"Russell Handy didn't know he was your father until I told him two years ago."

Chapter 16.

THE HUNTSVILLE PRISON UNIT, FORMERLY called "The Walls" for its infamous redbrick walls, was among the oldest Texas prisons. In 1848, it had been built on farmland so inmates could work the fields. It could now be found smack in the middle of downtown Huntsville, its redbrick walls more daunting for the modern razor wire that topped them. No inmates were likely to escape, if the numerous and meticulous procedures involved in getting inside were any measure of prison security.

A half hour after Billy and Summer arrived they were sitting on the opposite side of a gla.s.s part.i.tion from Russell Handy. The odor of ammonia through the fine mesh screen at the bottom of the gla.s.s part.i.tion was strong enough to make Billy's eyes water, and he wondered what the h.e.l.l they were using to mop the floors in here.

He kept a close eye on Summer, wondering how she felt seeing Handy for the first time since she'd discovered he was her biological father. When she rubbed at her eyes, he wasn't sure if it was the ammonia or her emotions getting the better of her.

Because of things Handy had told him two years before, Billy knew that Summer and her father's foreman had spent a great deal of time together doing ranch work while she was growing up. Billy imagined Eve Blackthorne must have gotten quite a charge out of seeing them together, especially since Blackjack was probably around most of the time, too.

"h.e.l.lo, Russ," Summer said.

"h.e.l.lo, Missy," he replied.

Handy still had the wiry frame and weathered features of a man who'd spent his life working outdoors on horseback, but he'd developed a nervous twitch in his right eye and his hands were never still.

Summer scrubbed at her eyes again and said, "We came to ask some questions."

"It's good to see you," Handy said, his dark eyes eating up the sight of her. "I heard you got married." He shot a quick glance at Billy and said, "Congratulations."

"We have some questions," Summer repeated.

Billy could see she didn't want the visit to become personal, but he couldn't help empathizing with Handy. It was a shock to find out someone that you'd known for years was actually related to you. He ought to know. But they didn't have a lot of time. And there were questions that needed to be asked and answered.

"We've come to see if you can give us any information about Eve Blackthorne's death," Billy said.

"What is it you think I know?" Handy said, an edge in his voice. "I haven't been down to Bitter Creek lately."

"But you had a phone call from someone in Bitter Creek two weeks ago," Billy countered.

Summer opened her mouth to speak, and he put a hand on her thigh to silence her.

"How do you know that?" Handy asked.

"I'm a good investigator," Billy said. "What about it, Mr. Handy? Who called you?"

Handy ran a nervous hand through his hair. "All right, it was Eve. But it had nothing to do with her accident. It was private."

"Please, Russ, if you know anything about Momma's death, you have to tell us," Summer said.

It was obvious to Billy that they'd had a good relationship long before the Bitter Creek segundo discovered they were related. He watched as Summer reached out to Handy, then realized the gla.s.s was there, and awkwardly pulled back her hand.

Handy must have been more than a little partial to her. Because when her eyes locked on his, the foreman started talking.

"It wasn't anything," he said. "Eve just needed some information. She said your dad had moved in with that Creed woman and the men needed to blow out some tree stumps and she didn't know how to get to the dynamite."

"Are you telling me there isn't another cowboy at Bitter Creek who'd know where to find those explosives?" Billy asked.

"They all knew where they were stored, but n.o.body knew the combination to the munitions safe except me and the boss."

Billy frowned. "He didn't share that with the man who took over for you?"

"Evidently not," Handy said. "Or Eve wouldn't have called me."

Billy exchanged a look with Summer. Now they knew where her mother had gotten the dynamite. The next question was who had helped her fashion the bomb.

"Did you discuss anything else?" Summer asked, her fingertips reaching out again, this time matching up to Handy's against the gla.s.s. "Anything at all?"

Handy hesitated, then said, "She was pretty broken up about your dad leaving her."

Summer's hand came down and knotted with the other in her lap. Handy's stayed there for a moment before it also disappeared. "Anything else?" Summer asked.

Handy shook his head, his dark eyes intent on her, his jaw taut.

"She didn't ask you how to make a bomb?" Billy said bluntly.

"h.e.l.l, no!" Handy looked from Billy to Summer and back again. "Is that what happened? Did a bomb bring down her helicopter? I saw pictures on TV, but there weren't any details."

"There was a bomb under her seat, but it never exploded," Summer said.

Handy looked like he was in pain, and Summer's hand once more found its way to the gla.s.s.

"I'm so sorry you're in here," she whispered.

Handy's eyes were dark pools of anguish. "G.o.d, how I loved her."

"And I love my father," Summer said.

This time Handy's fingertips left the gla.s.s first. "I'm sorry how all this turned out. Your father was my friend."

Billy watched the tear roll down Summer's cheek, saw her swallow hard and rasp, "Then won't you please help us?"

Handy sniffed and backswiped his eyes. He shook his head once in indecision, then turned to Billy and said, "What do you want to know?"

"If you were Eve Blackthorne, and you wanted to make a bomb, how would you go about finding out how to do it?"

"I'd talk to somebody who handles a lot of explosives," Handy said.

"Who would that be?" Billy persisted.

"Any of the men in the Bitter Creek National Guard unit, the combat engineers. They all work with mines. One of them would know how to rig a bomb."

Billy had been in Bravo Company himself before he'd moved away to Amarillo. He suddenly knew who Eve Blackthorne might have asked to instruct her.

"I guess we better be going," Billy said, as he rose abruptly.

Summer looked surprised, but rose along with him. "Good-bye, Russ," she said. "I... It was nice to see you."

"It was good to see you, too, Missy."

There was no way for them to physically touch through the gla.s.s. Neither mentioned seeing the other again. Neither mentioned writing. Billy waited to see if either had anything more to say, but when neither of them spoke, he put a hand to the small of Summer's back and ushered her from the room.

Once they were free of the prison walls Summer said, "He really loved my mom."

"Yeah. Too bad for him."

"He was always good to me."

"I suppose that's something," Billy said.

"It's everything," Summer said. She turned to him and asked, "Why did we leave in such a hurry? What did I miss?"

"I think I might have figured out who taught your mom how to rig that bomb."

"I'm listening," Summer said as she stepped into Billy's pickup.

Billy hurried around the hood and slid in beside her before he spoke. "Luke Creed."

"But he's somewhere in Africa with the National Guard, engaged in 'a humanitarian effort to locate and disarm mines,'" Summer recited, recollecting as best she could what the article in the Bitter Creek Chronicle had said.

"Exactly," Billy said. "Who better to teach someone how to make a bomb than someone who knows how to dismantle one? I figure she got a kick out of using Ren's son to help frame Blackjack."

"Okay, Luke has the expertise," Summer said. "But he's been gone for nearly six months. My parents only separated a month ago. When would he have given my mother her lesson in bombmaking?"

"He could have done it over the Internet. If your mother followed the pattern we've seen, she arranged it so Luke never knew who he was giving his lesson to. Maybe she went to an Internet cafe somewhere and pretended to be some guard buddy of his, or impersonated a professor at some university. She could find him easy enough through the local guard, and guys his age always know where they can find a computer to log on."

"Or maybe she just typed in 'How to Make a Bomb' and the details came up on the screen," Summer suggested. "How would we ever prove it one way or the other in court?"

"Circ.u.mstantial evidence can add up," Billy said. "It's convicted more than one felon."

"Why would Luke tell us the truth, if it's going to help Blackjack?"

"He'll tell the truth because he's been subpoenaed and is under oath. It's too bad what we've got so far isn't enough to clear Blackjack."

"Why isn't it?" Summer asked.

"You'd be asking a jury to make a pretty big leap to get from two seemingly innocent conversations and an exchange of intellectual information on the Internet to a woman planning her own death. A good prosecutor could take it apart in no time."

"So this trip was a waste," Summer said, slumping down in her seat.

Billy started the engine. "Yeah, maybe. But we have one more stop to make."

"Right. The offices of DeWitt & Blackthorne, where Uncle Harry rides to the rescue," Summer said sarcastically. "I should point out that Uncle Harry's way over eighty and hasn't thrown his leg over a saddle since he was seventy-five."

Billy laughed. "Some of those old codgers are pretty smart. Maybe he'll have some ideas to help us out."

"He is smart," Summer conceded. "I just don't see any way out for Daddy. I'm scared, Billy."

Billy reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Don't give up yet. We'll spend the night somewhere in Houston and hit your great-uncle Harry's office first thing in the morning."

"My family has a penthouse apartment on Woodway. We can stay there," Summer suggested. "That way I won't have to buy a toothbrush or borrow your T-shirt to sleep in."

Billy didn't relish the idea of spending the night in Blackthorne territory. But it was bound to be more comfortable than the Motel 6 he could afford. "I was looking forward to seeing you in my T-shirt," he said.

"You prefer cotton T-shirts to s.e.xy lingerie?" Summer asked.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything s.e.xier than you in a T-shirt," Billy said. "But then, I've never seen you in s.e.xy lingerie."

"Get us to Houston," Summer said, "and I'll see what I can do."

Summer spent the drive back to Houston hunkered down in her seat thinking. It was hard being the child of three such notorious persons. She'd read enough to know that heredity was at least partly responsible for who a person turned out to be, with environment shaping the rest, and that scientists differed on which of the two was more important.

Summer felt her heart beating frantically, like a b.u.t.terfly slapping its fragile wings against an unforgiving jar. What if she was doomed to be like them? Surely she could choose the course she took. Surely there was some hope she could be a better person than her parents.

"You've been awful quiet," Billy said.

"I shouldn't have married you, Billy."

"Why not?"

"I took advantage of you."

"Do you see me complaining?"

"The thing is, I wish I'd been more honest with you in the beginning."

He raised a brow but said nothing.

Summer couldn't bear the silence, so she said, "I didn't only marry you because I wanted to get away from my parents. I had this crazy idea that you'd fall in love with me and we'd live happily ever after."

"Not so crazy, when you think about it."

Summer's breath caught in her throat. "Really?"

"I've always liked you, Summer. You know that. I really thought... I mean, I hoped... We might have done okay together."

"Might have?"

"We'd have had to work at it. I'm too proud. You're too stubborn. But I figured we had as good a chance as most of being happy together, or I wouldn't have married you in the first place."