Smooth-Talking Texan

“Sheriff Quinn Sutton,” he said now, extending his hand and smiling into her eyes in a way that said they were the only two people in the room. “Pleased to meet you.”

Lisa squared her shoulders. Sheriff Sutton was going to find out that this was one woman who was immune to his charm. “Lisa Mendoza,” she replied in a clipped, cool voice and gave his hand a brief shake. “I am Benny Hernandez’s attorney.”

“Are you now?” Sutton’s eyebrows rose in lazy surprise. “Well, that’s interesting. I didn’t realize he had one.”

“Obviously, or I assume you would have chosen someone else to ride roughshod over.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” Lisa replied calmly, not fooled by his air of bemusement. “You arrested and are holding my client without any basis. I presume that in the general way you are intelligent enough to find someone without an attorney to protect their rights when you are in the mood for harassing minorities.”

The smile left his eyes, and his brows snapped together. “Now just a minute, Ms. Mendoza…”

“I would like to see my client now,” Lisa went on, plowing right through his attempt to explain himself.

Anger flashed in his red-brown eyes, and Lisa thought he was about to fire back a response, but he only set his jaw and replied, tight-lipped, “Come with me.”

He swung around, strode out of the office and down the hall without looking back to see if she was following him. Lisa hurried out the door after him, determined not to fall behind his long-legged stride. He led her to the end of the hall and turned down another corridor, leading her down a set of stairs and through another institutionally beige hallway or two before coming to a set of locked metal double doors, flanked by a window covered with a metal grille. The uniformed man behind the window looked out at them.

“Hey, Sheriff,” he said in a Texas twang and reached over to push a button.

There was a loud metallic noise as the doors unlocked, and Sheriff Sutton pushed one of them open and walked through, holding it open for Lisa.

“Bring Benny down to visitation,” he told the deputy in the small room behind the window, now looking out at them through a matching window on this side of the doors.

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” the man replied, his eyes going curiously over to Lisa. Lisa felt sure he was wondering who she was, but there had been a note in the sheriff’s voice that did not invite questions.

He walked her down a short hallway past closed doors and ushered her into a small room. There was little in the room except a cheap metal table in the center, bolted to the floor, and a chair on either side of it, also bolted securely to the floor. Lisa set her briefcase down on the table and turned to face the door. She wanted to get a good look at her client when he walked in, alert for any sign of scrapes, cuts or bruises.

Somewhat to her surprise, when the door opened, escorted in by the deputy, the slight teenaged boy dressed in an orange jail jumpsuit was not even wearing manacles. A quick but intent inspection revealed no mark on his pleasant face. His eyes widened a little when he saw her, and he blurted out, “Who are you?”

“I am your attorney, Benny,” Lisa told him with a smile, reaching out to shake his hand. “My name is Lisa Mendoza. I’m here to help you.”

He looked a little disconcerted but shook her hand tentatively, glancing from her to the sheriff as if for explanation. Sheriff Sutton merely shrugged.

Benny launched into rapid-fire Spanish, and Lisa held up her hands in a stopping gesture.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I—I’m afraid I don’t speak Spanish,” she told him, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

The boy stared at her in some astonishment, and behind her she heard the sheriff let out a guffaw of laughter, quickly stifled. She turned toward him, sending him a furious glance. “I will need a translator, Sheriff.”

His eyes danced merrily, and Lisa could feel her blush deepening. Her lack of knowledge of her ancestors’ language was embarrassing enough at any time, but it was far worse in front of this man, who she was sure was delighting in her discomfiture.

“Okay,” he replied, struggling to keep his lips straight. “I can help you out.”

“You?” Her brows soared in surprise. “You speak Spanish?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, the grin twitching back onto his lips. “I was a cop in San Antonio for eight years. It’s kind of unavoidable. ’Course, if you’d rather have a native speaker, I can send down Deputy Padilla.”

“A law enforcement official would hardly provide the confidentiality that—” Lisa shot back hotly.

“No, hey, that’s okay,” Benny interrupted pacifically. “I can speak English instead. It’s cool.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked, turning back to look at him. “Because I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding or difficulty in communicating with me.”

Benny looked faintly affronted. “Sure, I’m sure. I grew up here.”

“Of course.” Lisa smiled at him apologetically. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t have time to fully acquaint myself with your history. When your cousin explained your problem to me, I thought it was best to come right over.”

“My cousin?” Benny’s expression changed to amazement.

“Yes. He hired me on your behalf.”

“Julio?” Benny’s voice rang with astonishment. “Julio hired you?”

“No. It was Enrique Garza who hired me.”

“Oh.” Something flickered in Benny’s eyes, and the surprise left his features. “I see.” He looked toward the table. “Well, let’s sit down.”

Lisa followed him to the table and sat down across from him, scooting forward to accommodate the immovable chair. She opened her briefcase and took out a yellow legal pad and pen, laying them on the table. “Now, Mr. Hernandez…”

A faint smile touched the young man’s face. “Benny. Everybody calls me Benny.”

“All right. Benny. Mr. Garza told me something of your circumstances, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Hear what?”

“All about what happened when Sheriff Sutton stopped you the other night.” She paused and turned her gaze significantly on Sutton, who was still standing a few feet away from them, watching them with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest. “Sheriff Sutton, it’s hardly a confidential talk with my client with you looming over us like that.”

He smiled, that same flashing smile of startling charm that he had used earlier in his office, and gave her a slight bow of his head. “Of course, ma’am.” She felt sure that if he’d been wearing his sheriff’s Stetson, he would have tipped it with old-fashioned courtesy. “The deputy will be right outside the door if you have any trouble.” His gaze slid over to Benny, one eyebrow lifting.

“No trouble, Sheriff,” Benny said, lifting his hands in an innocent manner.

Sutton nodded and left the room. He paused outside the closed door for a moment, frowning in thought.

“Everything all right, Sheriff?” Jerry asked finally.

Quinn looked at the man and smiled faintly. “I don’t know, Jerry.” The truth was something felt distinctly wrong, both with the case and with his own internal equilibrium. The arrival of Lisa Mendoza seemed to have thrown them both off.

“You ever hear of a fella named Enrique Garza?” he asked the deputy.

The deputy frowned. “Garza? No, not offhand. There are plenty of Garzas, but I don’t recollect an Enrique. Now, there’s a guy that works in Meltzer’s body shop on First Street who’s named Enrique, but I’m pretty sure his last name is Ochoa.”

Quinn nodded. “Well, take Benny back to his cell when he’s through talking to the lady. I imagine we’ll have to release him after that, but I’ll give Ms. Mendoza a chance to tell me off first. She looks like she’s bustin’ to do that. I’ll be in my office.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff.”

Quinn strode back through the maze of hallways and stairs to his office. Most of his staff, he found, were sitting waiting for him in the outer office, faces turned expectantly toward the door. He walked in and raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly.