The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)
She inspected every inch of his body and found no signs of blood, wounds, or broken bones. Fearing he might have been poisoned, she knew she had to get him to an emergency vet as soon as possible. For a heart-stopping moment she panicked. Who should she call? It was a Sunday afternoon.
“Shit. Think, Lara. Think!” Quickly, she raced back into the house and opened her laptop. Her hands trembled so that she mistyped Emergency and Veterinarian so badly she wasn’t sure if the search engine would turn up anything. However, it spit out the name of a twenty-four-hour service in northwest Austin.
She grabbed her keys and hustled through the house to her truck. She fired up the engine and drove the truck around the side of the house, unmindful of the wilting flower beds her grandmother planted years ago. She parked her truck right next to Lincoln. The dog weighed seventy pounds, and unconscious his body would be unwieldy.
Later she’d never know how she got Lincoln in the bed of the truck, but she’d managed it.
She covered the shepherd with a quilt from her living room couch and kissed him on the muzzle. “Hang on, boy.”
Lara slid behind the wheel, ground the gear into reverse, and backed out the path she’d just dug in the yard. A quick spin of the wheel and a gear change, and she was headed down the dirt road back toward town. The twisty, winding roads didn’t allow for top speeds, and she did not want to jostle Lincoln too much, but she kept the pace faster than reason dictated. When she hit the main road, she floored it.
The speedometer nudged ninety more than a couple of times as she wove in and out of traffic. As she skidded around Austin and headed north, the stress and panic that had first gripped her melted to a laser-sharp resolve. Just get him to the doctor.
As she took her last exit, she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw the flashing lights of a police vehicle. “You’re gonna have to wait, pal.”
She didn’t break speed, and the cop stayed on her tail. Up ahead she spotted the vet hospital and slowed to make her final right turn. Breaks squealed to a halt as she stopped in front of the main door.
She slid out the door and ran inside the vet hospital before the cop could react. She dashed to the receptionist desk. “I’ve got my dog in the car. I think he’s been poisoned. He’s a shepherd and he weighs at least seventy pounds.”
The girl nodded and reached for the intercom just as the cop burst into the vet hospital. His hand was on his gun grip, his dark eyes sparked with adrenaline and anger.
Lara held up her hands in front. “Let me get my dog to the doctor, and then I’ll do whatever you want.”
Midsized with dark hair, gray eyes, and a thick, black mustache, the cop shook his head. “Outside, now.”
Lara glanced back at the startled receptionist. “Are you going to help my dog?”
The young girl nodded. “Someone is coming up to get him right now.”
Lara nodded and followed the cop outside. “He’s in the back of the truck. My dog. Lincoln.” She’d been so focused on the trip here, but now her brain unraveled with emotion and fear.
The cop directed her to the back of the truck and glanced inside at Lincoln. The dog was still breathing but painfully still. “What is wrong with him?”
“I think he was poisoned.”
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
She kept her gaze on Lincoln. “I didn’t care. Too fast. I don’t know.”
“I need for you to sit in the front of your truck.”
“Can’t I stay with Lincoln?”
The front door of the hospital burst open, and two young men appeared with a gurney. “There’s nothing you can do for him now. They’ve got him.” The sharp edges of the cop’s voice eased. “I need to see your driver’s license.”
She slid behind the wheel and dug her wallet out of her purse. She handed it to the officer and watched in the rearview mirror as the technicians loaded Lincoln onto the gurney and took him inside.
Lara leaned her head against the steering wheel. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Ma’am? Ms. Church?” the officer said.
Surprised to hear her name, she sat up and swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes?”
The name Brown glistened from a gold nameplate on his chest. “I’m writing you a ticket for going eighty-nine in a seventy, that’s a mile short of reckless driving. And I’m not going to cite you for failure to pull over when I flashed my lights. I got a couple of dogs myself and, well, I get it.”
“Thanks.” She watched as he scribbled information on his form and turned it around for her to sign. Her signature was shaky at best.
He handed her back her driver’s license, insurance card, and a copy of the ticket. “Any idea who might have poisoned your dog?”
The image of him lying in the backyard flashed and tore at her. “No. None.”
He hooked his fingers into his gun belt. “Think it might have anything to do with the article written about you this morning?”
She stiffened. “Has everyone read that?”
“By now, I’d say just about.”
She’d accepted that she’d catch heat for the article, but it had never occurred to her that Lincoln might be a target. “I don’t know.”
He nodded. “Go ahead and park your truck. I suspect they’ll have paperwork inside.”
“Thanks.” Minutes later she sat alone in the tiled waiting room filling out papers fastened to a clipboard. The receptionist had assured her that Lincoln was being looked after and that a technician was caring for him. While she waited, another family rushed in a small mixed breed hit by a car and another couple brought in an old cat that was seizing. The animals were taken in the back and the distressed owners were left to wait with her.
When the front door to the hospital opened the third time she didn’t even bother to glance up, but kept her focus on the papers.
“Lara.” Beck’s deep baritone voice startled her.
She found him standing there, his hat in his hand. Stiffening, she rose. “Sergeant? What are you doing here?”
“DPS tells me you racked up one hell of a speeding ticket.”
Worry for Lincoln kept her temper in check. “You’re keeping an eye on me.”
“That’s right.” He nodded toward the chair as he removed his hat. “Have a seat. You look wrung out.”
“I’d rather stand.” Nervous energy snapped and popped under her skin.
“Sit.”
Another order.
If she’d ha
d an ounce of fight, she’d have stood her ground. But she had no attitude to rally. She sat down, and he took the seat beside her.
His hat balanced on long, lean, calloused hands. “Want to tell me what happened?”
She tipped back her head, willing fresh tears to stop. “Don’t be nice to me. I’m not up for mind games right now.”
His gaze roamed over her from head to toe. “I don’t have an angle.”
A bitter smile twisted her lips even as she fought back tears. “Of course you do.”
“I want to know.”
Despite genuine empathy underscoring the words, this visit wasn’t about her. It was about the case. Always the case. For reasons she couldn’t explain, that hurt.
She centered the papers on her clipboard, hoping her thoughts would do the same. “I don’t know what happened. I came home and found him in the backyard. He wasn’t moving.” She scribbled her name, but the ink went dry. Shaking the pen, she resisted more tears.
Beck removed a pen from his pocket and handed it to her. Without looking up, she nodded her thanks but didn’t speak as she filled in the vitals.
His presence gave her an odd quiet strength that softened the edges of her nerves. Only when she’d finished the forms and turned the clipboard back into the receptionist did he speak.
“Did you leave him outside?”
She shook her head. “That’s the thing. I left him on the couch in my house. I clearly remember that.”
“You’re sure?”
“That part of my memory is crystal clear.”
“And you locked the house?”
“Yes. I am obsessive about security, for obvious reasons. Whoever got to Lincoln broke into my house and got to him.”
The staff door opened and a young woman in surgical scrubs said, “Lincoln.”
Lara rose. “Yes. How is he?”
Beck stood, his head at least twelve inches above her.
The woman at the door was small. Dark hair brushed her shoulders, and she wore rimless glasses and no makeup. “I’m Dr. O’Neil. And he’s doing just fine. He’s starting to wake up now.”