Page 86 of Backtrack

“Texas v. Duvall,” Cutter said. “Jim Reed would be every bit as happy to represent Duvall as he is arguing for the prosecution. It’s not so much about justice to him as it’s about the intricacies of the law.”

“And winning,” LJ said.

“Yep,” Cutter said.

Chief Smith gave a low chuckle. “You know the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?”

Johnson shook his head.

“One’s a scum-sucking bottom dweller,” Smith said, eyes gleaming. “And the other one’s a fish.”

“That’ll do, Roger,” the sheriff said. “Jim Reed is not an asshole because he’s a lawyer. He’s an asshole who happens to be a lawyer.”

CHAPTER 37

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Lucy smiled at Cutter from the kitchen door. “The house smells amazing. Is that sausage?”

Cutter threw a cup towel over his shoulder and sifted three tablespoons of flour over a pan of fried breakfast sausage, mixing it with a fork.

“Sausage gravy and biscuits,” he said. “I thought it would be easier for you to chew.”

“Thank you for that, my dear,” Lucy said. “What do you say we eat at the table tonight?”

Cutter stirred the flour, allowing it to cook a couple of minutes before he added milk and a little black pepper. “That suits me down to the bone,” he said. “Biscuits are two minutes away.”

Lucy made it a habit to have her supper in the living room since she fell sick. The furniture was tattered, but it was soft and easier on her bones. The truth was, she hardly ate at all, in any room of the house.

“I love your square biscuits,” she said.

Cutter laughed out loud. “They’reyoursquare biscuits, my dear. I’m just good at following directions.”

Lucy leaned against the doorframe, tapping her fingers on the wood while she watched Cutter cook. “The red dog’s run off.”

“He’ll be back,” Cutter said. “He’s got a pretty sweet deal with your free lunches—”

The phone on the wall began to ring. Cutter looked at his watch, then the oven.

“You get that,” Lucy said, nodding at the phone. “I’ll take care of your biscuits.”

Cutter frowned. He hated dinnertime calls. It was either bad news or work—which was also usually bad news. It turned out to be a collect call from Fort Meyers, Florida. Cutter accepted the charges.

“Hello, Son,” he said. And then braced himself for the bad news.

The conversation with Bodie had lasted long enough to burn the biscuits. Lucy stooped over with her ear close enough to the receiver to hear much of the conversation and completely forgot to take them out of the oven. Cutter couldn’t be angry. They were just biscuits. He salvaged most of them by cutting off the bottoms, which he dropped into the dog bowl.

Lucy, who’d been quiet since the phone call, ate a few bites and then chased the biscuit around the plate with her fork to make it look as though she’d eaten more than she had.

“Bodie needs you,” she finally said. “That Ursula has him all tied up in knots. You can hear it in his voice.”

“I’ve got a couple of extra horses to shoe this weekend. I’ll send him the money.”

“That’s not—”

Lucy hunched over the table, overtaken by a violent coughing fit. She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin when she was finished. “He needs more than money,” she said, breathless now. “That new baby boy will be here before we know it.” She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing until her fingers turned white. “I’m afraid it’s time.”

“Sweetheart,” he said. “We’ve been over this. We are not moving to Florida.”