Grateful for the change in topic, she breathed a little laugh. “I swim.”
“No kidding?”
“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “If you say you swim, too, I’m so not going to believe you.”
The hand on her shoulder squeezed. “No. I mean I can swim—as you found out when I surprised you at the pool—but I like to go at it with a punching bag to let off steam.”
“What else do you like to do?”
“I play a pretty good game of racquetball.”
Movement caught her eye and she leaned forward. “Hey, I think I saw something.”
Instantly all business, he trained his gaze in the direction she indicated.
“Someone’s sneaking through the trees,” he muttered.
The shape darted from the trees to a headstone. Moving away from their vehicle.
Gisella glanced at her watch. It was almost 9. “I can’t see enough to tell who it might be,” she mused. “Our appointment? Or someone who shouldn’t be here?”
Just then the person caught sight of their car, pulled up short, spun on a heel and took off through the cemetery. Brock and Gisella slammed out of their vehicle at the same time. Gisella yanked out her weapon just for safety’s sake as Brock raced down the rocky sidewalk and into the graveyard. “Freeze! Hey, we just want to talk.”
His yell bounced off the headstones around them. Gisella cut across the other way hoping to head the man off. And it was definitely a man, his shape briefly outlined by the dim light provided by the moon.
In the darkness, Gisella could barely make out the figure she was chasing. Her foot caught on the edge of a cement marker and she stumbled. By the time she steadied herself and looked up, the man was gone.
She stood. Silent. Listening.
All she heard was her own raspy, uneven breaths. As they slowed, she tuned in to her surroundings. Partial moonlight filtered through the trees giving the area an eerie, ethereal feeling.
Gisella shivered and tugged her coat tighter around her throat. Where was Brock?
Closing her eyes, she used her ears.
Nothing sounded out of place.
Of course, how did a graveyard usually sound at night?
Quiet, no doubt.
Another shiver racked her. The temperatures were falling fast now. It had to be below freezing. She kept her glove on her left hand. Her right hand felt glued around the butt of her weapon. Not a good thing. But as long as she could still pull the trigger, she’d be all right.
Which way should she search?
She headed in the direction she thought the runner would have most likely gone. Her feet crunched on the frozen ground and she paused.
If she made noise when she walked, she should also be able to hear anyone else’s footsteps.
Her stomach twisted as she looked around. Lots of hiding places behind the tombstones.
Was he watching her even now?
If he had a gun trained on her, she was dead.
Heart picking up speed, she slipped behind a large headstone and listened.
Again, nothing.
Was he long gone by now? Or lying in wait?
And then she heard it. A slight scrape.
Brock?
Not wanting to call out, she pulled in a deep breath and peered around the corner.
A gunshot sounded, pinged off the headstone she was behind and she jerked back.
“Brock!” She grabbed her phone and punched in the sheriff’s number.
Another shot. Then silence reigned.
The sheriff’s phone rang. And rang. Finally, “Sheriff’s office.”
“This is Gisella Hernandez, Texas Ranger.” She gave her location. “I’m requesting backup! Now! Shots fired!”
“The sheriff is on his way, ma’am.”
Brock must have called, too. Good to know he was able. Gisella hung up and sped in the direction of the shots, taking care to keep an eye out for the shooter. Another shot sounded and ricocheted off the headstone next to her. Cement particles stung her face and she blinked as she ducked behind the marker.
A body landed beside her and she bit off the scream as she realized who it was. “Brock! I could’ve shot you! Give a girl some warning, will you?”
Ignoring her muttered words and black look, Brock said to her, “I’ve called the sheriff for backup. Are you ready?”
Still reeling from his sudden appearance, she looked at him, wariness punching through her. “Ready for what?”
“See that line of headstones?” She looked where he pointed. Several large grave markers sat side by side providing an adequate cover—assuming a bullet didn’t slip through one of the spaces between them. He pointed. “I’m going that way. They’ll give me some cover. When he starts shooting at me, you go around the other way and come up behind him.” If she’d been able to make out his features, she was sure his jaw would be tight with that little muscle jumping along the edge of it.
“Sounds good to me. Just…don’t get shot, please?”
She thought he breathed a low chuckle, then he was gone, ducking behind the headstones as he’d planned. Two more shots sounded in quick succession. Brock still didn’t return fire and neither did Gisella. She wasn’t going to shoot blind.
Gisella rolled to her feet and took off. The flash from the next shot told her the general area of the shooter.
Heading in that direction, careful to keep herself at least partially protected, she weaved around several headstones to slide behind a mausoleum.
Silence reigned once more.
Where was he?
No more shots had been fired.
She narrowed her eyes and listened. Not even a cricket chirped.
Had he managed to escape? He’d disappeared like smoke on the wind. Once again she scanned the area.
Where was Brock?
Not wanting to assume the shooter was gone, she kept to the shadows. Which wasn’t hard in the almost total darkness of the cemetery.
A siren sounded and lights flashed in the distance.
Backup had arrived. It was about time.
She let her gaze rove from one place to the next. The trees, the headstones, the space beyond.
But spotted nothing to indicate anyone sinister lingered.
Breathing out a sigh of frustration, she looked for Brock. Where had he disappeared to? Had their fugitive managed to slip past her and into Brock’s path? If so, was Brock still chasing the man? Did he need help?
Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the sheriff’s silhouette briefly illuminated by one of the weak lights in the graveyard.
It looked like he’d brought his deputies.
Not ready to holster her weapon yet, she walked toward the other officers, silently wondering—and worrying—about Brock.
Concern nipped at her. He hadn’t been hit, had he? And what about the informant? Had all the commotion scared her off? Had she even shown up to begin with?
“Hello, Sheriff.”
“What’s going on out here, Ranger?” He wasn’t happy, she could see it in his eyes. Well, he could join the club.
Keeping her sarcasm to herself, she stated, “We had a phone call asking us to meet an informant here at nine o’clock. We got here early. I spotted movement in the graveyard and we thought it was who we were supposed to meet.” She gave a grim smile. “It wasn’t. He started shooting at us. I think by the time you showed up, he was pretty much gone.”
The sheriff shook his head and motioned for Deputy Chris Locke. “Go see what you can find.” He looked at Niles Vernon. “You wanted to see what all the commotion was about. Well, here we are. You want to help find this guy?”
Niles shrugged. “Sure. I’ll help out. We’re right near the border so this is my territory anyway.”
Chris headed off in the direction the sheriff indicated.
Then Johnston asked Gisella, “Where’s Agent Martin?”
“The last I saw him was over in that direction.” She pointed then starte
d walking that way, keeping her eyes open and alert. She didn’t want any surprises.
“Brock! Where are you?” Worry tugged at her.
“Over here.” She almost didn’t hear his low words to her left. She walked a few more feet and saw his head just above the edge of a large headstone.
When she stepped forward for a better view, she looked down and gasped. “Oh, no! What happened?”
“Someone didn’t want her talking.”
Together they stared down at the waitress’s body.
TEN
Brock rubbed his neck while Pop, the coroner/restaurant owner, stated he’d take the body back to the morgue—rather, the building they used as a morgue. “It’s in the back of the doctor’s office. Just a small room with a freezer and an autopsy table, but good enough for this little town.”
Brock and Gisella exchanged a look. “Sheriff, we need someone from El Paso to process the body.”
He snorted. “And I need a month-long vacation in the Bahamas, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, either.” Then his face softened a fraction. “Look, you two have worked more than one small town. You know that’s not how things are done around here.”
Brock narrowed his eyes. “But it could be. It just takes a little longer.”
The sheriff spread his hands and said to Brock, “Why don’t you do the best you can do with her and I’ll see who I can get in touch with in El Paso. I’ve got evidence bags in the back of my car.” He went to get them and Brock followed.
Studying Ina before the coroner arrived had given Brock a few clues. She had several broken fingernails and a cut on her lip. A bruise over her right eye suggested someone or something had hit her pretty hard. The marks around her throat indicated she’d been strangled.
Had the blow to her head knocked her out and then the killer strangled her? Or had she looked into his eyes as she took her last breath?
Questions to which he might never have answers. Sighing, he clenched his fingers into tight fists.
At the car, the sheriff opened his trunk and pulled out a small suitcase. “Everything you need should be in here.”
“Sheriff,” he said in his most convincing voice, “I have one of those cases in my own car. But we need a crime scene unit to process this. We also need a medical examiner to work with the body. I don’t have any proof, but I strongly suspect this girl was killed because of something she was going to tell us tonight. Please, we’re at your mercy. Help us out here and let those who have more training than I do come in and do what needs to be done.”
The sheriff hitched his pants and rubbed a hand down his chin. He seemed to consider his options before giving a slow nod. “All right. You could be right. This is all beyond my scope of expertise. I mean, I’ve dealt with a few drug runners that wound up dead and the occasional domestic violence that ended badly, but this…” Shaking his head, his eyes expressed his sadness. “Ina’s mama’s going to be beside herself with grief.”
Gisella stepped up beside them and looked at Brock. “Did you convince him that in order for Ina to have the kind of justice she needs, we really need to call in the forensic team from El Paso?”
Brock looked the sheriff in the eye. “I don’t know, Sheriff. Did I?”
Although he’d just agreed a few seconds earlier, the sheriff still hesitated.
Chris appeared just in time to hear Gisella’s and Brock’s statements. He shot a glare in their direction. “Now look here, just because we’re in a small town doesn’t mean…”
“I’ll call them.” The sheriff cut him off with a sharp look. “They’re right.” Pulling out his cell phone, he punched in the appropriate numbers while Brock breathed a little easier.
“Don’t forget the medical examiner,” Brock reminded him. The sheriff shot him a glare that clearly said for Brock to be quiet.
Chris rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath as he walked away. Brock made a mental note to do a background check on that guy. Something besides the man’s lousy attitude bothered him.
Stepping up to Pop, Brock said, “We’re having a team come from El Paso to process the body, Mr. Luc.”
The coroner nodded. “It’s just Angelo—or Pop. And I figured you might. I’ll have her on ice. Just let me know what you need.”
“Thanks.” Brock didn’t necessarily like the “on ice” comment, but held his tongue. “But we need to leave her where she is until the ME can get here.”
The older man shrugged. “All right.”
While they waited for the crime scene unit from El Paso to arrive, Brock motioned for Gisella to come over.
As she stepped next to him, the sheriff pocketed his cell phone and said, “The forensics team is on the way back from El Paso, but the medical examiner can’t get out here until tomorrow sometime.”
Brock blew out a breath. “Oh. That’s going to mess us up a bit.” He looked at Gisella. “We’ll do what we can here and wait to see what the ME has to say after he gets here tomorrow.”
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
Pop rubbed his hands together. “I’ll wait for the forensics team then I’ll get her on back to the morgue. She sure can’t stay here all night.”
Actually, she could if Pop deemed it necessary. But Brock didn’t expect the man to be that dedicated.
Pop looked around. “Although it’s as cold out here as it is in the freezer.”
Gisella lifted her hat from her head and settled it back into place. “That’ll have to be the plan then. After the forensics team finishes, you get her to the morgue.” She sighed. “Brock, do you have your camera?”
“Yeah. Let me get it from the car.”
She nodded and told Pop, “Let us get some pictures of her like she is now. We don’t want to rely on our memories, that’s for sure.”
“That’s fine. I’m going to go get a body bag and the stretcher. Once you’re done with your pictures, I’ll load her up.”
“Thanks.”
Brock returned within minutes, Niles Vernon walking beside him. With a gloved hand, the man held up a cigarette. “Found this in the trees over yonder. I can send this off to the lab in El Paso and see what they can come up with. Seems like a fresh one to me.”
Gisella stepped forward and handed the man a bag. He dropped it in and she smiled her thanks. “Good job.”
Brock adjusted the camera to shoot in the dark and began snapping. He wanted pictures from every angle. Once the body was moved, they couldn’t come back for more.
Finally, he decided he had enough and motioned for Pop to take over.
The sheriff and Pop loaded the body into the bag and onto the stretcher. The black coroner car had been converted from an old station wagon. It was large enough to hold two bodies in the back, the driver and a passenger in the front.
Once the back gate was closed, Pop promised to put Ina in the freezer to wait for the medical examiner’s arrival.
Gisella sidled up to Brock as they watched the man drive off. “I don’t like this one bit.”
“I’m with you, but we don’t have much to work with.”
“No, I mean someone seems to be able to keep one step ahead of us. How did the person who killed Ina know we would be here tonight?”
Brock shrugged. “Maybe she trusted the wrong person?”
Gisella planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe.”
“You think someone overheard our conversation?”
“I don’t know. She called you at the church. Maybe Pastor Ruben wasn’t the only person there.”
Brock looked doubtful. “Possibly. I still think the most likely scenario is that Ina trusted someone she shouldn’t have. Told someone she was going to meet us.”
“Krista?”
“Maybe. They seemed to be friends. If Ina did tell Krista in the restaurant, she could have been easily overheard there.”
“Let’s make a point to ask her.” Gisella headed back to the car and Brock followed her. “I hope we got everyt
hing back there,” she muttered. “I really don’t want this guy to get away with her murder.”
“I think she put up a pretty good fight. Did you see her fingernails?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder where she scratched him.” Brock looked thoughtful. “Let’s keep our eyes open for anyone with fresh wounds.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Now,” he yawned as he slid into the driver’s seat. “My adrenaline’s just crashed. Let’s get some rest. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
The next morning, Gisella met Brock in the lobby of the small hotel for surprisingly good bagels and hot coffee. She lifted a brow as he downed three bagels in as many bites. “Hungry?”
“Yeah, I missed my midnight snack last night.”
She smiled. “We were kinda busy around midnight.”
“Exactly.” He grabbed another one, wrapped it in a napkin and said, “Cinnamon raisin. My favorite.”
Gisella wrinkled her nose. “I like the plain ones with butter.”
Brock shook his head, his expression woefully sad. “No sense of adventure at all, huh?”
“Right,” she snorted. “That’s why I chose the profession I’m in.”
He laughed then sobered. With a nod to Steve, the hotel clerk, he said, “I wonder if he ever stops cleaning?” The man sprayed the counter and wiped.
“Probably picked it up in prison.”
“That’ll do it.”
The family of three entered the dining area and Gisella smiled at the little girl. The tot hid her face behind her mother’s skirts and Gisella felt a pang of longing. Would she ever have children?
Oblivious to her inner angst, Brock said, “Come on. Let’s head over to the morgue and see if our ME’s here yet.”
A glance at her watch showed it was almost 8:30. “Sounds good to me.” Gisella grabbed her fawn-colored felt hat from the table and pressed it on her head. She didn’t need to be thinking about marriage and children right now. She needed to stay focused on doing her job.
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