скачать книгу бесплатно
He shook his head. He bent to ruffle the dog’s fur. He glanced at Winnie. “You going to be okay?”
“Sure.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Being my brother. Don’t leave the jewels lying around,” she advised. “If Clark comes home and sees them, he’ll beg some of them for whatever girl he’s crazy over at the moment.”
“Good thought,” he said, grinning. “I’ll put them in the safe and drive them to town Monday and lodge them in the safe-deposit box.”
“She could have sold them and we’d never have known,” she replied quietly. “I wonder why she didn’t? She’s not driving a new car. Her clothes are nice, but not expensive.”
“There’s no telling why,” he said.
“Did she say anything about where she was going?”
He shook his head. “Just that she was meeting a friend.”
“At this hour? I wonder who she knows here?” she mused. “She used to be friends with Barbara, who runs the café. But Barbara told me years ago that she hadn’t heard a word from her.”
“It might be some newcomer,” Boone said. “Not our business, anyway.”
“I guess. Well, I’m going to bed. It’s been a very long day.”
“For you, it sure has,” he said sympathetically. “First Kilraven, now our mother.”
“Things can only get better, right?” she asked, smiling.
“I hope so. Tell Keely I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, and I’ll be up. You sleep well.”
She smiled. “You, too.”
KILRAVEN HAD JUST pulled up in the driveway of his remote rental house in Comanche Wells when he noticed a sedan sitting there. Always overly cautious, he had his.45 automatic in his hand before he opened the door of his car. But when he got out and saw who his visitor was, he put it right back in the holster.
“What the hell are you doing out here at this hour of the night?” he asked.
She smiled. “Bringing bad news, I’m afraid. I couldn’t get you on your cell phone, so I took a chance and drove down.”
He paused by the car. “What’s wrong, Rogers?” he asked, because he knew it had to be something major to bring her from San Antonio.
She didn’t correct him. Her last name had been Sinclair, but she’d taken her maiden name back after she divorced Bruce Sinclair. Now she went by the name Gail Rogers. She leaned against the car and sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s Rick Marquez,” she said. “Someone blindsided him in an alley near his apartment and left him for dead.”
“Good Lord! Does his mother know?”
She nodded. “She’s at the hospital with him. Scared her to death. But he looks worse than he is. Badly bruised, and a fractured rib, but he’ll live. He’s mad as hell.” She chuckled. “Whoever hit him is going to wish they’d never heard his name.”
“At least he’ll walk away,” Kilraven said. He grimaced. “This case just keeps getting more and more interesting, doesn’t it?”
“Whoever’s behind these murders seems to feel that the body count no longer matters.”
“He’s feeling cornered and he’s desperate,” Kilraven agreed. His eyes narrowed. “You watch your back. You’re in as much danger as Marquez. At the very least, they should put you on administrative until we get some sort of lead on what’s happening.”
“I won’t sit at a desk and let everyone around me take risks,” she replied calmly. “Still …”
She held up a hand. “Give up. I’m stubborn.”
He sighed. “Okay. But be extra cautious, will you?”
“Of course. Has forensic turned up anything interesting about the DB down here?” DB referred to dead body.
“Alice Jones is handling the case. She’s got a piece of paper that they’re teasing secrets out of, but she hasn’t told me anything new. Senator Fowler’s actually cooperating, though. It shook him up when one of his female employees turned up dead. Somebody tried to make it look like suicide, but they didn’t do their homework. Had the pistol in the wrong hand.”
“I heard about that,” she said. “Sloppy. Real sloppy.”
“That’s what worries me.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m going to ask for some time off to work this case. Now that our newest Junior Senator Will Sanders has stopped putting obstacles in our path, maybe we can catch a break. With Marquez sidelined, you’re going to need some help. And I have good contacts.”
“I know.” She smiled. “We might actually solve your case. I hope so.”
“Me, too.” His face was taut with pain. “I’ve spent the last seven years waiting for something to help crack the case. Maybe this latest murder is it.”
“Well, it’s going to be slow,” she said. “We’re no closer to the identity of the man found dead in Jacobs County, or to the people who killed Senator Fowler’s employee. Now we’ve got Marquez’s attack to work on, as well.” She shook her head. “I should have gotten a job baking cakes in a restaurant.”
He gave her a look of mock surprise. “You can cook?”
She glared at him. “Yes, I can cook. On my salary who can afford to eat out?”
He laughed. “Come work for me. I have an expense account.”
“No, thanks,” she said, holding out both hands, palm up. “I’ve heard about some of your exploits.”
“Lies,” he said. “Put out by jealous colleagues.”
“Hanging out of a helicopter by one hand, firing an automatic weapon, over an ocean,” she related, emphasizing the last word.
“I did not,” he said haughtily.
She just stared at him.
“Anyway, I was not hanging on by my hand.” He hesitated. Then he grinned. “I wrapped one of my legs around a piece of cargo netting and held on that way!”
“I’m going home,” she said with a laugh.
“Keep your doors locked,” he advised firmly.
“You bet.”
She climbed in under the wheel and shut the door. Beside her, a shadowy figure waved. He waved back. He wondered who her companion was. He couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness, but he looked young. Maybe a trainee, he thought. He turned back toward his house.
3
Kilraven felt uncomfortable when he remembered how upset Winnie Sinclair had been at the Christmas party. When he got over his initial anger, he realized that she couldn’t possibly have known about his daughter’s fascination with ravens. After all, who could have told her? Only he and Jon knew. Well, his stepmother—Jon’s mother—knew. But Cammy had no contact with Winnie.
There was another thing. How had he known that Winnie had painted the picture for him? It was all secret. It was disturbing that he’d felt it so certainly, and that he’d been right. Her tears at the sight of his angry face had made the connection for him. He was sorry about his behavior. The deaths were still upsetting for him. He couldn’t find peace. In seven years, the pain hadn’t eased.
Winnie had feelings for him. In another time, another place, that would have been flattering. But he had no interest in women these days. He’d dated Gloryanne Barnes before she’d married Rodrigo Ramirez, but that had been nothing more than friendship and compassion. Winnie, though, that could be a different matter. It was why he tried not to let his attraction to her show. It was why he avoided her. If only, he thought, avoiding her had kept him from wanting to get closer to her.
He was going back to San Antonio soon. He was going to take a leave of absence and try to help solve the cold case that had haunted him for seven long years. Perhaps he might finally have peace, if the killer could be brought to justice.
It was good that Senator Fowler and his protégé, Senator Sanders, had stopped fighting them about reopening the case. It was bad that some powerful politician might be involved, even on the fringes of the crime. Their names would make it a high-profile case, and the tabloids would have a field day. He cringed at the thought of seeing the autopsy photos while he was standing in line at the supermarket, where the tabloids were displayed at the checkout counter. These days, some reporters thought nothing of the family’s right to privacy. After all, a scoop was still a scoop.
He put the case to the back of his mind, as he tried to most every day. He only had a few days left in Jacobsville. He was going to do his job and then pack up and go home. In between, he was going to try to explain to Winnie Sinclair why his attitude toward her had been so violent at the Christmas party. He didn’t want to encourage her, but he couldn’t leave with the image of her hurt expression in his mind.
WINNIE HAD JUST SPENT a harrowing half hour routing two police cars to a standoff at a convenience store. In fact, it was one of only three convenience stores in the entire county. The perpetrator, a young husband with a history of bad decisions, had gotten drunk and decided to get some quick cash to buy a pretty coat for his wife. When the clerk pulled out a shotgun, the young man had fired and hit the clerk in the chest. He’d holed up in the store with the wounded man when patrons had called the police.
Winnie had dispatched a Jacobsville police officer to the scene. Another officer had called in to say he was going to back up the first officer. It was a usual thing. The officers looked out for each other, just as the dispatchers did.
There was no hostage negotiator, as such, but Cash Grier filled the position for his department. He talked the young man out of his gun. Thank God, the boy hadn’t been drunk enough to ignore the chief and come out shooting. Cash had disarmed him and then had Winnie tell the paramedics to come on in. It was routine for paramedics to be dispatched and then to stage just outside the scene of a dangerous situation until law enforcement made sure it was safe for them to go in. It was just another example of how the emergency services looked out for each other.
THE CLERK WAS BADLY INJURED, but he would live. The young man went to the detention center to be booked and await arraignment. Winnie was happy that they were able to avert a tragedy.
She drove her little VW back to the ranch, and she felt happy. It was hard to go through the day after Kilraven’s pointed snub at the Christmas party. She was still stinging, and not only from that. Her mother’s visit had unsettled her even more.
When she got home, she found Keely and Boone waiting for her in the living room.
“There’s a carnival in town. We’re going,” Keely said, “and you’re going with us. You need a little R & R after all that excitement at work.”
“How did you know …?” Winnie exclaimed.
“Boone has a scanner,” Keely pointed out, grinning.
Boone grinned, too.
Winnie laughed, putting the coat she’d just shrugged out of back on. “Okay, I’m game. Let’s go pitch pennies and win plates.”
Boone threw up his hands. “Honey, you could buy those plates for a nickel apiece at the Dish Barn downtown!”
“It’s more fun if you win them,” Winnie said primly. “Besides, I want cotton candy and a ride on the Octopus!”
“So do I,” Keely said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she called to Boone as they went through the back door. “The cotton candy will be all gone!”
“Not to worry,” he said, locking up. “They’ll make more.”
THE CARNIVAL WAS LOUD and colorful and the music was heady. Winnie ate cotton candy and went on the Octopus with Keely, laughing as the wind whipped through their hair and the music warbled among the bright lights.
Later, ankle deep in sawdust, Winnie stood before the penny pitching booth and the vendor gave her a handful of change in exchange for her two dollar bills. She was actually throwing nickels or dimes, not pennies, but she always thought of it in terms of the smaller bits of change. Just as she contemplated the right trajectory to land a coin on a plate, she spotted Dr. Bentley Rydel standing very close to Cappie Drake. Behind them, and closing in, was Officer Kilraven, still in uniform. Winnie paused to look at him. He spoke to the couple and laughed. But then he saw Winnie over their heads and his smile faded. He turned abruptly and walked right out of the carnival. Winnie felt her heart sink to the level of the ground. Well, he’d made his opinion of her quite clear, she thought miserably. He hadn’t forgiven her for the painting. She turned back to the booth, but not with any real enthusiasm. The evening had been spoiled.
CASH GRIER CALLED Kilraven a few days later and asked for his help. Cappie Drake and her brother were in danger. Her brother had been badly beaten by Cappie’s violent ex-boyfriend, just released from jail on a battery conviction stemming from an attack on her. Now he seemed to be out for blood. Eb Scott had detailed men to watch Cappie, but Kell was going to need some protection; he was in a San Antonio hospital where he’d just undergone back surgery to remove a shifted shrapnel sliver that had paralyzed him years ago. Cash asked Kilraven to go up and keep an eye on Kell until San Antonio police could catch the perp.
Kilraven went gladly. It was a relief to get out of town, even for a couple of days. But it was soon over, and he was back in Jacobsville again, fighting his feelings for Winnie. He was still no closer to a solution for his problem. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with the discomfort he felt at leaving Winnie Sinclair behind forever. And there was still that odd coincidence with the painting. He really needed to know why she’d painted it.
In the meantime, Alice Jones had called him with some shocking news. The bit of paper in the dead man’s hand in Jacobsville had contained Kilraven’s cell phone number. Now he knew he’d been right to ask for that time off to work on his cold case. The dead man had known something about the murders and he’d been trying to contact Kilraven when he’d been killed. It was a break that might crack the case, if they could identify the victim and his contacts.
THE NEXT WEEK, WINNIE worked a shift she wasn’t scheduled for, filling in for Shirley, who was out sick. When she got off that afternoon, to her surprise, she found Kilraven waiting for her at the door.
She actually gasped out loud. His silver eyes were glittery as he stared down at her.
“Hello,” she stammered.
He didn’t reply. “Get in your car and follow me,” he said quietly.
He walked to his squad car. He was technically off duty, but still in uniform. Officers in Jacobsville drove their cars home, so that they were prepared any time they had to be called in. He got in his car and waited until Winnie fumbled her way into her VW. He drove off, and she drove after him. Glancing to one side, she noted two of the operators who were on break staring after them and grinning. Oh, boy, she thought, now there’s going to be some gossip.
Kilraven drove out of the city and down the long, winding dirt road that led to his rental house. The road meandered on past his house to join with a paved road about a mile on. His house was the only one on this little stretch. He must like privacy, Winnie thought, because this certainly wasn’t on anybody’s main route.
He pulled up at the front door, cut off the engine and got out of his car. Winnie did the same.
“I’ll make coffee,” he said after he unlocked the door and led her into the kitchen.
She looked around, curious at the utter lack of anything personal in the utilitarian surroundings. Well, except for the painting she’d done for him. It was lying on the counter, face up.
She felt uncomfortable at his lack of small talk. She put her purse on the counter near the door that led down the hall to the living room. “How’s Kell Drake?” she asked.
He turned, curious.
“We heard about it from Barbara last week,” she said, mentioning the café where everybody ate. Barbara was the adoptive mother of San Antonio homicide detective Rick Marquez. “She has Rick at home. He’s getting better, but he sure wants to find whoever beat him up,” she added grimly.
“So do we. He’s one tough bird, or he’d be dead. Somebody is really trying to cover up this case,” he added.
“Yes. Poor Rick. But what about Kell?”
“That ended well, except for his bruises. He’s going to walk again,” he said. “I guess you also heard that they caught Bartlett in the act of knocking Cappie Drake around,” he added. “It seems that Marquez and a uniformed officer had to pull Dr. Rydel off the man.” He chuckled.
“We, uh, heard that, too,” she said, amused. “It was the day before Rick was jumped by those thugs. Poor Cappie.”
“She’ll be all right. She and Rydel are getting married in the near future, I hear.”
“That’s fast work,” she commented.
He shrugged. “Some people know their minds quicker than other people do.” He finished putting the coffee on and turned to glance at her. “How do you take it?”
“Straight up,” she said.
His eyebrows lifted.
“I don’t usually have a lot of time to stand around adding things to it,” she pointed out. “I’m lucky to have time to take a sip or two before it gets cold.”
“I thought Grier gave you one of those gadgets you put a coffee cup on to keep it hot,” he said. “For Christmas.”
“I don’t have a place to put it where it wouldn’t endanger the electronics at my station,” she said. “Don’t tell him.”
