Stranger in My House (A Murder In Texas)

by Mari Manning

  The next words were the litany he’d repeated to himself so many times he couldn’t count. “My beautiful, sweet Hannah at the mercy of do-gooders and ne’er-do-wells. The conceited and the cruel. Too small and powerless to protect herself and unlucky enough to have a weak, half-ass brother who couldn’t.”

  Kirby flexed her shoulders. The imprint of his hands marred her skin.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” She held out her hand. “Come and sit.”

  He let her pull him back to the sofa.

  “What about you?”

  “I was seventeen. Dr. Ernesto—he owns the Hacienda Osito—took me in so I could finish my last year of high school in El Royo. Basically I did chores in exchange for room and board. His son had moved away to play football, so he needed a strong back. I was grateful, but having Hannah so far away was torture. I promised to bring her home as soon as I turned eighteen. I figured once I was an adult, they’d give me custody, since I was the next of kin.”

  “You’d have to provide a home and support, wouldn’t you?”

  “We still owned the trailer and a few acres of land.”

  “So you decided to farm for a living.”

  “It was all I had. That godforsaken scrap of land. I turned eighteen at the beginning of April, and on my birthday, I filed a petition for custody and moved back to the trailer. But I didn’t have money for seed, and the water had been shut off. There were bats and mice living in the trailer by then, and the state put a lien on the property for nonpayment of taxes.” He shrugged. “I didn’t care. I would have fought the entire state and every bureaucrat in it to have Hannah back with me. She’d gotten so skinny. I don’t think her fosters were feeding her, although she wouldn’t say what was wrong.

  “Of course, the state wouldn’t give her to me. As you pointed out, I had no real means of support, and the house was barely ours. She cried in my arms when I told her. She wanted to come home so bad.”

  “Why didn’t Dr. Ernesto take Hannah, too?”

  “Since she was so young, the authorities scooped her up and shipped her off to Austin right after my parents’ bodies were found. It took almost a year for the legal stuff to get straightened out, and when it was over I had no home and no job. Just a high school diploma and a sister I was allowed to visit once a week. Being separated sucked the life out of her. And me. She tried to run away but only made it a few miles. So the state put her in a home for problem kids. Dr. Ernesto and Peppie—his wife—tried to get her, but it was a no go. They lacked proper credentials for troubled youth. That’s what Hannah had become.”

  He’d given her the facts, skimming over his pain and self-loathing, the youthful bitterness that poisoned his big dreams, the lost little girl who would forever haunt his nightly ones.

  “So what did you do?”

  “I joined the army. It was Dr. Ernesto’s idea, but I had nowhere else to go. So I gave up my sister for three squares a day, a new pair of boots, and a roof over my head.”

  A gentle hand pressed against his jaw. He looked at her. Her eyes burned with outrage. “You were a child yourself. There was nothing you could do.”

  He wanted to believe her. But how could he? “By the time I got out four years later, she’d thrown her life away. One of her asshole ‘guidance’ counselors had raped her, and she was big time into drugs. Heroin, ecstasy, booze. Her group home was a fucking state-sanctioned crack house.”

  He paused. Should he say it? Tell Kirby the whole truth? Why not? She was a cop. She’d seen kids like him and Hannah before. She’d probably guessed it already.

  “Hannah hated me. Of course, I hated myself, too, so I didn’t care.” Like hell he didn’t. Nothing about that time hurt more than Hannah’s rejection.

  “She was a wounded child,” Kirby said softly. “You have to remember that.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “When did she disappear?”

  “On her eighteenth birthday they had to let her go. November tenth. Middle of her senior year. She packed a few things and just walked away. Disappeared into thin air. She told a few of the kids she was hitching to L.A. to be a movie star. I was over at Texas A&M studying agriculture.”

  “I thought you hated farming.”

  “I wanted to be a rancher. Maybe I wanted to prove I could do better than my parents’ pathetic vegetable patch. Besides, I thought if I could find a gig far enough from Austin and all the creeps and the drugs, I’d get Hannah to come with me, and she’d be all right. Fresh air, sunshine. The usual crap.”

  “Did you file a missing-person report when she disappeared?”

  He shook his head. “Didn’t think of it. I jumped in my car and drove like hell to L.A.”

  “It would be like looking for a dime in a Dumpster.”

  “And I didn’t have a clue where she’d go. I hit every homeless shelter and crack house and flea-bitten motel I could find. Then I roamed the alleys and the sketchy neighborhoods. Poked my head under bridges. Walked the beaches.”

  He grimaced. “I even posted a reward. A hundred bucks. Enough to buy a few hits, which was all anyone in those places cared about.”

  “And?”

  “Somewhere between Austin and L.A., she disappeared.”

  Beside him, Kirby stilled. He could feel her thinking, and oddly enough, it comforted him. “You met Mr. Shaw there.”

  Not a bad guess.

  “Shaw had already moved back to the ranch. According to rumors, something happened out there and he returned a broken man. But Dr. Ernesto said Shaw’s friends still ran a ministry for runaways and street people, so he asked Shaw for help. Shaw sent me to a crazy old man in white robes. He had a long beard and eyes so dark they looked like black holes.”

  Seth shook his head. “I was so sleep deprived I thought he was God.”

  “Bobby?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Mr. Shaw showed me a picture.”

  “The original Bobby tried to help. He knew the seedy parts of the city, knew the inhabitants—dealers, pimps, prostitutes, junkies, mostly. He knew the hangouts, too—the street corners, the empty houses, the crash pads. But he never found any trace of her. When my next semester started in January, he sent me back to Texas, to school. I was fifty bucks shy of living on the street myself, so I didn’t argue.”

  “He never found her?”

  “He kept an eye out for Hannah, phoned me a few times with updates. But, no, he never found her.”

  “So how did you meet Mr. Shaw?”

  “At Bobby’s funeral.”

  He was so tired. The way he felt right this minute, he could sleep for days. Sweet Kirby would have to wait. “It’s getting late. Miss Bea will be locking the doors soon,” he said.

  “Right.” She lifted a golden hand and brushed his hair. Her breasts rose and fell with her breath. “I think you’re a good guy.”

  “A hell of a lot of good it’s done me.”

  A soft smile curled her lips. “If happiness wasn’t a distant star, we wouldn’t chase it.”

  For a second he hated her confidence, her gullibility, her innate sureness that everything in life would turn out okay. If he couldn’t see it or hold it, if he couldn’t own it, it was just hogwash.

  “That’s a bullshit platitude. Did your granddaddy tell you that?”

  Her chin rose. “It’s true.”

  “It’s bullshit,” he said.

  She stood her ground. “You should know. You’re full of it.”

  She deserved better than him. He’d let her go when the time came. But not right now.

  He captured her head, cupped it between his palms and pressed his mouth to hers. She stilled, and the hard kiss he’d intended dropped away. He brushed her mouth softly, sweet kiss after sweet kiss, wooing her until her eyelids fluttered shut and her lips parted.

  Touch me, sweet Kirby.

  Maybe she read minds. Or maybe just his. Because she looped her arms around his neck
and pushed her soft breasts against his half-naked body.

  “Seth.”

  His name pushed from her lips on a tiny, longing-filled breath that shrank the world, past and present, to just her. Grinding his mouth into hers, he forced apart her lips, pillaging her mouth. His sweet Kirby clung to him, eyes closed, accepting his fierceness without struggle or hesitation. Her heart pattered against delicate ribs like a trapped rabbit. Fear? Anticipation?

  He came up for air. Toothpaste lingered on his tongue.

  Fuck. She’d brushed her teeth. She’d saved his life, then brushed her teeth before coming to him with the news. Probably washed her face and combed her hair and changed her underwear, too. What kind of ungrateful asshole screwed a woman like that just because he was feeling down? His hands fell from her face, brushing over warm shoulders and silky arms. He tore himself away.

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. He’d bruised her mouth and burned her golden cheekbones with his beard stubble. He was a grade-A asshole.

  She watched him warily.

  Unbidden, his hand lifted a long strand of dark hair. The copper threads burned his palm just like he’d imagined. “You better get back to the house.”

  A deep flush rose from her neck and brightened her cheeks. “Of course. I don’t know what happened to me. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He stood and held out a hand to her. “Let me walk you out.”

  “I’m fine.” She brushed his arm away.

  “Come on, Kirby. Don’t be like that.”

  She tipped her head up and considered him. Then she nodded. Her body relaxed. She let him draw her out the door and down the steps. “I have a bad habit of rummaging in people’s heads,” she said.

  “Not necessarily bad. I feel better, so thanks.” Amazingly, it was the truth.

  “I’m glad.”

  Gravel crunched beneath their feet. A million stars spilled across the velvet-blue sky. He studied them.

  Kirby took a deep, noisy breath. “The lavender reminds me of Grandy. It was so strange to see it growing here. He seems close when I smell it.”

  “Was it his aftershave?” He mostly thought of the lavender as a nuisance.

  She laughed. “Cherokees anoint their dead with lavender to purify them before they return to Mother Earth. It was the last thing I did for him.”

  He gazed in the direction of the field and wished he had a sweet memory like hers.

  “I meant what I said about you,” she said.

  “You said a lot of things.”

  “About you being a good person.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “I’m good at reading people. I have to be in my job.”

  He didn’t try to argue. What was the point? She’d see. Just like every other woman he’d touched.

  She sighed, sending a note of surrender and light exasperation into the night. “I better go.”

  His arms itched to hold her one more time. “Good night,” he whispered, pulling her against him.

  “Good night.”

  His kiss was gentle, coaxing, sweet…like her. Like how he was beginning to feel about her. When her lips parted to release a soft sigh, he delved deeper. Her mouth was warm and velvety like the night sky. Her tongue touched his, sparring, twisting like a shooting star. His body hardened, and he pressed her hips against his so she’d have no doubt of his interest…or intent. He dipped his head and planted kisses on the soft skin under her jaw. His mouth found her ear.

  “You better go.”

  She held her hands against her cheeks. Was she blushing again? “I guess I better. Before I get locked out.” Her kiss-swollen mouth fell into a rueful grin. “I still have some work to do tonight.”

  “Don’t want to distract our fearless detective.”

  Discomfort flickered in her eyes.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  “I, uh, I’m meeting Manny in town tomorrow morning. I want to ask him some questions. Maybe he saw something important and doesn’t realize it.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  She raised her chin. “After that, I’m stopping at the police station.”

  “You’re not going to report Bobby’s death, are you? Because I’m telling you right now those boys—”

  “I’m a cop, remember? I know exactly what will happen. Actually, I want to follow up on the missing-person report Frankie filed.”

  “Frankie filed a report on Charleen?” That didn’t seem like Frankie at all. When Charleen was around, momma and daughter fought like two cats chasing the same mouse. Frankie was always happier when Charleen was gone.

  “She said she did.”

  “I’ll go with you. In case those boys down at the station give you any trouble.” Liar. He wanted her with him because she was his, or would be soon.

  She laughed. Her teeth were white and straight. They’d feel good nibbling on his neck…or more private places. “I’m glad you’re staying. I’m glad we talked,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  She lifted herself onto her tiptoes and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Good night.” She limped away.

  “Wait a second.”

  She turned. “What?”

  “Are you—uh, I mean, do you have a boyfriend or anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “What about—” He didn’t quite know how to ask the next question, but it had hit him so suddenly…it couldn’t be true. Could it? He steeled himself. “Are you a virgin?” Beyond the garden, a chorus of crickets hummed. A bead of sweat rolled down the nape of his neck.

  Her face was lost in the shadows, but her surprise was palpable. “I’m twenty-six. I’ve been in a few relationships. Does it matter?”

  Relief washed over him. He didn’t plow fresh fields. It was his only rule. No virgins. The price was too high. He liked a girl who’d played the game. A girl who knew the rules. “Good.”

  She turned away. “See you tomorrow.”

  His sweet Kirby disappeared into the kitchen, and after a long while—so long he almost laid siege to the house—the light in her room blinked on. He waited for her to appear at the window so he could see her again. But she didn’t.

  He was alone. Just the humid air and thick darkness and miles and miles of nothing. His gaze swept the yard. The lock on the barn door glinted in the yellow glow of the coach house lamps. Barely visible in the darkness, the ranch’s white pickup waited for Manny to load up the cold water and tarps and drive out to the orchard tomorrow. His eyes moved past the light, but night covered the vegetable garden, the lavender fields, and the ridge. A ghostly finger slid down his spine. He shuddered, then spun, but the barnyard was deserted.

  “Who’s there?”

  Silence. He screwed up his eyes and peered deep into the night. Nothing stirred but the crickets. Still, he could have sworn someone was close by.

  Watching and waiting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kirby burst through the back door, but before it swung shut, she turned to steal a glance at Seth. He stood in front of the coach house, bare chested and bathed in moonlight, watching her. Her stomach fluttered, and if Miss Bea’s heavy shoes hadn’t anchored her to the earth, she might have floated away.

  The door caught her as it closed, and reluctantly, she turned away from him and headed for the stairs.

  Seth. The warrior had lowered his guard and allowed her a glimpse of the man inside. She liked the warrior. His instincts ran to confrontation and conquest—charge the battlements, ask questions later—but she always knew exactly where she stood with him.

  The man inside the warrior made her heart ache with love. He was a bewildered boy, a broken brother, a loner who didn’t believe in dreams because none of his had come true. But his suffering had forged a good person, strong and caring.

  Even if he didn’t know how to show it.

  Are you a virgin?

  Her loins tightened at the memory of those words whistl
ing toward her through the heavy darkness. Her body had sizzled with anticipation. Just those four words. How had he known? Why had she skirted the truth? She should have straight out said yes.

  But she knew why she’d lied. He wouldn’t want her if he knew.

  When Grandy was young, boys and girls got married before sex, and he never accepted the “modern jibbity-jab people get up to nowadays.”

  Be patient, Kirby-nee. Wait for a good man to come along. One who’ll respect you.

  She’d never found a man willing to meet Grandy’s high moral standards and her aesthetic ones, and it didn’t take a crystal ball to see Seth getting tossed out of Grandy’s house if she’d even dared to bring him home.

  But Grandy was gone, and she didn’t want Scott, a respectable man if there ever was one. She wanted Seth, the kind of man Grandy warned her about. The lady-killer who made her skin burn. The warrior who wanted to conquer her body and would probably crush her heart in the process.

  But he attracted her like a lightbulb enticed bugs. She wanted to touch him and talk to him and kiss him. He was one hundred percent modern jibbity-jab, but he filled the empty space Grandy left behind. If modern jibbity-jab was Seth’s way, then it would be her way, too.

  Sarah Slade stirred in her cage when Kirby passed. “Hell’s bells. She’s here, she’s here.”

  “Frances? Is that you?” Mr. Shaw called to her from the top of the stairs.

  “It’s me.” She stepped into the pink marble hall.

  He wore his red robe. His white hair, unbound, flowed over his shoulders. He pressed a finger to his lips, then beckoned.

  It was lights-out in the west wing. The trip to Mr. Shaw’s rooms felt like a perilous journey through clouds of disinfectant and a forest of closed doors, and she half expected Miss Bea to fly out of the shadows and attack her with a mop. Mr. Shaw hobbled ahead of her, undaunted, and she kept her eyes on the back of his head, a swaying, bodiless egg floating in the darkness.

  She stepped into his room with a sigh of relief.