The call ended abruptly, leaving Roper gazing at the phone in his hand. Steeling himself, he slipped it into his pocket and went back inside the barn. He needed to check on the two stallions. After that, it would be time to make arrangements for the end of Millie’s beautiful, young life.
But he wasn’t letting this tragedy go—especially given that the likely target had been Lila. He wouldn’t rest until the driver of the green Peterbilt had been punished and the person who’d hired him had faced justice—the law’s or Roper’s own.
Darrin Culhane hurled his cell phone against the far wall of his home office. It splintered the glass of his framed law-school diploma, where it hung next to a photo of him shaking hands with George W. Bush.
Leaving the glass shards on the floor, he stormed into the living room, where his wife, Simone, dressed in leggings and a baggy tee, was watching one of the endless TV reality shows she favored. A bowl of chocolate ice cream rested on the growing bulge of her belly. She’d been pretty before, and full of life. But her pregnancy had turned her into a slob. Darrin could scarcely stand the sight of her. At first, he’d been happy with her pregnancy. He’d wanted an heir. But why couldn’t women churn out babies without getting fat and cranky?
She looked up as he walked in front of her, blocking her view of the screen. “So what was that noise and clatter about?” she asked.
Darrin picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “That was the goon we hired to drive that truck. He forced the rig off the road, but it didn’t go all the way over, and he didn’t get another chance. The Highway Patrol was right there.”
“Is he keeping the money we paid him?”
“You have to ask?” Darrin kicked an empty pizza box across the floor. “But he sounded nervous, like he might be in trouble. Oh, and he caught a glimpse of the woman in the truck. She was a brunette, definitely not Lila. So it’s just as well that the rig didn’t crash. But now it’s back to square one for us.”
Simone set the bowl on the coffee table. “Now what? Have you got any more brilliant ideas?”
“We can still fight Lila in court. We’ve got a good case.She’s not a real Culhane, and she never gave Dad any children.”
“But that could take months. And we could still lose. When we were married, you promised me we’d inherit that house when your father died. We were going to raise our children there, entertain guests, becomethe Culhanes.”
“That was before I knew about the terms of the will.”
She stood to meet his gaze, her blue eyes blazing with determination. “We can’t just give up. Can’t your mother arrange something else?”
“You know Mother’s gone off the radar. Not even a phone call or a blasted text. That was why we had to arrange for the truck driver on our own, with one of Mother’s shady friends.”
“Why doesn’t your mother just die? At least we’d have her money. That remission was almost too convenient. I’m beginning to suspect the bitch never had brain cancer in the first place.”
Darrin’s hand struck the side of her face in a slap that sent her reeling backward. “Say what you want about me,” he snapped. “But there’ll be no disrespecting my mother in this house. If you ever call her that again—”
“I could leave you, Darrin.” Simone had regained her footing. She glared up at him, her voice shaking as she spoke. “I could pack up and go home to my parents. Or I could go to the police and tell them everything I know about you and your mother and her friends. You’d never see me or this baby again.”
Startled by her vehemence, Darrin froze. This was something new, meek little Simone standing up to him. Maybe the pregnancy had roused a protective streak in her. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.
“Wouldn’t I? Hit me again and find out.”
Darrin took a step backward. “I’m going out,” he said. “I’ll be back after you’ve come to your senses.”
“Fine.” Simone picked up the remote, turned on the TV again, and settled back onto the sofa. “Pick up a couple packets of Oreos on the way home.”
Darrin snatched up his keys and stalked out the front door. Even with the sun gone, the night air hit him with a blast of heat. His twelve-year-old Mercedes was parked in the shade of a willow tree. The damned house didn’t even have a garage.
He climbed inside, cranked up the AC, and turned on the windshield wipers to wash off the saucer-sized bird splatter that was blocking his vision. With the motor purring, he switched on the headlights and drove out through the gate. He needed a drink, and the Jackalope Saloon, which had begun to feel like his home away from home, was open.
For two cents, he would send Simone home to her rich parents in Dallas. But that would be a reckless idea. For one thing, she was carrying his baby—his heir, hopefully a son. If she could prove that he’d hit her a few times, she might be able to get full custody. Also, Simone knew enough about his under-the-table activities—including tax evasion, an investment scam, and two failed hits on Lila—to get him disbarred and probably jailed as well.
Simone would play all sweet and innocent. But she wasn’t blameless. Her demands for a better lifestyle and her constant whining about the Culhane house had driven him to do things he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing before they were married. His self-respect had long since flown out the window. That was mostly—if not all—Simone’s fault.
No thanks to her, he was sinking ever deeper into this dirty morass. And he could see no way out.
He was pulling into the parking lot outside Jackalope’s when his cell phone rang. The caller was unknown. Darrinwas about to dismiss the call. But maybe it was from a potential client. He could always use new business.
He took the call. “Hello?”
“Am I speaking to Darrin Culhane?” The muffled voice sounded disguised.
“Yes. Who’s calling, please?”