That Night In Texas. Joss Wood

so that she could look at his watch. “If I can get home, I’d be able to sleep for a few hours before I need to collect Clem. Do you want to meet her?”

      His heart bounced off his chest. He’d just found Vivi again and didn’t know if he was up to meeting his daughter today. He hadn’t had time to process any of this, and didn’t think he even could.

      “It was just a suggestion, Cam. You don’t have to meet her if you don’t want to. I’m not asking anything from you...not your time or money or input. So, really, no hard feelings if you say no.”

      Except that she would think that he was a wuss, that he wasn’t man enough to acknowledge his child. If he walked away and ignored the situation, Vivi would think he was weak and selfish and a bit of a man-child. And she’d be right.

       Suck it up, McNeal. She’s had a near-death experience, escaped from a sinking car, got smacked around by river detritus and ended up in a hospital. If she can cope with all that, you can meet a two-year-old.

      An ordinary two-year-old, maybe. His daughter? He wasn’t so sure.

      Vivi tipped her head to the side. “Getting a bit too real, huh?”

      He thought about laughing her statement away—he could be charming when he chose to be—but decided to tell the truth. “Too real. Utterly surreal.”

      She twisted her lips and then her hands. “I suppose you want an explanation.”

      “Do you not think I deserve one?”

      Vivi lifted one shoulder, as if silently admitting that she had her doubts. Dammit, what did she want from him? He dealt in black-and-white; gray was his least favorite color in the world. Cam was about to demand that she start explaining, when he caught her touching the back of her head, trying hard to contain her wince. He skimmed his eyes over the bruises on her arms and stood up, gripping the edge of the sheet.

      He looked at Vivi. “I just want to see what we’re dealing with. May I?”

      At her nod, he pulled down the sheet. Her gown ended midthigh and she had a scrape on her thigh, a bruised knee and another bruise on her shin. God, she looked like she’d been hit by a tank.

      Instead of protesting his examination of her body, Vivi just put her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. “I fell pregnant, but I didn’t know your name—”

      She didn’t need to do this now. She shouldn’t have to do this now. Feeling suddenly protective of her, he realized her explanations could wait until she felt stronger. Or when she was, at the very least, pain free.

      He bent down and surprised himself by placing his lips on her forehead. This crazy situation would still be there. “Not now, Viv. Let’s get you home.”

      Vivi forced her eyes open. “I’d like to be home, clean and be cuddling with Clem.”

      Cam nodded. “Lie there and rest and let me see if I can make that happen.”

      He wanted to take her home to his place, not hers, a place where he knew he could protect her.

      Cam rolled his shoulders, irritated with himself. The worst was over, what more could happen to her? Why was he so reluctant to leave her alone?

      * * *

       Press Release.

      For Immediate Release.

      Body Discovered at Texas Cattleman’s Club, Houston Construction Site.

      Yesterday, at 7:40 a.m., members of the Houston Police Department and emergency medical responders responded to a report of a male victim found at the west Houston construction site of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, about two miles west of Highway 10. Upon the arrival of first responders, the male was pronounced deceased at the scene.

      At this time the identity of the male is unknown. According to the medical examiner, the cause of death is due to a gunshot wounds to the chest. Houston Police Department detectives are investigating with the assistance of the district attorney’s office. Identification of the victim and an accurate time of death are still to come. A case of homicide has been opened and no further information is currently available.

      If anyone has information regarding this incident they are asked to contact...

       Glass-wall offices meant eyes were on me, so I skimmed over the media release. Nothing in my face or my demeanor reflected my inner turmoil or hinted at my racing heart. I looked at my fingers, pleased to see that they weren’t shaking. I pushed the paper to one side. Reading media releases has been a long-standing habit and one I am grateful for.

       Reading the morning papers is another habit I’ve cultivated, and I pulled the pile toward me, and skimmed their pages for more information. Speculation was rampant but there was not much more to be gleaned. It was the same information, padded and puffed, but nothing new and nothing to link me to the murder at the Texas Cattleman’s Club building site.

       Thank God.

       Determined not to miss anything—the smallest bit of knowledge might be the difference between me meeting a needle while wearing prison orange or not—I skimmed the short article buried on page 3 of a local newspaper and frowned. Taking a breath, I read it again, slower this time.

       The victim has not been identified and the time of death is unknown. Like so many other properties in the city, the construction site experienced extensive flooding thanks to the once-in-a-generation storm, making identification of the victim or forensics difficult.

       That statement wasn’t accurate. I thought back to that morning, remembering the sharp snap of the pistol firing, the blood on a white shirt, his wide, terrified eyes as I stood over him, his life draining away. For insurance, I stared into his eyes and pulled the trigger again, sending another bullet into his already mutilated chest cavity. Fighting my panic, I acted fast and removed his wallet, his distinctive watch, the bracelets on his thick wrist, anything that might make identifying him easier. Dropping the concrete slab on his face had been added insurance, because the more time I put between his death and his identification, the better. I never imagined that I would get a helping hand from Mother Nature. The recent flood was a blessing in disguise. For me, at least.

       I hid my smile and power-read through the rest of the article. Nobody working on the Perry Construction crew is talking; one worker hinted at a company gag order being in place.

       At my suggestion, Sterling Perry sent an email to the construction foreman, telling him in no uncertain terms that any worker caught talking to the press would be summarily dismissed, and it pleased me that his orders were being obeyed. Excellent, since I wasn’t in the mood to follow up on the issue, mostly because my interest might raise suspicion and I needed to fly under the radar. Becoming a suspect would be intolerable and jail simply wouldn’t suit me.

       After folding the newspaper into a perfect rectangle, I placed it on top of the pile of other precisely folded papers and leaned back in my chair. So far, so good. Nobody suspected me, nobody ever will. Thank God, because I still have a score, or three or four, to settle with Sterling Perry and his family. And with his archenemy Ryder Currin...

       In my case, the enemy of my enemy was not my friend...