Cut and Run

by Mary Burton

  “You strike me as the type. It’s a very scientific and technical approach. And then I pictured you getting superbusy and forgetting to follow up. I watched you at the fundraiser and wondered if you even have time to sleep. But then I realized you aren’t ready for the truth. I’m also a master of avoidance, if you haven’t noticed.”

  The spot-on assessment was disconcerting. “And so you searched the most recognizable sites and hacked into them?”

  Kat picked off a piece of bread crust and popped it into her mouth. “Hack is such a harsh word.”

  “What would you call it?”

  Now that they’d shifted from the topic of the baby to computers and hacking, the girl came back into her own. “I had a look around on a few sites.”

  “And found me.” She’d thought twice about sending her DNA into the site. She’d felt as if she was opening herself up to a world she wasn’t sure she’d really wanted to know about.

  “And a half sibling. She left you two messages in your account’s inbox.” Kat removed her laptop from her backpack, opened it, and pulled up the genealogy site. With no hint of apology, she logged into Faith’s account. “You have a new password by the way. Can’t be too careful these days.”

  “Do I?”

  “Faith plus Kat equals exclamation point.”

  “Thanks for sharing.”

  “Next time make a password that doesn’t just include the year of your birth and your initials. Very amateur.”

  “Good to know.”

  Kat tapped on the screen. “Her name is Marissa Lewis. She is a twenty-nine-year-old lawyer living in San Antonio. Less than an hour south of here.” The girl folded her arms over her pregnant belly, looking pleased with herself. “You must come from very smart stock.”

  Memories of the country graves jabbed at her, and she wondered if she and Marissa Lewis were connected to any of them in some way. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to reply to Marissa.

  Could she really be biologically connected to this woman? And if they were half siblings, did they share a mother or father? It was possible that Josie could have had more children.

  Again she thought about the three gravestones. Another darker possibility came to her, and her first thought was to reject it because it was so horrible. But if working in the medical examiner’s office had taught her anything, it was that humans did unspeakably cruel things to each other.

  “Do you want me to message her?” Kat asked.

  One way or another, she had to find out if she was related to this woman. “Sure. Message her. What do I have to lose?”

  Kat’s fingers tapped quickly, and before Faith could even consider changing her mind, the girl hit “Return” and said, “Done.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “You don’t sound very happy about it.” Kat peered at her over the edge of her laptop.

  “It’s all a little much.”

  “But you want to know the truth, right?” Kat said. “You want to know your birth family?”

  She heard the girl’s fear. She was afraid of being forgotten by her own child. “I do. I want to know everything I can about them.” They both were silent for a moment, and then she said, “Let me call the shelter and tell them you’re spending the night here. We both could use a good night’s sleep.”

  “We will find the truth, Faith.”

  The truth. Whether she wanted to know it or not, the truth was barreling toward her, and she had no choice but to meet it head-on.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wednesday, June 27, 1:00 a.m.

  Hayden had spent the better part of the evening on the phone, arranging for the state forensic team to inspect the land out in the country. When he’d told them he wanted a team in the field in the morning, there’d been some grumbles until he explained it was the case Macy Crow had been working.

  Word of Macy’s death had spread among law enforcement in the Austin area. One of their own had gone down, and regardless of which law enforcement agency Macy had been attached to, the Rangers and local police felt her loss personally.

  He climbed the stairs to his one-bedroom apartment. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and flicked on the lights. He rarely spent time here. He was either working a case or, when he was unable to face beige walls another night, staying in a hotel.

  He locked the door behind him, and tossed his hat and keys on a small table by the door. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a simple peg.

  This place was set up so that nothing in it reminded him of what he’d lost. The couch, coffee table, and end tables were standard and had been discounted floor models. The television was wide-screen with high definition, though he rarely turned it on these days. And the one bit of art was the Texas state flag, which he’d hung on the wall over the couch.

  His mother had told him he would have to do better than a month-to-month lease overlooking dumpsters, and then told him to “hang a few pictures for God’s sake,” as she’d unpacked a new set of white dishes and a basic collection of pots and pans. When she’d discovered the cactus plant she’d left was nearly dead, she’d taken that back.

  He strode into the kitchen and loaded the coffee maker with strong Mexican coffee. As the machine warmed up and gurgled, he grabbed a sausage biscuit from the freezer and popped it in a microwave. By the time it was ready, he was pouring his first cup of coffee.

  In the next twenty minutes, he polished off the biscuit and downed two cups of coffee before laying his clothes on a neatly made bed.

  He stripped and turned on the shower. As the steam rose up around the shower door, he looked in the mirror, loaded shaving cream on his face, and quickly whisked the blade around his jaw and up his neck.

  Each day for the last four years, he’d wondered when the good Lord was going to release him from the purgatory of life. When he realized his maker was content to let him remain among the living, he’d taken matters into his own hands and embraced every fool risk a man could take. There were some Rangers who wondered aloud how he’d survived the bold chances he’d taken, but he was solving cases and getting results. Eventually those successes drifted up the chain of command and got him exactly what he did not want—a promotion.

  Steam from the shower fogged the mirror, and when he wiped it away, a haggard face stared back at him. He realized he just might get his wish and how foolish it was. His life wasn’t anything close to the one he’d had with Sierra, but for right now, he liked what he had with Faith, whatever the hell that was.

  He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of shaving cream, fatigue, and the aches and pains in his ribs still lingering from a fight with a drug dealer last year.

  Out of the shower, he toweled quickly. Fueled on caffeine, his body was so wired the chances of sleep were slim to none. But he lay down, knowing he should at least try, because he’d been a cop long enough to know even a little crappy shut-eye cleared the fog from his brain. He needed every advantage he could take. He closed his eyes, but his mind kept turning.

  Faith. Macy. Jack. Paige.

  There was trouble connected to that damn ranch. He didn’t fully understand the correlation, but one way or another, he would get some answers in a few hours.

  When his cell rang, it was four a.m. The cell’s display read MELISSA SAVAGE. Clearing his throat, he sat up and on the third ring said, “This is Hayden.”

  “I have surveillance footage from several shops between Second Chances and the spot where Macy Crow was hit.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He dressed in the Rangers’ trademark khakis, white shirt, boots, and string tie. He brewed fresh coffee and filled a to-go cup. He was fairly certain if he were cut, he’d bleed java.

  The streets were quiet at this hour, as were the hallways of the justice center. He moved down the third floor hallway toward the light spilling out from the last door on the right. In the office, Melissa Savage was sitting cross-legged in he
r chair, cup of tea in hand, watching what looked like raw video footage. A coffeepot on the counter gurgled out fresh brew.

  Hayden knocked on her door, and she looked up over her glasses. “Do you ever sleep, Savage?”

  “Every Saturday whether I need it or not.”

  “I hear you. Mind if I grab a cup?”

  “Help yourself. Brogan is on his way.”

  Hayden crossed to the coffeepot as the last bit percolated out. He pulled the pot and filled his cup. One sip was a jolt to the heart. “You drink it this strong?”

  “I don’t touch the stuff. But I’ve worked with cops long enough to know they run better on high-octane. I figured Ranger Brogan might want a cup or two to keep up with you.”

  “He’ll get that.”

  As if on cue, Brogan arrived and wordlessly went to the machine and filled a paper cup. He all but drained the first cup before topping it off with more. “Weak coffee, Savage.”

  She didn’t look up from her computer and deadpanned, “You’re just bummed I didn’t write your name on the cup with a cute smiley face like the local coffee barista downstairs.”

  Hayden wasn’t in the mood to listen to one of Brogan’s rare attempts at banter. “What did you find, Savage?”

  She leafed through the pages of a spiral notebook until she found a note that had her backtracking footage to a different time stamp. “We know when Macy Crow was struck on Monday night per Officer Holcombe’s body and dashcam footage. I was sent footage from three retail shops. All three picked up Macy Crow, and all confirmed what we already knew. So I backed up the dates and started looking for Jack Crow.” She pressed a button. “Here is what I found on Wednesday, June thirteenth, at seven p.m.”

  The camera’s lens captured black-and-white footage of the back alley that ran behind the main street.

  “There was a lot of people coming and going from the back entrance of this particular bar,” Savage said. “And it’s always amazing to me how many people do what they do in public. Just about everything is on camera these days. Do they not realize someone is watching?”

  Hayden thought about the moment in the elevator with Faith on Monday night. It had been all he could do to keep his hands off her.

  Savage tapped her screen with her fingertip and stopped the footage. “What’s so special about that seven p.m. time slot is that Jack Crow visits Second Chances.”

  “According to his son and assistant, Crow was practically a hermit,” Hayden said.

  “I talked to the owner of Maxwell’s,” Brogan said. “They said he used to come every night at five for dinner. Burger well done and extra fries. But about two months ago he started coming less, and they hadn’t seen him at all the week before he died.”

  “Well, he made it to Second Chances on June thirteenth,” Savage said as she tapped the screen. “We start with the first sighting at seven p.m. I found security camera footage of him entering via the alley entrance. The same footage showed him leaving through the alley door twenty minutes later.”

  What were the chances that Crow had not seen Garnet during those twenty minutes? It was possible but not probable.

  Savage sped up the tape to 7:20 p.m. Crow’s broad shoulders were slightly stooped and his face was pale, but there was no missing the anger in his expression. He paused by the back door and pounded his fist against the building’s brick wall before he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away.

  “He’s pissed,” Hayden said. “And that kind of anger doesn’t jive with showing up at a bar and not finding your buddy there.”

  “Note that no one follows him as he leaves the alley toward his truck.” She pressed another button, and the image on the screen switched to a camera across the street. Crow was never picked up on this camera, but his truck could be seen in the background driving away. Seconds after, a hardtop jeep followed.

  “Could be coincidence,” Hayden said.

  Savage froze the frame and tapped on the license plate. “I hear you. And I’d have bought into that as well if not for the third camera.”

  The third camera was mounted across from Second Chances, and it captured the jeep in full frame. The driver got out. He was wearing a hoodie and appeared to be male. His identity was hidden until, for a brief instant, the man looked up, and the camera caught a partial view of his face.

  Savage froze the frame and reached for two printouts she’d made earlier. “Do either of you gentlemen recognize this man?”

  Hayden stared at the shadowed profile and felt a rush of recognition and frustration. He’d had the guy in his sights. He’d had him.

  “I can’t say for certain if this is the man who killed Crow and also attacked Macy,” Savage said. “But he was following Crow a week before he died.”

  “Want me to put out a BOLO?” Brogan asked.

  “Yeah. I want Dirk Crow picked up as soon as possible,” Hayden said.

  Hiding in plain sight had always worked best for him. He found the more cloak-and-dagger shit people did, the more likely they were to be noticed. A change of shirt, a different hat, or a swap of coat or hoodie was all it took to change his look well enough so no one noticed.

  When he heard the bar’s back door close, he eased up in the back seat of Heather’s car so he could look in the rearview mirror. As soon as he spotted Heather leaving Second Chances, he ducked down low, blending into the shadows. It was past one a.m., and she was leaving a little later than most nights, but he guessed she and Garnet had done the nasty as they liked to do in the back room. The later time suited him even better.

  Her heels clipping on the paved alley signaled that she was approaching the car. The lights flashed as she unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. The remnants of her perfume mingled with the scents of cigarette smoke, booze, and sex. She sat for a moment, allowing a deep sigh.

  As she shoved her key in the ignition and started the engine, he rose up behind her and pressed the blade to her neck.

  She jerked and sucked in a breath, ready to scream. “What the hell?”

  He clamped his hand over her mouth, the razor tip pressed against her beating jugular. “I’ll cut your throat right here, Heather, if you say a word.”

  She shook her head, looking into the rearview mirror at him. He didn’t care if she saw him. He doubted she’d recognize him, and if she did, she’d never get the chance to tell.

  “Now, you’re going to be quiet like a good girl, or I’ll end it right here. Understood?”

  Her eyes shimmered with fear, but she did not make one sound. Slowly he removed his hand, and the knife tip released a little from her skin.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Just a guy with a few questions. Now drive. Slowly and carefully. I want us to have privacy while we talk.”

  “If this is about money, I don’t have much, but you can have it.”

  “I don’t want your money, Heather.”

  His gaze didn’t drop to the full cleavage but remained locked on her face in the rearview mirror. “Rape is not on the menu for tonight either. Now drive.”

  She put the car in drive and gently eased it forward. “Where are we going?”

  “Toward the interstate.”

  She slowly wove through the streets, and when it looked like she was going to race through a yellow stoplight, he pressed the blade into her skin, making her bring the car to a stop. “I wasn’t going to run it.”

  “I know you weren’t,” he said.

  When the light turned green, he directed her on the southbound ramp of I-35, and they drove in silence for two exits before he ordered her off onto an unlit access road. He told her to stop under an underpass, cut the headlights, and turn off the engine.

  Most exits were populated with too many businesses and too many lights, but there were a couple with undeveloped land that would work nicely.

  He’d chosen this exit earlier in the day while scouting his route. Instead of stopping immediately, he had kept driving on the access road, just double
-checking that no one was following him. He was paranoid that way. Always doubling back and going around corners multiple times. Meticulous. And now he was parked here with Heather and getting to know her better.

  “You must have me mixed up with someone else,” she said. “I’m a waitress, and I keep my nose out of everyone else’s business.”

  “I know who you are. I know you’re close to Danny Garnet, am I right? And I bet you know a few of his secrets.”

  The shift in her gaze lasted only a split second. “I work for the guy. But he doesn’t trust me with secrets.”

  He released a long sigh, fearing she wasn’t going to make this easy. “I was hoping we could avoid any lying.” He grabbed a handful of her hair, wound it around his hand, and sliced the tip of his knife along her jawline. Blood immediately oozed from the open wound.

  “Jesus!” she screamed. She cupped her hand to her cheek. “I’m bleeding.”

  “Don’t get worked up. It looks worse than it is. Wounds on the face always bleed a lot. More for show than anything. But I did get your attention, didn’t I?”

  “Please!”

  “I’ll take you apart bit by bit, Heather. I don’t want to, but it’s up to you. Tell me where it is, and I’ll walk away.”

  “I don’t know where it is. What are you talking about?”

  “I thought he’d given it to Crow, but the old bastard died before I could get anything out of him.” Crow could have given what he had to Macy, and if he’d not reacted so quickly he could have grabbed her. Asked her questions. But she’d seen the ranch, and he couldn’t have her calling in the troops. He needed more time to find this damn package.

  He raised the blade to her eye. “Garnet is blackmailing my client. He has evidence. Where is it?”

  Her breath was quick and rapid with fear. “I don’t know what Garnet’s got planned. He said I just needed to be quiet and patient. He’s always kept me in the dark about the details. Even back in the day.”

  “So you knew about the ranch?” When she hesitated, he jabbed the tip of the blade into her cheek.