He timed it to come in late, sit in a pew in the back of the chapel. Lee had been a big investor in the real estate market. He knew a lot of people in Dallas and many of them were there.
Reese scanned the room for Kenzie. She was sitting between her grandmother and Griff in the front pew of the chapel. Arthur Haines sat in the front pew on the other side of the aisle. Reese recognized Arthur’s handsome blond son, Daniel, and Daniel’s matching-bookend pretty blonde wife from photos he’d found on the internet that morning. A dark-haired woman dressed in black sat to Arthur’s left, occasionally lifting her veil to dab tears from her eyes.
The service went longer than he’d expected, or maybe it just felt that way to him. Afterward the crowd adjourned to attend the graveside service to follow.
Reese didn’t plan to go. He just wanted Griff and Kenzie to know he was there for them if they needed him. He waited on the chapel steps for them to appear, started toward them when the woman in black stopped in front of Kenzie, blocking her way.
“What are you doing here?” the woman demanded. “After what you did, you have no right to be here.”
“I’m sorry,” Kenzie said. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Lee’s fiancée, Delia Parr. Believe me, I know who you are. The police came to see me. They told me about the gun that killed Lee—your gun. You murdered him! You were afraid he’d get custody of his son, so you killed him!”
“Mom, what does she mean?”
Kenzie’s arm went protectively around Griff’s shoulders. “She’s just upset.” Kenzie turned and started leading her son away. Reese stepped in front of the woman so she couldn’t follow and his eyes met Kenzie’s for an instant.
“Go on,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”
Kenzie gave him a look of such gratitude his chest went tight. She turned and continued walking, leading Griff and her grandmother on down the steps.
“Get out of my way.” Delia tried to brush past him, but Reese stood firm.
“Kenzie had nothing to do with Lee’s murder. The police are investigating. They’ll find the man who killed him. You need to let them do their job.”
“Reese is right, Delia.” Arthur Haines’s voice rang from beside him. “This is not the time or place for wild accusations.” He was as tall as Reese, silver-haired, with an appearance of dignified propriety, an illusion that had worked well for him over the years.
But Arthur Haines was a shrewd and cunning businessman with few moral ethics. He would do whatever it took to make money.
After his partner, William Graves, had died and Bill’s son, Troy, had inherited half the company, Reese had begun to hear rumors that the business was in trouble. He frowned as a thought occurred, jotting a mental note to see if Black Sand Oil and Gas had made any attempts to purchase the Poseidon platform. Was it possible they had some connection to the problems with the rig?
Delia walked away in a huff, her snug black dress shifting back and forth over a round behind she was clearly proud of. Arthur remained, his gaze following Kenzie and his grandson across the wide expanse of manicured lawn.
“So it’s true,” Arthur said, his attention returning to Reese. “You and my ex-daughter-in-law are involved? Delia mentioned she saw your photos on the front page of the newspaper at the grocery store. I didn’t believe it at the time.”
“We’re both single. We’re seeing each other—not that it’s any of your business.”
“Tsk-tsk, my friend. It’s not exactly appropriate to be dating one of your employees. Not in your position.”
It was true. He should have stayed away from Kenzie. For six months, he’d done his best, then, like a wrecking ball swinging out of control, he couldn’t ignore his feelings any longer. He wasn’t sorry. Kenzie was worth the risk. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
Arthur just smiled.
Reese continued on down the steps, crossing the lawn beneath a cloudy sky that signaled rain, deciding he would go to the graveside service after all. He’d stay at the back of the crowd, but if anyone gave Kenzie trouble, he would be there for her.
From now on, that was the way it was going to be.
* * *
It was early evening, a light rain beginning to fall. It was still hot in mid-September, the evenings warm and muggy.
Arthur sat in his favorite leather chair in front of the TV in his study, a plate of chicken casserole unfinished on the coffee table. His housekeeper had left for the day. Betty would be back in the morning to tidy things up and fix his meals, more reliable than his dead ex-wife ever had been.
And unlike Judith, who had constantly poked her nose into his business, Betty knew her place, which meant he rarely saw her. If she’d been thirty years younger and willing to service him once in a while, she would have been perfect. On another day, Arthur might have smiled at his own humor.
But today he had buried his youngest son. He didn’t have much to smile about.
A noise reached him from somewhere in the house. A jolt of fear hit him as he recognized the sound of breaking glass. Arthur shot to his feet as two men walked into the study, one big and wide, a pleasant face if not for the scowl digging lines into his forehead. The other man was short but muscular, with curly black hair and dark eyes a little too close together.
“What are you doing in my house? Get out this instant!”
“Put your shoes back on, Mr. Haines,” the bigger man said calmly. “You’re going for a ride.”
“A ride? What are you talking about?”
“Mr. DeMarco wants to see you. You need to come with us.”
When Arthur started to shake his head, the short guy with the attitude reached beneath his windbreaker and pulled out a heavy black pistol. “You’re going—with or without your shoes.”
Trying to hide his fear, Arthur sat back down and did as he was told. “You can put the gun away. You’ve made your point.”
Their car sat out front, an innocuous four-door brown sedan. The big guy got in behind the wheel and the short guy got in back with Arthur. He would have preferred the other way around.
“It’s almost three hours to Shreveport,” the big man said, looking back over his shoulder. “Maybe you can catch a nap.”
Arthur said nothing. Sleeping was the last thing on his mind. He owed Sawyer DeMarco several million dollars. At the moment he had no way to pay him.
Still, after the first two uncomfortable hours, he began to nod off, his head slumping down on his chest. The last thing he remembered was the short man calling the big man Nolan. The next thing he knew, pain shot through him as the short guy with the curly black hair elbowed him in the ribs.