Deacon needed a mental slap as he paid the bill and walked into the frigid morning air. A few minutes ago when Leah’s hand had been in his and he felt the smooth creamy skin of her delicate wrist, he’d had a few unholy thoughts. His gaze had dipped down to her lips...and he’d had to catch himself right then.
At least he was in good working condition again. After Jackie’s death, he hadn’t had much desire to date. He’d been out with a few women but could admit to himself that he was going through the motions.
Leah spun around and checked her watch. “It’s still early, so we can make it to the jail in fifteen minutes from here.”
Deacon wouldn’t argue with a woman who drove around on these streets every day as part of her job. He hopped into his truck and followed her to the Tarrant County Correctional Center. The downtown building with an all-brick facade could easily be confused with a regular nine-to-five office. It was also one of the tallest buildings in Fort Worth, thereby hard to miss.
He pulled into the parking spot next to Leah and hopped out of his truck. She wheeled around the front of her sedan and stopped in front of him.
“I’ll wait outside while you talk to Elijah Henry. I’m hoping your family name and influence pulls enough weight to get past the desk officer. If you get in, ask him where he was two nights ago. See if you can get a feel for whether you think he’s the type. This is a violent crime and it would take some calculation on his part. Just get him talking and find out everything he knows.” She touched his forearm and he ignored the electric current shooting up his arm. “Thank you, Deacon.”
Deacon didn’t push his luck by touching her back.
“When you go inside, ask for—”
“I know how to get past the front desk,” he said.
She nodded and he headed inside.
“How can I help you?” The deputy working the desk didn’t stand. She was of petite build with mousy brown hair in a tight ponytail. Her hair was pulled back so tightly that he instantly thought about Olympic gymnasts. All that was missing was glitter eyeshadow. She had the same intense focus as she looked at him.
“I’m here to see Elijah Henry.” Deacon leaned his elbow on the counter. He’d been told that he had charm in spades and he didn’t mind using it to his advantage on occasion.
The deputy’s brown eyes widened for a split second before she let her fingers dance across the keyboard. She stared at the monitor. “What’s your name?”
“Deacon Kent.”
As it happened with most people, his last name got her attention.
“Of Kent Ranch?” She blinked up at him.
He nodded. That seemed to be all she needed by way of confirmation. Understanding lit her eyes as she seemed to connect the dots of who he was related to. “Since I’m in town, my cousin asked if I could stop by and ask Mr. Henry a few questions. He’s hoping you’ll agree out of professional courtesy.”
She cocked her head to the side, which meant she was considering his request.
“Mr. Henry isn’t expecting you, is he?” she asked.
“No.”
“I’ll have to see if he’s allowed visitors before I can let you back, sir,” she warned.
“Tell him I have information that will help his case.” He flashed a smile and her cheeks flushed.
“Yes, sir.” She disappeared behind a wall, leaving her post abandoned. There were cameras in every corner and most likely another deputy behind said wall in case someone decided to be stupid and try to break a friend or family member out of county lockup.
Deacon waited for a solid ten minutes before she returned. He stayed rooted to his spot, relaxing his arms at his sides in a show of trust. There was no need to set the deputy on edge or make her afraid that if she messed up she’d get a call from the mayor’s office.
“Follow me.” She came around the counter and to the door. She badged them inside and led him down a metal block corridor. This place reminded him of his small-town high school, only the walls were without the butcher paper covered with rah-rah and Go Jayhawks for the name of their football team.
His thoughts shifted back to the homicide detective in the parking lot, to the fact that wanting to kiss her had been a physical ache. Where the hell had that come from? It wasn’t like Deacon didn’t date around. Some might say he enjoyed women a little too much before Jackie, but he made damn certain the feeling was mutual or he didn’t go there with anyone. He would never date a person who didn’t have the same goals as him—a good time with even better sex. Deacon wasn’t in the field for emotional attachment and that was probably why the detective was getting under his skin. She was someone he could see himself dating seriously, and Deacon didn’t do serious with anyone, not anymore. Sure, a couple of his brothers had found what seemed to be genuine happiness with the opposite sex. Deacon tugged at his collar, thinking about settling down. He’d had a similar feeling when he’d considered asking Jackie to marry him. He thought about the words people used to describe marriage. Why people called it settling down. Because that’s the direction his life would turn if he made a commitment to anyone, he thought. They never called it settling up and that was reason enough for Deacon to avoid it.
His thoughts shifted to the present when the deputy stopped in front of an interview room. There was a table with two metal chairs sitting opposite each other. A door to Deacon’s back led to eventual freedom if an escapee could get through it and two other sets of metal doors. There were no windows but there was a two-way mirror on one wall and he was certain there’d be someone sitting on the other side of it listening in to the conversation.
“Have a seat and Mr. Henry will be with you in a few moments,” the deputy said like Deacon was sitting in the dentist’s office, waiting for his teeth to be cleaned.
Deacon thanked her and she beamed at him before leaving the room. He knew that smile. He’d seen it a hundred times before. Under the right conditions, it led to flirtation, which sometimes led to grabbing a bite to eat, which under the best of circumstances led to incredible sex. He had no interest in the deputy and only part of that had to do with her looks. She wasn’t bad looking. He wondered how much his reaction had to do with the intelligent and beautiful detective sitting in her vehicle outside. Smart and pretty with a body made for sex, Leah Cordon should have been his type. But the conversation he’d overheard on the trail with what sounded like her sitter meant she came with a kid. And the last time he’d gotten serious with someone who had a kid...
Either way, Deacon wasn’t ready to settle. Leah deserved more. Her kid deserved better. Even though Deacon no longer wanted a family of his own, the institution was still sacred to him. Besides, there was a father out there somewhere who wouldn’t appreciate another man stepping in his shoes. So, when Deacon’s attraction to the detective started hitting big time again, he needed to remind himself of that fact. He’d had a pregnancy scare once despite using a condom. Even though he hadn’t been ready for his own kid at the time, he knew then that he would have figured out a way to get ready.
Damn, that was almost a decade ago. The memory still burned.
The door facing Deacon opened and a midthirties-ish man in an orange jumpsuit, hands and ankles shackled, walked in, a deputy beside him. Elijah Henry was about five feet nine inches tall with long greasy brown hair. A cigarette was tucked behind his right ear. He was thin and willowy. His expression was a mix of shock, fear and general freaking out.
Henry’s gaze honed in on Deacon and he seemed to be searching his memory bank for recognition. The deputy deposited the guy in the chair across from Deacon.
The deputy looked at Deacon. “Someone will be listening to your conversation. It’s illegal to pass anything to an inmate and is a punishable offense. This room has dual cameras. Mr. Henry will be searched upon exit, and if a weapon or illegal drug is found on his person, you’ll be held on suspicion until your case is heard by a grand jury. Do you understand?”
“I’m clear on the rules.” Deacon thanked the deputy. The man was doing his job.
On the table in between Deacon and Elijah Henry sat an ashtray and a pack of matches.
Elijah sat on the edge of the seat, his hands clasped with elbows positioned against the table. He leaned forward. “I’m sorry, man. Do I know you?”
“I’m afraid not,” Deacon said.
“Are you my lawyer? Because this is crazy, man. They’re trying to pin a murder on me and there ain’t no way I would do that to another person.”
“I’m not your legal counsel.” Before Deacon could explain why he was there, Elijah shifted in his seat.
“Then who are you?” A flash of defensiveness said he was concerned Deacon was related to the victim.
“I might be able to help you but I need your cooperation.” Deacon watched as a look of relief physically washed over the man. His shoulders slumped forward and he put his hands on the table.
“I didn’t do nothing wrong this time,” Elijah said.
Deacon figured the man for a drunk. He needed a good rehab program, not a stint in jail. But Deacon could get to that later. Right now, he sized Elijah up physically and it didn’t make sense that a guy this slight could subdue a woman without anyone realizing, kill her, chop off her foot and leave the body in the shrubs with only one set of deep footprints leading to the crime scene.
“These guys have it all wrong. I wasn’t nowhere near the—” Elijah stopped short of finishing. He pulled the smoke from behind his ear with shaky hands. “You mind?”
Deacon shook his head.
Elijah lit the cigarette and drew in a big drag. He blew out smoke in a rush, flooding the space between them, but it also looked like the first time he’d really breathed.
“Why would you help me?” he asked, fidgeting with the matchbook, twirling it between his fingers nervously.
“Because I think you’re innocent, and if they don’t catch the right man, someone else will die.” It was the gospel truth.
“I tried to tell ’em they had the wrong guy. I didn’t do nothing wrong.” He stopped long enough to take another pull of his smoke. “But they won’t listen. Said they have a witness who saw me and that this will all go a lot easier if I confess. I can’t admit to something I never done.”
“Where were you the night before last?” Deacon couldn’t see someone of Elijah’s size pulling off the crime that had been committed.
“I was out and about.” Elijah shrugged.
“Did anyone see you?” Deacon asked.
“I mean, people had to have seen me. I like to walk around at night and I’d gotten into a huff with Lacey.” He seemed to realize that Deacon wouldn’t know who she was. “She’s my girl. We’ve been dating for a month. I know that because I forgot and she got all upset about me missing our anniversary.”
“The two of you had words and then you left to get some air,” Deacon said.
“That’s what happened to a T.” Elijah made a T with his hands as though for emphasis. “I didn’t hurt that woman.”
“Did you know her?” Deacon asked.
“Not personally. I used to be a janitor at her building a year or so ago but we never talked none.” Deacon was beginning to see the connection. The DA would go after a retaliation crime. He’d most likely say that she’d turned her nose up at the janitor and he’d been biding his time.
“How long ago was that?”
“A year and a few months, I reckon. It was before I got on disability.” Elijah seemed to be counting out the months in his head. His face brightened. “Fourteen months ago.”
“Why’d you get put on disability?” He’d noticed a slight limp when Elijah walked in, now that he really thought about it.
“Hurt my hip after falling from the roof,” he said.
“Will you be able to work again?” Deacon thought about the possible connection to Elijah’s limp and having something taken from him.
“Doc says we’ll know after my next surgery,” Elijah confessed.
Deacon stood. He’d bet anything this guy wasn’t the killer. He was too weak physically to pull off the crime. There’d been no mention of a bad leg and it would’ve come up based on the footprints leading up to the scene of the crime. One foot would’ve left a deeper impression. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Henry.”
“Hold on a second.” Elijah’s jumpiness returned full force. “You said you could help me. If I don’t get home, Lacey will think I hit the bars and ran off with one of ’em dancers.”
“You’ve already told me what I need to know to help you. You haven’t been arraigned yet so no lawyer has been assigned to your case. I’ll have the judge get you out of here,” Deacon informed him.
“You would do that for me?”
“For justice. If you’re in here, no one’s looking for the real murderer.” The statement seemed to satisfy Elijah. He rocked his head.
“I hope they get that guy. He’s twisted,” Elijah stated.
That was the truth.
“Thank you for your help, sir,” Elijah said.
“Take care of that hip.” An unsettled feeling came over Deacon. All he could think about was getting back to the detective.
LEAH DIDN’T LIKE the looks of a white four-door sedan parked across the street. The sun was up and from this angle it reflected off the front windshield so that she couldn’t get a look at the driver.
Is that why he’d parked there? Did he know? Or was it just a random person who’d pulled off the street in order to take a call?
She checked her phone again. No call. No text. Nothing from Deacon.
Her heart skipped a few beats when she saw him walking toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the white sedan backing out of its spot.
Tension caused her to grip her phone so tightly she felt like she could almost bend the metal. A hit of adrenaline spiked as she thought about the driver of the sedan trying to do something to Deacon. She tried to calm her racing pulse as she replaced her cell with her Glock.
The white sedan drove in the opposite direction. It was too soon to sigh in relief. The vehicle had been too far away to read the plates and had disappeared before she’d had a chance to call it in as suspicious. Besides, it could’ve just been a driver pulling into an empty spot in order to make or take a phone call. Her nerves were on edge but she reminded herself not to jump at every loud noise.
She exited her vehicle as Deacon neared. Her stomach flipped like a schoolgirl’s with a crush on the high school quarterback.
“What did you find out?” she asked, leaning her hip against her sedan.
The way his eyes seemed to take her in, appreciating her, wasn’t helping with her attraction.
“Your hunch is right. He didn’t do it,” Deacon said.
She knew it. “What did he say?”
“It wasn’t so much that. Of course, he claimed to be innocent. His hair was too long and too unkempt. He would’ve left DNA all over the crime scene. Plus, he was too small.” Deacon folded his arms and stood in an athletic stance, showing that he was confident in his assessment. “The man couldn’t sit still and there was real fear in his eyes.”
“You sure he wasn’t just afraid of spending the rest of his life behind bars?” It was a fair question, but based on Deacon’s body language she didn’t expect him to change his opinion.
“I considered that at first. Here’s the thing. Henry is thin. No muscles. He’d have had to have something to overpower Jillian Mitchell, subdue her and then do what he did to her ankle. This guy doesn’t strike me as powerful enough to pull it off.”
His assessment had been carefully thought out. “What about an alibi?”
“He got in a fight with his girlfriend and took a walk, so she can’t verify his whereabouts. Henry is a drunk and a criminal but he’s not a butcher.” Deacon seemed sure of himself.
“I get that he’s not strong but someone put him near the scene.” They couldn’t overlook an eyewitness.
Without a weapon the case was flimsy, but if a detective could squeeze a confession out of Henry—which was what was likely happening in this case—the murder weapon would take a back seat. And especially to someone with a history like his.
“Henry is messy. He looks like he drinks too much, maybe does a little bit of smoke when he has the extra cash. The guy who is butchering our cattle is methodical. He doesn’t leave DNA evidence. He’s not haphazard. I’m envisioning someone clean-cut who possibly has something to lose by being found out. This guy is going to great lengths to ensure he can’t be traced back to these animals. He’s intelligent and calculating. Henry is a greasy hippie with a bad temper and a history of violence against women,” he said. “He reacts in the moment.”
“I’m impressed.” The man had thought this through carefully. “You’d make an excellent detective.”
She thought she heard him mumble that he was still trying to figure out who the hell he was. He’d said it so low that she almost hadn’t caught it so she didn’t comment. It was hard to believe that a man who’d had his entire life handed to him on a silver platter would feel that way.
Hold on a minute. Was that the problem?
Leah could relate to the feeling of being trapped that came with parents who’d planned out her entire life. Her parents had tried to force her down a different path and yet she couldn’t imagine another life. The tension in her family dynamic made it easier to walk away, but what if she’d been close to her parents? What if she’d respected them? Disappointing them would have been a physical punch.
Was that why Deacon Kent had those tormented eyes? “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Deacon’s eyebrow shot up as he nodded.
“What happened to you?”