Читать книгу Lone Star Diary - Darlene Graham - Страница 10

AS LUKE DRISCOLL’S PICKUP bounced past her sister’s unoccupied farmhouse, up a winding gravel trail to the top of a hill, Frankie took the measure of the man driving. He had a sturdy build. Meaty forearms, a broad back. He sat squarely in the seat on muscular shanks, with his long legs canted wide.

She couldn’t help making an unkind comparison to her slight-bodied husband. Kyle was forever slumped—in the seat of his Mercedes, in front of his computer, on the soft leather sectional that dominated their den.

Mentally waving away thoughts of the pusillanimous Kyle, she wondered how old Luke Driscoll was. Forty? Forty-five? Again, her eyes were drawn to the gold band that appeared to have hugged that finger for many a year. Stop salivating over him, Ms. Separated-and-Rejected-Middle-Aged-Wife. This man, this very sexy man sitting next to you is obviously married. Why did she have to keep reminding herself?

She turned her face to the window, determined to think about something else. But it was no good. The man was an absolute eye magnet. She gave him another covert look. Immediately he said, “What?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

More details of his person registered. Tan complexion. Hawkish nose. Square jaw. Threads of gray in the thick dark hair at his temples.

He had a smattering of gray, also, in the trim goatee that accented his face. It seemed incongruous, a Ranger with a goatee…and the rest growing out in a five o’clock shadow. She supposed traveling from the border all night explained his unshaven face. He didn’t seem the least bit tired, though. On the contrary. He seemed alert, intent on his purpose.

“You drove all night?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face as if she’d reminded him how fatigued he was. “The illegals walk it all the time. At least we had Old Bossie, here.”

His pickup was not old. Texans loved to give their trucks pet names, even if said truck had a leather interior and XM stereo.

“Why this urgency to see the caves?”

He frowned at her. “I’m under a little time pressure. Remember how I said Yolonda was a witness to a murder and a rape?”

“A rape?” Frankie’s eyes widened.

The look he gave her was sympathetic. “She hid in the mesquite bushes while some very dangerous men raped and killed her friend Maria Morales.”

Frankie covered her mouth. “That poor child.” Then she dropped her hand. “Morales? Like the brothers who were seen out by my brother-in-law’s barn?” Frankie’s voice grew bright with realization. “The ones who ran away and hid—”

“—after the fire that killed your brother-in-law. That is why this has become part of my investigation.”

Robbie had said this Luke Driscoll was very thorough, very sharp, when she’d contacted him for help in uncovering the truth about Danny’s murder. Frankie checked him out again.

And again without looking at her, he said, “What?”

“Do you always snap at people when you imagine they’re looking at you?”

“Did I imagine it?” He gave her a sidelong glance.

No, he hadn’t. He had some kind of radar. Frankie felt herself blushing again so she steered back to the subject at hand. “So this girl, who was…raped,” she could hardly utter the word, “by this guy—”

“Guys.”

“Oh, dear,” Frankie whispered. “More than one?”

“Yes. But that’s not the point. It was meant to look like the motive was sexual assault, but I don’t think that’s the way of it.”

“Lord. Why would someone rape an innocent girl to cover up something else? I mean, how could anything be worse?”

“That’s what her brothers are supposed to think. The real reason that the Coyotes killed the girl was to draw her brothers out of hiding.”

“Coyotes?”

“Border runners. Smugglers. They take the money of poor, desperate people in exchange for passage into the States. Besides smuggling human beings, they’re often involved in other criminal activity.”

“Oh,” Frankie said. She’d heard of such things, but they never touched a doctor’s wife in her secure world.

“I’d like to see what’s in these caves before these Coyotes beat me to it. If they haven’t already. Maria Morales was wearing a vest that had a special pattern woven into it. The men who killed her kept that vest. I’m thinking it’s a map of sorts.”

“You mean to the caves?”

He shrugged. “I expect the Morales boys could tell us. Yolonda claims it was an ancient Mayan pattern.”

“What kind of pattern?”

“Something worth killing for. Do we turn off here?” Driscoll was slowing the truck.

“Yes. Then, you remember, we’ll have to proceed on foot.”

“I don’t remember much besides getting shot at,” Driscoll said as he strong-armed the truck down the rutted drive of the Tellchick farm.

Frankie’s cheeks flushed again as she recalled the day they’d first met. Then she smiled slyly, thinking how her aim had been dang good. “I suppose I could have let the snake get you.”

The whine of the truck engine continued for some seconds before he deadpanned, “But then…what would you be staring at now?” He kept his gaze trained out the windshield.

“Aren’t you the humble one,” Frankie scoffed, though her cheeks were so hot now she thought she might have to roll down the window. A grin formed above the goatee. Maybe this Luke guy wasn’t so grim after all.

“Park up there,” Frankie pointed to an ancient limestone structure squatting among cedars and low live oaks.

“Built by the original Kilgore settlers,” Frankie explained as the pickup came to a stop next to the abandoned one-room dwelling. “Way back in the nineteenth century.”

“I love old places like this.” Driscoll jerked on the parking brake.

He got out and marched around the perimeter of the building. Not sure what else to do, Frankie followed.

“Looks like someone’s been here more recently than the nineteenth century.” He pointed to the charred remains of a fire ring.

“My sister had some workers staying out here for a while,” Frankie explained as they walked toward the ashes.

“Mexicans?”

“Yes. Guys from the Light at Five Points, actually.”

Luke sauntered to the edge of the rise and Frankie followed. “The caves are under those mounds.” She pointed.

Below them a shadowed valley spread between banks of hills. The only road into the area stuck out like a winding gray ribbon. In the distance their goal—mounds of yellowish native limestone—shone like a bald pate in the gray-green landscape.

“How far is that from up here?” He nodded at the mounds.

“Half a mile by the road, but it’s been closed off with barbed wire and a padlocked ranch gate.”

“Trueblood’s doing?”

“No. Kilgore’s.”

“Ah. The congressman again.” Luke frowned. “I thought Trueblood owned this farm now.”

“He cut some kind of deal with Kilgore and agreed to steer clear of the caves. But we can circle around and come up along the river.” She pointed at the channel of the Blue River below. “When we were kids, my sisters and I came up that way a couple of times, exploring. There’s a shaft that drops pretty much straight down. We were forbidden to go there, but we did. Robbie didn’t allow her kids out this way, either. But she believes Danny had discovered another entrance the night he came upon the Mexicans.”

“Did he tell her where it was?”

“No. He never got the chance.”

They stared out at the valley for a moment, silenced by the memory of the fire and the way Danny Tellchick had died.

“You said the caves had some connection to my brother-in-law’s death.” Frankie’s voice became sorrowful as she surveyed the countryside that spread below the little hill. “I guess you were right.”

“Coyotes hired old man Mestor to set both fires. But knowing who wanted Danny Tellchick dead doesn’t tell us why they wanted him dead. It’s my job to find out why. Something worth killing for has got to be a pretty big why.”

“Unfortunately, Danny never told my sister what he saw.”

“My guess is he told somebody. And got killed for his trouble.”

Frankie cocked her head at him. “This is trespassing, you know. On the land of one of the meanest men in Texas.”

“Seems minor compared to murder.” Luke’s gaze was level.

“We should start by looking at that main shaft. We can make it on foot if we go down that slope.” Frankie pointed. “But it’s pretty steep.”

His gaze slid to her feet. “Can you make it in those things?”

Frankie looked down at the suede ballet flats she’d worn to work that morning. Their little accent bows looked ridiculous out here in this rocky countryside. Too late, she realized she should have gone by the house for her boots. “I’ll be okay.”

But still he went ahead of her, blazing the way. And still he looked back, braced his feet as if to catch her should she fall, and when she almost did, slipping on some mud, he grasped her hand and anchored his other hand firmly at her waist.

“Easy,” he said, as if she were a skittish horse.

“I’m fine,” she said. But she let him take her hand. She entertained no prideful notions that she didn’t need his help. The soles of her shoes were dance-floor slick and found little purchase on the rocky hillside. His grip felt warm and firm. Natural. Confident. And something else that Frankie couldn’t put a word on.

When they came to a sandstone wash that snaked down toward the river, he planted a palm on her back as he guided her across teetering slabs of rock.

His touch was as gentle and solicitous as his earlier one had been, but now something more seemed to radiate through his warm palm, something decidedly possessive, even sexual. She couldn’t remember Kyle’s hands ever having this effect on her.

A sudden thought spoiled her mood. Today was her birthday. Here she was, turning forty, and the simple touch of a man was giving her ideas that threw her into a little tizzy. Pathetic.

“Here. Let me help you down,” he said as he stepped onto a flat rock at the river’s edge. When he turned to offer his hand up, he must have seen the foolish, pesky tears that had welled up in her eyes, because his expression became concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she stepped down level with him.

“Nothing.” Frankie shook her head and turned her face away. “It’s silly.” But she was forced to swipe at a tear.

“Are you frightened or something? We can go back. Tell me.”

“No. I’m fine. I just…I remembered something.”

He removed his reflective sunglasses, and in his dark eyes his concern was plain to see. His were gorgeous eyes. A smooth whiskey-brown. Very compassionate. Though right now he was also looking at her with a certain wariness. Little wonder. She was acting positively unstable. “Are you still thinking about your brother-in-law?”

“I should be.” Frankie sniffed, which only caused the tears to run. “But no. That’s not it.”

He looked around at the river foliage, up at the sky. “Look, Mrs. Hostler—”

“Frankie.”

“Right. Frankie.” He paused. “Just tell me what is wrong.”

Frankie decided he definitely wasn’t the most patient man. “If you must know,” she sniffed defensively, “I was thinking about the fact that today is my birthday.”

His head jutted forward and those heavenly brown eyes bugged a bit, as if he was staring at a crazy woman. “Happy birthday?”

“There’s nothing happy about it, if you must know. I’m turning forty and my life is falling apart.” She swiped at another runaway tear. “Oh, for crying out loud. This is ridiculous.”

He pushed the Stetson up on his head and scratched at his hair before resettling the hat. Before he spoke again he looked around at the rocks and trees as if they held a way out. Then the expression in those brown eyes turned tender. “You wanna just tell me exactly what made you start crying?”

Boy, she so did not want to tell him any such thing. How would that sound? The way you touched me just now reminded me of how deprived and lonely I’ve been. For a long time. Lovely. And he a married man. The thought of that ring on his finger dried up her tears, but quick.

“It’s nothing,” she lied, dismissing the most cataclysmic event that had ever happened in her life, the signing of her divorce papers on her fortieth birthday. “I’m having some marital difficulties, that’s all…and…and this particular spot on the river reminds me of my estranged husband.” An even bigger lie. She and Kyle had never even been out here. He despised the farm.

“Estranged?”

“We’re getting divorced,” Frankie admitted quietly. “I signed the p—” Frankie bit her lip, on the verge of blubbering again. When she regained her composure, she went on. “The papers. I signed them. Yesterday.”

“I see.” He paused, did that thing where he canted his hat back and mussed his hair again. “Well. I’ve never been divorced myself.” He paused again. “But I hear it’s tough.”

Frankie nodded tightly, couldn’t bring herself to speak. And she couldn’t look at him, either.

“So.” He sounded uncomfortable now. “You okay to go on, then?”

Frankie nodded again. “This way.”

Determined to keep her cool, she watched her own footing from then on. Following along the riverbank would not be as much of a physical challenge as climbing down the hill, and she preferred Luke Driscoll at her back, where he couldn’t read the emotions on her face.

But when she came up over the rise above the riverbank her face got plenty emotional. She whirled on Luke, flapping her hands in warning before she hit the ground.

As she crouched down in the brush he crept up behind her, peering over her shoulder. “Whoa now,” he growled. “Here’s a bit of luck.”

In the distance where the formations gave way to the sinkhole that led into the underground caverns, three large SUVs sat parked in a triangle. Half a dozen swarthy young men, wearing leather jackets over athletic warm-ups, stood talking inside the triangle. Talking rather heatedly. As they gestured, Frankie caught glints of sun reflecting off gold chains at their necks and diamonds in their earlobes.

“Luck?” Frankie said. “Those guys look…bad.”

“Izek Texcoyo is bad all right. These are not your run-of-the-mill trespassers.” Luke whispered this near her ear as he dug something out of his pocket. He didn’t seem all that shook up.

“Who?”

“That one.” He aimed two fingers at a heavyset guy. “I’ve, uh, seen his picture. A border guard gave it to me.”

“Is he connected to—” Frankie’s throat closed on the word “—with—the murder?” She felt compelled to whisper, too, although the Coyotes were too far away to hear.

“He is if Yolonda will talk. The others are Coyotes, too,” he added.

“How do you know?” Frankie whispered.

“The clothes, haircuts, the vehicles. Expensive. Brand-new. Coyotes’ll buy cars like that,” he nodded his head toward the Hummer, the Expedition, “or flat out steal them and then discard them like toys.”

“My God.” Frankie’s voice was hushed as she moved closer to his shoulder. “They make that much money?”

“A killing, you might say.” His voice had a bitter edge.

She turned her head to check his profile. The little she could see of his eyes behind his sunglasses looked grim as he looked down, working at something in his hand.

To her astonishment, he had withdrawn a device that looked like a Palm Pilot, only this had an antenna. He aimed it at the men.

She looked over his shoulder at the screen as he swiveled slightly to get the vehicles and dark figures in line with a distinctive rock formation. “Nice toy,” she said right by his ear. “A BlackBerry?”

“Treo. Does more.” Now he was touching the screen with a tiny wand. “Okay. Sent. Let’s go.” He hooked a hand around her arm and tugged her backward with him. But immediately his grip tightened on her arm as he stared in the direction of the men. He raised a hand to hush her.

The men were shouting now, in Spanish—Greek to Frankie. The fat one had turned around, waving an automatic weapon.

“By God, Yolonda better connect the dots to that one,” Luke vowed as he quickly snapped some more pictures. The shouting below grew more heated. “Let’s go.” He pocketed the Treo.

“Don’t you want to wait and see what they’re going to do?”

“No.” He tugged on her wrist.

But as they crawled away, echoing off the rock formations came the unmistakable popping sound of gunshots.

Luke threw Frankie to the ground and covered her with his body.

Terrified, Frankie smashed her cheek against the gritty earth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Luke raising his head. “What happened?” She found her voice reduced to a squeak.

“Man down,” he informed her in a low growl.

More shouting caused Luke’s head to slam down beside Frankie’s. His hat was knocked askew and his eyes looked wild behind his sunglasses. “Musta spotted my hat.” His breathing was ragged next to her ear. Beyond the rise the shouting in Spanish grew closer.

Frankie’s breath caught in her chest. She could barely get her words out. “Are th-they coming?”

The shouting intensified on the other side of the ridge, unmistakably closer. Luke jerked Frankie to her feet and pulled her along, hurtling down the bank to the river.

They splashed across at a narrow place and scrambled on hands and knees back up a sandstone wash with Luke hauling her along like a rag doll.

“Head for the truck.” He pushed her into the cover of trees as gunfire rang out behind them. Frankie was astonished but relieved to see him pull a gun from the back of his belt and return fire.

She needed no encouragement to keep ahead of him as they ran headlong through the woods, climbing, climbing back to the top of the small rise where they’d parked Luke’s pickup. Luke shoved her fanny up over the rocks, whirling around to return fire three times.

Frankie’s lungs were burning by the time they got to the top and her little beaded flats were in shreds. When the truck came into view they ran headlong, as the sharp rocks cut into Frankie’s unprotected feet. As she stumbled sideways, Luke jerked her up by the arm, then scooped her into his arms and ran the rest of the way carrying her.

Frankie clawed at the door handle of the truck, and when she got it open, Luke threw her onto the seat, scrambling in behind her. He moved so fast it seemed he had crawled over her, fired up the engine, slammed it into Reverse, rammed it back into Drive, and barreled away in one unbroken motion.

Three men charged into the clearing and Frankie threw herself back down on the seat when she saw the fat one raising the automatic weapon to his shoulder.

The rain of bullets spat against the chassis, sounding like the hail that had once damaged Frankie’s Mercedes when she’d been trapped in a sudden storm in the Austin traffic.

“Ah, dammit!” Luke cursed as they roared down the rutted road at breakneck speed. “There goes my paint job.”

Once they’d rounded the curve at the bottom and flown past Robbie’s old house, Frankie raised her head and peeked over the edge of the rear window. Above the cloud of dust raised by the pickup, she could see the Coyotes up on the hill, shrinking to the size of ants as they crabbed back up. “They’re leaving,” she said.

“No. They’re going for their vehicles to make chase.” Luke sounded calm as he pressed on at full throttle.

“Those guys…” Frankie was struggling for breath, “shot somebody back there. Why on earth didn’t you arrest them?”

“Let’s see.” Luke’s neck craned as he looked before executing a squealing turn onto the highway. “Five of them, not counting the one down, o’ course. One of me. Think a Texas Ranger’s badge means anything to those hombres?” His grimace said he found her more than a little naive. “Gotta know when to fold ’em…” His pause said he regretted informing her of this next, “…or end up being the ones down.”

Once they were speeding down the highway, from the seemingly endless cache of his jacket he produced a cell phone. He punched a button and started barking facts to the sheriff’s dispatcher. After an amazingly detailed description of the Coyotes and their vehicles, he broke off to ask Frankie where the ranch road intersected the highway, then told the dispatcher where the sheriff would be most likely to catch up with the Coyotes. When he was done, he handed the phone to Frankie. “Call your parents.”

“Are my parents in danger? Their place is over a mile away.”

“I don’t think it’s your parents’ property that interests these guys. As long as they stay inside, they should be safe. Call them.”

WHEN THEY GOT BACK to town, Luke drove Frankie back to Robbie’s house so she could change into dry clothes.

He, too, was soaked from crossing the river. The dampened leather of his boots squeaked as he walked her to the door. He checked his impulse to stare at her curves as she bent to work the old-fashioned key in the lock, but the fact that she was finely made registered anyway. “You sure you’re okay?” he said to compensate for ogling her.

“Yes. I think so. A little shook up.” Her nervous chattering on the way to town made him think it was more than a little.

“I’ve never been shot at before.” The lock gave and the door swung open on its creaky hinges. “Would you like to wait inside?”

Robbie Tellchick’s living room looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. Toys and books and discarded children’s clothes were everywhere. A pile of half-folded laundry obscured the sagging couch. Frankie grabbed up an armful of bibs and onesies and blankies to clear a space so Luke could sit.

“That’s okay.” He stopped her with a gentle hand, glad to have any excuse to touch her again. “I’ll stand.” He made a futile gesture at his soaked jeans.

“Of course.” She tucked a strand of bedraggled hair behind one ear. “I’ll only be a sec.” She dashed up the stairs.

ON THE SHORT DRIVE over to Main Street they fell quiet. The shot of adrenaline that had gotten them through the worst had dissipated, and now they both were processing their narrow escape…and each other.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly as he studied her face. “I’ll get ’em.”

Frankie broke her worried silence. “Will I need to go in and talk to the sheriff?”

“He’ll want to interview you. But I’ll be right by your side.”

Before she went inside the store, Frankie turned to him with a sudden thought. “You’re not going back out there?”

His eyes narrowed, as if he were concealing his intentions. “Not right away. Local law enforcement will be all over the place, looking for evidence. I’d appreciate it if you kept this incident to yourself for now. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, but shouldn’t we tell Zack?” Her future brother-in-law was not the kind to let strangers tromp all over his land without calling them down.

“That’s who I intend to see first. You said he’s on duty?”

“Yes. I saw him in his uniform this morning.”

“Frankie…listen. This is not the right time, but I was thinking…” Luke lingered with a hand jammed in his pocket, and for the life of her, Frankie could have sworn this tough Texas Ranger had grown suddenly shy. “I was thinking of what you said, about your birthday…”

“My birthday?”

“Yeah. I was thinking… Do you like the food at that little restaurant across the street?”

Frankie turned her head. “The Aggie? The Hungry Aggie?” Having lived in Five Points all her life, Frankie had a certain native affinity for the storefront diner. But its garish fifties-era red-and-green decor, its ancient ceiling fans coated with dust, and its scarred-up high-backed booths might not hold the same charm for everyone.

But Luke was studying the place with genuine interest. “Yeah. They serve dinner?”

“Absolutely.” It was hard to resist Virgil Parson’s cooking, even if you’d grown up eating it all your life. Now that Five Points drew in folks from along the Hill Country travel corridor, Virgil and his chuck wagon menu had become a tourist attraction. People drove from as far away as Austin to enjoy Parson’s most famous dish, the Darlin’, followed by a slice of his mouthwatering Texas cream pie. “Friday is Darlin’ night.”

“Darlin’ night?”

“Don’t let the name fool you. It takes courage to face down a Darlin’.”

She caught a twinkle in his eye. “Well, I’ve always got my gun.”

She kept her expression serious. “If you chicken out, there’s always the fried catfish.”

Luke looked up and down the curving Main Street. “I believe I am starting to like this place. So, you want to grab a bite to eat with me?”

The image of the wedding ring flashed into her mind, though she couldn’t see it with his hand jammed into the pocket of his Levi’s.

“I’m getting a room in town,” he explained when she didn’t respond. “I hate eating alone. Besides,” he continued offhandedly, “You said it was your birthday…” He paused. “And I believe you said it was not exactly a happy one. I’d love to be the one to cheer you up.”

“Mr. Driscoll—”

“Luke. It’s the least I can do after getting you shot at.”

“Luke, I…you’re married, right?”

His expression remained calm, except for a tiny frown line between his brows. He shook his head slowly, once. “I am not.”

“Oh.” This caught her off guard, as she had been assuming all along, much to her disappointment, she now realized, that he was. “But…you’re wearing a…isn’t that a wedding band?” She gave a nod toward the source of her confusion, still tucked in his pocket.

He slid his hand out and glanced at the ring as if he had forgotten it was there. His expression grew sad. “I’ve kept it on ever since my wife died. For reasons of my own.”

“Oh. You’re a widower?”

“Yes. And you said you’re in the process of getting a divorce. So. Free agents, both of us. Will you have dinner with me?”

Frankie didn’t really need to mull it over. For the past few weeks she had been eating spaghetti and tuna casserole and bologna sandwiches surrounded by Robbie’s rowdy boys. “On one condition.”

He raised that eyebrow again.

“You let me buy the pie.”

He smiled. For the first time since she’d met him, Luke Driscoll gave her a full-fledged smile. And Frankie found she liked that smile. A lot. “Around seven?”

“Six. Parson gets cranky if people keep him open too late. And we’ll want to get there before—”

“The pies are all picked over?” Ah-ha. Perhaps a hint of humor, after all. She was gratified when Luke Driscoll flashed her a smile one more time.