Free Texas Tall by Janet Dailey Page A

thing,” she said. “It even smells the way I remember.”
    Will felt his chest constrict. She was so close to him, like a butterfly that would take wing if he so much as breathed. He forced a smile. “So how does it smell to you?”
    â€œLike a man. Sweaty and tired from an honest day’s work. Like you.”
    â€œMaybe I should toss it in the laundry more often.” Will mouthed the words, scarcely aware of what he was saying. She smelled like the gardenia-scented bath soap she’d always favored, the same aroma that used to swim in his senses when he buried his face between her breasts. Right now, he wanted to drown himself in her and never come up for air.
    Her hand lingered on the collar of his robe. Was it an invitation? A tease? Or just a gesture she had to know how much he wanted her. Did she want him, too?
    Will ached to kiss her, to clasp her in his arms and let his hungering hands feel every curve and hollow of her through the thin silk. But that wasn’t going to happen. He and Tori had built a cautious trust over the years. They’d made unspoken rules, drawn lines that were not to be crossed. To cross those lines, to shatter that trust now, when he needed her help, could be the worst mistake of his life.
    Summoning the last of his resolve, he lifted her hand from his robe and brushed a kiss across her palm. “Get some rest,” he whispered. “Good night, Tori.”
    Releasing her hand, he turned and walked back into Erin’s room.

CHAPTER 5
    B lanco County prosecutor Clay Drummond was a man at the top of his game. He’d run unopposed in the recent election, standing on his record of toughness, high conviction rate, and absolute incorruptibility. Now at fifty-three, stocky and muscular as a bulldog, with iron-gray hair and a face chiseled in determination, he was setting his sights on higher office—maybe Texas attorney general, if the party would back him. Meanwhile, he had a job to do; and his future depended on his doing it well.
    Abner Sweeney’s report was waiting on his desk when he arrived Tuesday morning, after a three-day weekend of bird hunting at a friend’s cabin. Preoccupied with other concerns, he barely gave the two-page typed report a glance—until two names jumped out at him. The first was Nikolas Tomescu. The second was Will Tyler.
    Drummond scanned the report, then read it again, his pulse pounding like a prizefighter’s before a title match. News of the shooting must’ve been all over the media, but he hadn’t read a paper or glanced at TV all weekend. Until now, he’d been unaware of what had happened. But whatever had gone down, he needed to take charge of it—ASAP.
    This wouldn’t be the first time he’d dealt with the Tylers. Last spring he’d constructed an ironclad case for first-degree murder against the second Tyler brother, Beau. He’d assumed the conviction would be a slam dunk. But then, before the trial, the real killer had been exposed. Beau Tyler had gone free, cleared of all charges—and Drummond had been left with a pile of useless evidence and egg on his face.
    This time it was Will Tyler, the respected head of the family, who’d run afoul of the law. There’d been no charges filed and no arrest made, pending the inquest. But Abner seemed to think he had enough on Tyler to charge the boss of the Rimrock with manslaughter, or even second-degree murder.
    Drummond had no special quarrel with the Tylers. As far as he knew, neither did Abner. But he liked to win. And the press from a high-profile case like this one could jump-start a man’s political rise. Both he and the sheriff had personal reasons to find Will Tyler guilty.
    As for the victim, Nikolas Tomescu . . .
    In the silence Drummond became aware that beneath his fresh white shirt, his body had broken out in a cold sweat. There was a lot more at stake here than just winning. It was as if everything