Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,15
pulled away, shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears.
Travis let go of her and sat back. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his gaze roaming over her features.
She bit her lip and blinked against the tears.
“I was dreaming about Max. When I woke up, I thought he was here, snuggled up against me. I thought that yesterday was the bad dream.”
He nodded solemnly.
She got up. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Please.”
Kate watched him walk across the living room and into the hall, headed for the bathroom. He moved stiffly, like a patient weak from surgery. But still, his long bones and sleek muscles gave him the unconscious grace and dignity that was so familiar to her.
She felt stiff herself. Her back ached. Obviously, sleeping half sitting, half lying down on a couch was not good for a body. By the time Travis came back into the living room, Kate had the coffee going. He sat at the kitchen counter.
“Tell me about this court case,” he said as she held out a steaming mug. To her surprise, his hands trembled as he took it. She glanced up at his face, but his eyes were on the coffee. He lifted it to his mouth and took a cautious sip. “Mmm. It’s funny, the things you miss the most. That’s good. Chicory?”
“Of course,” she answered, smiling. “And boiled milk, plus plenty of sugar for you.” She picked up her coffee mug and came around the counter to sit on a stool beside him.
“So who is it you’re supposed to evaluate?”
“Myron Stamps. You should recognize the name. He’s been in the legislature since forever.”
“Stamps?” He shrugged. “I never paid much attention to politics. Seems like I’ve heard of him.”
“What about Freeman Canto?”
“Oh sure. He and my granddad were big political rivals and friends back in the day.”
“Right. Well, Canto was murdered a little over a year ago. His granddaughter was at home and heard the attack. She claims that the men who broke in kept repeating three names—Ernest Yeoman, Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame.”
“Paul?” Travis laughed. “They yelled Paul’s name? For what? Because I’ll personally testify that Paul couldn’t beat up a teddy bear.”
“Your brother Harte caught the case. Oh—” She gasped, suddenly remembering Harte’s injury. “Travis,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. “Harte was shot. In the chest!” At Travis’s look of horror, she quickly amended, “I’m sorry. Of course he’s fine. Almost as good as new.”
“Harte—shot?”
She nodded. “He was shot by Yeoman’s men, after he and Dani had been running and hiding from them all night during the storm.”
Travis shook his head tiredly. “What? I’m totally lost. What’s been going on and what does it all have to do with you—and your son?”
“I’m not sure I understand it all yet myself, but here’s all I know. Your brother was holding Danielle Canto in protective custody until time came to testify in the trial of a local businessman named Ernest Yeoman. She had heard the men who killed her grandfather say Yeoman’s name, as well as Stamps and Paul Guillame.”
“Why were the men talking about Stamps and Paul?” Travis asked, still looking bewildered.
“The theory is that Stamps and a couple other local politicians were accepting bribes to keep the tariffs on imports low, to help smugglers. Apparently Yeoman has been suspected of smuggling in illegal imports for years.”
“That doesn’t explain Paul.”
Kate shrugged. “I can’t explain that. But the Friday before Yeoman’s trial was to start, there was a huge storm—wind, lightning, flooding. Someone threw a Molotov cocktail and a smoke bomb through the window of the bed-and-breakfast where Danielle was staying, so they had to run. They ended up—”
“Wait. Who had to run?”
“Harte and Danielle. After hiding and running all night, they ended up at Paul Guillame’s house. Apparently Harte was shot before they got to Paul’s house. Once they were in the house, a shoot-out ensued and Stamps shot Paul. Yeoman was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder in Freeman Canto’s death. I suppose Danielle’s testimony about hearing Stamps’s name wasn’t enough to link him to the murder. But he’s coming to trial for shooting Paul Guillame.” She spread her hands. “Personally, I’m not completely clear on why the D.A. is pushing this so hard. I mean, Guillame even says it was an accident. But the D.A. is determined to prosecute Stamps. He wants me to tear down the defense’s claim of temporary insanity. Now whoever is pushing for