McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [99]
“Certain telegrams don’t seem to get through these days,” Holt responded. “Whether they’re coming into San Antonio or going out.”
Beauregard nodded knowingly. “They get lost, I imagine,” he said, “if the message is of some concern to the judge.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t mind pinning back that old codger’s ears, if I got the chance.”
Something tight slackened in Holt. “You’ll do it, then?”
“Depends on the money,” Beauregard said. “Like I said, I’m expensive.”
“Name your price,” Holt replied, without looking at Rafe.
“Five thousand dollars, win or lose. Half of it up front, along with the usual expenses.”
“Five thousand if you win,” Holt said. “Half of it when you file the petition for a new trial, and half when Gabe walks out of that cell a free man. As for the travel expenses, you can go north with us after we pick up a herd south of the border.”
Beauregard rested his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “Suppose I refuse?”
“I don’t think you will,” Holt answered. “I expect something for that money.”
“I can name a high price, Mr. McKettrick, because I win my cases.”
“I wouldn’t have come to you if you didn’t.” Holt looked around the fancy dining room, then at the remains of the feast. “But I’d guess that you spend what you earn, and then some.”
The lawyer gave a hoarse chuckle. “What if your guess is wrong? Are you willing to bet your friend Mr. Navarro’s life on it?”
Inwardly, Holt shuddered. The truth was, he’d have sooner faced that Comanche war party outside the mission again than risk Gabe’s neck, but he’d learned from long experience to follow up on his hunches, and this one slammed against his gut like a mule’s hind foot. So he waited.
Beauregard waited, too.
Rafe helped himself to the last yeast roll in the silver basket at the center of the table.
“All right,” Beauregard said at long last, putting out a hand to Holt to seal the bargain. “I’ve got a few things to do around town before I leave anyhow. When do you figure on coming back through here with that herd you mentioned?”
“Maybe a week from now,” Holt said. If we’re lucky, he thought.
“I’ll be ready,” the lawyer replied.
“You might want to clean up a little,” Rafe offered, chewing.
Beauregard laughed. “I might at that,” he said. “I’ve got a few…obligations, though. If you could give me, say, a hundred dollars, I’d be able to leave Laredo in good conscience. Even get up to San Antonio ahead of you, and get this thing started. First thing I need to do is contact a federal judge or two.”
Holt reached for his wallet. God knew, he felt every delay like the lash of a whip, but a man traveling alone could run into a lot of grief between Laredo and San Antonio. Beauregard wouldn’t be any good to Gabe with his hair tied to some Comanche’s belt.
“I’d just as soon you went with us,” he said. “In the meantime, you ought to be able to petition for that new trial from here as well as there.”
Beauregard scooped up the five twenty dollar bills Holt had laid on the table, folded them neatly and tucked them into his vest pocket. “Which would mean you owed me twenty-five hundred more,” he said.
Holt pushed back his chair and stood. Reluctantly, for he’d been eyeing what was left of a raspberry pie, Rafe did the same.
“I’ll be in town all day tomorrow, hiring cowpunchers to drive back that herd. I’ll stop by your office—between ten and five, of course.”
“I might not be in,” Beauregard replied smoothly. “Is there somewhere I can leave word, if I need to?”
Holt nodded. “Heddy Flett’s putting us up.”
Beauregard smiled. “I know the place,” he said.
Rafe reached for the raspberry pie, and Holt stopped him with a look.
“Good night, Mr. Beauregard,” he said, heading for the door.
“Hell of a lawyer he is,” Rafe grumbled, when they were out in the corridor. “He can’t even stand up.”
CHAPTER 29
THE CROW OF A ROOSTER pulled Lorelei from the dark maze of her dreams, and she awakened with a gasp of relief. Slumber fell away from her mind in layers, like a series of loose garments, and she sat up, blinking. In the nightmare world,