Outside the Law Page 14

  “In my lab I have the most advanced ultraviolet-visible spectroscopy. Does Bernadette Parish?”

  Dwayne sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but don’t hold your breath.”

  Mitch relaxed slightly and stepped out of Dwayne’s way. “My mom called a few minutes ago,” he said to Beth. “She wants to know what time we’ll be home for dinner.”

  Such a mundane question. Beth wished with all her heart that she could sit down at Myra’s table and enjoy another cholesterol-laden meal, drink a beer and forget about murder for an hour or two.

  “Better tell her to start without you,” Dwayne said. “Lieutenant Addlestein has lots of questions for you.”

  Just then a bright red pickup truck came roaring down the road, raising a cloud of dust and causing everyone who’d been milling around to freeze and look up. The vehicle screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. As the engine stilled, the driver’s door opened and a powerfully built Hispanic man climbed out and surveyed the scene.

  His eyes lit on Beth and a big smile split his face as he strode toward her, his ostrich-hide boots thunking on the blacktop with every step.

  He scooped Beth into a bear hug. He was one of those people who hugged a lot, and Beth didn’t mind. She was relieved to have reinforcements finally arrive.

  “You just had to go and find a dead body without me?”

  “I’m talented that way,” Beth said.

  “Who the hell are you?” Dwayne demanded.

  The man turned toward Dwayne, friendly as an oversized puppy. One with teeth. “Howdy. I’m Billy Cantu, from Project Justice.”

  Dwayne shook Billy’s outstretched hand only grudgingly. “It’s getting so thick with you Project Justice people around here I can’t spit without hitting one of you.”

  “That’s ’cause Mitch is one of our own. We’re pulling out all the stops.” He nodded to Mitch. “Amigo. Daniel says to get your ass in front of the computer where it belongs.”

  “MITCH.” DWAYNE NODDED toward his squad car. “I’ll give you a ride to the station.”

  Right. Mitch had a date with Lieutenant Addlestein.

  His first instinct was to tell his brother to forget it, he’d sooner walk all the way to the station, barefoot, on broken glass, than accept a ride. Back when they were kids and Dwayne had bought his first car, Mitch had secretly hoped his big brother would acknowledge him, maybe give him a ride now and then. But Dwayne had refused to let Mitch so much as touch his wheels—which had led to the potatoes-in-the-tailpipe incident.

  Then Mitch saw the look Beth gave him, and he was forced to reconsider. She didn’t have to say a word; he saw it all in her eyes. She wanted him to make nice.

  He could feel the muscles in his jaw tensing, but he forced himself to slide into the passenger side of Dwayne’s vehicle. He even fastened his seat belt without being prodded.

  For a few minutes the two men rode in silence. Dwayne seemed to be trying to come up with something to say; he opened his mouth a couple of times, then shut it again without speaking. Mitch wasn’t inclined to make things any easier on him.

  Finally Dwayne spoke. “I just wanted you to know, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to become a real suspect.”

  “Why don’t I believe that? You sure never went out of your way to bail me out of any scrapes when we were younger. Like when I was a scrawny sixth-grader, and those high school boys cornered me and beat the crap out of me just ’cause they could?”

  “I know. I could have stopped it and I didn’t. I was too busy trying to be cool. I’d just made the football team. For the first time in my life, I realized I could be someone besides the town drunk’s kid. And I was scared to death of losing that.”

  “What are you talking about? Everybody loved you.”

  “You’re remembering things wrong. I struggled, same as you, trying to figure out where I fit in. I was the quiet kid who tried to be invisible. I got good grades so no one had reason to complain. It wasn’t until I got a growth spurt and started to be good at sports that I saw a glimmer of hope for myself.”

  Mitch didn’t like the squirmy feeling that came over him. He didn’t want to feel any compassion for his brother. “At least Daddy was proud of you.”

  “I’m not sure where you got that idea, but if he approved of anything I did, he never let me know it. When I got an A in English, I was a pansy-ass Goody Two-shoes. He thought I was a sheep, doing what everyone told me to do. You, on the other hand, thought for yourself. You built your own computer out of bubble gum and baling wire, to hear him tell the story. You, Mitch, were his favorite. At least, that was how he made it seem.”

  “Me, his favorite? Are you on crack? You were the award-winning athlete, focused, self-sacrificing.”

  “‘What good is football?’” Dwayne did a remarkable imitation of their father. “‘You can’t make a career out of it, you’re not that good. All being a football player does is make the girls drop their drawers for you so you can get ’em pregnant. Like your mama did to me.’”

  “Jeez, you sound just like him. That’s creepy.”

  “You know what’s creepier? I’m starting to look like him. At least you were spared that.”

  Mitch had to agree, it was a blessing he’d taken after his mom in the looks department. He would hate to have to look at his father’s face while he shaved.

  “Did he really say that to you?” But Mitch already knew it was true.

  “And a lot more. ‘You should be more like Mitch. Now, there’s a young man who’s not afraid to speak his mind and think for himself. He’ll be a senator someday.’”

  “A senator?” Mitch nearly choked on his own spit. “He used to tell me I’d end up in a gutter somewhere. And you were such a born leader, you’d go on to be an NFL head coach.”

  “You gotta be kidding.”

  “Swear it on my grandma’s grave.”

  They rode in stunned silence for a while. “He played us against each other.”

  “He liked having power over people,” Dwayne said quietly. “And who better to manipulate than two boys desperate for their father’s approval? One kind word. I never got it. Did you?”

  “Hell, no.” Mitch observed Dwayne from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out his game. But what he saw there convinced him, once and for all, that there was no game. Dwayne’s eyes glistened with tears.

  IT WAS AFTER EIGHT by the time Dwayne dropped off Mitch at his mother’s house. His mom had waited dinner on him, but the thought of food still turned Mitch’s stomach.

  Poor Larry.

  Billy had finagled an invitation to dinner, claiming he needed to be debriefed. But probably, he’d been lured by the prospect of a home-cooked meal.

  His mom fussed around them, setting out plates and pouring iced tea. “Come on in and sit down, you must be famished.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. LeBeau,” Billy said.

  “Call me Myra, please. It’s no trouble. I always make extra, just in case. I hope you like Frito chili pie.”

  “Are you kidding? I used to live on that stuff when I was a kid. I didn’t think you could get it outside Texas.”

  “Well, we’re close enough that some of the Tex-Mex influence drifts across the Sabine River. How about Cajun food? Do you like that?”

  Billy clutched his heart. “I love Cajun food. Jambalaya, red beans and rice, boiled crawfish.”

  “Maybe we’ll do a big crawfish boil this weekend.”

  “Mom,” Mitch said, “this isn’t a house party.”

  “Everyone still has to eat.”

  Mitch was mildly irritated at the way Billy just breezed in and charmed everyone. Not that Mitch couldn’t turn on the charm when he wanted to, especially with the ladies, but underneath he knew he couldn’t always hide the edge. His lazy drawl was something he’d worked on because his innate angry intensity hadn’t won him any friends.

  With Billy, Mitch suspected the charm came naturally. He did
n’t know what Billy’s background was like, but he suspected he hadn’t scrapped his way through childhood. Things seemed to come easily to him.

  Or maybe Mitch was just jealous because he didn’t like the way Beth smiled at Billy. Mitch preferred having all of her attention focused directly on him, selfish bastard that he was. Hell, Billy was here to help, yet Mitch had a hard time cultivating the appropriate gratitude.

  Then again, gratitude had never been his strong suit. He’d never liked owing anybody anything and frankly, hadn’t had many times when he’d felt anyone had it coming.

  His mom scooped a mountain of her casserole in front of each of them. Loaded with fat, it wasn’t the sort of meal he should be eating when he was supposed to be in training. But training for his upcoming fight had been pretty far from his mind the past couple of days.

  He should call the promoter now and cancel. It was looking less and less likely that he would beat the charges against him so quickly. Hell, he wouldn’t be all that shocked if he got another murder pinned on him. Once the cops reviewed his GPS history from last night he would have more explaining to do. Lieutenant Addlestein’s questions hadn’t been gentle. He’d gotten in Mitch’s face, trying to force some kind of confession. But Mitch had kept his cool.

  “Oh, man, this really takes me back,” Billy said.

  “I can give you the recipe,” Myra offered. “It’s easy.”

  “Um, I don’t really cook much.”

  Billy was addicted to fast food. Mitch’s diet had once been just as unhealthy, until he’d fallen into the world of MMA and learned the virtues of lean protein.

  He took a couple of bites of the casserole, but his stomach rebelled and he laid down his fork.

  “Is something wrong?” Beth asked.

  “Just not very hungry.” He wasn’t about to admit to a weak stomach in front of Billy.

  “First dead body, huh?” Billy jumped, and it was clear Beth had kicked him under the table.

  “Billy, not at the table.”

  Mitch could feel his temper rising, and he didn’t even know why. Maybe it was because he’d never felt so powerless. And he wasn’t sure he trusted Billy Cantu with his life. Beth, yeah. But Billy was just so damn casual about everything....

  “Excuse me,” Mitch said. “I really don’t have much of an appetite.” He carried his plate to the sink.

  “I can save that for you.” His mom took the plate. Of course she wouldn’t want to waste good food. Although she was no longer living hand to mouth, the habits of poverty died hard.

  “Sure, Mom, thanks.” Although he didn’t think he’d ever eat Frito chili pie again.

  Beth cast worried glances at him, in between sharing looks with Billy.

  “I’m fine,” he said for her benefit. “I’ll go tend to the livestock.”

  He didn’t take a full breath until he was outside. He really needed to hit something, but though Daniel had thought of almost everything when he’d sent his belongings down here, he hadn’t included a punching bag.

  The chickens saw him coming and, perhaps sensing his mood, scuttled toward their enclosure before he’d even reached the outer pen. He checked that they had fresh water, then tossed them a few handfuls of grain.

  The goats were next. As he tried to grab hold of the billy’s halter, the goat skittered away and tried to butt him in the thigh.

  “Come on, you idiot, I’m gonna feed you.”

  The nannies and the one tiny kid were easier—they just followed him docilely into the miniature barn and went right into their stalls. Finally the billy realized the error of his ways and trotted to his stall door.

  Mitch fed them each a measure of oats. The kid nursed while his mother was occupied with her food, and Mitch paused to watch them, trying to draw some comfort from the sweet sight.

  It wasn’t working. Maybe a long, hard run was what he needed. Or…he spied some bales of hay stacked in one corner of the barn. As a kid, with no proper training equipment, he used to pummel hay.

  He took an experimental punch at the stack of dried grass. Hell, that would work. He gave it a right hook, a left uppercut, then spun around and kicked the hay in its head. But the hay was a tough bastard. He wouldn’t go down.

  Mitch ducked under his opponent’s imaginary strike and hit him with a shoulder to the gut. Mr. Hay was up against the ropes now, feeling pain. Mitch yanked his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

  He punished his enemy with a chop to the neck, followed by a quick jab to the ribs. And just when the guy thought he had a chance, Mitch threw him to the mat, quickly straddling him.

  “Had enough, mofo?” Mitch didn’t give the guy an inch. He wedged a forearm under the guy’s chin and went for the elbow joint. About this time, his opponent usually tapped out.

  Mitch felt a searing pain on his forearm. At first he didn’t give into it because he’d learned to ignore pain. But his opponent was a bale of hay, not a real fighter looking for weakness. Mitch reared back and saw blood on his arm.

  Damn, the son of a bitch was fighting back. He’d been nailed by a piece of baling wire.

  “Mitch?”

  He looked up to see Beth, staring at him with horrified eyes, and he wanted to sink through the barn’s dirt floor.

  “Why are you beating up a bale of hay?”

  He hopped to his feet. Why did she, of all people, have to come upon him like this? Twice?

  “Just working off some frustration, that’s all.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  He picked up his discarded T-shirt and held it against his bleeding forearm. It was just a scratch. “No big deal.”

  “How long since you’ve had a tetanus shot?”

  “Honey, I’m fine, okay?” His impromptu workout had helped. The anger had seeped away, leaving in its place a pleasant physical exhaustion and a certain sense of misplaced satisfaction at having bested his sneaky opponent.

  He touched Beth’s shoulder. “Please don’t worry—”

  She edged away from him, just like the chickens had.

  Oh, God. She was afraid of him.

  “Billy wants to do the debriefing now.” She turned and headed for the door. “I thought you’d want to—”

  “Beth, Beth, wait.” He wanted to grab her arm, to stop her from leaving, but he didn’t dare touch her even in the gentlest way. He already knew she didn’t take kindly to anyone physically challenging her.

  She did slow down, though. “What?”

  “You know I would never, ever hurt you, right?”

  When she turned to face him, her eyes glinted with tears. “No, I don’t know that. Vince used to say that to me all the time, and I believed him. He would throw a full beer can at the TV, or break a dish on purpose, but then he would promise me that he would never hurt me.”

  “Until one day he did.”

  “Yeah. Everyone was so shocked. Everyone said he was such a nice guy, sweet and funny. And he was, most of the time.”

  “Except when he wasn’t. I get it, Beth. You think I’m like him.”

  “I don’t know what to think. It seems every time I turn around you’re wailing on something—punching bags, hay, not to mention the human beings.”

  “I’ve never in my life hit a woman. Never. I’m not like him. He had a history. I looked into it myself, after you pressed charges. It was a pattern with him. I’m different.”

  “There had to be a first time. With Vince, I mean. He had a temper. He snapped. Maybe you think you can control it, but three…four times now, I’ve witnessed something that has no relation to ‘control.’ You weren’t seeing a wad of hay just now. You were seeing a human being, and I shudder to think what was going through your mind.”

  She had him there.

  “Your dad?”

  Not this time. But no way would he admit he’d been thinking about Billy, a man who was supposed to be his friend. A man who was trying to help him beat a murder rap.

  “I wasn’t thinking about anybody speci
fic,” he lied. “Just blowing off steam. It’s something I do. It’s something I have to do. But don’t go lumping me with your loser-abuser ex. I’m not a bully. I don’t hit people who don’t hit me first. Maybe I have a temper, but I deal with it in a way that’s worked for me for a long time. If you want to judge me for beating up punching bags and hay bales, go ahead.”

  For half a moment, she looked as though she was going to do just that. “What about Dwayne?”

  “He threw the first punch. Anyway, that wasn’t a serious fight. Okay, maybe a little bit serious. But if I’d wanted to hurt him, I could have, and I didn’t.”

  Beth’s face crumpled, and a sob came out of her that sounded like a wounded animal.

  “Beth, don’t cry.” Crap, now what did he do? He was afraid to touch her, afraid anything he did would send her running, and he couldn’t let her run from him.

  She saved him from having to make any decision at all. She threw herself at his sweaty torso and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry, Mitch,” she said between sobs. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s no business of mine if you want to punch hay or leather bags, or homeless guys shooting at innocent people. And Dwayne…you have a right to defend yourself.”

  “Beth, I’m all sweaty…”

  “Of course I have no idea what you’re going through.”

  “It’s a hot button with you. I get that. But you don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never in a million years—”

  “I know. I know. Just forget I said anything, okay?”

  Maybe he could forgive the words she’d flung at him in an emotional moment. But he couldn’t forget the way she’d shied from his touch. He stroked her hair, soft as a bird’s feathers, calming her the way he might a skittish dog.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  She gave a half laugh, half sob. “It doesn’t take much. I’m pretty easy to scare.”

  He tipped her chin up until she was looking at him. “You’re brave as hell. You stood up to that humongous man at the homeless camp. And you didn’t let Lieutenant Addlestein intimidate you.”

  “Maybe I didn’t look scared on the outside, but I was quaking on the inside.”