Scorned Justice: The Men of Texas Rangers Series #3 (Men of the Texas Rangers)

by Margaret Daley

  He lounged back, his arm inches from hers. “I’m glad you’re okay with me being here.”

  “I’m not knocking Randall and the other marshals, but I know what you’ve done. The cases you’ve worked on. The people you’ve protected.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Thomas was always talking about your exploits. You’ve protected some important people.”

  “I was trained for situations where it was called for. I’ve become one of the Texas Rangers with expertise in protecting dignitaries. In a few cases I’ve worked, I needed to oversee the protection detail, usually with U. S. Marshals or local police officers or deputies.”

  “I’m glad we’re friends. It makes it easier for me.”

  He tensed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It makes it harder for me. If something happened to you, Thomas would never forgive me. Not to mention that the governor wouldn’t be too happy either.”

  “I guess you’ve got a point. I promise I’ll follow your directions. I won’t run off by myself or try to slip the detail.” She lowered her voice. “I won’t blame you for what others do.”

  He turned toward her, the look in his eyes intense, all-encompassing. “I’ve known you since we were children. If anything happens to you, I won’t forgive myself.”

  “But I’d much rather have you overseeing my protection than some stranger. That’s because I have known you forever. I know what type of person you are. You’re a detail person, and I have a feeling that can come in handy when providing security.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “A few times.”

  “I wonder if that’s why Thomas had his accident. He’s always looking at the big picture. Dives into a situation without regard to the details. He probably saw the calf down in the gully, panicking, and all he could focus on was getting the animal up. Mix that with trying to hurry and get back for the party. I can see it the more I think about it.”

  “You sound like you are trying to convince yourself it was an accident.”

  “You said there is no concrete evidence saying otherwise.”

  “No, there isn’t, but something is still nagging me, especially with what happened today at the hospital.”

  “But that was a message for me. Like the one they sent me when the trial began. But now we know what was really behind it. Charlie hasn’t said if he discovered anything at the Blooms and Such. Do you know? A dead end?”

  “They’re missing a couple of boxes, some roses and a delivery uniform. But this didn’t happen until the middle of this week. After you received the flowers.”

  “No leads on who?”

  “Nothing. It was a professional job, which was strange to the officer investigating it considering what little was taken. The money wasn’t stolen.”

  “Why a delivery uniform?” A throbbing behind her eyes made it difficult to comprehend all that was occurring.

  “On the security feed at the hospital, the only person seen was a medium-sized man with a ball cap, pulled low, wearing a brown uniform going into that room carrying a long white box.”

  “Did the officer looking at the tape ever see a face?” Lots of questions—no answers. Rebecca rubbed her temples with her fingertips, but the ache continued to pulsate against her skull.

  “No, not on that tape, or on any of the tapes in the hospital. He was avoiding the cameras.”

  “Have you discovered anything about who was driving the pickup?”

  “We’ve got the man’s composite from the one witness, and we’re circulating it, especially in the area where the truck was abandoned. Nothing so far.”

  She angled her body so she was completely facing him, with one leg drawn up on the couch. “What did he look like? Can I see a picture of him? In case I’ve seen him around.”

  “I have it on my phone.” He unclipped it from his belt, found the photo, and gave her his cellphone.

  Rebecca studied the man, probably in his late twenties, with short brown hair, a scar on his right cheek, small eyes, and a nose that must have been broken at some time. “This is pretty detailed.”

  “The man is vigilant about what’s going on in his neighborhood. He kept talking about the young punks who were ruining the streets.”

  “So many people won’t come forward, which makes it hard for the police to crack down on those young punks. I’m glad he did.”

  “I haven’t released the man’s name. I’m protecting his identity.”

  “What if it comes to trial?”

  “We’ll build a case without him. All he really saw was this man getting out of the stolen pickup. We wouldn’t get far with that as our only evidence. There were no fingerprints to back up the man’s description of the would-be assailant.”

  “True. If I were the prosecutor, I wouldn’t go to trial on that.” She noticed the crinkles at the sides of his eyes, as if he smiled a lot. His dark eyelashes were long, framing his gray eyes and highlighting their silvery color.

  “Exactly. But hopefully, once we ID this man, we can build a case.”

  It took her a few seconds to realize he’d said something to her. So entranced by his perfectly formed mouth, the lips not too full or too thin, she wouldn’t have known he was speaking if she hadn’t seen it moving. She dropped her gaze to the cleft in his chin. “Do you think he’s part of the Russian Mafia?”

  “I have a couple of police officers who work in the gang division checking with their resources, but none of them recognize the man.”

  “Then it could have been random. Like Rob said, someone drunk or on drugs and behind the wheel of the truck. We’ve seen that enough times.”

  “I investigated my share of car wrecks as a highway patrol officer.”

  Thomas had kept her informed of what Brody was doing through the years, but she really didn’t know a lot. She’d used to know so much about him. That he could outride her, out-shoot her, but couldn’t beat her at a game of chess. “What is it about your job that you like the most?” She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to find out if she was right.

  “To help people in need.”

  “For years I thought you would become a veterinarian, then suddenly you decided to join the San Antonio Police Department. That surprised me.” She’d been in her second year of college when Brody graduated and made the announcement to Thomas and her. “I thought you didn’t want to do what your dad did.”

  “I changed my mind. I love animals, but I thought I could make the most difference being a police officer.” He laid his arm along the back of the couch.

  “Then why didn’t you stay with the police in San Antonio?” He’d been so much like her, wanting to help others, especially with getting justice.

  “Because I wanted to be a Texas Ranger. You do that by becoming a Texas Highway Patrol officer.”

  “Why that?”

  “Because Dad had tried several times and didn’t make it. Finally, he quit being a Highway Patrol officer and joined the San Antonio Police Department, but I don’t think he was ever satisfied with himself for not making it. I wanted to do it for him.” He grinned. “And because as a kid I was always the Texas Ranger when Thomas and I played cops and robbers.”

  “Ah, I vaguely remember that. You tried to tie me up to a tree once.”

  “I was capturing the bad guy—girl.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Of course, you were the only person around we could use as the robber.”

  “Until Kenny moved close.”

  “Yeah, poor Kenny. We never let him be the cop.”

  Reminiscing with Brody brought back some fond memories. He and Thomas had barely tolerated her presence, but usually they would include her in whatever game they played. Until they became teenage boys—everything changed then. They started going their separate ways. Then she married Garrett, and Brody moved away to Amarillo. And now, ten years later, they were together again—playing cops and robbers, sort of. But in this case she was the victim—not a role she wanted to play
.

  “I want my life back. I want Thomas to wake up tomorrow, tell you what happened, and leave the hospital as soon as possible.”

  His hand slid down the back cushion to grasp her shoulder. “I know. You and I have both dealt with many people whose lives were disrupted by a crime or an accident.”

  “Now I can sympathize with them because I’ve walked in their shoes? Is that why the Lord is doing this?”

  “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

  “From my anger. I’ve prayed for the past week, and nothing has changed. Thomas is still in a coma.”

  “But he’s alive. A prayer being answered doesn’t happen on our time schedule.”

  “So I can’t rail at the Lord for what’s happening?”

  “Yes, you can. He wants us to come to Him with the good, the bad, and the ugly. He won’t love us any less if we are angry with Him. But when this is all over with, you might want to ask yourself what insight you gained from this ordeal.”

  “Most of the time I’m able to manage my anger, but sometimes it slips out.”

  “Then let it. Do you think when you’re managing it that you’re keeping it from God? He knows everything and still loves us regardless.”

  “How have you kept your faith so strong? You’ve had to have seen some terrible things.”

  He kneaded her taut shoulder muscles with his fingertips. “Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to deal with those terrible things. And someone has to.”

  The relief from his massage robbed her of a reply. His strong hand worked the tension out of her, and she closed her eyes to savor it for a moment.

  “Turn around.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What?”

  “Turn around. I’d like to rub both your shoulders. They’re very tense.”

  “This is where my stress settles in my body. I have a special chair to sit in when I’m in the courtroom. One that’s comfortable to sit in for eight hours at a stretch. That has helped some.”

  Brody worked his fingers into the muscles along her shoulders and at the base of her neck. All she wanted to do was lean back into him and let him support her.

  “You’re hired,” she whispered, contentment drenching each word.

  Close to her ear, he said in a husky voice, “All you have to do is ask me. I’d be glad to accommodate you.”

  His lazy drawl heightened her awareness of him—his hands massaging her shoulders, his breath tickling her neck, his scent, with a hint of lime, wafting toward her. For a few moments she surrendered herself to the pure, pleasurable sensations—as knot after knot unraveled.

  Her eyelids started to close until the blast of his cellphone jerked her straight up.

  “Sorry.” He answered the call. “Calhoun.” As he listened to the person on the other end, his relaxed expression tightened into a tense one. “I’ll be there.”

  When he disconnected the call, Rebecca twisted toward him. “Where are you going?”

  “The suspected driver of the white pickup has been found.”

  “Oh, good. That’s a break.”

  “Dead.”

  8

  Dead! How? Where?” Rebecca balled her hands, any relaxation she’d enjoyed while Brody had been kneading her shoulders was gone.

  “Interestingly, in the middle of the area the Russians have moved into. He was propped up against the back door of one of their businesses.”

  “A message to them. Great. Now I’m being protected by the Dos Huesos Cruzados Gang. Just what I want—to be the reason there’s more violence. Possibly more innocent people being killed.”

  Brody stood. “I’ll let Ranger Parker know I’m leaving for a couple of hours so he’ll post someone inside.”

  “We’ve got to stop this. Now the Russians will seek revenge. Then the Dos Huesos Cruzados Gang will retaliate.”

  “I know, and it doesn’t mean they’ll stop coming after you. But what really has me interested is why they went after the guy. It’s not like the Dos Huesos Cruzados Gang has any love for the authorities.”

  “Especially with my stance on crime.” She rose, stretching and rolling her shoulders. “I’ll wait up for you. I want to know what happened.”

  “I’ll fill you in tomorrow morning. It may be late before I get back here. You know how crime scenes can be. I’m meeting Charlie over there. You need your rest.”

  “But this is about me. I want—”

  He put his forefinger over her mouth. “It may be, but if you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll be no good for your family or for the trial.” He tugged her toward him and kissed her forehead. “Go to bed, Rebecca.”

  Trying not to react to the casual touch of his lips on her brow, she leaned back and fixed her gaze on his. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d argue with you.”

  “So all I have to do is get you exhausted to get you to agree with me?”

  “Don’t bet on it.” She stepped back, her heart thumping against her chest. The tenderness in the gesture wrecked her composure, and the last thing she wanted him to see was how much the kiss—if a person could call it that—had affected her.

  When he left, she made her way up the stairs, lured by the rest she hoped she could get. But when she opened her bedroom door, a scream split the air.

  Careful not to breathe too deeply of the odor of death, Brody approached the crime scene near the back of the pawnshop door. A man—one who fit the description their witness had given the sketch artist—sat slumped against the tan clapboard with a large symbol of the skull and crossbones spray-painted nearby, one of its black lines going over the man’s body as though to shout to the world the murder and the symbol were tied together. Taunting whoever saw it.

  The glare of the spotlights illuminated the terror on the victim’s face. His gutted remains announced the brutality of the murder. It fit others he’d seen committed by the Dos Huesos Cruzados Gang. But what riveted his attention was the fact the victim was missing his left forefinger. Probably the one that was delivered to Thomas’s hospital room in the dead roses.

  Charlie spotted Brody and he pointed to the ground behind some trashcans. “Someone threw up here recently and tried to clean it up. Didn’t quite succeed or was scared away before he could finish.”

  Remnants of vomit splattered the asphalt, seeping into the cracked surface. “Someone found the victim. Who reported it? It could be that person, especially if it was someone who is not involved in the mafia and isn’t used to the violence.”

  “It was an anonymous 911 call. According to the medical examiner over there, the man hasn’t been dead long.”

  “Someone who witnessed the murder?”

  “Whoever did this was either fearless to do it on the doorstep of the Russian Mafia or an idiot and who doesn’t realize how close he came to being caught.”

  “Maybe he had no choice.”

  “An initiation? Could be.” Charlie waved to the crime scene tech to take care of the vomit. “I’m having the leaders of the two groups brought in. I wouldn’t put it past the Russians to make a statement about this guy failing to do the job he was sent to do and also pointing a finger at their rivals.”

  “When will the leaders be at the station?”

  “One’s already there. Serpiente was quite easy to find. Get this, the officers who picked him up said he was surprised.”

  “Yeah. Surprised he was found so soon. Or maybe he was practicing his acting skills.”

  “Whichever, let’s have a little talk with him and Sasha Alexandrov. I have officers canvassing the area, not that I expect much.”

  “Who owns the pawnshop?”

  “Alexandrov. You know, it was rumored that he was actually the killer of the man Petrov is on trial for.”

  “So Petrov might be a fall guy.”

  “Yes, and his brother-in-law.”

  “Wonder what that’s doing for Alexandrov’s family life?”

  As Brody headed back to his SUV, the stench of blood and garbage infused the air to a
gagging point. It didn’t matter how many times he’d been to a violent crime scene, he couldn’t get the smell of death out of his mind for hours. This would be no different.

  Rebecca flew through the doorway to her bedroom, quickly found the light switch, and flipped it on.

  Kim sat straight up in bed, her eyes wide, a pallor to her face, her long brown hair a wild tangle about her head.

  Rebecca rushed to the bed and scooped the child up. “Another nightmare?”

  “No, I thought someone was in the room.”

  “I didn’t see anyone leaving.” Rebecca smoothed her niece’s hair back behind her ears and then cupped her head. “Are you sure it wasn’t a bad dream and you woke up thinking it had really happened?”

  Kim blinked rapidly, confusion skittering across her face. Her forehead scrunched. “I didn’t think so.” She leaned around Rebecca and surveyed the bedroom. “I guess it was a bad dream. It seemed so real.”

  “I know it can. Occasionally I think the phone is ringing, and I wake up. But it isn’t. And yet it seems so real to me. I even check caller ID to make sure someone hasn’t called.”

  Kim threw her arms around Rebecca and plastered herself against her. “Are you coming to bed?”

  “Yes. You won’t be alone. Okay?”

  Her niece nodded against Rebecca’s chest.

  She kissed the top of Kim’s head. “I’ll tuck you in. I’m going into the bathroom to get ready. I’ll leave the door partway open. If you need me, let me know.”

  When Kim settled down in the bed again, Rebecca stared at the child, who was not taking her dad’s injury well. She and Thomas were very close. She often followed her father around the ranch, trying to learn how to run it. She was determined to run the ranch when she grew up. Rebecca’s throat swelled. As tough as Kim tried to act, she wasn’t. She held everything inside until it erupted out.

  “I’m here for you, honey,” Rebecca murmured and then strode toward the bathroom.

  She gripped the counter’s edge and leaned forward to examine her image in the mirror. Blue eyes with a tired vacancy peered back at her. Her hair framed her pale face in wild disarray from repeatedly running her fingers through it.