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As she crouched down in the brush he crept up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “Whoa now,” he growled. “Here’s a bit of luck.”
In the distance where the formations gave way to the sinkhole that led into the underground caverns, three large SUVs sat parked in a triangle. Half a dozen swarthy young men, wearing leather jackets over athletic warm-ups, stood talking inside the triangle. Talking rather heatedly. As they gestured, Frankie caught glints of sun reflecting off gold chains at their necks and diamonds in their earlobes.
“Luck?” Frankie said. “Those guys look…bad.”
“Izek Texcoyo is bad all right. These are not your run-of-the-mill trespassers.” Luke whispered this near her ear as he dug something out of his pocket. He didn’t seem all that shook up.
“Who?”
“That one.” He aimed two fingers at a heavyset guy. “I’ve, uh, seen his picture. A border guard gave it to me.”
“Is he connected to—” Frankie’s throat closed on the word “—with—the murder?” She felt compelled to whisper, too, although the Coyotes were too far away to hear.
“He is if Yolonda will talk. The others are Coyotes, too,” he added.
“How do you know?” Frankie whispered.
“The clothes, haircuts, the vehicles. Expensive. Brand-new. Coyotes’ll buy cars like that,” he nodded his head toward the Hummer, the Expedition, “or flat out steal them and then discard them like toys.”
“My God.” Frankie’s voice was hushed as she moved closer to his shoulder. “They make that much money?”
“A killing, you might say.” His voice had a bitter edge.
She turned her head to check his profile. The little she could see of his eyes behind his sunglasses looked grim as he looked down, working at something in his hand.
To her astonishment, he had withdrawn a device that looked like a Palm Pilot, only this had an antenna. He aimed it at the men.
She looked over his shoulder at the screen as he swiveled slightly to get the vehicles and dark figures in line with a distinctive rock formation. “Nice toy,” she said right by his ear. “A BlackBerry?”
“Treo. Does more.” Now he was touching the screen with a tiny wand. “Okay. Sent. Let’s go.” He hooked a hand around her arm and tugged her backward with him. But immediately his grip tightened on her arm as he stared in the direction of the men. He raised a hand to hush her.
The men were shouting now, in Spanish—Greek to Frankie. The fat one had turned around, waving an automatic weapon.
“By God, Yolonda better connect the dots to that one,” Luke vowed as he quickly snapped some more pictures. The shouting below grew more heated. “Let’s go.” He pocketed the Treo.
“Don’t you want to wait and see what they’re going to do?”
“No.” He tugged on her wrist.
But as they crawled away, echoing off the rock formations came the unmistakable popping sound of gunshots.
Luke threw Frankie to the ground and covered her with his body.
Terrified, Frankie smashed her cheek against the gritty earth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke raising his head. “What happened?” She found her voice reduced to a squeak.
“Man down,” he informed her in a low growl.
More shouting caused Luke’s head to slam down beside Frankie’s. His hat was knocked askew and his eyes looked wild behind his sunglasses. “Musta spotted my hat.” His breathing was ragged next to her ear. Beyond the rise the shouting in Spanish grew closer.
Frankie’s breath caught in her chest. She could barely get her words out. “Are th-they coming?”
The shouting intensified on the other side of the ridge, unmistakably closer. Luke jerked Frankie to her feet and pulled her along, hurtling down the bank to the river.
They splashed across at a narrow place and scrambled on hands and knees back up a sandstone wash with Luke hauling her along like a rag doll.
“Head for the truck.” He pushed her into the cover of trees as gunfire rang out behind them. Frankie was astonished but relieved to see him pull a gun from the back of his belt and return fire.
She needed no encouragement to keep ahead of him as they ran headlong through the woods, climbing, climbing back to the top of the small rise where they’d parked Luke’s pickup. Luke shoved her fanny up over the rocks, whirling around to return fire three times.
Frankie’s lungs were burning by the time they got to the top and her little beaded flats were in shreds. When the truck came into view they ran headlong, as the sharp rocks cut into Frankie’s unprotected feet. As she stumbled sideways, Luke jerked her up by the arm, then scooped her into his arms and ran the rest of the way carrying her.
Frankie clawed at the door handle of the truck, and when she got it open, Luke threw her onto the seat, scrambling in behind her. He moved so fast it seemed he had crawled over her, fired up the engine, slammed it into Reverse, rammed it back into Drive, and barreled away in one unbroken motion.
Three men charged into the clearing and Frankie threw herself back down on the seat when she saw the fat one raising the automatic weapon to his shoulder.
The rain of bullets spat against the chassis, sounding like the hail that had once damaged Frankie’s Mercedes when she’d been trapped in a sudden storm in the Austin traffic.
“Ah, dammit!” Luke cursed as they roared down the rutted road at breakneck speed. “There goes my paint job.”
Once they’d rounded the curve at the bottom and flown past Robbie’s old house, Frankie raised her head and peeked over the edge of the rear window. Above the cloud of dust raised by the pickup, she could see the Coyotes up on the hill, shrinking to the size of ants as they crabbed back up. “They’re leaving,” she said.
“No. They’re going for their vehicles to make chase.” Luke sounded calm as he pressed on at full throttle.
“Those guys…” Frankie was struggling for breath, “shot somebody back there. Why on earth didn’t you arrest them?”
“Let’s see.” Luke’s neck craned as he looked before executing a squealing turn onto the highway. “Five of them, not counting the one down, o’ course. One of me. Think a Texas Ranger’s badge means anything to those hombres?” His grimace said he found her more than a little naive. “Gotta know when to fold ’em…” His pause said he regretted informing her of this next, “…or end up being the ones down.”
Once they were speeding down the highway, from the seemingly endless cache of his jacket he produced a cell phone. He punched a button and started barking facts to the sheriff’s dispatcher. After an amazingly detailed description of the Coyotes and their vehicles, he broke off to ask Frankie where the ranch road intersected the highway, then told the dispatcher where the sheriff would be most likely to catch up with the Coyotes. When he was done, he handed the phone to Frankie. “Call your parents.”
“Are my parents in danger? Their place is over a mile away.”
“I don’t think it’s your parents’ property that interests these guys. As long as they stay inside, they should be safe. Call them.”
WHEN THEY GOT BACK to town, Luke drove Frankie back to Robbie’s house so she could change into dry clothes.
He, too, was soaked from crossing the river. The dampened leather of his boots squeaked as he walked her to the door. He checked his impulse to stare at her curves as she bent to work the old-fashioned key in the lock, but the fact that she was finely made registered anyway. “You sure you’re okay?” he said to compensate for ogling her.
“Yes. I think so. A little shook up.” Her nervous chattering on the way to town made him think it was more than a little.
“I’ve never been shot at before.” The lock gave and the door swung open on its creaky hinges. “Would you like to wait inside?”
Robbie Tellchick’s living room looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. Toys and books and discarded children’s clothes were everywhere. A pile of half-folded laundry obscured the sagging couch. Frankie grabbed up an armful of bibs and onesies and blankies to clear a space so Luke could sit.
“That’s okay.” He stopped her with a gentle hand, glad to have any excuse to touch her again. “I’ll stand.” He made a futile gesture at his soaked jeans.
“Of course.” She tucked a strand of bedraggled hair behind one ear. “I’ll only be a sec.” She dashed up the stairs.
ON THE SHORT DRIVE over to Main Street they fell quiet. The shot of adrenaline that had gotten them through the worst had dissipated, and now they both were processing their narrow escape…and each other.
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly as he studied her face. “I’ll get ’em.”
Frankie broke her worried silence. “Will I need to go in and talk to the sheriff?”
“He’ll want to interview you. But I’ll be right by your side.”
Before she went inside the store, Frankie turned to him with a sudden thought. “You’re not going back out there?”
His eyes narrowed, as if he were concealing his intentions. “Not right away. Local law enforcement will be all over the place, looking for evidence. I’d appreciate it if you kept this incident to yourself for now. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, but shouldn’t we tell Zack?” Her future brother-in-law was not the kind to let strangers tromp all over his land without calling them down.
“That’s who I intend to see first. You said he’s on duty?”
“Yes. I saw him in his uniform this morning.”
“Frankie…listen. This is not the right time, but I was thinking…” Luke lingered with a hand jammed in his pocket, and for the life of her, Frankie could have sworn this tough Texas Ranger had grown suddenly shy. “I was thinking of what you said, about your birthday…”
“My birthday?”
“Yeah. I was thinking… Do you like the food at that little restaurant across the street?”
Frankie turned her head. “The Aggie? The Hungry Aggie?” Having lived in Five Points all her life, Frankie had a certain native affinity for the storefront diner. But its garish fifties-era red-and-green decor, its ancient ceiling fans coated with dust, and its scarred-up high-backed booths might not hold the same charm for everyone.
But Luke was studying the place with genuine interest. “Yeah. They serve dinner?”
“Absolutely.” It was hard to resist Virgil Parson’s cooking, even if you’d grown up eating it all your life. Now that Five Points drew in folks from along the Hill Country travel corridor, Virgil and his chuck wagon menu had become a tourist attraction. People drove from as far away as Austin to enjoy Parson’s most famous dish, the Darlin’, followed by a slice of his mouthwatering Texas cream pie. “Friday is Darlin’ night.”
“Darlin’ night?”
“Don’t let the name fool you. It takes courage to face down a Darlin’.”
She caught a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I’ve always got my gun.”
She kept her expression serious. “If you chicken out, there’s always the fried catfish.”
Luke looked up and down the curving Main Street. “I believe I am starting to like this place. So, you want to grab a bite to eat with me?”
The image of the wedding ring flashed into her mind, though she couldn’t see it with his hand jammed into the pocket of his Levi’s.
“I’m getting a room in town,” he explained when she didn’t respond. “I hate eating alone. Besides,” he continued offhandedly, “You said it was your birthday…” He paused. “And I believe you said it was not exactly a happy one. I’d love to be the one to cheer you up.”
“Mr. Driscoll—”
“Luke. It’s the least I can do after getting you shot at.”
“Luke, I…you’re married, right?”
His expression remained calm, except for a tiny frown line between his brows. He shook his head slowly, once. “I am not.”
“Oh.” This caught her off guard, as she had been assuming all along, much to her disappointment, she now realized, that he was. “But…you’re wearing a…isn’t that a wedding band?” She gave a nod toward the source of her confusion, still tucked in his pocket.
He slid his hand out and glanced at the ring as if he had forgotten it was there. His expression grew sad. “I’ve kept it on ever since my wife died. For reasons of my own.”
“Oh. You’re a widower?”
“Yes. And you said you’re in the process of getting a divorce. So. Free agents, both of us. Will you have dinner with me?”
Frankie didn’t really need to mull it over. For the past few weeks she had been eating spaghetti and tuna casserole and bologna sandwiches surrounded by Robbie’s rowdy boys. “On one condition.”
He raised that eyebrow again.
“You let me buy the pie.”
He smiled. For the first time since she’d met him, Luke Driscoll gave her a full-fledged smile. And Frankie found she liked that smile. A lot. “Around seven?”
“Six. Parson gets cranky if people keep him open too late. And we’ll want to get there before—”
“The pies are all picked over?” Ah-ha. Perhaps a hint of humor, after all. She was gratified when Luke Driscoll flashed her a smile one more time.
CHAPTER FOUR
Well, so much for shriveling up and becoming a boring old drudge. Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I’m suddenly too busy hiding the witness to a murder. Witnessing a shooting. Getting shot at! And as if all of that wasn’t crazy enough, I’ve accepted a dinner date with one very handsome man.
He’s the reason for all of this…for want of a better word…excitement. Luke Driscoll.
We’re meeting at six at the Hungry Aggie. I’m waiting at the store. I couldn’t see the point of having him drive over to Robbie’s house. I thought about going back there to change clothes, but wouldn’t that make it seem like a real date? Like I was trying too hard? Like I was really attracted to him?
Okay. I am really attracted to him. But this set-up is all wrong. I’ll feel better about the whole deal if I tell myself I haven’t actually accepted a date when I’m not even divorced yet.
Life is so weird.
Robbie has just left for the evening. We did get one wall papered despite all the upheaval, but I’m exhausted. I couldn’t wait to get Sissy and the baby packed off so I could jot down some of my thoughts in peace. This business out at the caves is scary. Luke told me not to discuss it, so I didn’t, but it was one long afternoon.
Now I’m perched up on this stool by the credenza, looking out at Main Street through the storefront window, counting down the minutes until six o’clock and wondering if I’ve lost my mind.
SHE SAW HIM striding up the sidewalk toward the restaurant at six sharp. He chopped a hand up in a wave when he saw her stepping out of the shop.
He stood outside the door of the restaurant while a pickup rattled past on the brick pavers. Frankie fiddled with the balky old door of the Rising Star and finally got it locked.
She smiled nervously at him as she crossed the street, pulling her leather jacket snug over her breasts. His gaze was so steady that she wasn’t sure if it was the January wind giving her the chills or those eyes.
At an altitude of twenty-five hundred feet, Five Points was cool at night, even in summer. But this evening was especially dark and wintry, with the stars emerging big and bright. The warm, mouthwatering scent of Parson’s grill drifted out into the cold air and the golden glow of the interior lights highlighted the profiles of diners and beckoned more in.
Luke held the door for her. Several heads turned the second she stepped inside. Frankie hadn’t counted on this, how it would feel, being seen when she was with a man not her husband. She had forgotten how thoroughly parochial Five Points could be. None of the regulars at the bar smiled at her—or Luke—as his tall frame ambled past their backs on the stools. They stared, first sidelong at the couple, then shiftily at one another, then back down at their platters of chicken-fried steak.
“Friendly town,” Frankie mouthed at Luke as she unwound the silk and mohair scarf from her neck and slid her arms out of the sable-brown leather jacket that was not typical attire in the Hungry Aggie. Her little sister even wore overalls to work sometimes, for heaven’s sake.
Luke winked, grinning at her as they settled into the booth.
