Joanna Wayne - Midnight Rider

The dull pounding at the base of his skull that had been playing background drums for him ever since the fall intensified. He took the bottle of extrastrength painkillers from his duffel and shook two into his left hand. He swallowed them with a chaser of water he’d cupped in his hand from the faucet.

Rummaging in his shaving duffel, he dug out a toothbrush and squeezed a roll of minty jell along the bristles. The brushing did little to rid his mouth of the coppery taste that had taken hold the second he’d learned he might be a father.

Fatigue stitched with dread settled in hard as he walked to the bed, dropped his towel to the floor and threw back the heavy spread. Tomorrow he’d make the long drive to Houston. Tonight he had to get some rest.

Sleep came almost instantly. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. By four in the morning, Cannon was behind the wheel of his pickup truck, pulling out of the hotel parking lot. Brit Garner’s business card was deep in his pocket.

Talk was cheap, especially from a detective who admittedly slept around. A paternity test was all it would take to prove that she was wrong.

* * *

THE CLERK AT the police precinct stared at Cannon, her gaze focused on the angry raw scrape that colored his right cheek. “Are you here to file an assault complaint?”

“No. I’m here to see Detective Brittany Garner. Is she in?”

“The detective is with someone in her office now. What’s your business with her?”

“Personal.”

The middle-aged clerk leveled her gaze, her features hardening as if she suddenly found his visit threatening or just downright annoying. “Detective Garner is very busy, but give me your name and I’ll see if she has time to see you.”

“Cannon Dalton and she’ll see me.”

The clerk rolled her eyes at him as if he was just another nuisance in her day. “Wait here.”

The wait was short. The clerk returned less than a minute later. “The detective will see you now. I’ll walk you to her office.”

He followed the clerk down a narrow corridor, taking a left at the end of the hall. She opened a door and motioned him to go in.

R.J.’s description hadn’t done the stunning woman behind the desk justice. She did look vaguely familiar, but damned if he could place her. Probably reminded him of some movie star or supermodel. She had the body and the looks for either one.

“I’m glad you finally found time to stop by, Mr. Dalton. We need to talk.” Her voice was stern, her manner stiffly authoritative. All cop. Not quite what he’d expected from a woman who was about to say, Hey, guess what? I had your baby.

Maybe Kimmie wasn’t her daughter, after all. But surely the Houston Police Department didn’t have the staff to send homicide detectives out to find deadbeat dads.

Cannon let his gaze travel over her while she slid some loose papers into a brown envelope. Striking eyes, the color of a summer sky. Hair was shiny and straight and fell past her shoulders. Long bangs were tucked behind her left ear.

Finally she sat down and told him to do the same. He settled in the straight-backed metal chair across from her desk. He looked her in the eye. Hers were accusing. They matched her smug expression.

“I’m glad you stopped by. This will be much easier to deal with in person.”

“Might have been easier if you’d talked to me before you dumped your kid on R.J.’s doorstep.”

“I didn’t dump. I delivered Kimmie to her grandfather since her father wasn’t around to accept responsibility for her welfare.”

“Part of your official duties as a detective?”

“As a matter of fact, it was.”

“And how did you reach the conclusion that I’m Kimmie’s father?”

“Maybe I should refresh your memory.”

“You definitely should.”

“Marble Falls, Texas. Last December. The Greenleaf Bar. Does that mean anything to you?”

Marble Falls. Last December. A resort-sponsored rodeo. He groaned as the pieces started to fall together.

“The woman in Greenleaf Bar was you?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Vaguely.”

He struggled to put things in perspective. That had been a hell of a night. He’d stopped at the first bar he’d come to after leaving the rodeo. A blonde had sat down next to him. As best he remembered, he’d given her an earful about the rodeo, life and death as he’d become more and more inebriated.

She must have offered him a ride back to his hotel since his truck had still been at the bar when he’d gone looking for it the next morning. If Brit was telling the truth, the woman must have gone into the motel with him and they’d ended up doing the deed.

If so, he’d been a total jerk. She’d been as drunk as him and driven or she’d willingly taken a huge risk.

Hard to imagine the woman staring at him now ever being that careless or impulsive.

“Is that your normal pattern, Mr. Dalton?” Brit asked “Use a woman to satisfy your physical needs and then ride off to the next rodeo?”

“That’s a little like the armadillo calling the squirrel road kill, isn’t it? I’m sure I didn’t coerce you into my bed if I was so drunk I can’t remember the experience.”

“I can assure you that you’re nowhere near that irresistible. I have never been in your bed.”

“Whew. That’s a relief. I’d have probably died of frostbite.”

“This isn’t a joking matter.”

“I’m well aware. But I’m not the enemy here, so you can quit talking to me like I just climbed out from under a slimy rock. If you’re not Kimmie’s mother, who is?”

“My twin sister, Sylvie Hamm.”

Twin sisters. That explained Brit’s attitude. Probably considered her sister a victim of the drunken sex urges he didn’t remember. It also explained why Brit Garner looked familiar.

“So why is it I’m not having this conversation with Sylvie?”

“She’s dead.”

The words sank in slowly, changing everything. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. The how and why of all of this seemed less important now. A baby would grow up never knowing her mother. A baby that might be his.

He tried to wrap his mind around the new development. The death had to be recent. Kimmie was just a baby. “How did your sister die?”

“She was murdered.”

A new jolt shook his system as the situation grew even more disturbing. He muttered a few careless curse words, not out of disrespect but out of desperation. He didn’t see how things could get much worse, but from the look on Brit’s face, he had a feeling they were about to.

“I get the feeling I should be calling in a lawyer about now,” he said.

“Not if you have nothing to hide. You’re not currently a suspect in her murder, Mr. Dalton, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Currently the operative word. “Have you arrested a suspect?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Do you have one?”

“No.”

“A motive?”

“It’s an open investigation. I can’t really discuss the details with you.”

“Exactly what can you share, Detective?”

Brit stood and walked around to the front of her desk, propping her shapely backside on the edge of it. Hard-edged, probably tough as nails, but hard to get past the fact that she looked more like a starlet playing a cop than an actual detective. There had to be a story there somewhere.

“What specifically would you like to know, Mr. Dalton?”

“First, how about calling me Cannon? If I am Kimmie’s father, then we’re practically related.”

“Okay, what do you want to know, Cannon?”

“For starters, why would you hand over your niece to a man like R. J. Dalton, or to me, for that matter, since you think I’m such a lowlife?”

She hesitated, then exhaled slowly as if she were giving in against her better judgment. “I’d planned to take that up with you after we have the results of the paternity test in hand, but since you’re so eager to discuss details, I guess we can talk now.”