“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.”
KILRAVEN 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