The Texas Ranger (24 page)

The sound of a car approaching made him lift his head. He looked dazed. His pale eyes went to his hand inside her blouse and his teeth ground together as he withdrew it and rebuttoned the buttons.

“Oh, damn!” she said, and so plaintively that he laughed.

“It's just as well,” Brannon said with resignation. “Under the circumstances.”

She swallowed. “Actually…well, you could…come upstairs with me,” she managed in a strangled tone.

“And do what, Josie?” he asked in a tormented voice. “It's not possible…”

“I had it two years ago,” she blurted out.

He frowned. “You had what two years ago?”

She cleared her throat and looked at his chest. His heartbeat, quick and hard, was visible against his shirt. She pressed her nervous hands into the warm fabric. “That…minor surgery,” she confessed.

He was very still, and more than a little aroused. His mind wasn't working. He just stared at her, trying to regain his composure.

“Two…years ago?” he whispered.

She nodded. Her fingers traced around the star on his pocket. “I thought…you left because I…couldn't,” she said in a strangled tone. “So I had the procedure.” Her eyes closed in pain. “But you didn't come back. You didn't call, you didn't write…I even went to the Webbs' party because I thought you'd be there, and I could tell you…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh, baby,” Brannon whispered huskily. He pulled her close and held her tight, tight, against him. “Baby, I'm so sorry! I was too ashamed to come back.”

“Ashamed?” she asked blankly.

His big, lean hands spread tenderly over her back as his face pressed into her warm throat. “When I knew what you were, how innocent you were…I wanted to come back. But you looked at me in the courtroom at Jennings's trial with pure hatred in
your eyes. After that…” He sighed. “I just got out of town and tried to forget everything.”

“I was young and helpless when I was fifteen,” she said gently. “I'm not now. You didn't know the truth, Marc. You didn't know. It's all right. I didn't blame you half as much as you've blamed yourself. You're just human.”

His arms contracted until the embrace was almost painful. “I should never have left you,” he breathed, searching for her mouth. “Never in this life…!”

Josette smiled under the hard, rough crush of his lips, feeling the lack of control, the passion that he usually kept under such strict control. He wanted her so badly that he couldn't even contain it. That was flattering, that honest desire. Perhaps it wasn't what she really wanted, but living a lonely, sad life without him seemed worse.

When he stopped to breathe, her lips slid to his ear. “You can come up with me,” she whispered, giving in to him without a struggle. After their passionate interlude in his apartment, she was on fire for him.

Brannon didn't answer her. His hands made a leisurely trip up and down her spine and he savored the soft feel of her body against him, the faint scent of roses that clung to her smooth skin.

“No,” he said finally.

Josette hadn't expected that answer. She frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I'm not willing to reduce what I feel for you to thirty minutes in a bed.”

Her heart lifted. She'd been so certain that he'd take her up on it, that he'd jump at the chance to be intimate with her.

She drew back, trying to see his face.

He caught one of the small hands on his shirt and lifted it, palm-first, to his lips. “And you're not willing to do that, either,” he said with conviction, staring her down. “Josie, if seduction was all I'd had in mind, I wouldn't have needed to learn how to make meat loaf and crepes,” he pointed out with a wry smile. He kissed her palm again. “You'll never know how I felt when I saw you in the hall outside Simon's office in Austin. Pretending that I was indifferent was the hardest thing I've ever done.”

“I thought you hated me!” she whispered.

“I hated myself. In some ways, I still do.” He kissed her eyelids closed and his tongue ran softly over her long lashes. “It's been torture having you in the same office with Grier.”

“But why?”

“You're the sort of woman he's drawn to.” His eyes slid over her delicate features. “You have a quality of tenderness that's very rare.”

She touched his hard mouth. “So do you,” she whispered.

Brannon drew in a long, heavy breath, and his lean fingers touched the small bandage that remained on her wounded arm. “I've got to do a better job of looking after you.”

She smiled. “I can look after myself, usually. But if you want to take care of me, I get to take care of you, too.”

The expression made his breath catch. He studied her hungrily. He thought of her in his life, of waking up to her every morning, of carrying her to bed with him every night. He thought of her on the ranch, helping him with routine chores, riding with him, helping feed the occasional stray calf. He'd have someone of his very own, to share the good and bad times with; someone to talk to, someone to comfort him; someone to comfort. And in addition to all that, he'd have her in his bed…It made him ache.

“Deep thoughts?” Josette murmured, tracing his thick eyebrows.

“Very deep.” He frowned. “Where are your glasses?”

She grinned. “I can see you.”

“Me, but nobody else,” he said quietly. “Wear them. You can't look out for what you can't see. And don't bother trying to convince me you've got contacts in,” he added when she started to speak. “You haven't.”

Josette sighed. “Okay. I'll wear them. I just don't like the way I look.”

“I do. Glasses make your big, dark eyes look even bigger,” he said softly, smiling. “And sexier, if you want the truth.”

“I'll rush right out tomorrow and buy three new pairs,” she promised.

Brannon traced her nose, watching her with an odd sense of contentment. “Lock your door.”

“Why? Are you planning to kick it down and ravish me?” she teased.

“Don't give me any ideas,” he cautioned. “I'm still aroused.”

Her full, swollen lips pursed. “Well, well,” she whispered, and started moving closer.

His hands stopped her. “The SUV would bounce,” he said deadpan. “People would notice. The police would come. They'd probably send Grier. You have no idea what he's capable of, and let me just mention television cameras and at least one local broadcast news reporter who's terrified of him and would do whatever he asked…”

Josette burst out laughing and gave up. “All right, I quit. You're just brutally vivid, aren't you?”

“I'm a Texas Ranger,” he pointed out. “See this?” he indicated the silver star in its circle. “Vivid description is part of the job.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I get the message, loud and clear.”

Brannon kissed her one last time. “Make sure you stay locked up tight.”

“I will,” she replied, opening the door. “But I'd like to know you're locked up tight, too.” She glanced back worriedly. “Those men who jumped you,” she began. “What if they come back?”

“See this?” he asked, his hand on the butt of his Colt .45.

She threw up her hands. “Be careful, anyway.” She pointed at her heart. “See this?” she tossed back at him. “If anything happens to you, it stops beating.”

He smiled tenderly. “I think I knew that already, but it's nice to know for sure. I'll avoid bullets. Good night, sweetheart,” he added softly.

Her heart jumped. “Good night, Marc,” she replied, equally softly and blew him a kiss before she went into the building. Even then, she stood at the door and watched him drive away. He watched her until he turned into the street. After that, going upstairs was agony.

But she was no sooner in her room than the phone rang. She picked it up.

“Miss Langley?”

“Yes?”

“It's Holliman,” the old man said. “I been thinking about what you said, about that something or other that my nephew had. I may have an idea. Could you and the Ranger come out here in the morning? No rush. I'd just like to throw a couple of
ideas your way, and not over the telephone. It's making some odd noises lately.”

“Certainly. We'll see you in the morning,” she said and hung up. Odd noises, huh? She wouldn't have put it past Marsh or one of his cronies to bug old man Holliman's telephone.

Finally, she thought, they were getting enough breaks to solve the case. Whoever was responsible for Mrs. Jennings's death could look forward to a long jail sentence, with no hope of being conveniently transferred to a low-security facility.

She hoped Brannon would be as pleased as she was when she told him what was going on the next day.

She slept fitfully, excited about the hopeful new day and a solution to the case.

But if she'd hoped to sleep late, she was doomed to disappointment. The phone rang at 5:00 a.m.

“Hello?” she murmured sleepily.

“San Antonio district attorney's office,” a deep, masculine voice replied. “We need to know your schedule for today.”

Josette sat up, instantly alert. “Why?” she asked at once.

There was a slight pause. “We don't want to duplicate efforts. We think we've got a break in the Jennings case.”

She almost,
almost,
spilled her guts. But there was something that didn't ring true about the call. For
one thing, she didn't recognize the voice, and she'd learned to recognize most of them in the local office by now. For another, they wouldn't need to know her schedule. They didn't work that way.

“Well,” she said, yawning deliberately, “first I'm going to sleep until eight-thirty, and then Brannon wants me to pick up a witness and get her to go through some mug shots at your office.”

There was another pause. “Why?”

“Oh, we think we've got something on the local mob boss,” she drawled, wishing she could see the man on the other end. “I'll tell you all about it when I get there.”

The line went dead.

She immediately phoned Brannon.

“It's five o'clock in the morning!” he exclaimed when he picked up the receiver, without even asking who it was. “So help me, Grier, if this is you, I'll use you for target practice!”

“It isn't Grier,” she murmured softly. “Hi.”

There was an indrawn breath. “Josie?” It sounded as if he sat up abruptly. “What is it? Are you all right?”

That concern made her feel warm inside. “I'm fine,” she said. “I just had a very interesting call from someone pretending to be in the district attorney's office. They wanted to know my schedule for the day. I'm just guessing, mind you, but I think
we're stepping on some sensitive toes. Wouldn't surprise me if we were actually followed.”

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Wouldn't surprise me, either. Want to come out and play follow the leader?”

She chuckled. “I'd love to, if you feed me first. I'm starving, and I want coffee.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Same here. There's a nice little doughnut shop near my apartment, and no wisecracks!” he added before she could rise to the bait. “I'll run over there and pick you up. Ten minutes.”

Brannon hung up before she could tell him that she couldn't possibly get dressed in less than twenty. But she made it in ten, anyway.

His pale eyes approved of her peach-colored suit and cream-colored blouse, especially since her hair was loose around her shoulders. It was a losing battle to keep hairpins, since he pocketed hers.

“Sexy,” he remarked with pursed lips as he climbed into the SUV beside her. “I'm glad we're not having breakfast with Grier.”

“I run into that a lot,” Josette said in mock seriousness, nodding.

“Into what?”

“Oh, men who covet my suits,” she remarked with a wicked glance. “But can you really picture Grier in this shade of pink?” She spread her arms.

He burst out laughing. “I've missed you.”

“Good.”

He glanced at her. “You're not going back to Austin when we solve this case,” he told her flatly.

Her eyebrows arched. “I have a job there.”

“You can get a job here,” Brannon said easily. “We can share cooking and cleaning and laundry. On the weekends, we can see movies, if it's a month with five weeks.” He sighed. “Sometimes money gets tight, especially with winter heating bills.” He gave her a slow grin. “Of course, we can save money on heat by sleeping together.”

“S
leep with you?” Her voice sounded odd.

“Oh, it would be strictly platonic,” he said carelessly. “You can wear a gown and robe, and I'll wear thick pajamas. I'll never touch you at all. We can live together and be good friends.” He smiled slowly. “I'll give you my word as a Girl Scout.”

Josette was looking at him as if she feared for his sanity, until that last remark, when he glanced her way with positively wicked silver eyes.

She burst out laughing.

“Don't think that's going to be my last word on the subject,” he added. “But you'll have to go through me to get back to Austin. Even if I have to carry you away on my horse and keep you prisoner at the ranch until you agree.”

She started to argue, when the radio went off, and
he had to pause to answer it. Then they stopped for breakfast. But barely ten minutes into it, Brannon got a call on his handheld unit that Holliman had just phoned the Ranger office to make sure Brannon and Josie were coming to see him, and tell them it was urgent. They left in the middle of second cups of coffee.

 

They made it to old man Holliman's property in less than twenty minutes, but they weren't followed. Brannon made a maze of turns and sudden stops, which produced no stealthy companion vehicles of any kind.

“That's really odd,” he murmured as they pulled up in front of Holliman's rickety house. “They have to be watching us, but I don't see the least sign of a tail.” He pulled out his Colt, checked it carefully and reholstered it. He glanced at Josie. “When we get out, walk just beside me and head straight for the front door. I can't rule out an ambush. These are desperate people.”

“Okay,” she said, with no argument. The one thing she knew for certain was that Brannon would keep his nerve, whatever happened. She'd seen him in action before. There was a certain comfort in knowing that he was quite at home handling deadly force, even if it gave her fears for his own safety.

They moved quickly to the house, and Holliman met them on the front steps. He looked as if he
hadn't slept a wink and he was clutching the shotgun he'd presented the first time Josie and Brannon had visited him.

He looked around stealthily and motioned them inside. They'd barely cleared the doorway when he closed and locked the door behind them and leaned back against it with the air of a man who'd just escaped death.

“I didn't want to have to tell anybody,” he said miserably. “I hoped it would all just go away, that they'd forget about what Dale had. They aren't going to, are they?” he asked Brannon heavily.

“No,” Brannon replied tersely. “Too many people have already died protecting it. If you know what it is, you have to tell us. Or very likely,” he added evenly, “you'll be next.”

“I never thought they'd do such things to my sister,” he said, shaking his head. “I was in law enforcement for almost twenty-five years. I never,
never,
knew anybody, no matter how bad, to torture a helpless old woman.” His eyes closed and he shivered. He opened them again and gave Brannon a miserable glance. “Should have told you in the beginning. I was trying to protect my sister from something even worse than what she'd already suffered. I was wrong.” He took a deep breath. “Dale had a ledger,” he said, watching their faces. “You knew already, didn't you?” he asked suddenly.

“We knew that it was a ledger,” Josette said. “But we don't know exactly what's in it.”

“Proof,” the old man told them, “that someone in the lieutenant governor's campaign management paid Jake Marsh to deliver votes in his election to the seat. From what Dale said, they also had something on Webb's wife that was good for a lot of blackmail money. One of the entries in that ledger, Dale said, was for almost a million dollars.”

Brannon caught his breath. “Silvia Webb,” he said, glancing at Josie. “So that was the blackmail connection!”

“Now I don't know what they had on her,” the old man told him. “The ledger only had payoffs made to Marsh, in fairly large amounts, and to at least two professional election people who produced a misinformation campaign that cost Webb's adversary the election. It seems they dug up an old scandal in his family and threatened to reveal it in the press. Since it involved his mother directly, he withdrew at the last minute and Webb won the election by default. The ledger has concrete evidence of it.”

“The man Webb fired,” Josie said, thinking aloud.

“Yes, but before Bib knew what the man had actually done,” Brannon said. He looked back at Holliman. “You should have told us this before.”

“Maybe I should,” he admitted. “But I still don't know where the ledger is,” he added solemnly.
“Dale did tell me what was in it, but not what he did with it. I tried to get him to go to the authorities, but he wouldn't. Even after he was arrested and tried, he wouldn't. He said that ledger was his insurance policy, that it would take care of him and his mother well into old age. He didn't even mind going to prison for it, he said, because he knew people who could get him out in a couple of years.” He grimaced. “Guess they did, but not in the way he expected.”

“Did he mention Sandra Gates or Becky Wilson?” Josie asked.

He shook his head. “He only talked about that Mrs. Webb, and he looked funny when he talked about her.”

“Funny, how?” Brannon persisted.

“I don't know. Reverent almost. As if she meant a lot to—!”

The window near Brannon shattered just as a loud pop broke the old man's sentence neatly in half.

Cursing, Brannon had his pistol out in a split second, jerked Josie away from the window and Holliman away from the door. “Get down!” he said sharply.

He crouched by the window and moved the faded curtain enough to allow him to peer out. He didn't see a soul.

“I can still hit what I aim at,” Holliman said. “Where do you want me?”

“Watching that door,” Brannon told him. He gave the old man a level stare. “Don't let them take Josie.”

“They won't,” the old man promised him.

“Where are you going?” Josie gasped when he started out of the room.

“Around back. Stay down.”

Brannon went around the corner of the house stealthily, his pistol held securely in both hands. He stopped and closed his eyes, listening…listening.

Of all the things law enforcement had taught him, stealth was the most important. He knew that he could trust his hearing, especially in an area as quiet as this, removed from traffic and street noise.

He heard the rhythmic crunch of leaves nearby, followed by a loud snap. Whoever was walking out there didn't know woodcraft. In the forest, the first thing that gave away a human presence was a rhythmic vibration. Forest animals never moved that way, even large ones.

There was also a noticeable scent, like perfume. A woman's perfume. Smell was something else that people unfamiliar with tracking didn't realize. Scent could travel amazing distances, especially when there was a favorable wind.

Brannon moved back the way he'd come and eased slowly into the big barn out back, careful to disguise his steps and walk softly. He moved behind
bales of hay that Holliman probably kept for the single milk cow in the barn.

The cow, sadly, noticed him and mooed, hoping for feed.

There were running footsteps. The scent of the perfume came closer. Seconds later, Silvia Webb ran headlong into the barn with a pearl-handled pistol in her black-gloved hands. She was wearing black slacks, a long-sleeve black silk shirt and her blond hair was enclosed in a black cap. Someone who didn't know her probably wouldn't have recognized her. But Brannon knew her perfume, and her build.

“Come out of there!” she raged, looking around with the pistol leveled. “Come out right now!”

Brannon reholstered his pistol and picked up a clod of dirt that was clinging to one of the bales of hay. He waited, counting slowly to twenty.

Then, suddenly, he threw the dirt clod to the side of where Silvia was standing, with force. She whirled when she heard it hit, and Brannon made a dive for her. She never stood a chance. He'd played football in college and the tackle was one of his best skills.

She went down heavily and the pistol flew from her hands as the breath went out of her in a loud rush. Brannon rolled and scooped it up, getting to his feet with lazy grace. By the time Silvia had her breath back, Brannon had the automatic weapon leveled at her chest.

She gasped. It had happened so fast that she didn't have a prayer. She scrambled to her feet, still breathing heavily.

Brannon stared at her, his silver eyes glittering. “You. All the time, it was you. Did you kill Garner, or did you get Jennings to do the dirty work for you?”

She blinked. “Whatever are you talking about?” she asked haughtily.

“Give it up, Silvia,” he said coldly. “You can't talk your way out of this.”

“My fingerprints aren't on that gun,” she said with an equally cold smile. “You can't prove a thing!”

“I can if I get my hands on the package Jennings left here,” he assured her with narrow eyes and a mocking smile.

She went very still. “What makes you think it's here?”

“Why else would
you
be around if not to retrieve it?” he countered.

She hesitated. She pulled off the cap and shook her head. She smiled hesitantly. “Now, Marc,” she began softly. “Remember me? We're both on the same side, on Bib's side. You wouldn't want your best friend to go to prison?”

“He won't,” he said with conviction.

“If they get that ledger he will,” she persisted. She moved a step closer. “Listen, nobody has to
know. I'll just get it and leave. You can say that it can't be found. Nobody will know better!”

“I'll know better,” he told her coldly.

“It will make Bib look like a criminal of the worst sort,” she said emphatically. “He'll lose his job. He'll serve time!”

“Bib fired the man that you hired to shoot down his opponent in the lieutenant governor's race, Silvia,” he said calmly. “I know his name. I'll find him. He'll talk, with the right incentive.”

That was an eventuality she hadn't been prepared for. Her lips parted. She looked briefly uncertain. Then she straightened. “Well, so what if he does? Bib will be the one who suffers, not me!”

“At least two eyewitnesses saw you go into Mrs. Jennings's apartment with Jake Marsh,” he said, playing his trump card.

Her mouth flew open. “No! They can't identify me! I was wearing a hat and a veil…!”

“Were you?”

Her fists clenched at her side. She looked murderous. “I'll have you killed, too!” she screamed at him. Her eyes were glassy, wild. “I'll have you and that Langley woman killed, and that stupid old man as well! You'll all die! I'll make Jake tie you up and then I'll use a knife on you. I know how to use a knife. I watched my father cut off my brother's hand with a hatchet when I was little. My brother was bad. My father said he'd cut my hand off, too,
if I didn't do what he said.” Her eyes glistened with madness.

Brannon took a harsh breath. He didn't want to hear this. God Almighty, after what Silvia had done, he couldn't imagine feeling sorry for her!

“He taught me that pain makes you strong,” Sylvia said, alone in her own mind. She laughed. “He showed me how to use a knife. I learned to enjoy it…He said I was like him, I was strong, not weak and pitiful like my brother. He said I was pretty and men would do anything for me. We used to go to town, and I'd lure men in and…” She glanced at him. “I killed him, you know. I killed my father. I'd already told Bib I was pregnant, so he'd marry me. He worked for old Garner, and Garner had millions. My father said we'd all be rich, but he was greedy, so I pushed him headfirst into the old well. They didn't find him for several days. I said he went to visit my cousin. When they found him, I cried and cried, and everybody felt sorry for me. Nobody thought I did it.”

She laughed. “He would have been proud, wouldn't he, Marc? He taught me.” She blinked. “Bib doesn't know where I am. I told him I was shopping. He always believes me.” She frowned. “Jake thinks I don't know what I'm doing, but I do. I killed old man Garner because he knew Dale had taken that ledger. I hit him with the blackjack and then laid it in Dale's car. Dale and I were having an
affair, so I had to get rid of him, or Bib might have wanted to divorce me. But Dale didn't mind going to prison if he got paid off, so I sneaked money out of Bib's account, to keep Dale quiet. I didn't know about the photographs,” she added with a look of bridled fury. “Then he got really greedy and started making all sorts of threats about publishing what he had on me and Bib. I had Sandra get him transferred and onto a work detail, then I bribed people to let him escape. He promised he'd bring the ledger and some pictures he'd had taken of him and me together…” She shook her head. “So I had to kill him, to protect myself. But the joke was on me, because the ledger he'd brought was blank and there were only two photos and no negatives.