The Texas Ranger (3 page)

Simon had asked Brannon to fly to Austin and fill him in on the preliminaries. “I had Bib Webb on the line early this morning,” Simon told Brannon while he sipped coffee. “Not only is he running for the U.S. Senate, but his construction company is involved in a major project outside San Antonio, a prototype agricultural complex with self-contained irrigation and warehousing. He's invested millions of his own money in an effort to help the drought-ridden ranchers. This case is already affecting him, and this is a bad time. Wally's worried,” he added, mentioning the governor, who was a close friend. “Campaigning is seriously underway for the November election. Wally's been stumping for Bib.”

“Yes, I know. I had lunch with Bib last week.” His gray eyes narrowed. “Could this rehash of the case be engineered to hurt him in the polls?”

“Of course it could,” Simon said with a grin. “You know how dirty politics is. But I don't think sane people commit murder to cause a scandal.”

“There are a lot of insane people running loose in the world,” Brannon reminded him amusedly.

Simon shifted, moving the prosthesis he wore in place of his left arm onto the desk while he lifted his coffee cup with the right. He and Brannon were distantly related, both with ties in Jacobsville.
Simon's four brothers lived there. Brannon had grown up there, and he still had a ranch in Jacobsville where his sister, Gretchen, had lived until her marriage to the ruling Sheikh of Qawi in the Middle East. She and the sheikh had a son now, and they were becoming well-known in international circles.

“Have you heard from your sister, Gretchen, lately?”

Brannon nodded. “She phones me every month to make sure I'm eating properly. She doesn't think much of my cooking,” he added with a fond smile at the thought of his baby sister.

“Does she miss Texas?” Simon asked.

“Not visibly. She's too crazy about her little boy and Philippe,” he murmured, naming her husband. “I have to admit, he's unique.”

“Why did you leave the FBI?” Simon asked abruptly, something that had bothered him lately.

“I got tired of living out of a suitcase,” Brannon said evasively. “Two years was enough.”

“I never could understand why you left the Rangers to begin with,” Simon replied, sipping black coffee. “You had seniority, you were in line for promotion. You tossed all that to go haring off to Washington. And then you only stayed there for two years.”

Brannon averted his eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And it didn't have anything to do with the Jennings murder trial or Josette Langley?”

Brannon's jaw clenched so hard that his teeth ached. “Nothing.”

“You work out of San Antonio, and she works here in Austin.” Simon persisted. “Under ordinary circumstances, you won't have to see her, if you don't want to. At least, not after she investigates this murder for me.”

The odd wording of the remark went right by him. “I'll do my job, regardless of the people I have to do it with,” Brannon said finally, and his pale eyes dared his cousin to pursue the conversation.

“Okay, I give up. But you'd better know that I'm sending Josette to San Antonio tomorrow.”

Brannon's eyes glittered. “What?”

“She's the only freelance investigator I have who's cognizant of all the facts. Wayne Correctional Institute is near there, where Jennings was located before he managed to get released…”

“She was involved in the case!” Brannon burst out, rising to his feet. “Two years ago, she did her best to get Bib arrested for old Garner's murder!”

“Sit down.” Simon stared at him with steady, cold silver eyes.

Brannon sat, but angrily.

“There are other people who maintain to this day that Jennings was nothing more than the fall guy in that murder,” Simon told Brannon. He held up a
hand when Brannon started to speak. “Jennings and Josette had been invited to a party on Garner Lake with Bib Webb and Silvia and Henry Garner the night Garner died. Jennings was a nobody, but he had ties to the local San Antonio mob headed by Jake Marsh, and he'd threatened Garner over money. Recreational drugs were ingested at the party, the punch was spiked—even Bib admitted that—and I know Webb's your friend. It might have passed off as a simple drowning except for Josette's accusations and the knot on Garner's head that was first thought to have occurred when he fell. Josette was the one who insisted that Garner hadn't been drinking and didn't accidentally fall off the pier.”

“She accused Bib because she didn't like him or his wife,” Brannon insisted. “She was angry at me, to boot. Accusing Bib was one way of getting back at me.”

“Marc,” Simon said quietly, “you know what sort of upbringing she had. Her father was the youth minister of their church and her mother taught Sunday school. They were devout. She was raised strictly. She doesn't tell lies.”

“Plenty of girls go wild when they get away from home,” Brannon pointed out stubbornly. “And I'll remind you that she slipped out of her house to go to that wild party when she was fifteen, and accused a boy of trying to rape her. The emergency room physician testified that there was no rape,” he
added, and was visibly uncomfortable talking about it. “She was almost completely intact.”

“Yes, I know,” Simon said with a sigh. “Presumably her assailant was too drunk to force her.” He glanced at Brannon, whose face was strained. “We have to solve this murder as quickly and efficiently as possible, for Webb's own sake.”

“Bib is a good man with a bright political future ahead of him,” Brannon said, relieved at the change of subject. “He's already ahead in the polls in the senate race, and it's just September.”

“You mean, Silvia has a bright political future ahead,” Simon murmured dryly. “She tells him what to wear and how to stand, for God's sake. She's the real power behind his success and you know it. Amazing insight, for a woman so young, with no real education.”

Brannon shrugged. “Bib's not a self-starter,” he admitted. “Silvia's been his guardian angel from the beginning.”

“I suppose so, even if he did rob the cradle when he married her.” He leaned back. “As I said earlier, I want this case solved quickly,” he added. “We've already been in the public eye too often because we have a Texan in the White House. We don't need to be the focus of any more media investigations of our justice system.”

“I agree. I'll do what I can.”

“You'll work with Josette,” Simon added firmly.
“Whether or not you have to grit your teeth. You both know this case inside out. You can solve it.”
If you don't kill each other first
, Simon thought.

 

Brannon waited for the elevator in the hall, leaning against the wall to observe a silk plant. There was a fine film of dust on it, and one petal was missing from the artificial rose. He wondered why the artificial flowers and plants in government office buildings never seemed to get dusted.

The sound of the elevator arriving diverted his attention. He straightened up just as the doors slid open to admit a single occupant to the floor.

Big dark brown eyes met his and went even darker with accusation and resentment in an oval face that had not even a touch of makeup. Her long blond hair was in a tight braided bun atop her head. She wore no jewelry except for a simple silver-and-turquoise cross suspended from a silver chain. Her shoes were gray, to match the neat, if outdated, suit she wore with a simple pink blouse. She was only twenty-four, but there were lines in that ordinary face, visible even through the big, gold-framed glasses she wore. His heart ached just at the sight of her.

Her full mouth parted on a shocked breath, as if she hadn't expected to see him. Certainly he'd hoped to get out of the building without running into
her. Her gaze dropped to the badge on his shirt pocket.

“I heard you were back working for the Rangers, in San Antonio,” Josette Langley said. Her face lifted as if with some effort and he noticed that her slender hands were clenched on the stack of files she was carrying. They were working hands; her short fingernails showed no polish, no professional manicure.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched them as he looked down at her. She was only medium height. Her head came up to his nose. He remembered her dark eyes twinkling, her full lips parted and gasping with joy as they danced together at one of her college parties so long ago. He remembered the softness of her eyes when she smiled at him, the feel of her sweet, bare body warm and close in his arms, the innocence of her mouth when he kissed it for the first time, the feverish response of her body to his ardent caresses…

“Simon says he's assigned you to this case,” he said curtly, refusing to permit his mind to look back in time.

She nodded. “That's right. I usually do liaison work, but I know more about Dale Jennings than most of the other investigators.”

“Of course you do,” he drawled with venomous sarcasm.

“Here we go again,” she said with resignation.
“Well, don't stand on ceremony, Brannon, get it off your chest. I tell lies, I damage careers…maybe I cause computer crashes, but the jury's still out on that one.”

He felt disoriented. He'd expected her to bite her lip and look tormented, as she had two years ago when he'd glared at her in court during Jennings's trial. He reminded himself that she should be tormented. She'd led him on without a qualm, when she knew she couldn't be intimate with a man. And her public accusations could have landed Bib Webb in jail. But this was a different Josette, a strong and cool woman who didn't back down.

“I'll need whatever information you have on Jennings,” he said abruptly.

“No problem. I'll send it to the San Antonio office by overnight delivery before I leave the office today,” she said. She indicated the stack of files. “In fact, I've just been downstairs copying the information so that I could do that.” She smiled with forced pleasantry. “Unless you'd rather lug it back on the plane?”

“I wouldn't. How very efficient you've become, Miss Langley.”

“Haven't I, though?” she replied pertly. “Look out, Brannon. One of these days I may be state attorney general myself, and wouldn't that tie a knot in your ego? Now, if you'll excuse me?”

Josette turned and started to walk away. The el
evator had departed while they were talking. It was on the tenth floor. He pushed the down button viciously.

“Did Jennings have any family?” he asked abruptly.

She turned to look at him. “He has a mother who's a semi-invalid. She's on disability and she has a bad heart. Just recently she lost her home because of some scam she fell for. She was supposed to be evicted this week.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Her husband is long dead and she has no other children. She and Dale were very close. It goes without saying that her son served two years in prison for a crime he never committed while the real culprit escaped justice and inherited the fortune he needed to finance a senate campaign…!”

“Not another word,” Brannon said in a soft, deep tone that made chills run down her spine.

“Or else what?” Josette challenged with uplifted eyebrows and a cool smile. When he didn't reply, she shrugged. “I hope someone had the decency to inform Mrs. Jennings of her son's death. Just so that she won't have to find out on the six o'clock news with footage of the coroner's office carrying him off in a body bag.”

Brannon's heart jumped. He hadn't asked if anyone was going to call Jennings's next of kin. Damn it, he should have been more efficient. Whatever Jennings had done, his mother wasn't a criminal.

“I'll make sure of it,” he said abruptly.

Her eyes softened, just a little, as she matched the memory of that lean, formidable face against the man she'd first known so many years ago. It made her sad to realize what his opinion of her must have been, even at the beginning. He wouldn't have walked off without a goodbye if there had been any feeling in him for her. He'd hated her the night they'd broken up. He'd hated her more when she accused his friend Webb of being behind Garner's murder. Probably he still hated her. She didn't care.

“Thanks,” she said and turned away.

“Have you come across any clue in those files that would point to a potential execution?” he asked deliberately.

Josette came back to face him at once. “You think somebody put out a contract on him,” she said confidently, her voice deliberately lowered.

Brannon nodded. “It was a professional job, not some drive-by shooting or a gang-related conflict. He was on work detail and escaped, apparently with help from some unknown accomplice, made his way to San Antonio, and ended up with a single gunshot wound to the back of the head at point-blank range, just around the corner from our most notorious mobster's nightclub.”

“But what would be the motive?” she asked curiously. “He was in prison, out of the way. Why
would somebody break him out just to kill him? They could have done that at the prison.”