Cut and Run

by Mary Burton

  One way or another, she’d meet Faith McIntyre. But for now, the Hill Country and East Austin addresses waited. She typed in the rural address, and when it loaded, she took a right onto the road and drove past a lone strip mall and scattered homes before the turnoff to Blanco, Texas, appeared.

  The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate sparse brown land covered with scrub trees and bushes. But the land and her surroundings barely registered as her mind spiraled around the idea that she might have a sister. Did Faith McIntyre know about her? One way or another, they would have questions for each other.

  Which led to renewed questions about her birth mother, who had always been shrouded in we-don’t-knows and mumbled comments about a closed adoption. If her mother or Jack really knew who she was, they’d never said, regardless of how often she’d pressed.

  Her headlights cut into the deepening darkness. Hoping to settle her racing mind, she switched on the radio and found a country western station. She’d lived in Dallas growing up before moving east for college and then the academy, but despite all the bland apartments scattered across the country, she always felt at home when she heard country music. She cranked it, hoping the melody would drown out her thoughts.

  The Maps app on Jack’s phone reminded her of an upcoming turn, snapping her back to the present. She slowed as she searched the road for a sign. There wasn’t one, and she was halfway past a small rusted mailbox when she realized she’d found her turn. She backed up and took the left, grimacing as the dry brown dust kicked up around her car.

  Ahead, her headlights sliced over a brick house that faced east. The windows were boarded up, and the roof looked like it had taken a beating in a recent storm. It had a low porch that ran across the entire front and a single rocker that stood eerily still.

  She stopped. As the engine idled, she studied the house bathed in moonlight. Out here unexpected guests could just as easily be met with the barrel of a shotgun as a welcome, a lesson she’d learned in the Colorado mountains her first year on the job. She’d been searching for several missing girls. The woman on the other end of the gun had demanded her name as her gnarled finger twitched above the trigger. Macy had grabbed the gun and twisted it out of her hands, but her supervisor had reamed her out for ending up in the tight spot.

  After a few minutes and still no signs of life, she shut off her truck’s engine, checked the gun holstered on her hip, and got out of the car. The day’s blazing heat still hadn’t dissipated.

  Sweat beaded on her back almost as soon as she started walking toward the house. A rusted wind vane squeaked softly as her gaze swept the entire area a second time.

  Climbing the front steps, she noticed the shades were drawn. There were also footprints in the dust scattered on the porch. “Was that you, Jack?”

  She stood to the right of the door. Hand tightening on the grip of her weapon, she knocked on the front door and waited. Being out here alone at night wasn’t the smartest maneuver and something she’d never dare if this wasn’t so damn personal. A round object caught her peripheral vision, and she looked up to find a small camera covering the front porch.

  The house remained silent, with no response to a second knock. She descended the stairs and walked around the back. Moonlight glittered on an old set of patio furniture. Windows facing the back of the barren property were also covered in shades.

  She then walked to the back of the property. Dust coated her ankle boots and the hems of her jeans.

  Other than the footprints on the porch, it looked as if no one had been out here in years.

  Her gaze was then drawn to a row of three large rocks, arranged in a perfectly straight line. That kind of symmetry didn’t happen in nature, and for some reason, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She realized what she was looking at. Grave markers.

  As she unholstered her weapon, she moved slowly toward the stones and saw a set of large footprints that circled the first stone several times. The footprints trailed to the second stone and the third. She knelt by the first and placed her hand on the sunbaked rock. The stones had no markings, but they were spaced almost exactly five feet apart.

  Jack had hidden this phone in a compartment beneath the carpet for a damn good reason. Using the Maps app was way out of his wheelhouse. “Pop, the phone tells me you were out here, but it doesn’t tell me why.”

  She scrolled to the next address. East Austin. She was convinced her old man had left her a trail of bread crumbs, and in her entire career, she’d never been afraid to chase a lead. But this time, she truly feared what she’d find.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday, June 25, 11:30 p.m.

  Faith didn’t give the man a second thought as she crossed the tiled lobby of the hotel. Laughter and the clink of glasses drifted out from the hotel bar as she stepped onto the elevator. Her attention shifted to room 701.

  As the gilded doors slid closed, a hand reached between and pushed them open. She tensed for a second, thinking her admirer had followed, but then breathed a sigh of relief as Hayden casually stepped into the elevator.

  He stood stock straight, staring ahead without acknowledging her. Broad shoulders, muscled thighs, and braced feet commanded most of the horizontal real estate, and over six foot two inches of height ate into a healthy portion of the elevator’s vertical space.

  “Looks like you made a new friend,” he said.

  Tucking her purse under her arm, she locked her gaze with his in the door’s reflection. “Not a friend.”

  “He’s been watching you for at least a half hour.”

  “As I’m sure half the people in that room were tonight.”

  Hayden was a foot from her, but his proximity warmed her skin. Touching him was tempting, but elevator cameras kept her gaze forward as overhead music reminded her of piña coladas and dancing in the rain. The lighted elevator panel ticked off the floors until reaching seven. Hayden placed his hand over the open door and waited for her to exit.

  She moved down the hallway, following the signs to 701. It felt good to be away from the crowds, the forced smiles and pretending.

  Hayden’s steady steps followed, and when they reached the door, he produced a key and opened it. She passed him and flipped on the lights.

  The room wasn’t fancy, but a shaving kit on the dresser, dry-cleaned shirts in the closet, and the closed curtains told her he’d been there earlier. He’d commented once that he lived out of hotel rooms for the most part and stayed on the go. She’d wager if she opened the curtains, she’d find a view of air-conditioning units or a brick wall. But then neither of them had come here for the sparkling view of Austin.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and removed her heels as he tossed his hat on the chair. Next came his jacket and tie, which he hung in the closet. He stepped back, sat on the edge of the bed, and removed his boots as she pulled off her earrings and set them by the television.

  This was how it had been with them. There was never a heady rush for either to get naked. Each took their time undressing, savoring the anticipation, looking at the other as if daring them to rush. It was sort of a game. Who would give in to temptation first?

  She unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off before she turned her back to him and felt his calloused fingers slowly pull down the back zipper of her pants, exposing her lace underwear. He trailed a finger up her spine to the clasp of her bra, which he unhooked.

  Her breath caught in her throat as her belly tightened. This was what she’d been craving since she’d last seen him four days ago. She wiggled the slacks over her hips and let them fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them and hung them and her blouse next to his clothes in the closet. Knowing he was watching, she slipped off her lace bra, panties, and lace-trimmed thigh highs. When she turned, he was no longer by the bed but standing inches from her. He still wore his khakis, but he’d stripped off his shirt.

  Again, she didn’t hurry. Let the anticipation build. Let the wanting grow so sharp that it cut away everything in h
er life.

  He glided his hands along her waist, but instead of pulling her toward him, he turned her toward the mirrored closet door.

  This was also how it went with them. Neither wanted to look into the other’s eyes. She didn’t want to see him as a person. And she guessed he was pretending she was the woman he still loved. His hand slid over her buttocks and squeezed hard enough to make her try to squirm away.

  He reached around and cupped her mound, rubbing it until she was wet. When she began to wriggle, he drove his fingers between the folds. She sucked in a breath, not raising her eyes to his because she didn’t want to see him. She only wanted to feel.

  His zipper opened, she heard the rip of foil, and he fumbled only for a moment before he pressed the tip of his erection against her bare skin. She flattened her hands against the mirror and arched toward him. He spread her legs and pushed into her with one hard thrust so abruptly her breath caught in her throat.

  He hesitated, allowing her body to adjust to him. Again, no kisses. No words. Just patience for her body to fully open. When the tightening eased, he moved inside her slowly as his fingers pressed against her now very moist center.

  He’d learned very quickly which buttons it took to set her on fire, and he was pressing them all. A moan escaped her lips as he shoved into her harder with a fevered thrust she’d not experienced with him before. The tight control he always maintained had slipped, and she could feel a creature inside of him stirring.

  He pushed into her faster, and she found herself racing toward the edge of an abyss that she so desperately wanted to tumble into. With him inside her, the world faded, and she could simply surrender to sensation.

  A groan rumbled in his chest, and for the first time she opened her eyes. He was staring at her with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

  She pushed his hand away and pressed her fingers to her clitoris. He gripped both her hips with his hands, and he thrust as she drew tighter and tighter circles around her core.

  And then a fuse lit, caught fire, and the explosion propelled her over the edge into the void. Her eyes closed, she arched back, and he thrust into her one last time before his body stiffened and the muscles in his neck flexed.

  Both stood still, breathless and savoring the last remnants of the climax. He smoothed his hand over her belly in a possessive, almost regretful way, as he slowly pulled out of her and stepped back.

  He vanished into the bathroom, and as he discarded his condom, she reached for her panties and bra. She shimmied into both and sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled her thigh highs on. He came out of the bathroom and shrugged on his shirt. She stepped into her pants and tucked in her blouse. Without a word she turned away from him, and he zipped them up. She worked the left and then right shoes on, and then tipping her head and jostling her hair back, she put her earrings back on.

  He was buttoning his shirt, but she could again feel him watching.

  She picked up her purse, caught the rigid set of his jaw. “Keep me posted on the Ledbetter case. And be safe, Captain.”

  “Will do.”

  As she moved past him, he caught her arm and held her. She watched, uncertain. And then he leaned in and for the first time, kissed her on the lips. It was still hungry, but there was also something deeper entwined with the desire.

  When he pulled back, she moistened her lips. “A kiss? Are we going steady, Captain?”

  “There’s nothing steady about us.”

  “Thankfully, no.”

  He released her arm. “Why’d you say yes to me the first time?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d been very self-conscious that first time he’d entered her, and he must have sensed it had been a while.

  Now without another word, she left the hotel room, the door shutting behind her as she made her way to the elevator. Wanting and loneliness trailed behind her, and she quickened her pace, knowing sooner or later they’d catch up to her.

  In his car outside the Driskill Hotel, he tugged at the cuffs of his custom-made shirt, pleased that he’d blended so well with the city’s finest in their swanky hotel. There was a time when he would never have made it past the front door. The bellman would have taken one look at his ripped jeans and dirty hands and called the cops. But those days, he kept reminding himself, were long gone. Not only would he never go back, but he would do whatever it took to keep them as far away from him as possible.

  He’d have followed Faith if not for the Texas Ranger who’d caught the elevator just as its doors were closing. He had seen the Ranger arrive earlier and noted the two had exchanged a few words, but then they had appeared to go their separate ways. Until the elevators.

  So Faith and the Ranger had a thing. Interesting. No one else had seemed to notice them. Attention to detail was what had gotten him off the streets and earned him a reputation as one of the best to call when a problem needed to be discreetly taken care of. Granted, this latest list of names was going to be a challenge, but that’s why he got paid the big bucks.

  The front doors of the hotel lobby opened, and Faith stepped out into the ring of light. She glanced at her phone as the bellman approached and a black four-door sedan pulled up. She tipped the bellman, slid into the back seat, and the car drove off, its taillights vanishing around the corner.

  When he’d seen her picture in the lobby, he’d made a few inquiries about her in general. She enjoyed a solid standing as a forensic pathologist, had a curious mind, and had a reputation for being tenacious. He wasn’t sure why the likes of Jack Crow and Faith McIntyre were on the same list, but it wasn’t for him to question, only to execute orders.

  He still didn’t know how much she did or didn’t know about the package, but that didn’t really matter. She was on the list, so he would make the time to have a chat with her.

  His phone vibrated with an alert from the camera he’d posted at the country ranch. As he glanced at the screen, he wasn’t sure what he expected. A random coyote. A sagebrush’s prickly arms reaching up toward a moonlit sky.

  He sure had not expected to see a woman walking toward the stones in the dark. She knelt, ran her hand over the rock, and then looked to the other two as if she’d recognized them for what they were.

  He stared at her face for a long moment. Then did a double take in the direction of the car that had just carried Faith away. The woman at the ranch looked exactly like Faith. Jack had been so mutinously silent during their chat, and now he knew why. There’d not been one baby on that night in 1988, but two. Twins.

  When the phone vibrated with a text, he cursed until he saw the number.

  He perched a cigarette on his lips and flicked the flint wheel of a gold-plated lighter until a flame appeared. He inhaled deeply, savoring the burn as the smoke flowed out of his nose and mouth.

  Are we on track with our project?

  He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette and then typed. All is going according to plan.

  Have you found it?

  He hesitated. Not yet. But I will.

  Watching the woman walk back to the truck that he knew belonged to Jack Crow, he could feel the skin on the back of his neck prickle the way it did when there was a problem. Who the hell was she? And then it hit him. She was Jack’s kid. Macy Crow. She was the little kid in all the photos he’d smashed. When she had looked up at the camera, her gaze had been defiant and annoyed.

  You need to wrap this up, his employer typed.

  So you’ve told me. He was a professional and didn’t need coaching.

  All this needs to go away quietly and quickly.

  The tone of the text reminded him that no matter how far he’d climbed, there would always be someone adding their two cents. Very annoying, and he had his limits. I’m on it.

  Macy had been to the ranch, no doubt tipped off by Crow. If she was curious enough to go to the ranch at night alone, she was tenacious like her old man. He admired her grit.

  Where would he send Macy next, if he were Crow?

  When
the answer came, he almost laughed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Monday, June 25, 11:50 p.m.

  Macy checked into a local, nondescript hotel that looked exactly like every other in the chain. With a pizza and diet soda and her backpack on her shoulder, she quietly slipped into a room near the staircase. Since she’d become an agent, she’d gotten more careful about knowing her exits and always having a retreat strategy mapped out in her head.

  She tossed the pizza box on the bureau and her backpack on the bed. She grabbed a slice of pizza and turned on the shower. As she pulled off her hair tie, she bit into the pizza and toed off her boots. The first bite reminded her she’d not eaten in almost a day, and she polished off the slice in seconds. She stripped off her jacket, weapon and holster, shirt, and jeans and kicked her dusty clothes to the side as the steam rose up in the bathroom.

  She stepped under the steaming spray, letting the heat sink into her muscles, and thought about what needed to be done. It was a given she would have to contact local police and let them know about the house and suspected old graves.

  It would be easy to stay in the shower and drain every last bit of hot water from the hotel boiler, but that wasn’t going to help Jack.

  “Get it together, Macy.” She shut off the water, toweled dry, and wrapped her hair and body in new towels. She grabbed two more slices of pizza, sat on her bed, and opened her computer. She went directly to YouTube and searched “Faith McIntyre, Travis County.”

  Several results appeared immediately. The top one was a news report from earlier in the summer titled SAN MARCOS’S BODY RANCH. She took another bite of pizza and clicked on the link.

  The first camera shots were of a metal fence enclosing land covered by tall grass and grazing goats. A young reporter stood at the entrance by a crude gate and started spouting statistics about the Texas State University Forensic Anthropology Center in San Marcos. It was a research facility stocked with donated bodies, stripped of all their clothing and laid out on their backs so that scientists could study decomposition rates. The camera panned over several bodies protected by wire cages.