Cathleen Galitz – Tall, Dark...And Framed? (страница 2)

Dorian stopped in midsentence as if realizing that he may have said more than he intended. He had the grace to look ashamed.

“I apologize for rambling on like this,” he told the men assembled in the room. “It’s just that I’ve been so worried, I guess—”

Eager to put an end to the conversation, Jason interrupted and quickly changed the subject. “No apology necessary. Unfortunately there is one item of business that we can’t continue to ignore. Considering that the organizer of our annual Cattleman’s Club Charity Ball is under arrest, I think it best if we simply cancel this year’s bash altogether.”

No amount of alcohol could wash away the bad taste that announcement left in everyone’s mouth. Aside from the fact that some very worthy charity would be adversely affected by this vote, none of the men assembled wanted to tell their wives and sweethearts that they were responsible for canceling the event of the year. The number of places in Royal where designer evening gowns and diamonds were standard dress was limited, and the ladies were sure to be disappointed. It was a point not lost on William. As the first member out of the five friends who had made the bet to succumb to the allure of marriage, he didn’t fancy the idea of breaking the news to his lovely new wife. After enduring a period of restricted confinement to keep her safe, Diana had really been looking forward to this year’s ball. With so many club members attending, Will had figured the ball would be a safe enough event for Diana to attend.

“Heck of a way for Seb to avoid paying up on his bet,” Keith volunteered, hoping to lighten the mood.

Of all those present when Sebastian posed his now infamous bet about who would be the last bachelor standing at the ball in question, only three remained in the running.

“You would have lost, anyway,” Jason told him. Recognized as the club’s premier playboy, he had no plans of ever tying himself down.

The ensuing bantering lacked the usual lightheartedness. The thought of Sebastian behind bars put a definite damper on what had started out as a pleasant evening. Beyond posting bail as quickly as possible, there was little any of them could do to help their old friend besides pray.

Each did pray in his own private way, passing one by one beneath the iron-studded sign that hung over the entrance door. It proclaimed the club’s motto for all to see: Leadership, Justice and Peace. Men willing to risk their own lives to promote those ideals were at a loss as to how to help one of their own.

Perhaps, Jason mused, Faith would have to be added to that venerable old sign.

One

Sebastian Wescott looked around the drab law office and shook his head in dismay. Why his half brother would even consider such a second-rate firm was beyond him. He supposed it either had something to do with the petite pretty blonde sitting across the desk from him or Dorian’s grudging attitude toward money. Having grown up without it, Dorian was still uncomfortable with the thought of spending vast sums of money when one could get an item of comparable value at a blue-light special. As touching as Dorian’s gesture was in providing Susan Wysocki a modest retainer out of his own pocket, Sebastian wasn’t at all happy with shopping discount when it came to legal representation.

Especially when his own life and freedom were at stake.

Coming here at all had been against his better judgment. Dorian practically had to drag him here by force. Perched on the edge of the chair next to his own, his half brother looked like he was considering blocking the door to prevent Sebastian from leaving before hearing this lawyer out. If he had been more like his old man, Sebastian would simply have twisted a couple of arms and paid off the judge to prevent this case from ever going to trial. But ever since he was a boy, Sebastian had done everything in his power to ensure he was nothing like his ruthless father. Even after going into the family business and becoming outrageously successful in his own right, he could still feel the cold breath of his father’s ghost on the back of his neck.

His deep-seated need to separate himself from Jack Wescott was partially responsible for his membership in the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The state’s most exclusive fraternity boasted a men-only membership of the richest, most established echelon in the Lone Star State. Few people knew that behind the club’s elegant, polished facade was a secret organization so select, its members could work covertly to protect the lives of the innocent. When they weren’t involved in secret missions, the membership focused their collective energy on keeping their bustling West Texas hometown prosperous and civic-minded.

It wasn’t the sort of organization that Jack Wescott would ever have been invited to join. Jack’s idea of a secret mission was sneaking off to the Pussy Cat Club some fifty miles away. Indeed, Jack had been a man far more interested in pursuing his own twisted desires than in being a father to his children, both those sired within and outside the sacred bonds of marriage.

A fact not lost on poor Dorian, who showed up on Sebastian’s doorstep one fine day not so very long ago claiming they were blood kin. According to Dorian, his mother had given him up for adoption when Jack Wescott refused to acknowledge him as a son and declared that he wasn’t about to provide a single penny of child support. It wasn’t until Jack’s death that Dorian’s birth mother looked up her son and informed him that the wealthy industrialist who’d just died was actually his father.

Had Sebastian had more faith in his father and had Dorian not borne such a striking resemblance to himself, he might well have sent the stranger packing and washed his hands of the whole sordid matter. Instead, he again felt bound to atone for his father’s sins.

As it turned out, giving Dorian a job in computer services at Wescott Oil had been one good deed that had truly come full circle. If anyone had ever suggested to Sebastian that his long-lost brother would be the first to rush to his defense at the lowest point in Sebastian’s life, he would have called him crazy. Recalling the parable about the poor widow giving her last few coins to charity, he wished there was some way of refusing his brother’s gift without seeming ungrateful.

Without somehow offending him.

The circumstances surrounding the accusations leveled at Sebastian only added to his frustration and rage. Aside from a burning desire to clear his good name and secure his independence, he was determined to find out who had murdered his colleague, in the process framing Sebastian for the heinous deed. He vowed the killer would pay dearly for his treachery.

“This is utterly idiotic!” he shouted, landing a large fist upon the desk and causing the woman behind it to jump in alarm. “I don’t need a lawyer. I’m innocent!”

As a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Susan thought wryly.

“That is exactly the reason you need my services, Mr. Wescott,” she assured him with cool poise intended to mask her own misgivings.

The truth was, if the opportunity to represent the virile man sitting on the other side of her desk hadn’t been so crucial to her financial survival, Susan Wysocki would likely have handed back the substantial retainer Dorian Brady had given her and run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

For starters, Sebastian Wescott reminded her a little too much of her ex-husband. He was that sure of himself. Not that Joe had been anywhere near as physically imposing as this man. Truly Sebastian was nothing short of feral in the way he dominated the room. Not even the most expensive, hand-tailored suit in the world could hide a masculine physique that suggested the power and ferocity of a sleek panther.

A sleek, caged panther, she mentally amended.

Every so often her would-be client jumped out of his chair, paced back and forth in front of her scarred oak desk and punctuated the air with another gesture of pure outrage. It was all Susan could do to keep from leaning back in her chair to distance herself from his anger.

At the same time, it was all she could do to keep from leaning toward him as if pulled by a magnet.

She made a mental note to load the jury with women if this case ever actually went to trial. No matter how strong the prosecution’s case, they wouldn’t stand a chance if the jury happened to fall in love with the sexy millionaire accused of murdering his associate Eric Chambers, vice president of accounting for Wescott Oil.

She also didn’t like the way those silver-gray eyes of his made her go all shivery inside whenever he stopped in the midst of his pacing to train them on her. It was difficult to keep from squirming beneath his scrutiny. Susan’s body was still tingling from the perfunctory handshake they’d exchanged when Sebastian had first introduced himself. She assumed that the electrical current that held her as immobile as if she’d embraced a live wire was simply her body’s way of warning her of impending danger.