Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(80)

“No! You’ve found where you want to be. And who you want to be with. Unless I misunderstood—you have no doubts. And you so deserve this. You’ve waited long enough.”

But so had Katie waited, he found himself thinking. She’d had such a hot young love with Charlie, that whenever they’d been in the same room, there’d been steam. No surprise he not only got her pregnant on the honeymoon, but with twins. In losing him, Katie had lost her taste for passion, apparently. In thinking over the past five years, the few dates she had had were with men who failed to bring that flush to her cheeks the way her young husband had.

He wanted that for her. But he wasn’t about to say any more about her losses.

What a team, he thought. As brother and sister they had held each other up through all sorts of strain. And he, for one, had had about enough of that!

“Don’t do anything hasty, Katie,” he lectured. “Make sure Keith is completely right for you before you take that next step.”

“I will. Of course I will.”

They talked a little bit about the upcoming trial, although Conner wasn’t at liberty to discuss the prep. He did tell her he hoped to be back in Virgin River on the weekend. Worst case, he might be driving back to the city the following week. And when the conversation was done, he made a couple of phone calls—one to a cleaning service and one to a painter he knew and trusted. Then he called the D.A.’s office and asked Max’s trusted assistant to arrange for the packing and storage of household goods to commence immediately. The cleaners and painters would follow the movers, leaving the homes ready for sale.

Jack Sheridan was puttering behind the bar in the afternoon, making his supply lists and balancing his cash drawer. When no one was in the bar, like now, he had the national news on the TV. He wasn’t a news fanatic and didn’t have anyone close in the wars right now, but he checked in from time to time. He got a little news about the economy—hardly ever good these days—some major national stories from kidnappings to shootings. Nothing big from Humboldt County, usually, unless they had an earthquake or something. Or maybe that occasional giant pot bust.

He was crouched behind the bar, counting bottles, when he heard the news anchor talking about a big murder trial in Sacramento. He went on to say that the arresting officers and forensic experts had testified for the prosecution, but there was only one eyewitness to the crime.

It was pure coincidence that he happened to stand up at that time and see, on the screen, the face of someone he knew. Conner Danson. He didn’t catch the name, but the face was unmistakable—except for the absence of the neatly, tightly trimmed and sculptured mustache and goatee. And he caught the last of the broadcast.

…will testify for the prosecution tomorrow. The trial is not televised but our reporters will be on the scene for any breaking news....

What the hell, he thought. That was the breaking news.

He went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. He called Paul’s office in the trailer even though he knew catching him there was iffy. Leslie answered, and he said, “Hey, Leslie, it’s Jack. Did you know your boyfriend is testifying in a murder trial in Sacramento?”

There was a moment of silence before she laughed just a little and said, “Really, Jack, you’re totally full of it. Very funny.”

“Yeah, I’m just a real card. Is Paul around?”

“Sure. Hang on.”

A second later Paul came on the line with a, “What’s up, Jack?”

“Your man, Conner,” he said. “I just saw his picture on CNN. They do a break from national news for local stuff. What did he say was his reason for needing time off?”

“Family emergency,” Paul said. “Unspecified.”

“I think I can specify it. He’s the only witness in a murder trial in Sacramento. His picture was on TV. He’s going to testify tomorrow.”

Paul was completely quiet for a long, still moment. Then he yelled, “Lessssleeee!” And next he said, “I gotta go. I’ll get back to you.” And he hung up.

Jack turned to where Preacher was chopping something on the work island in the kitchen and said, “Can you get on the computer and look something up for me?”

“I guess so. If you’ll pay me for it.”

“I’m not paying you for it! Do it for the cause! Take one for the team!”

“Fine,” Preacher said, putting down his knife and wiping his hands. “Murder trial in the capitol, Conner Danson. Got it. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Don’t say panties to me,” Jack nearly roared. “Don’t ever call what I wear panties!”

And Preacher said, “Sheesh. Take it easy. You weren’t murdered.”

Leslie stood in Paul’s doorway, her eyes as round as beach balls. She twisted her hands.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with Conner?” Paul asked from behind his desk.

Without uttering a word, she shook her head.

“His picture was on TV,” Paul told her. “That’s how Jack knows. That’s how anyone who watches the news is going to know. Did you realize he’s going to testify tomorrow?”

She shook her head and clutched her hands tighter so they wouldn’t shake. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Paul stood up from behind his desk. “Les, don’t go through this alone.”