You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (14 page)

The door to the tasting room opened and Winchester and his wife, Jo, appeared. Jo’s smile suggested the two had slipped away from the crowd for a private moment.

“Party’s inside,” Bragg said.

Winchester grinned and held his wife close. “I like the one outside better.”

Jo jabbed her husband in the ribs. “Brody.”

Winchester shrugged as his grin widened. He showed no sign of loosening his hold on his wife.

Bragg watched the two banter for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have a woman at his side. He’d never given it much thought, knowing the life he’d chosen didn’t leave room for families. He’d never questioned the decision until Mitch had made him accountable for someone other than himself.

“Well, I for one am ready to leave,” Winchester said.

Jo smiled. “I suppose you’ve done your duty and mingled.”

“You leaving?” Winchester said.

Bragg nodded. “In a minute or two.”

Winchester glanced past Bragg to Greer, who stood at the front of the room. “There a reason to stick around?”

“No reason. Just enjoying the night air for a minute or two.”

“Well, we’ll leave you.”

Jo smiled. “Night, Bragg.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”

Bragg lingered outside watching Greer. She moved with an easy confidence he’d not seen when they’d first met or before this evening. He shouldn’t care one way or the other, but he liked seeing her smile.

The door opened, the din of laughter escaping into the night as a tall slim man stepped outside. The door closed and the man glanced up at Bragg. “Good evening.”

Bragg touched the brim of his hat. “Evening.”

The man cocked his head and extended his hand. “Texas Ranger?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hope it’s not trouble bringing you out here tonight.”

“No, sir.” He wasn’t sure really what had brought him out here tonight.

The man extended his hand. “Dr. Andy Stewart.”

The name registered immediately. “You speak to a group of veterans?”

“I speak to them regularly.”

“My nephew is a marine. Mitch Bragg. He’s been in your group.”

Dr. Stewart nodded in recognition. “Mitch. Good guy. I thought he didn’t have family. Said his mother died and his father ran off.”

“He’s got me.” The words tumbled out with surprising authority. “Is it your doing he’s working out here?”

The doctor shrugged. “I connect people who might be of help to each other. Greer needed someone to help with the vineyard. Mitch needed work and purpose. Seemed a good fit.”

Bragg managed a smile for the doctor, but couldn’t decide if he liked him or not. “I hear it was your idea for the fund-raiser.”

“It was.”

“And Ms. Templeton jumped at the idea of inviting everyone out here?”

He chuckled. “It took some coaxing,” he offered. “She’s a bit shy.”

Bragg tossed a line in the water, wondering what the good doctor might offer. “I read about the accident. She’s had a tough road back.”

Dr. Stewart’s sympathy for Greer was evident. “That’s why she’s such an invaluable asset to the center. She understands tough times.”

“She’s a stubborn gal,” Bragg said. “You must have done some real fast talking to get her to do this.”

“I did.”

“How does she handle herself at the Crisis Center?”

“Very professional. Effective with callers.”

“How so?”

“She’s good with people.”

“I suppose her past left a lasting mark.”

Dr. Stewart smiled. “Ranger Bragg, I coax information out of people for a living. I know when someone’s on a fishing expedition.”

Bragg grinned. “Hazard of the job.”

The door to the tasting room opened and a laughing couple emerged. “Well, it’s been a long day. I need to get going.”

“Nice meeting you, doc.”

“You as well, Ranger Bragg.”

As the doctor walked toward his car, Bragg’s gaze trailed him. When he’d driven off, Bragg’s gaze skimmed the horizon and landed on a glimmer of light up on a distant hill. It was a house. He thought about the pictures of Greer that had been taken with a telephoto lens. The angle would be about right to get some of the shots.

He looked back inside at Greer, who stood near a group of folks made of money. Now that her presentation had ended her smile had faded. When she wasn’t talking about her grapes she wasn’t happy. Doing penance was the sense he got.

She felt guilty. Unworthy. Was it the accident or was there another secret she was hiding from everyone?

 

 

Forever. Forever had proven to be fragile for the three remaining teenage girls standing around the campfire holding hands, matching red rope bracelets dangling. Fingers clasped tight, they fought tears. Their numbers were dwindling. First Sam had left and then
Rory.
Elizabeth didn’t have Sam’s address but
Rory
had given his freely so she’d written him and told him how much she missed him. Every day when mail arrived she rushed to the counselor’s office to see if he’d written. No correspondence from her mother. Not a card or letter from Rory
.
She’d grown accustomed to her mother’s silence since Jeff’s death, but Rory’s silence stung.

Joan nodded. “Me, too. I’m not like Rory
.
I promise I won’t forget.” She squeezed Elizabeth’s hand a little harder. “I’m sorry Rory didn’t love you enough to stay connected.”

It will be different with us.

 

 

Greer sat up in bed, her heart racing, and sweat matting her hair against her forehead. She dragged shaking fingers through her hair and allowed a sigh to shudder from her.

The other night she’d dreamed of the accident and now Shady Grove. Rory. Tonight’s party. Both events had triggered too many past losses.

When she’d come to Bonneville she’d made the choice to put the past behind her. And she had. It had taken time to build herself up but she had. She’d not only learned how to work on the estate but how to run it. She was Bonneville. She was not the frightened teen at Shady Grove.

And still her hands shook. And her heart raced.

 

 

Sara woke up in stages. Her head pounded and her mouth was as dry as cotton. She pushed up from the floor, her brain confused. She couldn’t figure out where she was now.

Moistening dry lips, she steadied herself as she drew in air. Cold, refreshing air, to the point of bracing. Confused, she searched the gray metal room. Patches of frost clung to the walls. Where was she?

She rubbed her chilled arms as she rose. The cold floor burned into her bare feet and she discovered her shoes were gone.

She drew her designer jacket closed, but its summer-weight fabric was a paltry match against the cold. It had been designed to withstand the Texas summer heat, not a Montana winter.

She studied the windowless room. Not more than ten by ten, it had the look of a large industrial freezer. But no meat hung from hooks, no frozen foods stocked the shelves, no ice blocks flanked the walls.

The room was completely clean save for the bits of ice and frosting clinging to the walls.

“Oh, God!” She ran to the door, silk stockings sticking to the cold floor and ripping as she moved. She pounded on the door. “Let me out! There’s been a mistake!”

It couldn’t have been the man. He’d been normal. And she’d vetted him completely, calling his contacts back East and doing a complete check on him. He couldn’t have done this to her. It made no sense.

The cold burrowed deeper into her bones. She pounded harder on the door. “Let me out! Please!”

After minutes of silence, the chill demanded she generate warmth in her body. Moving around the room, she searched for another way out, slamming her fist against the walls until her hands burned from the cold. There was no escape from this icy prison.

Returning to the door, she beat on it with her fist until she couldn’t raise her arm anymore.

“Who is doing this to me?”

Her answer was a blast of cold air into the vault. She shivered, her silk blouse little help against the bone-gnawing cold.

So where was she? How had she gotten here? “Think, Sara. Think.”

She struggled to remember the man she’d seen last. He’d wanted retail space for restaurants. He’d not thrown off one signal triggering worry or making her think twice. He’d carried a cooler in the trunk of his car, and it had been stocked with bottles of cold water. She’d gladly accepted the water. Though she’d grown accustomed to the Texas summer heat, she’d drank too much last night, and was thirsty. She’d drained the bottle.

They’d taken a dozen steps toward the warehouse when fatigue settled in her bones. At first she’d blamed it on the heat, but the lethargy had rushed through her, draining all her strength. When her legs had given way, strong arms had caught her.

And then she’d woken up here.

Hot tears burning her eyes, she tilted her head back against the wall. “Why are you doing this? I don’t know you.”

Her answer was the whoosh of the cold air flowing in the vents.

For a moment she closed her eyes. The cold sapped her energy as the heat had earlier. It drew her inward and coaxed her to shut out the world and draw into herself.

“You like the cold, don’t you?” The soft, soothing voice came over a loudspeaker.

Her eyes opened. “Who’s there?”

“You’ve always been drawn to the cold. Remember that winter when the snows were so heavy, and you couldn’t resist going out into the drifts?”

She blew on her bluish fingertips. “That was a long time ago. I was wrong to go into the snow.”

“You weren’t wrong. In fact, it was probably the first time in your life you did something right. It was the first time you followed our true path.”

“My true path is not to freeze to death.” She flexed fingers and then shook them hoping to keep the blood circulating. That’s when she noticed the red rope bracelet around her wrist. With a trembling hand she touched the uneven braided thread.

Immediately, her mind tripped back to the day she’d received a similar bracelet. She’d hated that bracelet as much as she hated this one.

Gripping it in her hand, she ripped it from her wrist and tossed it on the icy floor. “I’m supposed to live my life.”

“Do you remember why you went into the cold?”

She thought about the package she’d received on Monday. Sick. Twisted. “I don’t know who you are but I don’t want to play this sick game. I want you to let me out of here!”

“You don’t really want out, do you? Aren’t you tired of struggling each day just to get up in the morning? You work hard at looking like you’re happy but you’re not.”

“I’m fine.” Her teeth chattered. “I’ve made the best of my life. Ask anyone.”

Soft laughter rumbled over the speaker. “You can say it as many times as you like, Sara. But we both know the truth. You don’t want to live. How could you want to live after what you did?”

A sadness colder than the frigid room twisted around her heart. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your mother didn’t see it that way. What was it that she called you? Slut? Whore?”

Sara shook her head. “Shut up. You don’t know my mother.”

“I know a lot about your mother and you. She hated you after she found out what you’d done. What did she call you?”

Sara shut her eyes and shook her head. Perhaps her mother didn’t say the words, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel. How could a mother not love a child? “My mother loves me. My mother loves me.”

“That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it, Sara? You want her to tell you she loves you.”

“I don’t need to hear it. I know it.”

“Sara, you are going to die today.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” The voice was tender and soft. “That fact is a given and won’t change.”

“No.”

“It’s okay. You know what it feels like to let the cold seep into your bones and steal your life. This is how you tried to kill yourself all those years ago. You ran into the snowstorm without shoes and in your pajamas. You huddled under a tree, and you waited for death to take you.”