The Tycoon (66 page)

“Guess being hunting buddies with Blake doesn’t mean much,” Pic said.

“You can’t be that naïve, Brother. Rafferty’s a cop first and always will be. Listen, we need to get on top of this. Get in touch with Blake and invite him and his partner to go through Troy’s house. Set up a definite time. We’ll go with them if they’ll let us. I’m guessing they won’t find anything, but if they do, we all need to know about it.

“Okay,” Pic replied, his doubt traveling through the phone line. “You’re coming back down here?”

“I’m on my way. Pick me up at the airport in a couple of hours.”

“There’s one more thing, Drake. You know the wealthy woman who went on Billy Barret’s bond? It was Dorinda Fisk.”

Possibilities flew at Drake like a bee swarm. “Well, fuck.”

On his way to the airport, Drake’s mind zoomed through all that had happened. Dorinda’s putting up bail for Billy Barrett added a layer of conspiracy. But it probably didn’t begin with Dorinda. She hadn’t impressed Drake as being smart enough to put together a conspiracy to accomplish even something simple. Somebody had to be behind her pulling strings. He doubted it was her husband, but who could it be?

He thought about the cast of characters and what he knew about them. The cutting horse world was a vortex of money, booze, drugs and loose relationships. Both Donna Schoonover and Dorinda Fisk were part of a cutting horse investment syndicate. Dorinda was the ultimate, if aged, buckle bunny. What owning a cutting horse meant to her was an opportunity to meet young guys on the make. Like Troy. And even like he, himself, had been once. The recollection that he had been like that made his cheeks warm with embarrassment, even in the privacy of his truck cab.

There had been no love lost between the Lockharts and the Fisks for years, but he already had a taste of just how pissed off Donna was. Had she and Dorinda conspired to somehow get even with him and the Lockharts by luring Troy into Dorinda’s web and instigating mischief through

him? Though Troy’s last name was Rattigan, everybody knew he was Bill Lockhart’s son.

Before boarding the plane, Drake sent a text to Troy:
You got trouble. Get your ass home. See you at the ranch.

****

The search of Troy’s house took place the next morning with Troy still in San Antonio. Drake and Pic had been allowed to hang around outside. Neither of them knew what the cops were looking for, but as far as Drake could tell, nothing incriminating was found. The investigators didn’t remove Troy’s name from their persons of interest list. Nor did they remove Kate, because of her close association with Troy, they said. Drake had a hunch it was time to hire a lawyer to represent Troy and Kate both. A criminal lawyer.

Troy showed up late Friday. Knowing he could be in deep shit, he loudly proclaimed his innocence. Drake and Pic believed their little brother when he said he didn’t know what was going on. The family circled the wagons and stood with him, but nobody could doubt that his association with Dorinda Fisk had something to do with something.

Troy said he had never heard of Billy Barrett, but it was obvious now to everybody that both Barrett and Troy were Dorinda’s “boys.”

In Troy’s favor, incidents against the Lockharts had occurred before he met Dorinda, so was she a pawn or a player? More questions than answers had surfaced.

Unfortunately, now, Dorinda’s husband had stepped in and the cops couldn’t even talk to her. An appointment for an interview had been arranged for later. With the powerful friends Duncan Fisk had in Dallas, nobody could guess how much later.

“This ought to teach you to be cautious where you dip you wick, you little fart,” Drake told Troy when he, Troy and Pic got together in the ranch house den.

Troy looked sheepish. His typical cockiness had disappeared.

Pic came to Troy’s defense. “Who’re you to talk? Do you run a test before you put the moves on some chick? There used to be a time when you couldn’t even name all the women you screwed.”

“I grew up, Pic. It took a while, but I grew up. And it’s time Troy did too. He’s twenty-nine years old, forgodsake.”

****

Another weekend came and went and Shannon heard nothing from Drake. No doubt the abrupt text she had sent him a week back had ended their affair. She had expected that. She couldn’t imagine that he would ever dive off a cliff over losing a lover. Drake wasn’t a man a woman, or anyone, could toy with.

A part of her wanted to wail, but a more sensible part believed it was better to have it over with than suffer a thousand tiny cuts. Reliving multiple moments like the one at dinner with the Penningtons in Lubbock would be too demoralizing.

Her common sense alter ego must be pleased because it remained silent.

She blamed her blue mood partly on the time of the month. She went to bed Monday night expecting her period by morning. But on waking, she felt no telling cramps, no heaviness low in her belly. Tuesday was the same.

At her office, bouquets started showing up for her team members from their respective husbands and boyfriends and she realized it was Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even thought about sending a card to Drake. A traitorous part of her dared sneak in and hope for something from him, but nothing came.

What did you expect?
her alter-ego said.
It’s over. He got the message. Get up, dust off your backside and get on with your life.

“Amen,” Shannon muttered to the air.

Thursday brought no sign of her menses either, nor did Friday. Panic set in. She had all she

could do to get through breakfast with Grammy Evelyn. Once at her office, she closed herself inside her office and studied her calendar. Dismayed by what she learned, she called Christa on her cell phone.

Christa came on the line with, “Hey, what did Drake send you for Valentine’s Day?”

“Christa, my period is four days late.”

Silence on the other end. Then, “That isn’t the gift I was expecting to hear about.”

“I’m never late. If anything, most of the time I’m early.

“Is there a reason for the problem?”

Shannon’s forehead tugged into a frown and she winced. “I don’t know. We weren’t careful in Hawaii, but I’m sure it was the wrong time for anything to happen then. Every other time we’ve been together, we’ve used condoms.”

“You should’ve gotten birth control pills, Shannon. Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just never took the time. Don’t scold me.”

“I’m not, I’m not. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that condoms aren’t all that safe.”

“Birth control pills aren’t a hundred percent either.”

“They’re a hell of a lot more reliable than rubbers, girlfriend. But don’t panic.”

Shannon rolled her eyes. “Are you crazy? I’m about to jump out of my skin.”

“Just go to the drugstore and get a test. I think they’ve got them now that can tell as early as a few days after you’ve missed a period.”

Recognizing that reality waited on a shelf in the drugstore, Shannon began to tremble inside. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe this.”

As soon as she disconnected, she reached for her calendar and studied the months of January and February again. Lubbock. That’s when the time would have been right. But she was sure Drake had used a condom every time. But how careful had he been? She recalled the evening in his condo, when they’d had desperate sex and he had pulled out, then…she closed her eyes and shuddered. No telling what had been going on with the condom through all of that. And then later that same night, when they were both half asleep.

She was so distracted, she couldn’t work. She left the office and drove out the highway toward the town to the south. No way could she walk into Walgreen’s in Camden where she personally knew most of the employees and buy a pregnancy test. Nor could she do it at Walmart, even at self-check. Someone who knew her might see what she was buying, might even strike up conversation about it.

She had never paid attention to the home pregnancy tests on store shelves. For more than two years, that particular condition hadn’t been a concern. Now, as she stood in an out-of-town Walgreen’s in front of the aisle where half a dozen brands of pregnancy tests resided, she realized just how much of a stress inhibitor the absence of that worry had been.

She set her jaw and chose the one that flaunted “early detection” and “99% accuracy,” then tossed three different brands into her basket for good measure. At the cash register, she didn’t use her credit card, wanted no traceable evidence. She sheepishly paid the $55.00, plus change, in cash. The bored cashier gave no indication that she noticed that the neatly dressed professional woman handing over the money was on the verge of a hair-tearing, chest-beating fit.

That evening, after supper with Grammy Evelyn, she claimed fatigue and went to her room early. Twenty minutes later, she knew one thing she hadn’t known this morning. She was pregnant. And had no one to blame but herself. She was no teenage virgin. She knew plenty about sex.

She slept little, trying to figure out what to do next. Between bouts of wakefulness, she

made some decisions.

The next morning, she called Christa again and made a date for lunch. She needed the support of a friend. As they sat in a booth in Chili’s and munched on southwest egg rolls, she told Christa her latest news.

“Oh. My. God, Shannon,” Christa said. “You’ve got so much at stake. Maybe you should try another test. It’s awfully early.”

Shannon shook her head. “Christa, I spent over fifty dollars on tests. Three out of four were positive. For your information, there’s one brand that claims it’s accurate even before you’ve missed a period.” She sat back against the booth’s back and looked out the window. Gray clouds threatened.
Appropriate
, she thought. She sighed. “Looks like rain. No one will be looking at houses today.”

“How does he feel about kids?” Christa asked.

Shannon turned back to the lunch for which she had no appetite. “We haven’t talked about kids. We haven’t been into future-planning. I’ve heard him say his mother wants grandchildren, but I haven’t heard him say he wants to be the supplier.”

“Well, whatever. Even if he hates kids, he’ll support you. I know he will. You said he’s a decent guy.”

Shannon nodded, remembering his remark after he had refused to partner with Robert Pennington. “He is. But hell, Christa, this is the screwiest fling I’ve ever had. I think we’ve broken up, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if or when I’ll hear from him again.” She signaled the waitress. “I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ve been gone so much and ignored so much in my office, I’m still trying to catch up.”

The waitress hurried over with the check. “My treat,” Shannon said, digging into her purse. She handed the waitress a credit card. “You know what’s funny? The last time he asked me to come up to his condo, I said no. I didn’t hear from him for almost two weeks. Then all of a sudden, I get a two-sentence text from him. All he wants is sex.”

“But Shannon. A few weeks ago, that’s what
you
wanted. You made a deal with him.”

“Don’t remind me. I still don’t know why I did that.”

“Yes, you do. You wanted to be with him, but you thought you could just have an affair with him and not get involved. That just doesn’t work. I think this is the point where the heroine’s friend says the phone lines run both ways,” Christa said.

Shannon shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss it with him on the phone. I couldn’t have a casual conversation without blurting it out. Or breaking down. It’s all meaningless now in any event. I’m tied to him a whole different way.”

The waitress returned with Shannon’s credit card and a ticket to sign.