The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

“It was awful. Cassidy and her mom were very close and she was devastated. I tried to help, but I wasn’t so close to my own mother so it was hard for me to ever find the right words.”

Under his direct gaze, this close, she found her unease rising. “You got that cop expression happening again.”

He sat back in his chair and made an effort to relax. “Do I?”

“Yeah.”

A wry grin tipped the edge of his mouth. “I suppose I never really leave the job behind.”

She shifted in her seat. “So what did you and Manny’s brother do to stir up trouble?”

“Typical trouble teenaged boys find. General raising hell.”

“And what is that?”

He chuckled. “Let’s just say we gave our mamas a good bit of gray hair.”

He was just as unwilling to talk about himself as she was herself. “So what changed you?”

He sipped his lemonade and carefully set his glass down. “Finally grew up, I suppose.”

Manny arrived with two steaming plates of food. Tamales, rice, beans, avocadoes, and fresh salsa filled the turquoise plate. The queso fresco cheese looked like melted velvet. “This looks wonderful.”

Manny’s chest puffed with pride. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”

“Thanks,” Beck said. “And tell your mama I said hi.”

“Sure thing, Beck.”

Beck nodded. “Dig in. Best food you’ll ever eat.”

She took her first bite and savored the warm blend of spices and fresh food. If she’d been alone she’d have closed her eyes and savored the moment, but with Beck so close she did her best to keep her expression neutral. He might be all kind and nice, but she understood that under the aw shucks veneer he was driven steel. “This is wonderful.”

He loaded his fork. “I’d eat here every day if I could. I’m surprised you never heard about this place seeing as you’re part Texan.”

The jab had her smiling. “My grandmother was a great cook, and we ate in almost all the time. As a kid I’d beg to go to a fast-food joint, but she’d never allow it unless it was my birthday. Looking back I can see what a dope I was as a kid.”

“My mother was either working or going to school. Home-cooked fare was rare. But Manny’s mom kept me well fed.”

The glimpse into his past tweaked her curiosity. Though tempted to dig deeper, she resisted. As nice as he might appear, he wasn’t her friend.

They ate in silence for a time. The food was good and eased some of her tension. She was far hungrier than she’d realized and found her senses and nerves stabilizing with a full belly.

“So is the house the reason you came back to Austin?” Beck said.

“Pretty much.” She wiped her hands with a yellow paper napkin.

He sat back in his seat and regarded her closely. “You like it here?”

“I did.” She frowned. “I’d honestly thought the past was done, and I could truly start living again. I shouldn’t have stirred up old news.”

A silence settled between them.

“There’s a Dr. Jo Granger who consults with DPS and the Rangers. She is good, Lara. She could help you remember.”

She shook her head. “There are no memories.”

“You need to talk to her.” His clipped tone told her he didn’t like hearing no.

Tough. She wasn’t playing his game just because he could play nice. “All I need to do is get my dog. Can we go now?”

He reached for his hat, but the furrow in his brow deepened. “I’ll ride out with you to your cabin and have a look around. Someone got into your place, and I’d sure like to know how.”

If it were just her, she’d have told him not to bother, but she couldn’t risk someone else hurting Lincoln again. “Okay.”

He drove her back to the vet hospital, where she paid a hefty vet bill that maxed out her credit card and then collected her groceries and a groggy but tail-wagging shepherd. He walked out to her truck like a sailor who’d had too many cheap whiskeys on shore leave. With a boost from Beck, the dog hopped into the front seat of her truck, licked her on the hand, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Beck touched the tip of his hat. “Lead the way, Ms. Church.”

“Okay.” She slid behind the wheel, patted Lincoln on the head, and headed back south. She barely remembered the harried ride north just hours ago. It had passed in a blink. The return trip took forever. Likely because she was so conscious of Beck’s black SUV trailing behind her, moving in and out of traffic as she did.

It was as disconcerting to have Beck close as it was comforting. She might not like the guy, who could be a hard-ass, but he’d projected genuine concern when he showed up at the vet clinic.

“You can stop right there, Lara Church.” She tightened her hands on the wheel. “He is all about this case. You are a means to an end. So do not read into this what is not there.”

The sound of her voice had Lincoln raising his head and yawning.

She patted him on the head. “We’re almost home.”

A half hour later she parked in front of her cabin. By this time, Lincoln was awake, snorting and raising his head as she parked. Seeing home, he wagged his tail and barked.

She hurried around to the passenger side as Beck’s SUV parked behind her. She opened the door and the shepherd jumped down. He wobbled a step or two and then took off toward the edge of the woods, where he promptly raised his leg and peed.

As the dog sniffed and rooted through the woods she moved to the front door.

Beck cut her off. “Before you open that door, take a moment to look around the place and see if anything is out of place.”

She turned, key in hand, to find him standing at the base of the porch, his hand resting casually on his gun. The brim of his white hat angled just a bit. “What should I look for?”

“Whatever doesn’t fit or feel right. Come on down here and just look.”

She moved back down the stairs as he eased back a step. Her gaze traveled over her home. No broken windows. No overturned pots. No marks. “It’s the same.”

His sunglasses tossed back her reflection. “Do you keep a spare key hidden around here?”

“I do.”

He frowned. “Show me.”

Around the side of the house at the back patio she lifted an urn filled with withered flowers and removed a key. “It’s right where I left it.”

“Anybody know about that key?” The rough edge had returned to his voice.

She dropped the key in his outstretched palm. “No. I mean, I never told anybody.”

A look filled with disapproval settled as he turned the key over in his hand. “How long has it been there?”

“I don’t know. My grandmother used to keep a key there.” She held the gold key in her hands. “This key is new. I had the locks replaced when I moved in.”

“Why take the time to put in new locks when you leave a key outside?”

Color warmed her cheeks. “Because if I get locked out, which has been known to happen, I have no one to call. And seeing as Lincoln doesn’t have pockets, I thought it wise to keep a key hidden.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “Not smart.”

“You’re right. Not so smart. But a necessary evil.”

“Pocket that key now.” His fingers brushed hers when he handed the key to her.

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She clenched her fist over it. “What if I get locked out?”

“Then call me. I’ll get you inside.”

He said it as if he meant it. “I’m not calling you if I get locked out. That’s crazy.”

He leaned forward a fraction. “What’s crazy about it?”

“If you live in Austin then it means you’re a good half hour away.”

He grinned. “This is Texas, Ms. Church. A half hour is just around the block for us.”

Dependence was a slippery slope. And dependence on a man who’d already stated his murder investigation trumped her wishes was foolish. “Still.”

“Still nothing.” He looked around as if the matter had been decided. “Let’s have a look inside?”

It would have been nice to brush him off, but if someone had gotten into her house before, they could have returned while she was at the hospital.

She unlocked the back door, but he moved in front of her and entered the house first. A flick of his thumb and the lights clicked on. His right hand rested on his gun.

She followed. The cool interior was a welcome change from the heat, but it did little to soothe the tightness in her belly.

He pocketed his sunglasses and let his gaze scan the room. As he searched for predators, she spotted a shirt she’d tossed on the floor, a nightgown she’d discarded when she dressed in the middle of the room yesterday morning, and a half dozen cups filled with varying levels of tea. She started to collect the cups and put them in the kitchen sink.

He checked windows, tested the front door lock with his hand, and then strolled down the hallway toward her bedroom. Images of her unmade bed had her wishing she cared more about house chores.

As Beck moved through the house he moved slowly, taking in every detail of the home’s interior: a stack of magazines on a dusty coffee table, a casually tossed jean jacket on a cloth couch covered with a flowered quilt, hiking shoes covered in dust and mud. The walls had once been covered in photos, but the images were gone, leaving behind their shadowy outline on the wall.

“Why take the pictures down, Lara?”

Her name sounded rougher when he spoke it. “Old family pictures of my mother and my aunt.” They’d been smiling, young and happy.