Legally Binding Read online

  Realization closed over her head like cold, black water. “Oh, my God. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to be executed.”

  He dipped his head. “I’m confessing to the murders. That’s all.”

  “That’s not all, and you know it. Marshall is going to argue that those murders were committed pursuant to the same scheme or course of conduct. He’s going for the death penalty. And you’re giving him a confession. That’s the same as committing suicide.”

  “It’s not suicide, damn it.”

  “Just because it’s state-sponsored and disguised as justice doesn’t mean it’s not suicide.” She studied Bart’s face. “But you wouldn’t see it that way, would you? You’d see it as sacrifice.”

  Bart looked up. His eyes narrowed to green slits. His expression warned her to back off.

  “No. Not sacrifice. It isn’t sacrifice when you do it for someone you love, is it?” She threw his words back at him with all the force she could muster. Rage stormed through her. Her heart ached. Bart loved her. She knew that now. Knew it with more certainty than she’d known anything in her life. And because he loved her, she was going to lose him.

  “Life in prison is the same as death.”

  It all fell into place. It all made some kind of twisted sense. His need to protect her. His seeing life in prison as a death sentence. A sentence he didn’t want to visit on her. “You don’t want me waiting.”

  The planes of his face hardened.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want me waiting like your mother waited for your father.”

  “Leave it alone.” Every muscle in his body tensed for fight. He wasn’t giving in.

  God help her, the stubborn, self-sacrificing fool wasn’t giving in. “For God’s sake, Bart, all they have against me is a date book that was stolen with my briefcase and a little mud on a pair of my shoes—mud that hasn’t even been tied to the reservoir. The best they can hope for in a case like that is a hung jury.”

  “But that might be enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to disbar you. Enough to ruin your career.”

  Her career. Numbness stole through her. Numbness and despair. Once she’d thought her career was the most important thing in the world. Only now could she see how wrong she’d been. Her career was nothing without her family’s love. It was nothing without Kelly and Cara’s unconditional support. But most of all, it was nothing without Bart. “If saving my career means losing you, it’s not worth it.”

  “You’re a good lawyer, Lindsey. A great lawyer. You’ve worked so hard, wanted it so—”

  “No. My mother is the one who had it right. My mother knew a career could wait, that some things are more important, some things have to come first. That all the success in the world doesn’t mean a thing if you don’t have someone to share it with. I want the success, Bart. But it doesn’t mean anything if I can’t share it with you.”

  “They’re going to convict me anyway. I’m just trying to keep them from ruining you in the process.”

  Tears clogged her throat. “I’m not going to let you do this.”

  “You have nothing to say about it, Lindsey. You’re not my lawyer anymore.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m not going to sit by while you let them put a needle in your arm. I’m going to the D.A. I’m going to tell him the whole thing is a lie.”

  “And what would that do? He won’t believe you. He thinks you were helping me cover up, for God’s sake.”

  He was right. Marshall wouldn’t believe her. Not unless she had evidence to back her up. Strong evidence. Evidence that didn’t seem to exist.

  Panic threatened to choke her. “I’ll challenge the allocution. Judge Valenzuela won’t proceed with sentencing if your former lawyer challenges the validity of your confession.”

  His hands opened and closed by his sides. “You can’t do that.”

  “Actually, I can.”

  “And what good will it do? You’ll be charged for helping me, and the D.A. will use my confession against me during the trial. The jury will convict me without a second thought.” He was right. Oh, God. Her knees wobbled. And folded. She reached out, supporting herself on the back of a chair.

  Suddenly Bart was beside her. His gentle hands, his fresh scent, his tenderness. He propped her up and guided her into the chair. “I’m not going to let you sacrifice your career for no reason. Please, Lindsey. Let it go.”

  She looked into his eyes, soaked in his touch. He was so tender, so caring, so giving. Her heart squeezed. “It really isn’t a sacrifice when you do it for someone you love, is it?”

  He flinched. Tears sparkled in his eyes. “Please, Lindsey.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll explain your confession to the jury. We’ll find more evidence. Evidence that exonerates you. I’ll show the jury that you didn’t kill your uncle, that you could never do such a thing. I’ll hand them reasonable doubt on a silver platter.” She waited, breathless. Wanting him to agree with her. Wanting desperately for things to be different.

  “There is no evidence, Lindsey. No silver platter.” Running his fingers through her hair, he pushed the stray tresses over her shoulder and smoothed his hand down her back. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s over, Lindsey. I want you to forget it and move on. For me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against the hard muscle of his stomach. He felt so strong, so solid. She inhaled the essence that was his alone.

  She couldn’t forget. She couldn’t move on. She didn’t care about her career. She didn’t care about her future. All she cared about was Bart, hearing him say her name…breathing in his clean, honest scent…loving him.

  With all her heart, loving him.

  Tears broke free, coursing down her cheeks. “You’re wrong, Bart. It’s not over. Not by a long shot. You said once that I never give up. Well, you were right. I don’t give up. And I’m not going to give up on you.”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s what I’ve always been afraid of.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lindsey slumped in her office chair and tried not to look at the clock on her desk. The effort was wasted. She knew what time it was. She could feel every second tick by, drawing closer and closer to the scheduled time of Bart’s allocution—the hearing where he would confess to three murders he didn’t commit and receive his sentence. By agreeing to a plea bargain with the D.A., he had given up his right to a trial.

  She’d worked so hard since she’d last seen him, spending countless hours overturning every stone she could in an effort to find evidence to clear him. But except for the report on the bottles and glass shards from Hit ’Em Again, she’d come up with nothing. And even the report had turned out to be negative for any kind of drug except alcohol.

  The only thing she was left with was her faith. In Bart. In his goodness, his honesty. And in the court system. And stacked against Bart’s confession, that didn’t add up to much.

  Or did it?

  The last time she’d talked to Bart, she’d threatened to go to the judge, to challenge Bart’s confession, to tell him everything she knew, whether she could prove it or not. Bart had been right that a move like that wouldn’t solve the problem. That the best they could hope for was for the judge to throw the question to a jury—a jury that would probably look no further than Bart’s confession. It certainly wasn’t the solution she was hoping for, but at least it would postpone his sentencing. At least it would buy some time.

  Pushing back from her desk, she stood and strode out of her office and down the hall. Maybe she could catch Paul before he left for the courthouse, tell him her plan.

  The door to Paul’s office was open. A good sign. She rounded the bend and stepped inside.

  Nancy Wilks stood at Paul’s vacant desk. Her dark bob, usually harnessed rigidly in place by loads of hair spray, looked mussed. Her eyes darted to Lindsey, as if she’d been caught going throu
gh Paul’s private papers. She held up a cigarette in shaking fingers and bobbed her head. “Lindsey?”

  “I need to talk to Paul.”

  “He already left for court.”

  Lindsey’s heart dropped.

  Nancy gathered up a stack of files on Paul’s desk. Taking a drag off her cigarette, she started for the door. “I’m heading to the courthouse in just a few minutes. If you want, I can pass on a message.”

  Lindsey hesitated. An uneasy feeling crept up her spine. There was something about Nancy’s tone. Something wrong. As if she suspected Lindsey was hiding something? As if she was hiding something herself? “Thanks anyway, Nancy. I’ll just give Paul a call on his cell phone. He has it with him, doesn’t he?”

  Nancy raised a controlled eyebrow. “Of course.”

  Lindsey stepped to the side of the desk and picked up the phone. Her hand trembled as she held the cordless receiver. She quickly tapped in Paul’s number. The ring on the line sounded in her ear, blending with the buzz of nerves. “Thanks, Nancy.”

  Giving her one last look, Nancy turned and walked from the room, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke behind her.

  After several rings with no answer, Lindsey replaced the phone in its cradle. Leaving a voice mail would do no good if he didn’t get his messages until after the hearing. She needed to get down to the courthouse, and she needed to get there now. She stepped away from the desk, her foot plowing into the metal trash can.

  It fell to its side. Blackened ash spilled over the money-green carpet.

  Ash? Paul didn’t smoke. Why would there be ash in his wastebasket? She leaned closer. She could make out two slips of paper. Reports of some kind. Lab reports. The name of the lab to which Doc Swenson had sent Bart’s samples was legible at the top of each page.

  She lowered herself to her knees and blew a stream of air at the reports to clear away some of the ash. The half-charred name at the top of both was Bart Rawlins. One address was the office and the other was her apartment. Two copies of the same report. One must have been stolen from her apartment in the break-in. Farther down, a number indicated the level of Rohypnol in Bart’s system. And even though she was no scientist, she recognized the number as being high.

  Very high.

  Her pulse beat a frantic rhythm. She grabbed an envelope from the desk. Poking and prodding, she pushed the slips of paper into it, careful not to destroy any fingerprints there might be. Ash floated into the air around her. The rest of the reports were destroyed, but she’d seen all she needed to see. The report she’d received earlier was a fake.

  And if she hadn’t interrupted Nancy, she never would have found the originals.

  LINDSEY RACED up the steps of the Mustang Valley Courthouse. She had to reach Bart. She had to show him and Paul what she’d found. She had to tell them what Nancy had done before it was too late.

  When she’d driven out of the Lambert & Church parking lot, Nancy’s car had still been parked in its usual space. Lindsey had beat her to the courthouse, but there wasn’t a moment to spare. Bart’s hearing was drawing near.

  Heels clacking on marble, she negotiated the maze of hallways leading to Judge Valenzuela’s courtroom. People bustled and gathered outside the courtroom. The doors were open and flanked by bailiffs, and inside Lindsey could see a crowd of reporters and citizens.

  She turned a corner and headed for the lawyer-client meeting rooms to the side of the courtroom. Only one was occupied. She rapped on the door with a shaking hand.

  Paul pulled it open and peered out. “Lindsey?”

  “I have to talk to you and Bart.”

  “Now’s not the time. We’re due in court soon.”

  “It’s urgent.”

  He frowned but stepped back to let her slip inside.

  Bart pushed to his feet on the other side of a small table, watching her through sad and wary eyes. He looked thin and pale in his jail jumpsuit, more like his father than the robust cowboy she’d met at the beginning of this ordeal. The cowboy she’d fallen in love with.

  Her heart pinched.

  Paul closed the door. “This had better be worth it, Lindsey.”

  It was worth it, all right. She kept her attention on Bart. She couldn’t have done otherwise if her life depended on it. “I found the reports, Bart. The real lab reports. The ones that show high levels of Rohypnol in your system. The other one was a fake.”

  Lines dug into his brow. “What are you talking about, Lindsey?”

  “Evidence. I’m talking about evidence that proves you couldn’t have killed Jeb Rawlins.”

  His jaw tensed. His face hardened. As if he didn’t believe what she was saying. Or he was afraid to let himself hope.

  “It won’t make the judge drop the charges immediately. But it will give us some ammunition to take to a trial. Strong ammunition. The kind that produces reasonable doubt.” She drew a deep breath, forcing all her conviction into her voice. “You can’t plead guilty. You have to help me fight this.”

  “Let me see those reports,” Paul held out his hand.

  Lindsey clutched the envelope. She didn’t want to let it go, even to show Paul. She wanted to hand it directly to the judge. She couldn’t take the chance that whatever evidence it carried would be contaminated. “We don’t have time. I have to show this to Judge Valenzuela. Nancy will be here any minute.”

  “Nancy?” Bart echoed. “What does this have to do with Nancy?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Just promise me one thing. Promise me you won’t plead guilty.”

  “Lindsey—”

  “Trust me on this, Bart. If I’m wrong, you can plead later. Just promise me you won’t plead guilty. Have faith in me.”

  A full minute seemed to tick by. His eyes drilled into her. A muscle along his jaw flexed and released. Finally he dragged in a ragged breath. “I promise.”

  Relief spiraled through her. Forcing herself to turn away, she strode for the door on shaking legs, gripping the envelope like a lifeline.

  “Lindsey?” Bart said.

  She turned back. A shiver rippled up her spine. “What?”

  “I’ve always had faith in you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them away. She didn’t have time for tears now. She had to reach the judge. She had to give him the slip of paper that could save Bart’s life. She reached for the doorknob.

  A hand slammed against the door, holding it shut. “You’re not going anywhere, Lindsey.” Paul’s voice was rough, strange.

  She turned around and stared into the snub-nosed barrel of a gun.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bart’s heart jumped to his throat. He stared at the little revolver, its barrel leveled on Lindsey. “What the hell are you doing, Paul?”

  Paul looked at the gun in his hand, as if just recognizing it was there. Then, his expression hardening, he took his free hand off the door and shoved it toward Lindsey, palm up. “Give it to me.”

  Lindsey’s eyes flared wide and then narrowed on Paul, like she’d gotten a bead on him and not the other way around. “One of these reports is addressed to me at my apartment. You broke into my apartment that night, Paul? You stole my briefcase? But it wasn’t my briefcase you were after, was it? It was my mail.”

  Paul’s expression didn’t change. “Give me the report.”

  “You knew all along Bart didn’t kill Jeb. He couldn’t have. He had too much Rohypnol in his system. Rohypnol Gary Tuttle slipped into his beer at the bar.” Lindsey lifted her chin and met her boss’s eye. “Who killed Jeb, Paul? You?”

  Paul didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. Bart could see the guilt etched in the lines of his face, hard as the callousness in his eyes.

  “So it wasn’t Kenny,” Bart muttered. He couldn’t quite believe his cousin was innocent, but the evidence was right in front of him, shoving a gun in Lindsey’s face.

  The gun. He had to get that gun away from Paul. But to do that, he needed to get around this damn table without Paul seeing him
move. He focused on Lindsey, willing her to look at him, to know what he was thinking.

  Her blue gaze flicked toward him. And then held. She set her chin and drew in a deep breath. Breaking eye contact, she focused on her boss. “Why did you do it, Paul?”

  Paul glanced at him and then back to Lindsey.

  “I can’t imagine what would make you do something like that,” she continued. “What’s in it for you?”

  Paul shook his head in disgust. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Bart took a silent step.

  Lindsey frowned, a tiny line appearing between graceful eyebrows. “Obvious? How?”

  Paul shifted his focus to Bart. “It’s all your damn fault.”

  “How is it Bart’s fault?” Lindsey raised her voice, trying to draw Paul’s attention.

  It worked. Paul turned to her with a glower. “If Bart would have sold the Four Aces when I originally approached him with the Ranger deal, and if his damn ornery cuss of an uncle hadn’t jacked up the price of his land beyond reason, none of this would have had to happen.”

  “The land? You killed three people over land?” Lindsey prodded.

  “I didn’t kill Beatrice. Gary did. She got in his way when he was taking the old man out on the range.”

  Poor Beatrice. She’d only been doing her job, trying to take care of his daddy, keep him safe. And Gary. After all his daddy had done for Gary… Bart pushed away the sting of betrayal. None of it mattered. The only thing he could think about now was stopping Paul. And saving Lindsey. He took another step toward the corner of the table.

  “So you and Gary did all this for what?” Lindsey continued. “Money?”

  “The Bar JR and the Four Aces are worth a lot. More than you know.” Paul scowled at her. “Maybe money doesn’t seem like much for a Wellington or the owner of the Four Aces or for Don Church and his family millions. But some of us weren’t handed money and influence at birth. Some of us had to scrape and scratch for every penny.”

  Bart shook his head. Despite the current success of the Four Aces, there had been plenty of lean times. He could understand the frustration Paul felt at not being raised with money, at having to see Don dressed to the nines in his designer suits every day while Paul had to claw to build his end of the partnership. And he could understand Gary’s desperation to retire from ranching after suffering years of back pain. Maybe even his desire for a few luxuries. Still, none of it made a damn bit of sense. No amount of frustration or pain or envy could justify murder.