Texas Forever (The Tylers of Texas 6)
He took time to unfold his legs and rise to his feet. One hand crushed the half-empty beer can, shooting a stream of yellow liquid onto the porch before he tossed it at her feet. “You know how to find me, Erin,” he said. “And when—not if—you do, I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Toward dawn, Marie approached the abandoned line hut, after a nightly ramble that included a quick check on the Rimrock and some foraging in the dumpsters behind the Burger Shack and Shop Mart. As she neared the ramshackle building, her tingling danger senses told her that someone had been there. When she left her bike and approached her hideout, her flashlight beam found the tracks of a four-wheel-drive SUV and the kind of low-heeled boots that troopers tended to wear. There was no vehicle in sight, but someone could still be inside, waiting for her to return.
Time to go. Now. She’d left nothing in the vermin-infested shack except some clothes, a few snacks, and her bedroll, which could easily be replaced. The important things—her dwindling supply of cash, the burner phone she’d stolen, her flashlight, first-aid supplies, and cigarettes—were in the panniers on her bike. Nothing else was worth the risk of getting caught, especially if they got her for killing that cop in the stairwell of the Blue Coyote. For that, she wouldn’t just be returned to Gatesville. She would end up on death row.
Cursing her rotten luck, she made it back to her bike and wheeled it a half mile down the trail before starting it up. The engine coughed and roared as she shot down the back road. She’d learned to be careful. But one stupid split-second decision had put the cops back on her trail—and they wouldn’t give up, not when she’d brought down one of their own.
Abner Sweeney must’ve remembered her. Or Sky might have noticed some sign that she was around and called the sheriff. Then there was that little Tyler bitch taking a picture of her footprint. For two cents she would kill them all. Too bad she’d ditched the gun she’d taken off the old man. She could use it now. Stealing another one would take time, caution, and luck.
Where to go now? That was the question. With no drugs or cash, Mexico was out. Staying around here had become dangerous. But her only hope of a secure future lay in killing Erin Tyler and getting Stella’s stash.
Lubbock might be the best solution. She knew neighborhoods where it might be possible to disappear among the brown-skinned population. She’d even had some connections there before her prison sentence. If they hadn’t moved on, they might be willing to help her in exchange for a few favors. It wasn’t the best solution, but for now it would have to do.
When the heat died down, she would be back. And next time she wouldn’t fail.
Gunning the machine, she mapped out the network of back-roads in her mind. The rising sun found her headed north, roaring toward the city.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN THE BANK OPENED, ERIN WAS WAITING at the door. The single teller let her in, but she had to wait another half hour for the account manager to show up. She sat on a folding metal chair, thinking about Luke, who would be facing the judge for his arraignment this morning. She tried to imagine the dread, the humiliation, he must be feeling—the indignity of standing before the court in chains. Luk
e’s strength and dignity would be sorely tested today.
It was a given that he would be held without bail, at least until the grand jury met to decide whether the case should go to trial. After that, he could be jailed for weeks, even months, while the case was prepared. What would time as a prisoner do to him? Would he remain the gentle, honest man she’d fallen in love with? Or would he become hardened, bitter, and distrustful?
Erin was saying a silent prayer when the account manager walked in from the rear of the bank and sat down at her desk.
The woman, who’d worked school lunch before getting the bank job, remembered her and beckoned her over.
“I’m so sorry about your father, dear,” she said. “And so soon after losing your mother, too. My, you’re going to have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders. But don’t worry, we can help you with that. I imagine you’re here to transfer the accounts to your name. Did you bring the death certificate?”
“I brought everything.” Erin took her paperwork, including the death certificate, power of attorney, and most recent statements, out of the briefcase that had belonged to her mother. “When we’re done here, I need to speak with Mr. Bartlett,” she said.
“I’m sure you do. He already knows you’re here.” As the woman printed out the documents that needed to be signed and notarized, Erin looked past her, toward the glass-fronted office at the back of the bank. She could see Sim Bartlett in a suit and tie, sitting behind his massive desk as if he were president of some Fortune 500 corporation instead of a small-town bank whose employees could be counted on the fingers of one hand. He was a big frog in a tiny pond, and she would not allow him to intimidate her.
When the accounts had been transferred, Erin was escorted back to Bartlett’s office. The room behind the glass was furnished like an old-time men’s club, the walls darkly paneled with heavy molding at the top, the furniture massive and expensively made. A gilt-framed photo of Bartlett shaking hands with the previous governor of the state hung on one wall. Bartlett, a stocky man whose silver hair was too sculpted not to be a toupee, rose behind his desk and extended his hand.
Erin had never spoken with the man. But the thought that this pretentious old goat had made her father’s last days miserable made her want to turn her back and walk out.
Instead she accepted his handshake and his invitation to take a seat. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Bartlett,” she said, meeting his gaze.
“My condolences for your loss.” Bartlett had not attended Will’s funeral. “I hope you understand that this meeting is just a formality. It doesn’t change the terms of the loan on your ranch or the fact that the payment will be due as stated in the contract.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” Erin said. “But I want you to know that this isn’t over. I’ll be exploring every alternative I can find. Nobody’s taking my ranch.”
He gave her a condescending smile. “Knock yourself out, my dear. I’ll be interested in seeing what you come up with—and in watching you fail.”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Bartlett.” Erin stood, turned away, and walked out.
She made it to the sidewalk out front before her knees began to shake. The battle lines had been drawn. At least she’d stood up to the wretched man. But standing up was one thing. Making good on her word was something else.
There were other lenders, she reminded herself. Not here in Blanco Springs, but in the city. Surely, with the ranch as collateral, she could find a bank that would refinance the loan on easier terms. She would start her search in the next few days. Right now, she needed to find Luke’s court-appointed attorney.
When she told the court receptionist about her connection to the case, the woman murmured her condolences, scrawled a name and phone number on a notepad, torn off the page, and handed it to Erin. “She’s probably left for the day. But that’s her cell phone, so you should be able to reach her. She’s a character. You’ll see.”
After walking out into the sunshine, Erin sat on a bench and studied the paper the woman had given her. Pearlina Murchison. The receptionist had said she was a character. But maybe that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Luke’s life was in this woman’s hands.