Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

“Beau told me the story. He murdered three people and almost killed Sky.”

“Yes, he did.” Tori’s expression was sad but wise. “But the home is a nice little place, well kept, probably cheaper and certainly more private than the apartments would be. I have the key anytime you’d like to look at it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. But—”

“No pressure.” Tori smiled. “Just think about it.”

Lauren thought about it all the way back to the ranch. In some ways the Axelrod house would be perfect for her needs. But the idea that a murderer had lived inside those walls would haunt every hour she spent there. She could get rid of the furniture, repaint the walls, replace the fixtures and floor coverings. But even then there was no way she would feel at ease. For now she would trust to luck and hope one of the apartments, or some other place, would open up.

When she reached the house, her father was waiting on the porch, a glass of bourbon in his hand. Fighting the temptation to turn the car around and drive away, she pulled into the shade and switched off the engine. Her father rose as she mounted the front steps.

“I tried to call you, but evidently you’d turned off your phone. If you were with that half-breed Fletcher—”

“I was having lunch with Tori Tyler,” Lauren said, holding back her temper. “I asked her to help me find a place to live in town.”

“Live in town? Hell, you live here!” he snapped. “This is your home! Why should you pay good money for some rat hole in Blanco? And since when do you know Tori?”

Lauren willed herself not to lash out at him. He’d been hard to live with when she’d first arrived. Now his behavior was becoming erratic. While he tracked her every move, or tried to, he guarded his own secrets almost obsessively. She’d begun to worry about his mental state. She might have pushed him to see a doctor, but with the primary and the general election coming up, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. She owed the man nothing, Lauren reminded herself. But he was her father and, in spite of everything, she couldn’t help worrying about him.

“I need to be on my own, Dad,” she said. “Someone at the Tylers’ suggested I call Tori. I met her for the first time today. She’s a nice woman—seems to know more than a little about you.”

He took a swig from his bourbon glass. “What Tori knows about me is none of your damn business. And you’re not fooling me, girl. The only reason you want to be on your own is so you can screw that bastard Fletcher.”

Lauren gasped. She’d tried to remain calm, but his last accusation had sunk home—maybe because it was at least partly true. She drew herself up. “Maybe I should be the one asking questions. You’re coming home at all hours, sometimes staying out all night. When you walk in, the smell of that awful perfume leaves a trail behind you all the way down the hall. Your car reeks of it. Who’s the woman, Dad? Is she married? Is that why you won’t tell me?”

His hand came up. For an instant Lauren thought he was going to strike her. But then he lowered his arm, turned away, and with a muttered curse stalked into the house.

Lauren’s legs were quivering. She sank onto the top step, fists clenched on her knees. With the primary election coming up next month, Garn Prescott had become a walking pressure cooker—and just now he’d nearly exploded.

Since they’d never had a real father–daughter relationship, she didn’t know him as well as she might have. Even so, she could tell something was terribly wrong, and it wasn’t just politics. He was behaving as if he’d bargained his soul and the buyer was about to demand payment.

Call me if you need anything, Lauren. I’ll be here for you.

Lauren fumbled for the cell phone in her purse, then pushed it aside. How many times had she recalled Sky’s parting words? How many times had she reached for that phone, then stopped herself before she could punch in his number? Tori had reassured her that Sky meant what he’d said. But that didn’t mean she could go running to him every time she needed a shoulder to cry on. She had to prove that she was strong enough to handle things on her own—not only to Sky but to herself.

“What do you mean, it’s gone, Nicky?” Stella faced her brother across the bar, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. Her survival had always depended on making sure nothing fell through the cracks. Now, three days after the discovery of a murdered body on the Tyler ranch, something had. The Glock she’d given Nick for protection in the bar was missing—the Glock that was legally registered to her.

Nick cringed under his half sister’s withering gaze. Older by seven years, Stella had always protected him. She alone understood that beneath the skin of the tough-looking biker was a scared, vulnerable man, too slow-witted to survive a lawless world on his own.

He was the one person she truly cared about.

“What did you do with it?” she demanded.

“N-nothing, I swear to God,” he stammered. “I haven’t touched that gun since I loaded it and put it in the drawer.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“A while ago.” He shrugged, eyes lowered. “Don’t really remember.”

“Nicky—” Her eyes narrowed. “I know when you’re hiding something. Tell me the truth. When did you first notice the gun was missing?”

“A few days ago. I thought I must’ve moved it and forgot, and that I’d find it somewhere. I knew you’d be mad if I told you.”

Stella exhaled, feeling the knot tighten in the pit of her stomach. “Did you notice anybody looking at it? Anybody opening the drawer?”

“Nobody.” He picked up a glass and began polishing it with a towel.

Unable to contain her anxiety, Stella turned away and walked back down the hall toward her office. Abner Sweeney, her eyes and ears in town, had mentioned that his deputy had found a Glock not far from where a body had turned up on the Tylers’ ranch. It didn’t make sense that the pistol could be the one missing from the bar. But if it was, the serial number could be linked to her, and the prints on the gun could be linked to Nick.