Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

Worry chewed at her. What if something had gone wrong? What if he’d screwed up and gotten himself arrested?

True, Nicky wasn’t the smartest rooster in the coop. But even he should’ve been able to carry out the simple errand she’d sent him on—drive to the spot where the road cut off to the burned-out Prescott place, look for a dark blue pickup truck, give the driver the package, take the money, and bring it back to her at the bar. It was a no-brainer. So what could’ve happened to him?

She ran a nervous hand through her dyed red hair. If something had gone wrong, Stella knew she’d blame herself. She’d looked after her younger half brother since he was a toddler. While their pretty, alcoholic mother had flitted from man to man, Stella had always been there for him. Last year, when he’d fled New Jersey after informing on the Romanian mob to beat a drug charge, she’d given him shelter here in Blanco Springs and hired him as her bartender and bouncer. Surprisingly, he’d been good at his job.

Maybe she shouldn’t have risked him tonight. Nicky had never been quite right in the head. Behind his tough biker façade was a shy, almost childlike man, who became flustered if things didn’t go as expected. She didn’t dare trust him with anything more complicated than running a few drugs, maybe not even that.

What she needed was a new ally who could think on his feet, somebody she could count on to follow her orders while she kept her own hands clean. But such people tended not to last. Former sheriff Hoyt Axelrod, Slade Haskell, and Sky Fletcher’s young cousin, Lute, were all dead, tripped up by their own failings. The last and smartest candidate for the job, Lute’s sis

ter, Marie, had betrayed her, killed the hit man Stella had hired to take her out, and vanished without a trace. Good riddance, Stella thought. Still, it made her nervous, knowing the woman was out there somewhere, itching for revenge.

Finding the right person would take time. And right now, Nicky, her only living kin, was all she had.

A light rap on the bar’s front door broke into her musings. For a split second she hoped it might be Nicky. But she would’ve heard his bike as he rode up, and he would’ve come in the back. This was somebody else.

“We’re closed,” she shouted, not bothering to get up.

“Stella, it’s Abner.” The familiar, nasal voice came through the thin wooden door. “I saw your car outside. Let me in, I need to talk to you.”

Stella got up to unlock the door. The sheriff was a friend. They’d done each other a few favors, but she didn’t own him like she’d owned Hoyt Axelrod. Abner valued his job too much to break the law by taking bribes. And, although Stella hadn’t lost her powers of seduction, Abner was faithful to his wife, a dumpy woman who seemed to be perpetually pregnant.

Still, if he’d arrested her brother tonight, chances were she could talk him into letting Nicky off.

Wincing with each step, she made her way to the door and opened it. Abner plodded into the bar, moving as if his feet were weighted with cement. At the table nearest the door, he stopped and pulled out a chair. “Sit down,” he said. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear this standing up.”

Stella closed the door and took a seat. Talons of cold dread clutched her heart. Even before she heard the news, Abner’s grave expression intimated what it would be. But when the words came, she still wasn’t prepared to hear them.

“Your brother’s dead, Stella,” he said. “We got the call about eleven-thirty and found his body, along with his bike, about ten miles up the north road.”

She went cold. Nicky was the one person on this miserable earth she truly cared about. She tried to tell herself that Abner’s news was a mistake. But she knew better. Now the only thing she could do was extricate herself from the mess. Even as grief and shock slammed her, Stella’s survival instincts kicked in. As far as the law was concerned, she knew nothing about her brother’s activities.

She forced herself to respond. “The north road? But what was Nicky doing out there, so late at night?”

“We found a packet of cocaine on the bike,” Abner said. “I’m guessing he was on his way to make a drug deal.”

“Oh, Lord, no!” Stella shook her head in mock disbelief. “I warned him to stay away from dealing drugs. If only he’d listened to me, he could still be alive.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Do you know how it happened?”

She waited for Abner to collect his thoughts. Maybe the drug deal had gone bad and the customer had pulled a gun. Or maybe Nicky’s bike had been hit by some fool drunken cowboy. However Nicky had died, she’d have to face the truth and deal with it. “Tell me,” she said.

“He was shot,” Abner said. “A thirty-eight bullet through the heart at close range. At least you can go forward knowing he didn’t suffer.”

Stella’s jaw tightened, holding back a cry of rage. Whoever had pulled that trigger was going to pay. “Who did it?” she demanded. “Who murdered my brother?”

“It was Will Tyler.”

“Will Tyler.” Stella uttered the name like a curse. Of all the families in Blanco County, she hated the Tylers most. It was as if they held themselves above ordinary people, like damned royalty. And now, she had even more reason to hate them. The head of the clan had murdered her darling Nicky.

“Tyler claimed it was self-defense,” the sheriff said. “According to him, his pickup blew a tire. While he was outside the truck, the motorcycle came up the road and pulled off. The rider had a helmet on, visor down, and he was packing a pistol. Tyler assumed he was the biker who’d robbed the convenience store. He drew his thirty-eight and ordered the man to drop his gun. Your brother did, but then he pulled a knife. That was when Tyler shot him. He swore he didn’t know it was Nick, not till we showed up and took the helmet off.”

“But Tyler did admit to shooting Nicky.”

Abner nodded. “No doubt about that.”

“And you believe his story?” Stella felt the anger boiling up in her. She glared at the sheriff, her eyes narrowing to catlike slits.

“No reason not to. Nick’s gun was on the ground. The knife was still in his hand. And Tyler said he’d had his little girl in the truck. Protecting her would’ve made his trigger finger extra jumpy.”

“So you haven’t arrested him?”