Dangerous (4 page)

Winnie looked at it, took it from his hands and studied the lovely face. “She was very beautiful.” She laughed. “And she fought bulls with a mantilla! She must have been brave.”

“If what I remember hearing from Dad about our great-grandfather is accurate, she had to be brave.”

“Truly.” She put the brooch down and looked at the other treasures. “So many rubies,” she mused. “She must have loved them.”

“You should pick out some of those to wear,” he suggested.

She laughed. “And where would I wear expensive jewelry like this?” she chided. “I work for Jacobs County dispatch. Wouldn’t the girls have a hoot seeing me decked out in these? Shirley would fall out of her chair laughing.”

“You should get out more,” he said somberly.

She gave him a long, sad look. “I’ll never get out, now. Kilraven is leaving after Christmas,” she said. Her face fell. “I gave him the raven painting at the party. He glared at me as if I’d committed murder under his nose and stormed out without even speaking to me.” She flushed. “Nothing that ever happened to me hurt so much.”

“I thought the presents were anonymous.”

“They were. I don’t know how he knew it was me. I’ve never told him that I paint.”

“He’s a strange bird,” Boone commented. “He has feelings. Sort of like you do,” he added with a grin. “Sending backup when you thought he was going to a routine domestic fight with no weapons involved.”

She nodded. “He was furious about that, too. But it saved his life.”

“You really ought to see Cash Grier’s wife, Tippy. She has those intuitions, too.”

“She knows things,” Winnie replied. “Whatever sort of mental gift this is, I don’t have her accuracy. I just feel uncomfortable before something bad pops up. Like today,” she said quietly. “I felt sick all day. Now I know why.”

“You do look like her.” He was going to add that their mother used to have odd feelings about things that later happened, but he didn’t.

“Yes,” she said curtly. She looked at the jewelry. “I shouldn’t have been so mean. She did a good thing. But it will never make up for leaving us.”

“She knows that. She said she didn’t come for forgiveness.”

She frowned. “Why did she come?”

“She’s meeting someone.”

“A boyfriend here in Jacobs County?” she asked curtly.

“No, she said it was business.” He frowned, too. “You know, she seems to know a lot about that recent murder here.”

“Why would she?”

Boone grimaced. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but it seems our uncle may have had ties to the case.”

She let out a breath. “Oh, that’s great. Now he’s not just the man who stole our mother, he’s a murderer!”

“No, not that sort of involvement,” he replied. “I think he might have had some connection to the people involved. From what she said, he was a heavy drug user.”

“Not surprising. I never liked him,” she confessed. “He was always picking on Dad, trying to compete with him in everything. It was sort of sad to me at the time because anybody could see he wasn’t the equal of our father at business or ranching or anything else.”

“Our father had some good qualities. Hitting you like that wasn’t one of them,” he added coldly, “and if I’d known about it, I’d have knocked him through a wall!”

“I know that. It was only the one time,” she said quietly, “and he’d been drinking. It was just after he and our mother met that time, when he thought she wanted to come back. It wasn’t long after she’d gone away with our uncle. He came back home all quiet and furious, and he drank like a fish for about two months. That was when he hit me. He was sorry afterward, and he promised never to do it again. But he hated me, just the same, because I looked like her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” she said with a sigh. “It sort of turned me against men, at least where marriage was concerned.”

“Except with Kilraven.”

She flushed and glared at him. “He’ll probably never speak to me again, after what happened at the party. I don’t understand why he was so angry.” She sighed. “Of course, I don’t understand why I painted a raven for him, either. It’s not one of my usual subjects. I like to do flowers. Or portraits.”

“You’re very good at portraits.”

“Thanks.”

“You could have made a name for yourself as a portrait artist, even an illustrator.”

“I never had the dedication,” she replied. “I really do love my job,” she added.

“So does Keely,” he replied with an indulgent smile. “It’s not a bad thing, working when you don’t have to.”

“You’d know,” she accused, laughing. “You work harder on the ranch than your men do. That reporter for
Modern Ranching World
had to learn to ride a horse just to interview you about your new green technology because he could never find you unless he went out on the ranch.”

“They’re putting me on the cover,” he muttered. “I didn’t mind doing the article—I think it helps ranching’s public image. But I don’t like the idea of seeing myself looking back at me from a magazine rack.”

“You’re very good-looking,” she said. “And it is good PR. Not that you’ll ever sell the idea of humane beef cultivation to vegetarians,” she added with a chuckle.

He shrugged. “As long as people want a nice, juicy steak at a restaurant, there’s not much chance that ranchers are going to turn to raising house cattle.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you could put a diaper on a calf and bring him inside…”

She hit him. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “And when I get upstairs, I’m going to tell Keely what you just said.”

“No!” he wailed. “I was only kidding about it. She’d actually do it!”

She laughed. “There wouldn’t be room. Bailey’s as big as a calf.”

The old German Shepherd looked up from his comfortable doggy bed by the fireplace and wagged his tail.

“See?” she asked. “He knows he’s a calf.”

He shook his head. He bent to ruffle the dog’s fur. He glanced at Winnie. “You going to be okay?”

“Sure.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Being my brother. Don’t leave the jewels lying around,” she advised. “If Clark comes home and sees them, he’ll beg some of them for whatever girl he’s crazy over at the moment.”

“Good thought,” he said, grinning. “I’ll put them in the safe and drive them to town Monday and lodge them in the safe-deposit box.”

“She could have sold them and we’d never have known,” she replied quietly. “I wonder why she didn’t? She’s not driving a new car. Her clothes are nice, but not expensive.”

“There’s no telling why,” he said.

“Did she say anything about where she was going?”

He shook his head. “Just that she was meeting a friend.”

“At this hour? I wonder who she knows here?” she mused. “She used to be friends with Barbara, who runs the café. But Barbara told me years ago that she hadn’t heard a word from her.”

“It might be some newcomer,” Boone said. “Not our business, anyway.”

“I guess. Well, I’m going to bed. It’s been a very long day.”

“For you, it sure has,” he said sympathetically. “First Kilraven, now our mother.”

“Things can only get better, right?” she asked, smiling.

“I hope so. Tell Keely I’m going to make a couple of phone calls, and I’ll be up. You sleep well.”

She smiled. “You, too.”

K
ILRAVEN HAD JUST
pulled up in the driveway of his remote rental house in Comanche Wells when he noticed a sedan sitting there. Always overly cautious, he had his .45 automatic in his hand before he opened the door of his car. But when he got out and saw who his visitor was, he put it right back in the holster.

“What the hell are you doing out here at this hour of the night?” he asked.

She smiled. “Bringing bad news, I’m afraid. I couldn’t get you on your cell phone, so I took a chance and drove down.”

He paused by the car. “What’s wrong, Rogers?” he asked, because he knew it had to be something major to bring her from San Antonio.

She didn’t correct him. Her last name had been Sinclair, but she’d taken her maiden name back after she divorced Bruce Sinclair. Now she went by the name Gail Rogers. She leaned against the car and sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s Rick Marquez,” she said. “Someone blindsided him in an alley near his apartment and left him for dead.”

“Good Lord! Does his mother know?”

She nodded. “She’s at the hospital with him. Scared her to death. But he looks worse than he is. Badly bruised, and a fractured rib, but he’ll live. He’s mad as hell.” She chuckled. “Whoever hit him is going to wish they’d never heard his name.”

“At least he’ll walk away,” Kilraven said. He grimaced. “This case just keeps getting more and more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Whoever’s behind these murders seems to feel that the body count no longer matters.”

“He’s feeling cornered and he’s desperate,” Kilraven agreed. His eyes narrowed. “You watch your back. You’re in as much danger as Marquez. At the very least, they should put you on administrative until we get some sort of lead on what’s happening.”

“I won’t sit at a desk and let everyone around me take risks,” she replied calmly.

“Still…”

She held up a hand. “Give up. I’m stubborn.”

He sighed. “Okay. But be extra cautious, will you?”

“Of course. Has forensic turned up anything interesting about the DB down here?” DB referred to dead body.

“Alice Jones is handling the case. She’s got a piece of paper that they’re teasing secrets out of, but she hasn’t told me anything new. Senator Fowler’s actually cooperating, though. It shook him up when one of his female employees turned up dead. Somebody tried to make it look like suicide, but they didn’t do their homework. Had the pistol in the wrong hand.”

“I heard about that,” she said. “Sloppy. Real sloppy.”

“That’s what worries me.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m going to ask for some time off to work this case. Now that our newest Junior Senator Will Sanders has stopped putting obstacles in our path, maybe we can catch a break. With Marquez sidelined, you’re going to need some help. And I have good contacts.”

“I know.” She smiled. “We might actually solve your case. I hope so.”

“Me, too.” His face was taut with pain. “I’ve spent the last seven years waiting for something to help crack the case. Maybe this latest murder is it.”

“Well, it’s going to be slow,” she said. “We’re no closer to the identity of the man found dead in Jacobs County, or to the people who killed Senator Fowler’s employee. Now we’ve got Marquez’s attack to work on, as well.” She shook her head. “I should have gotten a job baking cakes in a restaurant.”

He gave her a look of mock surprise. “You can cook?”

She glared at him. “Yes, I can cook. On my salary who can afford to eat out?”

He laughed. “Come work for me. I have an expense account.”

“No, thanks,” she said, holding out both hands, palm up. “I’ve heard about some of your exploits.”

“Lies,” he said. “Put out by jealous colleagues.”

“Hanging out of a helicopter by one hand, firing an automatic weapon, over an
ocean,
” she related, emphasizing the last word.

“I did not,” he said haughtily.

She just stared at him.

“Anyway, I was not hanging on by my hand.” He hesitated. Then he grinned. “I wrapped one of my legs around a piece of cargo netting and held on that way!”

“I’m going home,” she said with a laugh.

“Keep your doors locked,” he advised firmly.

“You bet.”

She climbed in under the wheel and shut the door. Beside her, a shadowy figure waved. He waved back. He wondered who her companion was. He couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness, but he looked young. Maybe a trainee, he thought. He turned back toward his house.

3

Kilraven felt uncomfortable when he remembered how upset Winnie Sinclair had been at the Christmas party. When he got over his initial anger, he realized that she couldn’t possibly have known about his daughter’s fascination with ravens. After all, who could have told her? Only he and Jon knew. Well, his stepmother—Jon’s mother—knew. But Cammy had no contact with Winnie.

There was another thing. How had he known that Winnie had painted the picture for him? It was all secret. It was disturbing that he’d felt it so certainly, and that he’d been right. Her tears at the sight of his angry face had made the connection for him. He was sorry about his behavior. The deaths were still upsetting for him. He couldn’t find peace. In seven years, the pain hadn’t eased.

Winnie had feelings for him. In another time, another place, that would have been flattering. But he had no interest in women these days. He’d dated Gloryanne Barnes before she’d married Rodrigo Ramirez, but that had been nothing more than friendship and compassion. Winnie, though, that could be a different matter. It was why he tried not to let his attraction to her show. It was why he avoided her. If only, he thought, avoiding her had kept him from wanting to get closer to her.

He was going back to San Antonio soon. He was going to take a leave of absence and try to help solve the cold case that had haunted him for seven long years. Perhaps he might finally have peace, if the killer could be brought to justice.

It was good that Senator Fowler and his protégé, Senator Sanders, had stopped fighting them about reopening the case. It was bad that some powerful politician might be involved, even on the fringes of the crime. Their names would make it a high-profile case, and the tabloids would have a field day. He cringed at the thought of seeing the autopsy photos while he was standing in line at the supermarket, where the tabloids were displayed at the checkout counter. These days, some reporters thought nothing of the family’s right to privacy. After all, a scoop was still a scoop.

He put the case to the back of his mind, as he tried to most every day. He only had a few days left in Jacobsville. He was going to do his job and then pack up and go home. In between, he was going to try to explain to Winnie Sinclair why his attitude toward her had been so violent at the Christmas party. He didn’t want to encourage her, but he couldn’t leave with the image of her hurt expression in his mind.