back to Twin Harts Ranch and Stacy Giordano’s small, neat little guesthouse.
Stacy didn’t want a man around. That much had been evident in their conversation about her husband.
But her kiss-that had suggested something else, hadn’t it? “Something like that,” Law answered. He nodded his head toward the plastic bag Harlan was holding. “That the flower?”
Harlan laid it on the table in front of Law. Overnight in the bag, the bloom had lost some of its dewy freshness. “Any chance of getting a print off of that?”
“If it had been found at the scene of a mass murder, maybe. But dropping a flower bud on a porch isn’t a crime. Nobody’s going to pay money for the technology it would take to get a print off that, not even Bart. Not unless you’ve got proof it’s connected to the bombing.”
Harlan sat across from Law, giving the small plastic bag a frustrated nudge. “I can’t get it out of my head-Stacy Giordano is like a peach ready to pick. She’s about as deep inside the governor’s inner circle as you get. She lives alone, on the ranch, and has a son who’s a handful to deal with.”
“You think she could be bribed?” Law asked.
Harlan’s gut told him no. “I don’t think she’s corruptible where money is concerned. But if someone were to threaten her kid, I don’t think she’d let ethics get in her way. She’ll do anything for her son.”
“Well, we’ve got her under twenty-four-hour guard.”
“But what about Zachary?” Harlan asked. “He could be snatched at school, or grabbed at his riding lessons, or hell, he could wander off at the ranch and get into God knows what kind of trouble.” Harlan ran his hand over his head, wishing he had more information to work with. Something to tell him what direction the threat was coming from. Then, maybe, he’d be prepared when it happened.
“I hate to heap more bad news on you,” Law said, giving Harlan a sympathetic look, “but apparently there’s a group out of Austin planning to protest at the fundraiser. A group called Planet Justice filed for a permit.”
“But the party is on the governor’s personal property.”
“That didn’t stop the protestors down in Crawford a few years back, did it?” Law pointed out. “She’s a public figure. People are going to protest. And from what little I know of Lila Lockhart, I’d say she’ll probably want you to accommodate them. Free speech is a big damned deal with her.”
Harlan suspected Law was right. The governor was exactly the kind of person who’d bend over backward to support constitutional rights, even at her own cost or inconvenience.
He supposed he’d have to bring up the subject with her as soon as he could set up a meeting. If he was going to have to contend with a crowd of protesters along with all the other threats he needed to anticipate, it was better to know it now rather than later.
He’d been crazy to let Bart and the governor talk him into this assignment-especially since it had been his curiosity about Stacy Giordano that had sealed the deal.
On top of everything else he had to contend with, Stacy was quickly becoming the most vexing complication of all.
ON FRIDAYS, Zachary stayed an hour late at Cradles to Crayons, working in a one-on-one session with Charlotte to improve his socializing skills, so Stacy didn’t break for lunch until almost one. Before she headed into town, she walked down to the Twin Harts stables, dutifully signing in at every checkpoint, and stopped in, planning to thank the head groom, Cory Miller, for letting Zachary ride a couple of days earlier on such short notice.
Cory was out to lunch himself, but Trevor Lewis, the stable hand who’d taken Zachary out for the ride, was in one of the stalls, grooming a magnificent brown bay gelding. He smiled at her when she called his name.
“Hey there, Stacy. You in the mood for a ride?”
She smiled back. “No, just had a moment and wanted to thank you for letting Zachary ride on such short notice the other day. I really appreciate it.”
Trevor gave the gelding’s rump a gentle pat and came out of the stall, wiping his hands on his jeans. “He’s a fun kid, once you get used to his ways. And he’s real good with the horses. They all like him. Has a nice touch.”
His words of praise for Zachary warmed her. It was rare when people looked past his oddness to see the great kid underneath. She knew Zachary’s problems would only get more challenging as he grew older, so the more people around him who understood who he really was, the better.
Of course, Trevor wasn’t likely to be around in a few years, was he? Groom jobs at the stable were usually pretty short-term, until the holder moved on to a better paying situation. Trevor was in his late twenties, putting him a few years older than most of the other grooms who worked for Cory in the stables. Of course, with the economy as difficult as it was at the moment, the job might be more appealing now than it would be at other times.
“I feel as if I should pay you for the time you took with Zachary,” she said aloud.
Trevor shook his head. “The governor pays us well enough already. Besides, taking Zachary out is like taking a break from work.” He flashed her a smile full of unexpected charm, making her notice for the first time that underneath his overlong brown hair and layer of stable grime, Trevor Lewis was a nice-looking man. Though he was only a few inches taller than she was, his lean frame was hard-muscled and masculine.
In some ways, he reminded her a lot of her ex-husband, Anthony. Not in looks-Trevor’s eyes were hazel, not blue, and his skin was a good deal fairer than her ex-husband’s-but they shared a similar vibrant charm that had a way of catching a person by surprise with its intensity.
“You had lunch yet?” Trevor asked. “I’m about to head into town for something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
If she were a different woman in a different situation, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine taking him up on the offer. He was, at most, no more than four or five years younger than she was, and his willingness to work a hard, dirty job was no mark against him in Stacy’s book.
But now that she’d connected him in her mind to Anthony, there was no way she’d consider it. Deep down, she’d known that her marriage to Anthony would never last, long before he walked away from her and their son. She just hadn’t wanted to admit that she’d been foolish enough to marry a man based solely on his dazzling charm and her own growing sense of time ticking inexorably away.
She stepped backward without even realizing she was going to do so, as if subconsciously she felt the need to put distance between herself and Trevor. “I already have plans,” she answered, reassuring her conscience that lunch with her son qualified as a plan. “But you enjoy yourself.”
“I will,” he answered with the same smooth charm that had caught her attention a moment ago. If he was disappointed in her answer, he didn’t show it. “Enjoy yourself, too.”
She smiled in answer and walked away more quickly than she’d intended. By the time she was halfway back to the ranch house, she began to wonder if she’d been imagining the similarities she’d seen between Trevor and Anthony. On the surface, at least, they were certainly nothing alike. Anthony wouldn’t be caught dead mucking out a stall or wearing grubby jeans and hair down to his shoulders.
Maybe she was just gun-shy where men were concerned in general. Her experience with Anthony had been one hell of a wake-up call for her in a lot of ways, not least of which was her bad judgment in men.
She’d thought him perfect, when he was anything but. She’d thought fatherhood would smooth the edges of his dog-eat-dog nature, but instead, his drive to be the best had apparently driven him to toss away the defective son- and the defective wife who bore him-so that he could find a better model.
As she neared the guesthouse, she was greeted by Lila’s campaign manager, Greg Merritt, chatting with Rob Sanchez at the new checkpoint. A splint encased Greg’s left wrist.
“What happened to you?” She nodded toward the splint.
“Your boss took me riding yesterday. The black mare was feisty.” His smile remained in place, but something Stacy saw in his eyes made her think Merritt wasn’t entirely comfortable dealing with a woman like Lila Lockhart.
“I hope it’s not broken.” She fell into step with him as they walked to the guesthouse.
“Just a sprain.” He glanced at her. “Guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“Well, yes. Do you need my help with something?”
“Actually, I need your car.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “My car?”
“The governor and Bart Bellows are meeting with a group of high-dollar donors this evening in Amarillo. We’re
