by Mary Burton
Faith wasn’t sure how she expected a brother to react to a sister’s grievous injuries. She didn’t have a brother but expected something beyond the nothingness emanating from Dirk Crow.
A nurse entered the room and checked Macy’s monitors. “Everyone, please leave now. You can come back tomorrow, but for now, my patient needs to be kept as quiet as possible.”
When they exited the room, the uniformed officer was posted by it, and Hayden spoke to him briefly before the three moved silently to the waiting room.
Hayden asked for contact information, which Dirk supplied along with the names of the people he’d seen in El Paso.
“Is the cop going to stay outside her door?” Dirk asked. “Whoever did this to her must have been responsible for Jack.”
“The cop is staying,” Hayden confirmed.
“I don’t know shit,” Dirk said, “but it doesn’t take a genius to see when a father is murdered and a daughter is nearly killed, it ain’t just a string of bad luck.”
“That’s not lost on me,” Hayden said. “No one will get in that room without me knowing it, and that includes you.”
“Good,” Dirk said. “Better safe than sorry.”
“You sure you or your father weren’t into something that got your sister hurt so bad?” Hayden asked.
“You sound like Macy,” Dirk said. “Jack and I could never be accused of being choirboys, but we never did anything that would bring this kind of heat down onto the family.”
Hayden studied him for a long moment, and Faith knew with a glance he didn’t believe Dirk. But she’d picked up enough legal nuances growing up in the home of a defense attorney to know that unless there were outstanding warrants, pending charges, or probable cause, there wasn’t much Hayden could do to hold Dirk until he had more evidence.
If the criminal investigations weren’t center stage, she’d have been asking her own questions about Jack Crow, who clearly had known more about the links she and Macy shared.
“As far as the outside world is concerned, Macy Crow died from complications in surgery,” Hayden said.
Dirk’s grim expression mirrored the feelings jabbing at Faith. “To protect her?”
“Yes,” Hayden said.
“No one will hear it from me,” Dirk said. “I’ll see you again soon, Faith.”
“When we get the chance, I want to talk to you about your father.”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
When Dirk’s large frame vanished behind the closing elevator doors, she felt as if she’d been blindsided. But she didn’t have the luxury of giving in to her emotions right now. “I need to talk to the nurses. I’m AB negative, and if we’re twins, she will be, too.”
“Good idea,” Hayden said.
The whole point of her relationship with Hayden was that it was casual and neither burdened the other with anything too personal. Now he had a ringside seat at her life turning upside down. “You don’t need to stick around, Hayden. There’s nothing you can do here.”
“I can stay.”
Restless energy swirled around him, and she sensed ghosts of the past were circling. He’d spent a lot of time at hospital bedsides with his late wife. “I’d rather you didn’t. I want you out there finding the sick bastard who did this,” she said.
He lightly touched her arm. “I want you to be very careful, Faith. If I caught your resemblance to Macy in a split second, other people will as well.”
“Fair enough. But how are you going to control what the hospital says about her condition?”
“I can keep it under wraps for a little bit and buy us some time.”
“I also would not recommend releasing Macy’s picture to the media. The last thing this hospital needs is a reporter snooping around.”
“Will do.” His expression softened a bit as he debated how to handle this very personal thing with her. If their relationship had been strictly professional or solely personal, it would have been straightforward. But they were in a gray area. Neither one wanted to overstep or crowd the other. “I know this has been a kick in the gut.”
“It has been exactly that,” she said. “I’m not taking this well.”
“You look like you are.”
“What other rational choice do I have?”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s all we can do.”
“Don’t worry about me, Hayden. I’m a survivor.”
Hayden took her hand, squeezed it. A kiss and a hug would have been welcomed, but again they found themselves stuck in that damned muddled middle.
She returned to Macy’s room and walked up to the edge of her bed. She brushed her fingers over Macy’s. A sudden surge of anger burned through her body.
Faith could explain the causes and results of death, but she’d never fully understood it. There were times when it was a blessing and other times a curse. The only constant was that it was always waiting for everyone.
“Macy, you’re going to have to make that son of a bitch Death wait a long time if I have any say in this.”
CHAPTER TEN
Tuesday, June 26, 4:00 p.m.
Hayden stepped into his office and pulled off his jacket. Anger and helplessness were tag teaming his ass, and he was running out of patience. He hated leaving Faith alone outside that damn hospital room, looking so hurt and lost. She was one of the strongest people he knew, but everyone had a breaking point. She’d insisted, however, and he knew she was right. He was of no use to anyone there.
“How did Dr. McIntyre take the news about Agent Crow?” Brogan asked.
“About as well as you could expect.” He shifted his thoughts away from the memory of Faith’s lost and confused look and back to the case. “I saw Macy’s brother, Dirk.”
“Where has he been?”
“In El Paso. I called two of the names he gave me. He was interviewing for construction work.”
“That’s pretty far to go for a job. He must really need the money.”
“He admitted he was putting pressure on Crow to sell the land.” Hayden rolled his head from side to side to release the tension.
“The financial statements for Jack Crow arrived. We also received several surveillance tapes overlooking the area where Randy Kelly’s truck had been parked.”
“Good. I also want to see Dirk Crow’s financial records.”
“Do we have enough probable cause to get a judge to sign that warrant?” Brogan asked.
“I’d say the attempt on Macy’s life gives it to us. If she dies, everything will go to Dirk.”
“That’s motive,” Brogan said.
“Let me see the tape.”
Brogan keyed up the footage, and the black-and-white image that appeared featured a bakery located a few blocks from Comal Pocket Park. The camera caught the rear of Kelly’s truck. At 7:05 p.m., Kelly pulled up and parked and then dashed into a bar around the corner.
Brogan sped up the recording, and over the course of the next couple of hours, several dozens of people passed by the truck. At one point a couple paused by the dented tailgate. The man kissed the woman, and as she wrapped her arms around his neck, he pressed her body against the side of the truck. His hand slid up her skirt, and though others passed, the two were oblivious to having an audience. Minutes later she adjusted her skirt, and they moved on.
It was at ten thirty p.m. when a hooded figure appeared. He kept his head down and hands in his pockets as he walked up to the truck, looked in through the front driver’s side window, and then walked past, disappearing from view. Not long after, he reappeared, and this time with no one around him, he cracked the side window with a glass punch. Glass shattered into the front seat, allowing him to shove a gloved hand inside. He popped the lock.
The thief kept his head down the entire time, as if he knew there were cameras around. He leaned under the steering wheel to hot-wire the ignition and drove off like he owned it. Not once did the camera get a good shot of his face.
“This guy’s good,” Hayden said.
And why was the million-dollar question. “Pull footage from the last couple of weeks, and go through it. We might catch whoever did this on camera.”
“Will do.”
“Did you find anything in Jack Crow’s bank accounts?”
“Crow had one bank account that he used for the salvage yard. He had one credit card that he rarely used,” Brogan said. “The bank account received odd cash deposits over the course of each month. Nothing more than a few hundred dollars, but that fits with a salvage yard business. He couldn’t have been laundering money through the account. The amounts are just too small.”
Brogan shuffled through a stack of credit card statements. “According to the one credit card statement, he bought groceries infrequently, but again, he never spent more than twenty or thirty bucks.”
“Any favorite haunts?”
“Maxwell’s is a local diner. Looks like he ate out there a lot.”
“I’ve been guilty of eating at the same pizza place for years,” Hayden said.
“And you’re telling me they know something about you?” Brogan asked.
“Maybe not me personally, but they have an idea of my schedule and if I ever ate with anyone. Same might hold true for Crow,” Hayden said.
Brogan nodded. “Worth a shot.”
“What about Crow’s phone records?”
“He called Macy two weeks ago, and they spoke for about half an hour. And he called Dirk five or six times in the same time period, but they never connected. He called a few local auto parts stores, but that’s about it,” Brogan said.
“Not a sociable guy.”
“Nope.”
“If he was into something, then he was smart enough to operate in cash. Ledbetter said he bought two phones,” Hayden said.
“He didn’t use a credit card when he bought them,” Brogan said. “I also did a background search on Crow. He joined the army when he was eighteen and stayed in a dozen years. That’s when his first wife divorced him. When he got out, he hooked up with Brenda Hamlin, married, and opened the salvage yard. He and his second wife never filed for divorce.”
“No jail time for Dirk?”
“None.”
“Double-check with Ledbetter about where he bought those phones. I want to see the footage from that store as well.”
Brogan grinned as he nodded. “‘Be a Texas Ranger,’ they said. ‘There’ll be nonstop action,’ they said.”
Hayden laughed, rose, crossed to a coffee machine, and refilled his cup. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, you’ll be bored off your ass. It’s during that one percent when all hell breaks loose that you can get your head blown off. What a rush.”
He looked at the list of neatly typed names. Jack Crow’s name was crossed out. Macy Crow’s name had not been crossed out, but circled. As tempted as he was to strike her name, he could not. He’d hit her hard with the truck, and he’d heard the bones crunching as her body careened off the metal bumper and sailed through the air. She’d struck the ground with tremendous force, and he’d seen blood everywhere when he glanced back in his side-view mirror.
The chances of her surviving last night were slim, but he’d yet to see the body. Death could be a fickle bitch sometimes.
He circled Macy’s name over and over, his pencil darkening the stark-white paper and then wearing it away. He should have squeezed her for information, but what was done was done.
Five names. Dirk Crow had also returned to town. Chances of him knowing much were slim, but he would leave nothing to chance.
After Dirk, that left three names, including Faith McIntyre. By rights she shouldn’t know anything. The first time she’d met Jack Crow, he was dead. But the old man might have known about her, and if he did, he might have tried to reach out. Their possible contact meant she had to remain on the list.
She was also on that Ranger’s radar, which meant he needed to be smart and bide his time. The Ranger was sharp and driven and could easily be trouble if not neutralized.
Faith was shaken and distracted when she arrived back at the medical examiner’s office. Her mind swirled with so many unanswered questions about herself, her parents, and how she was linked to the battered woman lying unconscious in the hospital bed.
She dropped her purse in the chair behind her desk and tossed her jacket over the back. She sat, pressed her palms to her cheeks, which now felt as if they were on fire.
The halls were quiet, the daily hum of activity gone, and five pink message slips lay in the middle of her desk. Her phone’s message light was blinking. It never stopped.
But more questions cascaded into her thoughts. Had Macy simply been dealing with her father’s death when she got that drink at the bar? Or had Crow told her something that had put her on a dangerous quest?
Dirk’s spotty knowledge of Macy’s adoption reminded her of all the information swept under the carpet or just plain hidden by her parents. Why don’t I look like my cousins? What was it like the day I was born? Was I a difficult delivery? Her mother had not come clean about the adoption until Faith was eleven. She remembered how stunned and then angry she’d been. Her mother had assured her it made no difference. Faith had wanted to believe that, but she realized now she had never fully released her anger.
Her phone buzzed, and she answered it absently. “Dr. McIntyre.”
“Doc, this is Tina. Just confirming you’re taking Kat to her appointment today. You’re always early, and she’s convinced you’ve forgotten.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had. “I was held up. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you let the doctor’s office know we’re on the way?”
“Will do.”
The walk down the hallway, touching base with Nancy, and the drive to the shelter were a blur. She wasn’t even truly processing when she walked up to the shelter and pushed through the front door.
Faith wove through the shelter’s cobbled rooms searching for Kat, who had promised to be in the lobby waiting. She had to have the girl at the ob-gyn by six forty-five. She’d wanted to leave extra time so she could talk to Kat’s doctor.
She found the girl sitting in the game room, a beanbag chair molded around her body as she frowned into the screen of the two-year-old laptop Faith had given her. It was now covered in dozens of stickers, including ones that read THINK DIFFERENT, GIRL POWER, and DO NOT DISTURB.
Kat lumbered up from the beanbag chair and closed her laptop. “Where have you been?”
“Dead people run my life.” The words could have passed as a dry quip, but no truer words were spoken. What she would give right now for five minutes of living, breathing parents willing to answer questions.
Kat picked up her backpack and shoved her computer inside. “That’s the best excuse I’ve ever had when someone flakes on me.”
As they walked to the car, Faith cut her eyes to the kid who was acting like her tardiness was no big deal, when it was a big deal. “I didn’t flake.”
“Whatever.”
“Ready to see your doctor?”
“No.” Kat had had no prenatal care until her twenty-fourth week, when her foster mother had realized the kid wasn’t getting fat but was pregnant. Her foster mother had no desire to deal with the pregnancy, so she’d turned Kat over to the shelter. Almost as soon as Kat had arrived, Faith had had her figured out. Though the kid seemed hell-bent on screwing up her life, Faith had taken her under her wing.
In the car, Kat buckled her seat belt and began immediately fiddling with the radio. She selected another station that made Faith’s ears hurt and reminded her that as young as Kat still thought Faith was, Faith had aged out of the latest music playlist.
“So I’ve been doing a little detective work,” Kat said.
“Looking into colleges?”
“God, no. Might as well be chasing unicorns.”
More glibness. Had she been this difficult as a teenager? Faith found herself struggling to stay
positive in the face of so much hormonal negativity and understood now why her father had sent her on so many lavish excursions during her high school summer vacations. “That’s not true, Kat. I’ve told you that there are options if you want it.”
The girl held up her hand with flair to silence Faith as with the other hand she rummaged in her pocket for a rumpled piece of paper. “I looked up your Josie Jones.”
Faith was completely derailed by Kat’s comment and swiveled her head around toward the kid, staring until she heard, “Watch out!”
Faith hit her brakes and stopped seconds before she rear-ended the car in front of her. She pulled into a gas station parking lot. It was several deep breaths before she attempted to speak.
“You did what?” Faith asked.
“I did a search for Josie Jones while I was killing time this afternoon.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Faith said. “It’s really personal.”
“You’re always up in my face about superpersonal things. Turnabout is fair play.”
“It’s different.”
Kat looked ahead carefully, making a show of folding her piece of paper. “So you don’t want to hear about what I found?”
Faith tapped her hands on the wheel. She was supposed to be the adult in this situation. She should remind Kat to mind her own business, but she knew the kid could find things on the Web that most could not, and her curiosity was stronger than her indignation. “I want to know.”
Kat waved the piece of paper in front of her face like a fan. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you now.”
“You’re killing me, kid.”
The girl’s laugh rang with a genuine brightness she’d never heard before. Carefully, Kat unfolded her paper. “I found out that Josie wasn’t much different than me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She had been in foster care on and off for several years before the system cut her loose when she turned eighteen. A couple of days before her nineteenth birthday, she was arrested for shoplifting, but the charges were dropped. Do you want to see a picture of her?”
“I’ve seen her mug shot.”
