You're Not Safe (Texas Rangers) (22 page)

He’d remembered when he’d first arrived back in Austin and dumped his bag on the spare bed in his uncle’s rented house. The cool air, quiet, and soft bed had been distracting and for several weeks he’d put a sleeping bag on the floor. He hoped the hard floor would offer a familiarity that might ease the transition home. But when he’d closed his eyes and fallen asleep the dreams began. They’d all been the same, not varying a little.

He’d been behind the wheel of the Humvee. He’d been in the country for a year and grown accustomed to the coiling heat and the weight of his body armor. A battery-operated radio that dangled from the ceiling had been blaring Bruce Springsteen. His buddy Max had cracked a joke about a girl’s breasts. He and his buddies had been laughing.

The mission had been routine. And though they said they were on their toes at all times, familiarity with the job had made them a little cocky. As the driver, it had been his job to avoid the IEDs, to keep the vehicle on the road, and to keep his friends alive.

And then he’d been distracted for a moment by the flicker of a light in the distance, and he’d edged too close to the edge of the road. The next moment a loud explosion ripped through the music and the laughter, shredded his eardrums and battered him about like a piece of meat. Next, he’d been crawling through hot twisted metal, clawing at the dirt as he pulled himself free. He’d called out to his buddies, searched the blackening smoke, but pain and a blow to the head had made the world spin, and then he’d blacked out.

Later he’d awoken in the hospital. Burned on the left side of his body. His first question had been for his men, and when he’d found out they’d all been killed he’d retreated into himself as far as he could go. He didn’t want to be around people. Talk again. Care again. Live again.

He’d thought about ending it all, after the third military funeral. It would be easy enough to let the final darkness take him and make the pain go away.

But as much as he’d thought about it he couldn’t manage it. He was too scared to die and too undeserving to live.

Tec had given him a roof and a bed. But it was clear his uncle didn’t know what to do with him. Hell, Tec was a goddamned legend in the Rangers. He’d pursued outlaws, faced human traffickers, and been in a couple of gun battles. He’d walked away from it all unscathed with no lingering regrets.

Maybe Mitch was too much like his own mother. Well-meaning but simply weak.

A sharp pain dug into his shoulder and he whirled around at Beauty’s braying. He rubbed his shoulder, annoyed at her but angrier at himself. “Damn it, girl. Can’t you lay off for a minute? Shit, there won’t be a bit of my flesh left at the rate you are going.”

The horse neighed.

“Yeah, you are the smart one. You got all the damn answers. Just like my uncle. You think you know.”

The horse did not move or look away.

“You think because you outweigh me that I can’t take you? Think I won’t haul off and deck you if you bite me again?”

The horse cocked her head as if bored.

Mitch sighed. “Shit, I’m out in a damn corral having a conversation with a stupid horse.” And again for the fifth time today he wondered why he’d taken this job. He had his Marine pay to tide him over. A buddy of his had told him he could get a job on the oil rigs in a matter of hours. But here he was with a bitch of a horse, making crap wages and sweating his ass off in the afternoon heat.

The rumble of an old engine had him turning toward the cloud of dust kicked up by Greer’s old black truck. She’d said she’d go into town today for feed, and he was glad she’d returned. Beauty was cranky on a full stomach but when she thought she was going to miss a meal she was hell on wheels. Not that he blamed her. It was clear she’d not been fed too well the last year. She was pushy for her food because she was a survivor.

Buttercup’s tail twitched as she too spotted Greer’s truck. She was more laid back than Beauty, but she stuck close to her when she pushed for the next meal. Buttercup knew enough to know she’d get her fed.

The old nags had been at Bonneville merely days and already the animals knew Greer would somehow make their lives right.

And somehow he’d had the same sense when she’d walked into that bar and offered him this job. He’d been suspicious and wary of all other forms of help, but in Greer he’d sensed a survivor and a fighter. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d sat across from him. And she hadn’t begged or pleaded with him. In fact, he had the sense she didn’t want to do him the favor. But she’d offered, and he’d realized she was his lifeline.

Greer’s truck came to a stop by the storage shed and she got out, cradling a small creature close to her belly. She was also talking real soft and slow. Beauty and Buttercup’s ears perked as Greer approached.

Mitch didn’t say a word as she approached, her ball cap covering her hair and her dark mirrored sunglasses tossing back his reflection. When she was several feet from him a small head popped up from under her arm and barked at him.

He shook his head. “If that’s a dog, it’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

Greer covered the pup’s ears. “He’s smart, and he knows when you are making fun of him.”

He couldn’t help a smile. “He does?”

“I kidded with him about his mug on the ride home and that annoyed him.”

“Really?” He waited for the punch line.

Her expression remained serious. “Honest. He’s smart.”

The dog opened his eyes, well, eye, and yawned. He sniffed the air and glared up at Mitch as if he were some kind of squatter. “What’s his name?”

“Right now it’s Dog. That’s what they called him at the feed store.”

“That’s not a name. It’s a noun.” Shit, the animal deserved a name.

“I know. I’ve been trying out names all the way here but none fit. A cute name really doesn’t work with that face.”

“He was born without the eye?”

She stroked the dog between the ears. “From what I hear.”

“He’s lucky his mamma nursed him. Most will nudge out the offspring that ain’t right.” The boss had found herself another outcast.

“Guess if he wasn’t so smart he’d not have survived.”

He scratched his head. “You have an attraction for the broken. Me, the horses, this dog. What’s it with you?”

She scratched Dog between the ears. “Takes one to know one, I suppose. Someone helped me once. Now I’m paying it back or forward, I guess.”

“I read about you on the Internet.” When Tec had tossed a couple of warnings his way about Greer he’d done some digging. Tec was a man of few words and when he spoke, Mitch listened. “You’ve been through it.”

Her fingers stilled. “So have you. So have the horses and so has this little guy. None of us has a corner on pain and suffering.”

The counselors had tried to talk to him over the last month or two, but he’d never wanted to talk to them. They were good, well-intentioned people but their questions made him mad. Greer never asked questions. As long as he was working, she left him alone. If she saw him sitting, she found a task for him to do.

“So how did you do it?” he asked.

She tilted her head back and his reflection caught in her mirrored sunglasses. “Do what?”

Emotion threatened to break his voice and he paused until he had his voice under control. “Pull yourself up?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I came out here to live with my aunt and she told me to put one foot in front of the other. But those first days, the idea of one or two steps exhausted me. But she kept giving me chores, forcing me to keep moving.”

“You do that to me.”

“I know.”

“So when did you turn the corner?”

“Honestly, Mitch, I think I’m still searching for that corner. I still don’t think beyond one step at a time.”

“But you plan ahead for the vineyard. I heard you talking about the harvest. You are going to build that winery. You are living.”

“I still believe I’m living for Jeff and Sydney. To squander my life would be an insult to them.” She drew in a breath. “And I’ve fallen for the vineyard. I didn’t expect to but I did. The grapes are like Beauty. They don’t care about my sob story. My emotions. All that matters is to keep working so that the vineyard doesn’t turn on me.”

The pain in his shoulder had been Beauty’s reminder for attention. He was silent for a moment watching as she scratched the pup between its ears. “So the pain never goes away?”

“Not totally. But it lessens a little bit every day. At first it feels like a boulder on your shoulders. And then one day it feels like a handful of rocks. And then pebbles. Always there, but it becomes manageable.”

She wasn’t feeding him rainbows and happy endings. Just honesty. “I’m not sure I want it to go away completely.”

“Me, either. I never want to forget the people I loved.”

A heavy silence settled and for a moment neither spoke. Then he studied Dog. “Shit, that’s an ugly dog.”

She covered the dog’s ears and nodded. “Shh.”

The one-eyed dog stared at him as if challenging his right to be here. “It wouldn’t have lasted a day in the shelter. People want cute and easy.”

“I know.”

“Folks were kind of like that with me when I came home from Iraq. Everyone wanted the war stories. They wanted the glory. But when I tried to tell them it was dirty and ugly and painful, folks just walked away.”

She was silent for a moment. “I have a knack for scaring people off, too. No one knows what to say to me. Hell, I don’t know what I want to say to me.”

Greer wasn’t afraid of scars. Maybe because she was brave or maybe she had so many of her own she didn’t notice them too much anymore.

But he did know she hadn’t walked away from him, those damn horses, or the ugliest dog in Texas. And that counted for something.

 

 

“I don’t know why you don’t kill her now. I’m so tired of waiting.”

Jackson hated her voice’s constant buzzing in his ear.

With eyes still pressed to the binoculars’ eyecups, he watched as she handed a mangy dog to her new farmhand. “I just took care of one.”

“But she wasn’t her.”

“It’s not time for her.”

“How do you know it’s not time? My God, all you done is talk about Greer. Elizabeth. Greer. I get sick of hearing about her.”

It was getting harder and harder to ignore her. With an effort, he kept his focus on Greer.

He knew a lot about Greer Templeton.

And not simply the information anyone could read about on the Internet. He knew her current daily routine as if it were his own, and he also knew her hopes, fears, and dreams.

He’d come to learn Greer rose at five every morning. She rarely varied her wardrobe, choosing a Bonneville T-shirt, jeans, and the same scuffed boots. He liked the jeans and the way they showed off her narrow waist and hips that rounded just right.

Meticulous watching had taught him her daily order of business was to dress and then to take her first coffee onto the small stone patio adjacent to her house. Overlooking her vineyards, the patio caught the morning sun. Rarely, did she miss a sunrise or raise her cup to it before she took her first sip.

After her coffee, she headed out into the fields to check on her vines and to meet with the farm manager, José. Together the two rode up and down the rows, inspecting branches, the leaf canopy, or sampling grapes. No detail was too small for Greer. She clearly loved Bonneville.

Once her grapes were inspected she returned to the small ranch house she’d shared with her aunt for over a decade and enjoyed a small breakfast. Her tastes were simple, usually toast and an egg. And then it was off for more meetings or trips into the fields. Afternoons were spent working on the books. Last year she’d overseen the building of the new tasting room with the dedication she gave to her vineyards. And now that laser attention would shift to her new winery.

Her days often didn’t end until eight or nine when she’d drag herself back to her home and eat a small dinner. She ate lots of salad, always a side of bread with a little butter and a glass of wine. Merlot was her favorite.

Her routines followed the seasons and this season, summer, was her busiest. Soon the grapes would peak and the harvest would commence. She’d harvest with care, only taking the grapes that were ready, and always patient enough to leave the others behind until they’d ripened.

He was very much like Greer. He understood the best harvester was patient. Like her he understood the best grapes were those that had suffered some hardship, for it was the hardship that truly formed great taste and character. Greer and her grapes weren’t sickly sweet because they’d been tested and tried.

“So when are you going to kill her?”

He lowered the binoculars from his eyes. “Greer, like her grapes, is nearly ready for harvest.”

“What difference does a day or two make?”

“It makes all the difference. It’s the difference between perfection and swill.”

Soon Greer would be ready. Soon he’d harvest her like the others.

 

 

An Austin police patrol car spotted Sara Wentworth’s car parked in an industrial lot along the river in East Austin, five miles from where her body had been discovered. He’d called the find in at seven, the very end of his shift.

Bragg had been at his desk when the call had been received. He’d grabbed his jacket and hat and headed out.

As he drove, he realized this had been the first “normal” morning he’d had in months. Mitch had been up early and eager to get to Bonneville, and so Bragg had left with him right after dawn. Before Mitch, he’d worked long, sometimes crushing hours, but since Mitch’s arrival, he’d lingered in the mornings or gotten home earlier. For the first time, his personal life had elbowed ahead of his professional life.

But today, he had his old schedule back. And to his surprise, it didn’t fit as well as it once had. A bit tight and restrictive. Since he’d arrived this morning, he’d not only wondered how Mitch was managing, but Greer as well. Several times, he’d had to resist the temptation to drive out and check on them both.

Bragg spotted flashing police lights. Out of his truck, he settled his white hat on his head and strode toward the police car lights and the yellow crime-scene tape surrounding the white Lexus.

The car’s hubcaps had been stripped and the front driver’s-side window had been smashed and the air bag and radio stolen. It was doubtful the thefts were related to Sara’s death. An unattended Lexus in East Austin attracted thieves like flowers attracted bees. He was amazed any portion of the car remained.

The warehouse by the car was a two-story brick building with rows of broken windows. Faded paint on the building’s top floor read
MCGREGOR’S.
The building had once been a dry goods store and later a restaurant that had closed three years ago. The place was up for sale, but Sara Wentworth did not have the listing.

The forensic tech was a short woman with an olive complexion and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and had tucked under an APD ball cap. She wore a blue regulation T-shirt that read
AUSTIN POLICE
and rumpled khakis in need of hemming. Standing back from the scene, inches inside the yellow tape with a clipboard in hand, the technician sketched the scene.

As Bragg moved closer to the tape she turned and nodded. “Ranger Bragg?”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Carla Sellers. I’m with Austin PD.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me what you’ve found?”

“We had a BOLO on your victim’s car. The uniform who spotted it realized the car was out of place. This isn’t the kind of place most leave a Lexus unattended. My guess is the damage done to the vehicle was done by vandals and thieves.”

He rested his hands on his hips and searched for a security camera. He spotted two on the building across the street and hoped they were operational. Many businesses put up cameras but many also didn’t bother to connect them hoping the camera alone would be a deterrent. “Has anyone contacted those businesses about their cameras?”

“Had a couple of uniforms knocking on doors and trying to find out about them.”

“Good. I want to see that footage.”

Carla stuck her pencil in her ponytail. “Where was your victim found?”

“Five point two miles from here. I just clocked the distance.”

“And she was a suicide?”

The doubt in her voice echoed his concerns. “Remains undetermined.”

Sara Wentworth certainly could have assisted Rory in his suicide. And she could have parked her car here and walked five miles in high heels in the Texas heat to the warehouse. Yeah, he’d seen all kinds of things. But unless she’d totally lost it, the scenario didn’t hold water. There’d been the matter of the bloody doll in her trash can, her heels found by her body had been pristine, and the medical examiner had found no traces of blistering on her feet.

“I’m going to need the footage from those cameras ASAP. I’d bet good money she didn’t walk away but was taken away.”

“Sure.”

“Mind if I have a look in the car?”

“I’ve dusted for prints. Found a lot of them, by the way. But seeing as the car was torn apart no telling whose we’ll find. Also photographed the interior. The GPS, radio, and air bag were gone. Another day, it would have been stripped clean. It’s all yours.” She pulled a set of rubber gloves from her back pocket and handed them to him.

“Appreciate it.” He pulled on the gloves and then ducked under the tape, moving to the driver’s-side door first to study the light tan interior. There was a coffee cup from one of those high-end shops in Austin with red lipstick smudging the top’s spout. The glove box was open and inside he found area maps. GPS could be wrong and a savvy Realtor needed to get around efficiently to make a living. The car looked as if it once had been showroom clean. He imagined no trash, vacuumed carpets, and polished windows. Between the seats was a collection of CDs. Classical music, self-help and motivational tapes.
The Million-Dollar Deal. Ten Steps to Record-Breaking Sales.
Not fodder for thieves.

He popped the trunk and walked around to the back of the car. In the trunk there was a bin with one remaining sandal but he suspected they’d been full of shoes. Sara would have been prepared for any kind of terrain or trip. A five-mile walk was feasible, but remembering the pristine shape of her heels, he doubted it. There was also a cooler filled with water bottles and a collection of signs sporting the
MANLY AND DOBBS
real estate logo and Sara’s smiling photoshopped face.

By all appearances, Sara Wentworth was an ambitious woman with her sights set on the future. She had no apparent reason to track a drug-addicted man from her past, kill him, and then herself. Sure, it could have happened. Rory could have sent her the doll and triggered a deadly chain reaction.

It could have been a murder-suicide scenario; however, if he had to bet money, he’d wager someone else had murdered them both.

 

Bragg arrived at the real estate office of Manly and Dobbs a half hour later. Located in the center of Austin blocks from the white dome of the state capitol, the building had lots of glass, a sleek sign out front, and manicured planters with lush green plants.

He pushed through the office door and a young, blond receptionist glanced up at him with a bright smile on her face. The instant she saw his white hat and star badge the smile vanished. He wasn’t a customer. And he was here about Sara.

She rose. “Ranger. You’ve come about Sara?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She flipped her hair out of her eyes. “We are all in shock about it. No one can believe Sara would kill herself. Her life was perfect.”

“She didn’t give you any indication that she wasn’t doing well?”

“Nothing. She was a happy woman.”

Smiles could hide a lot of pain and everyone had secrets. “There someone here that kept up with her appointments?”

“All our agents are independent. They use the office primarily for mail and the occasional meeting. Often, I’d not see Sara for days or weeks. She was in her car most of the time. But I can buzz Rita Herbert. She’s our office manager, and if Sara had been in touch with anyone it would have been Rita.”

“Appreciate it.”

When she vanished down the hallway, he waited in the lobby studying the glossy pictures of high-end properties in the Austin area. Manly and Dobbs handled the best clients, which fit with Sara’s profile.

Greer and Sara had come from the same privileged world and ended up at Shady Grove. But Shady Grove had been a fork in the road. Sara had returned to her old, sheltered world, whereas Greer had upended herself and built a life the opposite of her roots. She’d traded beauty salons, manicures, and high-end clothes for jeans, hard work, and a vineyard that likely took as much as it gave. This reinvented Greer fascinated him to no end.

“Ranger Bragg?”

He turned to find a tall brunette studying him. She wore conservative dark pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a matching jacket that skimmed full hips. Horn-rimmed glasses accentuated large blue eyes heavily made up. Gold hoop earrings matched a gold rope necklace that dangled below full breasts.

He extended his hand, and she moved to meet it easily as if she’d shaken millions of hands in this office. “Ms. Herbert?”

“Yes. I’m Rita Herbert, the office manager.” Her thick brows drew together. “I hear you’ve questions about Sara.”

“I’m trying to piece together her last day or two. I was hoping you might have an idea about some of the clients she met with that last day.”

With manicured fingers, she combed away a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t understand. Why do you need her client list? I thought Sara killed herself.”

No sense triggering alarm bells. For now he wanted answers. “It’s standard to examine the deceased’s last days.”

She sighed. “I still can’t believe it. Sara was our best agent. She had just sealed the deal and made a six-figure commission. She was at the top of her game.”

“What kinds of property did she sell?”

“Some high-end residential but for the most part she handled the corporate sales. Her family has been in Austin for fifty years, and they had all kinds of connections. She used those connections to get her start. But she quickly proved to everyone she was more than just a rich girl. She was talented in sales and worked harder than anybody.”

“Did you keep track of her appointments?”

“No. She kept her own book. She did call in on Tuesday asking about a missing business card. She sounded rattled and upset.”

He thought about the trash-can discovery. “She say what was bothering her?”

“I asked but she laughed it off. Said she was a little forgetful these days.” She dug a card from her pocket. “This is the card she wanted. I still had it on my desk.”

He accepted it. “She have anything to say about the client?”

“Only that he owned restaurants back East and had his eye on Austin.”

He glanced at the card. Howard Corwin. From Washington, D.C. His chain was called Legends. “Have you contacted him since Sara’s death?”

“No. We’ve all been a mess since we heard the news. Sara really was the backbone of corporate sales.”

He glanced at the number. “Where’d they have coffee last week?”

“I don’t know.”

“May I keep this?”

“Sure.”

“Any more details you can share about him?”

“Why are you interested in this guy? Do you think he is connected to her death?”

“I don’t have solid facts at this point, ma’am. I need to follow every rabbit trail I come across.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“Yes, ma’am. If you think of any new details that strike you as odd about this guy or any of her other clients, let me know.”

She frowned. “Sure.”

He thanked her again for her time and promised to be in touch. As soon as he slid behind the wheel of his car and turned on the engine, he dialed Corwin’s number.

The phone rang several times and then a male voice-mail message said:
“You’ve reached Howard Corwin of Corwin Enterprises. I’m traveling this week so leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

Bragg hung up and stared at the card. Anyone could make a card. But fooling a seasoned real estate agent like Sara Wentworth would take more than a bogus number. He flipped on his computer and searched Corwin Enterprises. A second or two later he had a Baltimore number that did not match the number on the card. Stood to reason Corwin’s direct line wouldn’t match the Web site number. Still, he dialed the Web site number.

As the phone rang, he pulled off his hat and tossed it on the passenger seat. On the second ring a receptionist answered the phone. “Corwin Enterprises.”

Bragg introduced himself and explained he needed to speak to Corwin. She put him on hold and ten seconds later, he heard, “This is Howard Corwin.”

“Lieutenant Bragg, Texas Rangers in Austin, Texas, sir. I’d like to ask you about your recent meeting with Sara Wentworth.”

Silence crackled over the line. “I don’t know a Sara Wentworth.”

Bragg glanced at the card in his hand. “Sara Wentworth is a real estate agent here in Austin. According to her office manager you met with Sara two days ago in Austin about restaurant property.”

“Ranger Bragg, I’ve not been to Austin in fifteen years. And two days ago I was working in my office here in Baltimore. A hundred people can verify that. I’m not sure why Ms. Wentworth is claiming we met.”

“I’ve a copy of your business card that her office manager gave me. Got your name on it.” He repeated the phone number.