Evening Hours
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Her small backyard was lovely, but then she’d worked hard to make it so—she and the nursery, that is. She couldn’t keep her yard in this shape by herself, although she would’ve loved nothing better. Her taxing career, not to mention her physical limitations, made that impossible. She did what she could when she could, which helped keep her in shape.
She had bought this old home in West University Place, an upscale but older section of the city, even though her dad had discouraged her from making such a bold and aggressive move. He thought it would be too much for her to keep up, but she hadn’t listened. Though he was her best ally and cheerleader, he never let her forget that she was handicapped, a fact that could fester if she let it.
He had wanted her to continue to live in the house with him where she had grown up. But she had desperately wanted her own space. She needed to stake her independence in order to keep her sanity. After all, she was handicapped, not dysfunctional.
Edgar now admitted that Kaylee had proved him wrong once again. He was so proud of her, of what she had accomplished and was continuing to achieve. Her father wasn’t her only avid supporter. Her godfather, Drew Rush, her dad’s longtime friend and employer, had always encouraged her to push the envelope, so to speak.
Without his monetary help and his endorsements, Benton Modeling Agency wouldn’t be in existence today. While she might not have a husband, she certainly had two strong men in her life for whom she was grateful.
Suddenly a bird chirped loudly in a nearby tree. Kaylee listened to his melodious music, and smiled. In that same tree two squirrels were playing tag. She concentrated on them until they jumped to another limb and disappeared into the lush foliage of the live oak tree.
Lifting her head, she searched for a puff of clouds. Nary a one was visible. The sky was azure blue and the sun was well on its way to full strength.
This was a great way to start a morning.
Soon, though, she was going to have to stop lollygagging, dress and get to the office. But not just now. She guessed it was only around seven-thirty, which gave her plenty of time to continue down this path of indulgence and still not be late.
She smiled again. She could be late if she wanted, she reminded herself. After all, she was the boss. For a second that thought made Kaylee giddy. She still couldn’t believe she’d been honored in such a fantastic way. She had enjoyed every minute of it, too, even though she had been exhausted when she’d crawled into bed around midnight.
She couldn’t complain. Life was good right now, and Kaylee had learned early to treasure such moments. After nearly losing her life at such a young age, nothing had ever been the same and she never wasted one precious moment.
That thinking gave her all the more reason not to waste one second contemplating a particular man. Her heart did a sudden somersault as she admitted to herself that she had thought about that cowboy off and on all night.
Unsettling?
Absolutely.
Crazy?
Absolutely.
A waste of time?
Absolutely.
Lethal.
Absolutely.
So why couldn’t she get him off her mind?
She couldn’t answer that. All she knew was that she didn’t want to think about any man, not in that context, anyway. But then Cutler McFarland wasn’t just any man.
Under no circumstances could she label him average. After meeting him, she thought he would be better suited to have been born in the early eighteen hundreds. She could see him with a holster and gun strapped to his waist and thigh, defending justice at all cost.
That picture forced a chuckle from Kaylee’s lips; but she saw no humor in her thoughts. She was just setting herself up for trouble and heartache, neither of which she could afford. Only since her agency had taken off had she felt like a whole woman, as if she wasn’t different from the average female walking the streets.
Now was not the time to let a man, especially a man’s man, the kind she could never have, undermine her happiness.
When she had first looked at her scarred stomach, the result of a trek across jagged glass, she had been repulsed. But over the years, and after several plastic surgeries, she could now bear the sight. But she couldn’t stand the thought of a man seeing it. She’d built an impenetrable wall that hadn’t failed her until she’d noticed Cutler McFarland’s great tush.
The fact that he appeared taken with her hadn’t helped any. Still, the minute he noticed her leg, she knew she’d see pity replace interest. She couldn’t handle that. So any further thoughts of that cowboy were taboo.
“You can dodge this bullet, Kaylee Benton,” she said to the tiny wren who perched on a sagging wisteria limb. Only something that small could light on such a flimsy place and be safe, she thought with inane desperation.
Her verbal warning did no good. Her mind settled back on Cutler and wouldn’t let go. Had he been as attracted to her as she had been to him? His gaze had held a special gleam, one she had never noticed in a man’s eye, though she was certainly no expert on men. Relationships had never been in the cards for her, nor could she have explored any had they been. She’d been too busy trying to put her body and soul back together and trying to craft a life for herself outside the handicapped world.
She hated the word handicapped, but she despised the new socially correct “special needs” term even more. She didn’t want to think of herself as special in any way. Or needy. She just wanted to be thought of as normal.
Unfortunately, that often became impossible, even for her.
When she got tired and her leg refused to function, she had to depend on her leg brace. That was when she noticed the pitying glances. They gagged her now just as they had so many years ago.
Suddenly Kaylee found herself traveling back in time to that fateful day when she had awakened from surgery to find her dad sitting beside her bed, his face twisted and drenched with tears.
“Daddy, where am I?” she remembered asking in a weak, trembling voice.
“In the hospital, baby.”
“Why?”
“There’s been an accident,” he choked out. “Don’t you remember?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No. What happened?”
“You just got out of surgery.”
“Is that why I hurt so badly?”
“Are you in pain?”
“My leg—”
“I’ll call the nurse.” He punched the button on the side of the bed.
“How bad am I injured?”
“Oh, God, baby—” Edgar’s voice broke and he couldn’t go on.
“Tell me, Daddy.”
He must have heard the panic in her voice, because he blurted out the words that changed her forever. “You had a wreck and hurt yourself real bad.”
“Mom? Mom was with me, wasn’t she?” When he didn’t answer, Kaylee went on, her voice in the shrill range. “Wasn’t she?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Where is she now? Why isn’t she here with me?”
Edgar put his head down and sobbed.
“Daddy,” she cried, placing a hand on his head and burying it in his hair. “Where’s Mom?”
“She can’t be here, baby,” he sobbed.
“Why not?”
“She…she didn’t make it.”
At first those horrible words didn’t penetrate, so she asked, “What do you mean?”
“She’s…she’s dead, baby. Your mother died on impact.”
“No!” Kaylee let out a wail that sounded like a wounded animal’s cry.
Edgar raised himself just enough to fold her in his arms, his chest absorbing the brunt of her sobs.
“I want my mother,” she cried over and over. “I want my mother. I want my mother….”
It was fresh tears falling on her arm that brought Kaylee back to reality. She raised her head and struggled to swallow the huge lump lodged in her throat. Dear Lord, she hadn’t taken that stroll down memory lane in years. But whenever she did, it racked her body and soul, rendering her useless for hours, days, even weeks.
This time was no exception. She felt spent, utterly drained and so depressed that she wanted to curl into a fetal position in the closet and say to hell with the world and everyone in it.
She wouldn’t do that. Pity parties where she was the only one in attendance were another part of her past that no longer existed, but she knew that hadn’t always been the case. Once she had gotten over the shock of her mother’s death, she’d had to deal with another shock—her broken body.
And guilt. Even though the accident hadn’t technically been her fault—the other driver had been charged—she had nonetheless borne the responsibility of causing her mother’s death.
That, combined with the fact she would never be a vibrant sixteen-year-old turning cartwheels and dancing at will, had turned her into a monster, especially after her daddy had told her that she might not walk again and would definitely suffer permanent scarring on the lower half of her body.
Kaylee didn’t realize she was no longer alone until she turned and saw her father standing behind the French doors watching her. Knowing it was too late to mask her tears, she motioned for him to join her.
Once he was outside, he walked over and silently pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so glad to see you, Daddy,” she whispered, clinging to him as tightly as she had done so many times in the past.
“You’re still my baby and you can always count on me.”
Three
Cutler’s desk was piled high with files and folders.
He looked at them, feeling a knot form in the pit of his stomach. If he didn’t get off his ass things were going to start unraveling. He couldn’t afford that. Not in an election year.
Not in any year. His high standard of ethics wouldn’t allow it.
As he peered at his calendar, a sigh split Cutler’s lips. Two major cases were on the trial docket, cases that even his top assistant wasn’t up to prosecuting. That responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders.
Both were controversial, with the potential to explode, and that was precisely why he had to be perfectly prepared. Losing was not something that interested him. When he walked into a courtroom, he expected to walk out a winner. He would accept nothing less.
Cutler glanced at his watch. He and Angel were due to meet as soon as he made it to the office. Too bad he hadn’t told his prime investigator to meet him early, but he knew Angel wasn’t in the best of moods first thing in the morning. Besides, it was barely seven and all his staff worked more nights than not. Ergo, he needed to cut them some slack. That was hard, because he required very little sleep.
Coffee could take most of the credit for that, Cutler reminded himself. Thinking of coffee made him realize he hadn’t taken advantage of the pot he’d brewed minutes after he’d walked into the office. He’d had several cups at home, but those didn’t count. He was just getting started.
Moments later, back from the kitchenette, mug in hand, Cutler sat behind his desk. The paperwork hadn’t lessened any, he noticed with a smirk. After sipping on the hot liquid, he leaned back in his chair, lifted his arms above his head and stretched.
Man, he was tired. No sleep and long hours were telling on him, something he couldn’t let happen. He had to be razor sharp mentally because he knew a shark was circling, a shark that was after his blood.
During his tenure as district attorney, Cutler had made more than his share of enemies, one of whom, his current opponent, Winston Gilmore, was a high-profile attorney from an old established family with big mouths and big dollars. Gilmore was known to be abrasive, self-confident and into mudslinging.
No matter.
Cutler was more than ready to take him on. He had earned a reputation for his own brand of hard-ass volatility. He’d been accused of being so self-assured he wouldn’t listen to others. His own head of Major Crimes, Mike Snelling, had told him that to his face. He couldn’t argue with him.
He liked to think that he merely approached everything with the grit and determination that eventually brought justice to all. For that Cutler would make no apologies regardless of whether he was reelected. He’d be devastated if he wasn’t, but no one would ever know, not even his mother.
He’d started out as a cop before attending law school, then had spent several years practicing criminal law, and his determination had catapulted him to the office of district attorney.
If he lost this election, Cutler knew he could always go back to practicing law, but he didn’t want to do that. He had grown to respect, if not actually enjoy, his job and he wanted desperately to hold on to it. According to his mother, he’d sacrificed a home and family for the people, which was only partly true.
Although he’d been with a lot of women, he’d never found one with whom he thought he could spend the rest of his life. That included his present significant other, Julia Freeman. He cared about her as a friend, though he wasn’t positive that was her perception of their relationship despite his candor on the subject. When he needed a woman on his arm for social purposes, he chose Julia.
It would take a special woman to put up with him, and he knew it. Until last night he hadn’t met anyone he felt the desire to sleep with.
Kaylee Benton had set his heart racing, and he was still thinking about her.
He hadn’t had that reaction to a female in ages. But there was something about Kaylee that had intrigued him from the moment his blue eyes had locked with her large brown ones.
He was used to appraising stares from the opposite sex, and he was aware that he was thought of as a player in the singles arena. But there was something different about Kaylee and her eyes. She had touched him on a deeper level.
Had he detected sadness reflected in her expression when they had met face-to-face? Whatever melancholy she might have been feeling, Cutler immediately recognized one classy lady, someone more striking than drop-dead gorgeous, in both looks and personality.
Perhaps it was the dimple in her right cheek that had revved his engine. Perhaps it was her body, although he hadn’t seen her standing. His instinct assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. She was nipped in all the right places. And for someone with such a lithe figure, she was amply endowed.
In his opinion, she would light up a runway more than any of the models who worked for her, and he assumed she had been a model herself. Her unblemished skin, high cheekbones and shoulder-length golden-brown hair were dazzling features.
Down, boy, he warned himself. Now was not the time to get seriously involved with a woman, not when his life was already on maximum overload. On the other hand, maybe a relationship was exactly what he needed to take the edge off his overstressed mind and body.
For a moment he considered turning to the computer and running a background check on her.
Nah.
If she was a woman he wanted to know better, even on a short-term basis, and she was, then it was better to slowly unwrap the package and savor its contents.
“You got a moment?”
Startled at the unexpected interruption, Cutler barely managed not to show his surprise. And disgust. He’d rather start his day biting into a wormy apple than cross paths with this man.
Mike Snelling, head of Major Crimes Division, was a royal pain in the ass, and had been from day one of Cutler’s term in office. He and Mike had crossed swords from the start, and he didn’t see that changing. Whatever Cutler said, Mike would argue the opposite.
Yet he’d have to give the devil his due. Snelling was damn competent and when push came to shove, Cutler could depend on him. That was why he curbed the urge to deck him every time he opened his mouth.
“What’s up?” Cutler finally asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Mike, who was short and round with ears that protruded far too much, ambled toward one of the vacant chairs in front of the massive desk, sat down and took a deep breath. That short trek had clearly winded him. Cutler wanted to point that out, but that would be like tossing a lighted cigarette butt on a puddle of gasoline.
“I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Snelling said without mincing words.
What a pompous prick. “I’m not even going to respond to that.”
“I’m referring to Judge Jenkins,” Snelling pressed.
“I know that.”
“My advice is to back off.”
Cutler squinted his eyes. “I don’t recall asking for your advice.”
“I know you two butt heads in court like angry bulls,” Snelling went on as though Cutler hadn’t spoken. “Everyone knows that, but to blatantly open an investigation against him is preposterous, if not suicidal.”
“Thanks for that assessment.”
“Just because he’s overturned several of your cases doesn’t give you the right to go for his jugular. There’s such a thing as evidence.”
Cutler narrowed his eyes and strengthened his voice. “I’m not going to take that as an insult, Snelling. Not this time, anyway.”
Snelling flushed, but didn’t make a comeback. Good call, Cutler thought.
Following a terse silence, Snelling asked, “Give me something tangible to work with.”
“What I have is suspicion. It’s your job to get the evidence.”
This time it was Snelling who looked as if he’d bitten into a worm. “I’m listening.”
“Angel and I have noticed a pattern in Jenkins’s dismissals. Not just mine, either, though mine were slam dunks for sure.”
“You’re saying he’s taking bribes.”
“That’s my guess.”
“How?”
“Several of the dismissals were good-looking women….” Cutler purposely let his voice fade.
Snelling looked shocked. “Are you saying he’s trading dismissals for sex?”
“Maybe, maybe not. What I am saying is that the bastard has something going, and I aim to find out what it is.”
“He’s a powerful man, Cutler, one who has the power to knock your dick in the dirt with one hand tied behind him.”
“That thought ought to make your day.”
“I don’t know why I try to reason with you.” Snelling’s tone was testy.
“Look, I’m going to get the judge, one way or the other.” Cutler’s features were grim. “Your job is to help me.”
“As head of Major Crimes, I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“He’s going to sink you, cost you the election,” Snelling stressed.
“Then so be it.” Cutler clenched his jaw. “A man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”
“Maybe I should come back later.”
Talk about timing. Cutler could cheerfully have gotten up and hugged Angel Martinez’s neck for opening the door enough to get his head through it. “Come on in. Mike was just leaving.”
“You haven’t heard the last of this, McFarland,” Snelling said, stomping to the door, then slamming it behind him.
“Why don’t you two put on gloves, climb in a ring and get at it?”
Cutler grinned for a second. “Not a bad idea.”
Angel just shook his head as he made his way farther into the room. He was dark haired and white skinned. His name was the only thing that labeled him Mexican-American. Still, he was proud of his heritage even though he’d never set foot in Mexico, having been born and reared in Houston.
He was good-looking, a truly decent guy and a competent investigator. Cutler didn’t know what he would do without him. Angel’s calm demeanor and sound advice had saved his ass on many occasions.
“So what’s got Snelling up in arms this time?”
“The judge.”
“He thinks we can’t nail him.”
Cutler noticed that Angel made a plain statement of fact. “You agree?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yep.”
A short silence.
“Let me put it this way,” Angel said. “When you make up your mind to get someone, judge or not, my money’s on you.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Angel snorted. “As if you ever doubted.”
“I never take anything or anyone for granted. You should know that.”
“If Major Crimes can get the evidence on Jenkins, then I can prosecute.” Angel paused, then changed the subject. “From the looks of your desk, we’re drowning.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“So let’s get started.”
Cutler opened the first file and groaned. When he would’ve chucked it aside, Angel shook his head. “No choosing favorites. We have to take them as they come. Let’s hear it.”
Cutler blew out his breath. “It’s the Sessions case.”
Angel visibly winced. “It’s cases like this one that make me want to take this job and shove it. How any woman can drown her three kids in the bathtub is more than my mind can comprehend.”
“Me, too. In fact, I could vomit right about now.”
“To make matters worse, she’ll probably get off on an insanity plea.” Angel paused. “You know her husband’s hired Arthur Beaumont.”
“No, dammit, I didn’t.”
“If anyone can get her off, it’s that double-dealin’ son of a bitch.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Cutler said, a violent edge to his voice. “Not as long as I’m upright and breathing, that is.”
“Then we’d best put our heads together and plan our strategy.”
For the next hour they made significant progress depleting the stack. Once Angel left, Cutler helped himself to another cup of coffee, went over some files with his secretary and then buried himself in more files.
The growl of his stomach told him the day was more than half gone. Pushing away from his desk, Cutler rubbed the back of his shoulders, trying to get rid of the burning sensation in his muscles.
He needed a break, but he needed to continue to work, as well. He was surprised that Julia hadn’t called him, asking him over for dinner. He wouldn’t go anyway. Dinner with her didn’t appeal to him.
Without weighing the consequences of his actions, he reached for the phone and called his favorite florist. Then he dialed Information. “Benton Modeling Agency, please.”
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