Cut and Run (Criminal Profiler 2)

His deep-throated laugh rang a little hollow. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t have kids.”

She lowered her gaze to her beer, not wanting to put him on the defensive. She paused for effect before she slowly lifted her eyes. “Had you seen Jack lately?”

“It’s been years. We always said we’d keep up after the army, but you know how it goes.”

She nodded as she sipped her beer. “I was just hoping to learn more about my old man. Figured I’d try.”

“I wish there was more I could tell you about him. All my stories are over thirty years old.”

“I’ll take an old story,” she quipped.

He shrugged. “When we were in the army, I got into some trouble with the MPs. I think they’d have thrown me in the brig and tossed the key if Jack hadn’t intervened. He could schmooze anyone when he put his mind to it. The MPs let me go, and Jack never told a soul. He was the kind of guy you could always rely on.”

“But you two lost touch?”

“It happens. Life moves on.”

She wondered if Jack had gone to his grave protecting Garnet’s secret. “That was Jack. Loyal to a fault.”

“Drink up. You’ve barely touched your beer,” Garnet said.

She raised the mug to her lips. “No letter, no call, nothing recently? Just seems odd he’d write your name down and not follow through with a visit.”

He grinned, shaking his finger at her. “Now you really sound like a cop.”

She laughed as she patted her index finger against her temple. “Being a teacher, I’m saddled with an analytical mind that won’t accept an unsolved problem.”

“I guess you’re a chip off the old block. Jack was like that.”

Macy reached for her wallet, but Garnet shook his head. “How much do I owe you?”

His gaze sharpened as if he were either trying to pry behind her words or reaching for an old memory that danced in the distance. And then he smiled again. “Your money is no good here. Beer’s on the house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positively.”

“I appreciate the time and the brew.” Her father had been murdered, and he’d left her three addresses. Jack knew there was trouble brewing. He’d called the Rangers and set her up as his contingency plan. Now it was her turn to call the Texas Rangers and let them know what she’d found.

“Sure thing, kid. Sure thing. Is there going to be a funeral for Jack?”

“No. He wasn’t crazy about that kind of thing.”

“You’re right. He never liked a fuss.” He shook his head as he studied her features. “You must take after your mother, because you sure don’t look like Jack.”

She grinned. “I get that a lot. My mom always said I looked like her mother.” She recited her mother’s lie because she’d heard it so many times, and it felt more natural than the real truth of her life.

“Brenda was your mother?”

“That’s right. She and Jack split when I was two. Did you know my mom?”

“I met her once when she and your father were dating.”

If he’d known Brenda, whose skin and hair were as dark as Jack’s, and he had any inkling about genetics, he might wonder how the couple had grown Macy from scratch.

He filled a fresh bowl of peanuts for her and aligned it precisely next to the other bowl. “How is Brenda?”

“She passed eight years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that. What was it?”

“Lung cancer. The smokes finally got her.”

Before he could ask another question, a patron at the end of the bar waved Garnet over, and he told her to hold that thought as he refilled the man’s mug.

She glanced in the mirror behind the bar, catching its reflection of the room, looking for signs that anyone was watching her. There were a few men checking her out, but with her bitch face locked in place, she had another minute or two before some crazy soul dared approach.

A man on her right took the bar seat beside her and drew Garnet’s attention. She didn’t bother a glance as his rusty voice ordered a scotch.

He didn’t acknowledge her but reached in the bowl of nuts and scooped up a handful. He crunched on nuts as he waited for Garnet to bring him his drink. Finally, he asked, “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, pal.” A glance to her right revealed a good-looking man in jeans and a V-neck lightweight pullover. He’d pushed up his sleeves, revealing sinewy forearms.

“I could have sworn I saw you the other day,” he said.

If she’d been feeling generous, she’d have given him a point for persistence, but she wasn’t, so he got two strikes for his inability to read social cues. “Not me. I don’t live here.”

“What brings you to Austin?” he asked.

“I didn’t come for conversation.”

He laughed. “Ouch. Tough crowd. My name is—”

“I don’t want to know.” With her new friend sitting here, she’d have no opportunity to really ask Garnet anything and decided her visit was officially a bust. She pulled a twenty from her pocket and laid it on the bar, knowing she didn’t want anything for free from Garnet.

She took one last long pull from her beer and slid off her barstool.

“Leaving so soon?” the man asked.

“I have an e

arly flight in the morning.”

“Back to?”

“An enchanted land far, far away.”

He scooped up another handful of nuts. “It’s a small world. My Spider-Man sense says we’ll see each other again.” He tossed several in his mouth. Crunch. Crunch.

She rose and left the bar. After crossing the street, she decided to cut down the side street as she fished her phone from her pocket and ordered another car. The driver promised to meet her on the street that ran parallel to this one near the park. When she wondered why, she then realized this section was one-way.

As she walked, she saw another poster of Paige Sheldon. This one was torn and weather-beaten, and someone had written a mustache over her smiling lips. When did a missing girl become a damned joke?

Without thinking she snapped a picture of it with her phone. Might mean nothing, but better to have the reference at her fingertips.

Walking away from the bar down Third Street, she searched her phone for Mitchell Hayden’s phone number. Unlike Spider-Man’s sense, she did trust her own, and it was telling her that the morning was going to be too late to call the Rangers.

Just outside the arched entrance of Comal Pocket Park, she saw a homeless man. He was wearing an army-issue jacket and when he looked up, their gazes locked. For a quick instant he reminded her of Jack, and she wondered where Jack would have ended up without the salvage yard. Knowing she’d given her last twenty to the bartender, she crossed the street to an ATM, pulled out sixty bucks, and returned to him. She gave him twenty.

“Thanks, pretty lady,” he said.

“Don’t drink it. Get something to eat.”

“I will.” He crumpled the bill up into a tight fist. “I was just dreaming about a hamburger.”

“Now is the time to get one.” She thought about the poster of the girl and pulled it up on her phone. “Have you been around here long?”

“Years. This is my home.”

She showed him the picture. “Did you ever see this girl?”

“The missing girl.”

“That’s right. She vanished in May.”