“No.” Her tone was adamant. “You’d just have to wait around. As long as I’m busy, I’ll be all right. But if you want, you can meet me at the house when I get home. Walking in the door, knowing he’s gone, that’ll be when it all comes crashing in. That’s when I’ll need you.”
“I’ll be there. Just tell me when.”
“I’ll have to let you know. I could be tied up for hours. Dad’s lawyer is here in Lubbock. I called, and he wants to meet with me while I’m here. I need to coordinate the damage control with his campaign staff and do something about planning the funeral.” Sky could hear the strain in her voice. Lauren was walking the ragged edge, but she was holding on. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” She spoke above voices in the background. “Got to go,” she said, and ended the call.
Dazed by the news, Sky slipped his cell phone back into his pocket. He should have known Lauren wouldn’t fall apart. She was a strong woman. He’d seen that yesterday. But the urge to hold her in his arms, console and protect her, was still there. He would respect her wish that he stay away, but right now he wanted nothing more than to be at her side.
As for the ripple effect of Garn Prescott’s death . . . It would be as if an earthquake had struck.
On the heels of the drug money scandal, the news would go national, of course. With luck, Prescott’s attempted suicide could be kept out of the press. A heart attack was, at least, a respectable way to go.
The election, already in a tailspin, would become even more frenetic. Until the money scandal broke, Garn Prescott had been the front-runner. Now it was anybody’s race; and there’d also be a scramble for the temporary appointment to his seat in Congress.
Other issues hit closer to home. As far as Sky knew, Lauren was Prescott’s sole heir. The congressman was far from rich. The Prescott Ranch had been drowning in debt when he’d sold out to the syndicate. But he owned—or had owned—the house and his father’s collection of vintage cars and had hopefully left behind some good government life insurance.
Lauren would do fine. So why should she settle for a man with a hundred acres and a little money in the bank?
This was no time for questions, Sky told himself. He loved Lauren, and whatever happened, he would be there for her. But loving wasn’t the same as having. The sooner he got that reality through his head, the better.
Looking toward the house, he saw Will’s red truck pull up to the porch. Will would want to hear about Prescott’s death. And knowing Will, his first thought would be for the canyon parcel he’d tried so many times to get back from the Prescotts. Now that Garn was gone, maybe Will could get Lauren to sell it to him.
Preparing to deliver the news, Sky locked the paddock gate and strode across the yard toward the house.
Climbing into the Cadillac, Lauren took a moment to close her eyes and rest her forehead against the top of the stee
ring wheel. She’d been running on adrenaline all afternoon. Now that she was alone and finally about to head home, she was exhausted.
Shouldn’t she be feeling something? This wasn’t her first loss. She’d experienced her mother’s death and then Mike’s with an outpouring of grief and tears that went on and on. But now all she felt was . . . drained.
Today her first priority had been making sure the gunshot wound wasn’t leaked to the press. Her father’s longtime attorney, whom she’d met at the Lubbock fund-raiser, had come to the hospital to ensure the staff’s discretion and the privacy of the medical record. He’d also put her in touch with a funeral director, a personal friend of his, who knew how to handle such delicate matters. They’d spent more than an hour discussing arrangements for the burial. The congressman would be interred next week with the dignity befitting his station and his long service to his country.
Since the death involved a gunshot wound, it had to be reported to the police. Two detectives had come to the hospital, interviewed Lauren and the doctor, then tested Lauren’s hands, as well as her father’s, for gunpowder residue. Satisfied there was no foul play, they’d left without demanding an autopsy. Thank heaven for that, at least.
Lauren had gone to his campaign headquarters in person to give the news to his staff, mostly volunteers. Still reeling from the funding scandal, they’d taken the news hard. To show her appreciation for their work, she’d taken them to dinner at a nice steakhouse. She’d even managed to choke down a few bites of her prime rib and drink a few sips of wine.
Now the sun had gone down and Lauren had nothing left of herself to give. In the morning she’d write up a statement for release to the press. But right now all she wanted was to go home and lose herself in Sky’s arms.
Finding her cell phone in her purse, she called his number to let him know she was leaving. When he didn’t pick up, she left a message.
“Sky, I’m on my way. I should be home by nine. I’m going to need you.”
Putting the phone away, she switched on the headlights and pulled the car onto the road.
The hulking semitruck, with the Haskell Trucking logo on the trailer, had parked outside the diner with a view of the highway. At the wheel, Marie inhaled the last of her cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. Her tired eyes followed the blinking red dot on the screen of the electronic tracker Stella had lent her. She’d been waiting hours for Garn Prescott to leave Lubbock and hit the highway. Now, at last, the big white Caddy was on the move.
Marie had nothing against Garn Prescott—didn’t even know the man. But if killing him would get her in tight with Stella, she was up for it. If she could shoot her own brother in the back, she shouldn’t have any trouble ramming a stranger’s car.
She knew, of course, why Stella wanted Prescott dead. In any investigation of the funding scandal, the man would sell her down the river to save his own skin. Just like Lute, Prescott knew too much.
And Marie knew something else. This assignment was a test. Carry it out and she’d become Stella’s business associate, on her way to taking over when the time came. Fail and she could end up like her brothers.
The signal was in close range now. Looking north up the long, straight road, Marie could see the approaching headlights. If it was Prescott’s Cadillac, she was in business.
Traffic was light at this hour. All she needed to do was get behind Prescott’s car, follow along until no one else was in sight, and then make her move.
The headlights came close, blinding her for an instant before the car sped past. It was the Cadillac all right. Time to get moving.
Gearing down and switching her headlights on low beam, Marie pulled the truck onto the road and hit the gas.