quit the Rangers and go into politics. But who knew what Sam Temple wanted? Kara remembered him smiling at her over coffee, so unexpectedly easy to talk to. Her heart had jumped, and something more than superficial desire seemed to suffuse her mind and body, awaken her to a longing so deep and complicated she didn’t know how to describe it.
Since that night, she’d tried to dismiss what she’d felt—what she’d done—simply as a by-product of the shock of learning about Big Mike’s death. But it was more than that, only it didn’t matter now. Whatever Sam Temple had been to her, those sixteen hours were over. She didn’t have to understand what had happened between them because it would never be repeated. Their lovemaking was like some kind of out-of-time experience that would stay with her forever—she didn’t hold it against him.
But her brother would.
“Sam’s the classic dangerous man,” Susanna went on.
“Yes, I know.” Kara managed a smile. “I promised myself when I moved back here that I’d stay away from Texas Rangers. Having one for a brother is bad enough. They’re all know-it-all rock heads.”
Susanna laughed. “Well, if it’s a question of rock heads, you fit right in, Kara. Honestly. Sam? What were you thinking? ” She held up a hand, stopping Kara from answering. “Never mind. You weren’t thinking.”
“What happened was just as much my responsibility as Sam’s.”
“Jack won’t see it that way.”
An understatement. “He doesn’t suspect—”
“No. He hasn’t thrown Sam out a window.” Susanna dropped her arms, shaking her head with affection. “You were away a long time, Kara. A part of Jack still sees you as his naive little sister, not an experienced, thirty-four-year-old professional.”
Not so experienced when it came to sex, Kara thought, stifling a surge of awkwardness. At least Sam didn’t know how inexperienced. “Jack can mind his own damn business. I haven’t seen or heard from Sam since we—since the opening.” She paused, the heat settling over her, making her feel claustrophobic, unable to breathe. “It’s over.”
Susanna eyed her sister-in-law knowingly, skeptically. “Nothing’s over. I saw you two tonight, Kara. Don’t kid yourself.” She pulled open Kara’s car door, touched her shoulder gently. “Go on. See about those kids. I hope they’re back in their beds at the ranch by now. Jack’s getting ready to saddle up and go over there—”
“He doesn’t have to.”
“I wouldn’t try to tell him what he has to and doesn’t have to do right now. He’s on a tear.”
“What about Sam?”
“Ditto, I would think.”
Kara nodded, holding back sudden tears. Nausea burned up into her throat, cloying, bringing a tremble to her knees. Maybe it wasn’t nausea—maybe it was fear. But she rallied, easing behind the wheel of her car. “They’re scrappers, those two.” She hesitated. “Susanna—I don’t have to ask you to keep this conversation between us, do I?”
“Absolutely not. Jack’s mad enough as it is about the kids and this bluebird theory.”