Big Shot (16 page)

“You got it, but don’t wear her out with questions, Mom. She needs rest.”

“No interrogation,” Carolina promised. “Other than to ask what she’d like to drink.”

“I’d love a glass of iced tea,” Meghan said as she followed Carolina to the back of the house.

“I hope you like vegetable beef soup.”

“Soup sounds terrific.” And she was getting hungry now that her earlier bout with nausea had passed.

“Most of the vegetables were grown in our garden last summer and then frozen. And, of course, the beef is from Bent Pine cattle. It’s the best beef money can buy. My sons Tague and Damien will point that out to you before you leave—several times.”

“Durk told me that I worked a case for Tague and Alexis recently. He thinks I may have also met Damien and Emma briefly at the hunting camp where Damien, Alexis and her son were staying.”

“You did. I told Alexis and Emma that you were coming, and they can’t wait to see you. They’re both out running errands this afternoon, but they’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll try to get some rest before they arrive so I’ll be decent company.”

“You can meet the rest of the family later, as well, but only when you’re ready. We can be a bit overwhelming even for people who aren’t recuperating.”

Meghan stood at the end of a huge farmhouse kitchen table while Carolina filled three glasses with ice. Her first impression of the interior of the Lambert house was that it was the most welcoming and comfortable house she’d ever been in.

Her first impression of Carolina Lambert was that she was absolutely stunning. She walked with a grace that movie stars would have envied. Her smile lit up a room. Her style was simple, classic and impeccable. She was probably somewhere in her early fifties, but she was in great shape and had almost no wrinkles.

Her creased jeans were neither too loose nor too tight, but looked as if they’d been tailored personally for Carolina. Her white cotton shirt was tucked in at the waist and topped with a simple black leather belt. She wore stylish ankle boots and a pair of gold earrings. Her wedding ring set was also gold. The single diamond that adorned it was at least three carats.

But it was the effect she had on Meghan that made the biggest impact. They’d met only minutes ago, but already Meghan felt as if they were old friends.

Not that anyone could actually qualify as an old friend in her mind until the amnesia ran its course.

Carolina poured the tea from an antique cut glass pitcher. She set one of the glasses next to Meghan and proceeded to ladle soup that had been simmering on the range into two cobalt-colored bowls.

“Can I help with something?” Meghan asked.

“You can get two of the blue flowered napkins from that drawer just behind you, the one nearest the dishwasher.”

Having a useful task to do made Meghan feel even more like a friend instead of a needy stray Durk had dragged home with him. She was sure that was Carolina’s intention. The woman had Texas hospitality down to a fine art.

By the time Durk rejoined them, Meghan and Carolina had settled on a huge glassed-in porch with a view of the horse stables and beyond that the fenced pastures that seemed to stretch out endlessly.

“I hung your garment bag in the closet and I set the gray leather bag on the luggage rack for you to unpack after you’ve rested.”

“Thank you.”

Durk took the empty chair. “Now I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

And eat he did, with such relish that he was fun to watch. He finished off two bowls of soup and two large squares of cornbread slathered in butter. After that, he still had room for apple pie à la mode.

Meghan ate half a bowl of soup and half a square of cornbread. She was afraid to trust her stomach to more.

“I don’t see how you eat like that and stay so thin,” she said as Durk forked the last bite of his pie.

“I only eat like this when I’m at the ranch. Trust me, nowhere in the world do you get home cooking like this.”

“It is delicious,” Meghan agreed and turned to Carolina. “Do you do the cooking or do you have a chef?”

“I don’t know if she qualifies as a chef, but Alda cooks breakfast and lunch during the week. Tague and Damien both keep ranchers’ hours and since they get up with the sun, they’re ready for their big meal about one. Most weekday evenings we have leftovers or a casserole that Alda prepares before she goes home around four.”

“Mom shocked us all when she hired Alda to do the cooking,” Durk said. “When I was growing up, she wouldn’t let anyone near the range but her.”

“But now I have grandchildren,” Carolina said, “and a difficult time saying no to positions on the boards of my pet charitable organizations. But I get plenty of opportunity to cook on the weekends when we all kick in. Damien’s grilling steaks tonight.”

“Where is everybody now?” Durk asked.

“Your sisters-in-law and their little ones are running errands. Your grandmother retired to her bedroom after lunch to watch those old movies she loves so much, and your Aunt Sybil is napping.”

“And the nurse?” Durk asked.

“She’s around here somewhere. I’ll send her to the guest room as soon as Meghan has finished lunch.”

Meghan’s relaxed mood vanished in a heartbeat. She glared at Durk. “You surely didn’t hire a nurse for me?”

“You’ve suffered a concussion and you’re still reeling from the effects.”

“But you should have at least asked me first.”

“I don’t see why. I took responsibility for you when I brought you to the ranch. Besides, it’s not a big deal.”

It wasn’t a big deal to him, but it was to her. It was… It was… It… She gave up trying to find excuses and faced the truth.

She was losing control of her life.

Not that it was Durk’s fault, but she still didn’t like to be treated as if she couldn’t make decisions for herself.

Meghan pushed back from the table. “You’re right, Durk. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry for sounding so ungrateful. It’s just that I’m frustrated and tired.”

Carolina set down her nearly empty glass and stood. “Why don’t I show you to your room now, Meghan? And you should know that hiring the nurse isn’t solely Durk’s doing. I’d decided to hire a nurse even before I knew Durk was bringing you to the ranch.”

And now even Carolina thought she was an unappreciative shrew. “It’s okay,” Meghan said. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I should if it helps ease the tension,” Carolina insisted. “I don’t know if Durk told you, but his aunt Sybil has pleurisy. It’s not serious, but I have some other pressing responsibilities that require my time and attention this week and I wanted to make sure Sybil’s recovery went smoothly.”

Like mother, like son. Thoughtful and caring. And now Meghan really felt ungrateful for getting bent out of shape over the nurse. The Lamberts had welcomed her into their lives. Meghan was certain both Durk and Carolina were sorry they’d bothered.

“I’ll walk Meghan to her room,” Durk said. “We need to talk.”

Carolina picked up their two bowls and Durk’s pie saucer. “In that case, I’ll just take care of these dishes.”

“I could help,” Meghan offered.

“Next time. You get some rest and we’ll talk later.”

Officially dismissed, Meghan followed Durk out of the kitchen and down a hallway. He walked ahead, his stride long and purposeful. The tension between them swelled.

He stopped, opened a door and ushered her inside. “This is your room for the duration. If it doesn’t suit you, you can have mine and I’ll sleep in here.”

“I said I’m sorry, Durk. I can still go to a hotel. And I can pay for my own nurse.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. “Do you ever just give it up and give a guy a chance, Meghan?”

“You’re the one who insisted I come here.”

“And now I’m trying to figure out why.”

Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. The kiss came as such a shock. She didn’t have time to respond before he’d pulled away.

“Get some rest.”

Her head was spinning as he turned and walked away. She didn’t know what the kiss was about, but she did know that whatever passion they’d once shared hadn’t all disappeared with the breakup.

She’d think about it later—when the imminent identification of a killer became more than a promise lost in the treacherous void that threatened to swallow her past.

* * *

“
G
OOD BREWSKI
,” Durk said. He took another gulp of the cold brew and hooked his heels around the bottom rung of the wooden fence that circled the corral.

“Nothing like a cold one after a fast ride,” Tague agreed. He kicked a clump of mud from his boot before leaning against the fence post near where Damien and Durk had perched.

“I’ll drink to that,” Damien added. The brothers clinked bottles as a young mare started toward them and then skittishly galloped off to where some of the other horses were sticking their noses into a clump of fresh hay.

“I needed that ride almost as much as I needed this week at the ranch,” Durk said. “It gets crazy in the oil business. Everybody knows what you should do, but they aren’t the ones putting their heads in the noose if the project goes belly-up.”

“Glad it’s you holding those reins and not me,” Tague said. “It’s bad enough fighting the Washington bureaucrats who know nothing about ranching but spend their time sitting around dreaming up new regulations.”

“So what’s the deal with you and Meghan?” Tague asked, finally approaching the topic they’d all been talking around. “Are you two in a relationship or is this just a land and rescue operation?”

“It’s an act of friendship. Meghan’s having a rough go of it. Not only is she bruised and battered, but losing her memory and having her assistant murdered have left her in a seriously vulnerable position. Once I realized that, I could hardly just walk away.”

“Doesn’t she have family?” Tague asked.

“A married sister in Connecticut. But Lucy’s out of commission herself. She’s eight months pregnant and the doctor has ordered total bed rest.”

“Tough luck,” Damien said. “I guess Meghan doesn’t remember her sister, either.”

“No, and she hasn’t even talked with her by phone yet. I’ve been keeping Lucy and her husband up-to-date on Meghan’s condition.”

“Why doesn’t Meghan talk to her?” Tague asked.

“I think she’s afraid that if she talks to Lucy and it doesn’t jog her memory then nothing else will. She’s not ready to face that.”

“I’m not up on amnesia,” Damien admitted, “but I wouldn’t think Meghan could lose her memory permanently if there’s no measurable brain damage.”

“From what I’ve researched on the internet and what Dr. Levy said, that would be extremely rare, unless there are extenuating emotional issues at play. But she may go months or forever without remembering events immediately surrounding the attack.”

Damien finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on the ground at his feet. “So what you’re saying is that even when she regains her memory, she may not be able to identify the man who attacked her and likely killed her assistant.”

“That’s about the size of it. In the meantime, the killer is still out there. But we have had some developments that could be helpful. I know I don’t need to tell you that what I’m about to share should stay between us for now.”

“However you want it handled, bro.” Damien spoke for his brother.

Durk explained the message Detective Smart had replayed for them, the visit from Meghan’s “brother” and the chat they’d had with Connie Latimer.

“So you think Meghan could still be in danger?” Damien asked.

“Not on the ranch with all three of us and twenty or more wranglers armed for rattlers around. He’s not going to risk getting shot after all the trouble he’s gone to in order to cover his tracks.”

“What you’re saying is the bastard doesn’t mind killing, as long as he’s not the one who ends up dead.”

“Exactly. I figure he’ll bide his time—unless he’s pushed into a corner. No reason to think he’s there yet.”

“So the plan is just to sit and wait until Meghan remembers him or the details of the cases she was working or until the police make an arrest?” Damien asked.

“You know me better than that. Meghan Sinclair is one of the best private investigators in the business when it comes to tracking down criminals the cops couldn’t catch, but there are a few others who are just as good or better scattered around the globe.”

“Best not let Meghan hear you say that.” Damien said.

“Not a chance,” Durk said.

“So who are these P.I. prospects?” Tague asked.

“There’s a former Interpol agent living in Europe now whose reputation is stellar. In fact, he’s so good, the French are making a movie based on his life. And there’s a former FBI forensics expert who’s fast becoming the go-to P.I. on this continent. I have calls in to both of them.”

“Might as well go with the best,” Tague said.

“I also have this.” Durk reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded copy of the multipage printout of phone calls made to and from Meghan’s cell and office phones for the prior month. He handed the list to Tague, who scanned it and passed it on to Damien.

“That’s a lot of phone calls,” Damien said. “Meghan could probably make short work of it if she could remember these calls, but it could take you days to check all those out and see which ones could be suspect.”

“I can help,” Tague said.

“Count me in, too,” Damien said. “Though I’ve got a full day scheduled on Monday.”

“I’ve already faxed a copy of this to Jackson Phelps,” Durk said. Phelps was former NCIS and now a P.I. who did some work for Durk’s company. “He’s going to cross-reference the numbers with names and addresses and see which ones are likely business related, such as other P.I.s or police connections, as well as her personal calls like hair and nail appointments and her local pizza delivery.”

“Or a boyfriend,” Damien said. “Is there any reason to think she isn’t seeing anyone?”

“No reason at all,” Durk admitted. “If we locate a boyfriend, maybe he’ll know something that could help.” He hoped he sounded a lot more unaffected by the idea of a boyfriend than he felt.