Cold Target Part 19

He grinned. "You might be a bit sore, but I think we can get you back aboard. How do you like Miss Mary?"

"Are all horses this easy to ride?"

"No. Miss Mary is unusual. Russ always gives her to novice riders. She seems to understand that she has to take care of them, rather than the other way around."

"She's wonderful."

"I'm sure Russ will let you and Harry ride any time."

She nodded, although she had no intention of doing it again. Next time, she would take Harry to a public riding stable. She could not feel obligated, nor could she dare the intimacy that friends.h.i.+p demanded.

Doug leaned over and lowered Harry to the ground, then dismounted. She did the same.

He pointed to a mountain in the distance. "That used to be an Apache stronghold," he said. "This whole area was a battleground. It took guts to settle it."

"You love it," she observed.

"I do. You either love it or hate it," he said. "It has a pull on those who love it."

"You said you were in the army. What did you do?"

"Military police. That's how I came to be in law enforcement."

That was one subject she didn't want to pursue. She took several steps, then stumbled. He reached out to steady her.

Involuntarily, she flinched.

He removed his hand immediately. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I... was just startled."

"Mrs. Baker ... Liz ... I know you were recently widowed. I wouldn't take advantage of that. I just thought you and your son needed to get out."

She felt her cheeks darken. She swallowed. "I didn't think that you would. It's just that--"

"I know. I lost someone years ago. It's not easy." The sincere sympathy in his voice made her feel worse. She was a cheat.

"No it's not," she said. "Harry and I should be getting back. I have work to do, and we have supper early."

"Okay," he said easily. "Here, use my hands." He interlocked his hands and she stepped into them, then up into the saddle. This time, she felt more confident.

She waited until he and Harry were mounted, then she turned back in the direction from which they'd come.

They rode back in silence. His face was emotionless, but his hands were protective of her son. Harry kept glancing up at him, apparently finding something he had never found in his father.

She fought to keep tears back.

*Chapter Twelve*

'ANGOLA PRISON, LOUISIANA'.

Gage waited at least thirty minutes in the visiting room before Clint arrived.

In the meantime, Gage watched other prisoners and their families, feeling a little like a voyeur. How many times had he been here? At least once a month for nearly eight years. Sometimes more often.

He swallowed hard. These visits were soul crus.h.i.+ng. So was the eager, hopeful look on his brother's face when he saw him.

Despite eight years in Angola, Clint appeared impossibly young. Gage knew the look belied the experience. In the first three years, Clint had been disciplined repeatedly. He'd been in one fight after another, establis.h.i.+ng his reputation in a prison that demanded toughness.

And Gage couldn't help. He'd felt the bitter frustration of being unable to make things better for someone he loved.

The two brothers gave each other a bear hug.

"You look good, kid."

Clint gave him the funny little half grin that had charmed girls when he'd been younger. "I have a parole hearing coming up."

Gage should have known that. He hadn't. "What can I do?"

"I need a job waiting."

"I'll talk to Dom. He might have some ideas."

"I've been studying computer technology. I'm good at it, bro. I didn't tell you before because, well... h.e.l.l, I know how many times I've let you down. But I graduate from the course next week." His gaze went to the books on the table and his eyes lit. "These books will help me go beyond what they're offering here. The instructor suggested them."

"You've always been smart as h.e.l.l," Gage acknowledged. "You just never tried."

"I'm trying now. I don't want to be here."

Gage nodded at the books. "If you need any more, let me know."

"Thanks. I won't disappoint you this time."

"When's the hearing?"

"Next month."

"You need an address, too. You can move in with me," Gage said.

"Won't that affect your job?"

Gage shrugged. "It's no one's business. Not if you keep clean."

"I will. Thanks."

"Until you get on your feet."

"You'll come to the hearing?"

"I'll be there."

Clint sighed with relief.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"You're a cop, bro. One of them."

"Listen to me, Clint. I didn't have anything to do with your arrest. You did all that by yourself. I'll help you now, but by G.o.d, if you get involved in drugs again, I'm out. I'll turn you in myself."

"I know," Clint said. "Believe me, I've learned my lesson." He gave Gage that crooked smile again.

But Gage had stopped believing it years ago. He'd believed Clint too many times. He wasn't going to offer him money. A place to live if he stayed clean, yes. He would help find him a job. He would pay tuition for college. But he knew he wasn't going to give Clint money.

"I'm going to make it," Clint said.

Gage merely nodded.

"You still on internal affairs?"

"Public Integrity," Gage corrected. "No. I've been transferred to homicide."

"That's good, isn't it? For you, I mean."

"That's very good."

"I'm glad then."

"You still getting grief here because I'm a cop?"

"Nothing I can't manage. You got a girl yet?"

"Nope."

"I appreciate your offer to stay with you, but I don't want to cramp your style."

"Nothing to worry about there," Gage said wryly.

"You still canoeing?"

"When I can."

"Maybe we can go together."

"You never used to be interested."

"I've gained a new appreciation of the outdoors." Clint was talking about parole as if it were a natural conclusion.

Gage warned, "Don't be disappointed if the parole doesn't happen, Clint."

"I won't," he said. "But you have to have hope in here."

They talked a few moments longer, mostly about acquaintances they knew. Unfortunately, most of Clint's were either dead or in prison. He had gotten involved with drugs when he was sixteen and had never been able to overcome them. He'd turned to burglary to pay for his habit, as well as selling drugs himself. Small amounts, but enough to get him a long sentence on his second offense. A fight during his first year had sent him from a medium-security inst.i.tution to Angola.

Gage finally rose from his seat. "I have to get back."

"Have a big case?"

"Just got on the squad," he said.

Clint rose, too, and held out his hand. "Thanks for the books. And for coming."

"I'll see you at the hearing."

Gage left, not quite sure how he felt. He wanted freedom for Clint, yet he was afraid to hope. To trust. There had been too many promises in the past.

The sun was hot. The sky cloudless.

He drove faster than usual. He wanted to get back to New Orleans, where he had some control, where he wouldn't feel so much a failure. He wanted to make sure Meredith Rawson was safe despite Morris's a.s.surances that she was. She had purchased a pistol. She'd had no more attacks. The police were driving by her home every few hours.

It was all they could do. He knew it. The police department was understaffed, like police departments across the country, and Morris had promised to keep an eye on her. At any rate, it was no longer his business. She had made that clear. So had Morris.

Yet something kept p.r.i.c.kling him about the break-in and the attack on her in the garage. Something wasn't quite right.

It hadn't been mere anger. It was too well-planned. The destruction had been methodical. There had been purpose behind it.

'Was' it simply revenge?

Or could it be something else? A hunt for information, disguised by the destruction? Or an attempt to distract her?

Then the question would be, Distraction from what?

He pressed his foot on the gas pedal.

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Meredith started dialing numbers she'd found for those members of her mother's cla.s.s that she could identify.

Machines answered at two of them. She didn't want to leave a message. Her errand was too personal. She was luckier on the third call.

Mrs. Robert Laxton, formerly Pamela Cannon, answered on the second ring.

Once Meredith had identified herself, she related part of her errand. "My mother is very ill," she said. "I want to notify her old friends but I'm not sure who they are, and she's too ill to give me a list. I understand you two were friends. I was hoping you could help me."