“A forced vacation,” Heath Grayson grumbled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He loathed speaking on his phone through his car speakers. It felt unnatural.
“You need time off. You won’t take it. Where does that leave me?” Chuck, the major who oversaw the Texas Rangers out of Company F, was starting to lose his patience.
“It leaves you with a man who wants to work. Why not just let me keep working?”
“Rules are rules, Ranger. The handbook says I’m not supposed to let you carry more than one hundred and sixty vacation hours into the next year.”
“I know this is only the start of my second year as a Ranger, but the Department of Public Safety hasn’t ever enforced that on me.” He’d carried hundreds of vacation hours with him when he became a Texas Ranger. Hours he’d never used during his years working in the investigative unit of the state troopers. “My paycheck comes from them. We’re still under their umbrella.”
“Unfortunately, the Ranger unit is a little stricter with time usage. Now...even if you stay away all of November—which I’m ordering you to do, hear me?—you’ll still be carrying over four hundred hours into next year. I can’t believe they let you bring that time with you when we hired you.”
“It’s all the same branch of the government.” He tried to keep the grumble out of his voice this time but wasn’t successful.
“I’m aware of that. But the Austin office is going to mince me if you don’t start whittling these hours away.”
“Fine. Sorry. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I’ll stay away.” Heath swallowed hard. Worked his jaw. Still, after all these years, why was it so hard to talk about it? “But do I have your permission to look into that cold-case file we talked about...on my time?”
Chuck sighed. “I won’t stop you from looking into your father’s murder, if that’s what you’re asking. But, Heath?”
He glanced down into the footwell on the passenger’s side of his truck, where a box of file copies on his dad’s murder rested. “Yes, sir?”
“That case has been cold for fifteen years. Arctic cold.”
Heath sucked in a breath. “I’m well aware of that, sir.”
Fifteen years.
Heath had now been without his father for just as many years as he’d known the man. The hero. The Texas Ranger who had lost his life on the job. Heath had followed in his father’s footsteps—at least in choosing the same profession. Heath tapped his badge, resting in the compartment near the driveshaft. However, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his father had. Heath wouldn’t get married. Wouldn’t drag kids into a situation where they might lose their dad like he and his sister had. He couldn’t do that to people he cared about.
Chuck cleared his throat and Heath got the sense that the major was about to try to talk him out of his mission, but instead he said, “Best of luck, and rest up. That last case... You’ve done a lot of good, son. I wish we had more awards to hand you for that one.”
Heath dragged his hand over his short dark hair. The last case had worked him raw. “I don’t want awards. That’s not why I do this job.”
“All the same. There are twelve kids out there safe today because of your work these past few months. Allow yourself a moment to celebrate that while you’re enjoying vacation. For me. That’s an order.”
“Will do, sir.”
Heath had been the lead Ranger on a statewide bust that had started as a drug-smuggling investigation but blew up to uncover a dirty underground of child trafficking. It took months of covert and often stomach-turning investigation, but Heath and a few other officers had been able to bring charges against the seven top guys in the criminal ring. They’d arrested six more on lesser offenses. And twelve kids had been set free. He’d never forget their faces when he broke into the room and ushered them to safety.
That was why he did this job, even though it was inherently dangerous. Bringing about justice, seeing people free and safe again...that was why he wore the badge.
And now he had one more kid to help out. His teenage self. Ever since his father’s murder, there had been a weight, a binding around his chest. If he could close the case, perhaps he could move past the anger that still bubbled inside that boy who’d lost his dad. The boy who’d fought with his dad the last time he saw him. The boy who’d never gotten to tell his hero I’m sorry or I love you one last time.
Which was why he was keeping his vacation local. Haven, Texas...home of the boys ranch where his father had been murdered.
First, though, he had to investigate some mischief that had been occurring at the boys ranch, where his buddy Flint Rawlings now worked. Flint had asked him to look into a string of minor offenses. Not exactly normal Ranger-type work, but Heath was desperate for an excuse to plant himself in the middle of the boys ranch in order to poke around about his father’s case anyway. He’d investigate some calves getting out of their pens and some petty thefts if it served that purpose. Besides, Flint and Heath had been friends since basic training, back when they’d both served as soldiers. Heath wasn’t one to turn his back on the few friends who had stuck with him over the years.
Heath adjusted his visor, blocking the midmorning sun from blazing directly into his eyes.
Flint had explained that the troubles at the ranch had escalated last night. A female volunteer by the name of Josie Markham had witnessed someone running out of the barn, calves following in the person’s wake. No one knew how the perpetrator broke into the barn. But they had a firsthand account from a witness, so at least there was a starting point.
More than Heath had to go on about his father.
Was the mischief at the boys ranch a coincidence? Doubtful. At the moment, Heath would guess everything amounted to pranks or the frustrated acting out of a disgruntled resident. It was a home for troubled boys after all. But Heath wasn’t a guessing sort of man. He believed in hard facts and logic. Everything had an answer if a person was willing to dig far enough to find it.
He’d built his life on information and facts, and currently Josie Markham was in possession of both those things.
* * *
Josie Markham took a deep breath as she stopped for a moment to lean against her late-model truck. Morning sunlight traced through the unkempt field behind her home. Next year she’d plant something there. This little patch of land would be a working ranch with crops, too. She clenched her fists. No matter what, she was determined to see her dream through.
“I can do this.” She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm up.
Even in Texas, early November mornings carried a chill. A shiver raced down her spine, but it could have more to do with exhaustion than the weather. Josie sighed.
There wouldn’t be time to relax today.
The animals needed to be cared for, she had to make something to eat, and by the time those things were done, she’d have to head to the boys ranch across town for her volunteer shift.