by Rita Herron
He obviously didn’t feel the same way. He’d almost looked panicked when she’d joined him, then he’d bolted inside as quickly as he could.
She blinked away tears. This nasty headache and the trauma of being shot at and attacked were making her weepy and...weak.
She couldn’t fall into the trap of believing a relationship with Dex would last. It hadn’t before. And he hadn’t changed.
Had he?
She swallowed disappointment as the answer screamed in her head.
She breathed in the fresh air and scent of grass and wildflowers, and finished her coffee. Today she’d get the shelter back in shape. Then she could start back to work.
Work was exactly what she needed. Focusing on helping others distracted her from silly dreams that would never come true.
Dex poked his head out. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Thanks.” She stepped inside and joined him at the table, although an awkward silence fell between them. As soon as they finished, he cleared the table, and she hurried to dress. The scrubs were a stark reminder of what had happened the day before.
In the car, she texted April to inform her about the cleanup crew, then they stopped at her house. The sight of fingerprint dust and blood made her pause as she entered, and a shudder coursed through her as she relived the break-in.
“You okay?” Dex asked in a gruff voice.
She squared her shoulders, determined not to fall apart. “I need to clean in here, too.”
“When the crew finishes at the shelter, they can come here.”
She valued her independence, but she wasn’t a fool, either, so she agreed. She didn’t want a repeat of the night before. It might not end with minor injuries this time.
She hurried into the bedroom, stripped the scrubs and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. A quick exam in the mirror, and she winced at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the bruises on her forehead and neck.
No wonder Dex had avoided her this morning. She looked as if she’d been run over by a truck.
Reminding herself it didn’t matter, she grabbed her purse and joined him in the hall where he was waiting. He was studying the place where her attacker had died.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Lamar shot your attacker in the chest. I was just thinking that from where you were lying, if the intruder was facing you, when Lamar rushed in, he would have been behind the bastard.” He made a sound of frustration. “Lamar must have identified himself, and the guy swung around to face him, then Lamar shot him.”
“That makes sense,” Melissa said.
Dex nodded, although he remained quiet as they drove to the shelter. When they arrived, he scanned the property and walked her to the door. The cleanup crew hadn’t yet shown up, but they went inside. Dex hurried to the bunk room to see if Smith was hiding inside.
But he was gone.
* * *
“WHERE DO YOU think Smith would go?” Dex asked.
“I don’t know. He’s scared.” Melissa sighed. “Even without a threat, it’s hard for these drifters to stay put. Moving has become a way of life. It’s easier than getting attached and having to say goodbye.”
His eyes darkened. “Is that the way you feel?”
She shrugged. “Moving is all I’ve ever known.”
Another reason he needed to maintain his control. He’d had too many people walk out on him to chance it again. He’d seen that suitcase waiting and ready.
Hell, after this was over, he couldn’t blame her if she did want to move.
The crime scene cleanup crew arrived, and he showed them in, then explained about Melissa’s house.
He didn’t want to leave her alone, but at least people were here, and it was early morning, so she should be safe.
“I’m fine, Dex. I have some work to do in my office anyway.”
“Call me if you need me.”
Their gazes locked again, heat and emotions simmering between them.
“I’ll be back in a little while.” She nodded, and he left and drove to the former sheriff’s cabin on the lake.
Harrison had been elected as sheriff when Sheriff Dunar retired. He and his wife had settled into a peaceful retreat in the woods on the river.
Sheriff Dunar’s graying hair was patchy, his face thin and drawn. Although his belly suggested he probably enjoyed a beer or two while fishing.
“This is funny,” Sheriff Dunar said. “Just saw your brother Harrison a few months ago. And now you’re here.” He shoved a fishing hat on his head. “I was sorry about your daddy.”
Dex swallowed. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Is that why you’re here? ’Cause I thought he had an accident.”
“He did.” Dex explained about the shooting at the shelter and his theories regarding the missing homeless men. “A couple of homeless men also went missing near Tumbleweed around the time Chrissy disappeared. Do you remember those reports?”
Dunar stared out at the woods. “Yeah. Homeless Joe and Creepy Karl,” Dunar said. “Never found either of them, but Joe was a roamer. He’d been sleeping on the streets for years. Took odd jobs at different ranches for a while when he was younger. But after he had an accident with a bull, he landed near Tumbleweed.”
“You knew him?” Dex asked.
Dunar shrugged. “I saw him around town a few times. Seemed harmless. Think he and Honey Granger’s daddy were drinking buddies.”
“Who reported him missing?” Dex asked.
“Ethel Wiggins from the Baptist church. She volunteered carrying meals to the needy.”
“I’d like to talk to her,” Dex said.
“Afraid that’s not possible,” the sheriff said. “She passed about five years ago.”
Dammit. “And Karl? Why did they call him Creepy?”
“He was touched in the head,” Dunar said. “Used to string arrowheads together and wear ’em around his neck, then talked to himself all the time. Nothing coherent.”
Dex frowned. He and Chrissy had found dozens of arrowheads on Hawk’s Landing.
There were arrowheads all over Texas, though. Didn’t mean Karl had found any on the ranch.
He folded his hands, thinking. “The report on Chrissy’s disappearance indicated that a homeless man was a person of interest.”
Sheriff Dunar’s bushy brows bunched into a unibrow. “Yeah, but that old man died of liver failure.”
A dead end there. Unless someone had killed him and covered it up.
“Are you sure?” Dex asked.
The sheriff folded his arms. “That’s what the ME said. Why are you asking about these men? They were drifters. They moved around all the time. And to tell you the truth, once your sister and then your daddy disappeared, they took priority.”
Dex had mixed feelings about that. Selfishly he wanted his family to take priority, but...the sheriff shouldn’t have ignored these reports, either. “I think someone has been preying on homeless men, and that they’ve been doing it for nearly two decades and have gotten away with it.”
Shock streaked the sheriff’s eyes. “What? That’s crazy.”
Dex shook his head. “Maybe not.” It was possible that his father had been one of the victims. Someone could have poured that alcohol down his throat.
He needed to talk to the ME who’d autopsied his father. Make sure there weren’t injuries that could have caused him to crash other than alcohol. The booze could have been the killer’s way of covering up his crime.
A dark thought crept into his head. His father, the missing homeless men...if he was right, the crimes had begun on this man’s watch. Sheriff Dunar had been the only law enforcement eighteen years ago.
What if he’d known what was going on and had kept the truth hidden all these years?
* * *
MELISSA AND
APRIL spent the morning in the office while the crime scene crew cleaned up the common area in the shelter. April notified the other agencies to inform them that they were open again.
“The volunteer at Another Chance said they haven’t seen Gunther in over twenty-four hours,” April said.
“Do they have any idea where he went?”
April shook her head. “He said he’d found some work, and that he was going to take it.”
That could be a good thing. “What kind of work?”
“He wouldn’t say. She heard him talking about cattle to one of the other men, so maybe he’d gotten a job as a ranch hand. But when she asked him, he clammed up.”
Melissa rubbed her temple. Her headache was returning in full force. She hoped Gunther had found work and was trying to get back on his feet. But considering what had happened the last few days and Dex’s suspicions, worry gnawed at her.
The crime scene cleanup crew finished, and Melissa gave them her home address. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Mr. Hawk is sending a repairman to fix your broken window.”
Yes, that needed to be done.
She thanked them, then left April to finish ordering supplies and straightening the bunk room. Outside, she phoned a cab to drive her home. But a noise from the alley startled her, and she jerked her head around.
A low moan reverberated from behind a trash can. Heart racing, she inched toward the alley.
Another moan. The trash can rattled. Then a bloody hand reached around the side of it and clawed at the ground.
Chapter Eighteen
Fear seized Melissa at the sight of the bloody hand reaching toward her from the back of the trash can. Could be a drug dealer or victim of a crime. Or...Jim Smith. God, maybe someone had killed him and left him in the alley.
She pulled her phone from her pocket, but a voice called for help, and she rushed forward. She couldn’t see the man, but blood covered his fingers, and bloody prints marked the wall behind the dumpster.
She inched closer, scanning the area for trouble. Footsteps pounded the pavement down the alley. Pulse hammering, she veered around the edge of the dumpster.
“Help me...” the voice rasped.
A man in ragged jeans and a bloody plaid shirt lay facedown as he tried to crawl away from the wall. Emotions clogged her throat as he heaved for a breath.
Gently she caught his arm and rolled him to his side. Not a stranger or Smith. Gunther.
His face was ghost white, his eyes bloodshot and wide-eyed, his mouth gaping open as he struggled to draw a breath. Blood soaked his chest and both his hands, and pooled beneath his body. A drop of blood seeped from his nose.
She sat down on the ground beside him and pulled his head into her lap, soothing him with gentle strokes along his cheek. With her other hand she dialed 9-1-1. “Send an ambulance. Hurry, a man is hurt badly!” She gave the operator the address, praying Gunther made it.
His body jerked and convulsed, then he spit blood as he tried to speak.
“I’m here, Gunther,” she murmured. “Hang in there, help is on the way.”
He gasped, choking on garbled words. His bloody hand rose to claw at her arm, but he was so weak it fell to his side, and a moan rumbled from him.
“Please, Gunther, hang in there. You have to tell me who did this so I can make him pay.”
Another gasp. A siren wailed close by. Coming closer. The ambulance would be there soon. More noise down the street. Voices. Arguing. Someone running. What was going on?
She scanned the street, praying whoever had hurt Gunther wasn’t still lurking around.
The bloody hand clawed at her arm, urging her closer. He was going to tell her who’d done this.
She leaned closer, but his ragged breath puffed out. His eyelids flickered closed, then open, then his eyes rolled back in his head.
Panic made tears burn her eyes. “Gunther, please, hang in there,” Melissa whispered.
The siren wailed again. Louder. Tires screeched. Lights twirled in the parking lot of the shelter.
She rocked Gunther in her arms, begging him to stay alive. But another breath rasped out, and it turned out to be his last. He died in her arms.
* * *
DEX PHONED BAXTER to verify that he was home before he made the long drive to the man’s ranch. The housekeeper informed him that Baxter was at the auction house, so Dex headed that direction first.
He’d done his research this morning before Melissa had woken up. Vance Baxter had inherited his land from his father when Vance was only eighteen. Vance’s father died of a heart attack while driving his herd from one pasture to the next, and had collapsed right on their land.
According to his research, Vance’s mother fell ill and died a year after she lost her husband. Just as it had in his own family, the ranch went downhill after that.
Four years after Vance’s father’s death, the property was about to go into foreclosure. But Vance had taken business classes by then, and he managed to sell off a portion of land he wasn’t using to have cash to work with. Then he hired Emmet Wilson, to help him fine-tune his stock. Wilson’s techniques had garnered Vance a prize stud. Selling the stud’s sperm earned him enough profit to expand his herd, and his business took off. A couple of years later, he opened the auction house.
A large sign advertising the upcoming auction schedule hung in front of the auction house. Two trucks with trailers were parked to the side of the main building. A barn and pens for housing the cattle when they were transported here for auction day sat to the left while another building lay to the right.
Dex parked in front. The auction house looked simple and basic, but expensive deals were made in this facility. Vance Baxter had gone from nearly losing his family ranch to accumulating a small fortune. His business practices had earned him respect in the ranching community. If Vance’s father had lived, he would have been proud.
Dex knew what it was like to lose your father.
Then Vance had lost his mother, too. Those losses could have crushed him, but they seemed to have driven him to success. It was difficult not to admire him because he was a self-made icon in the ranching community. Ranchers traveled from all over Texas and even from other states to purchase one of his studs.
Although Dex had heard that Vance could be ruthless in business. Maybe his success had gone to his head? Or had he made his fortune by taking advantage of others?
A man in overalls and a cowboy hat strode from the building and climbed in one of the trucks that was hitched to a trailer. His scowl made Dex wonder just what had transpired between him and Baxter. He was leaving with an empty trailer, too.
The sign out front indicated the next auction was at six that night.
Was the rancher returning for the auction?
A couple of workers exited another building to the left as Dex slid from his SUV. A blonde woman with big hair and heavy makeup greeted Dex as he entered the front door. Her ruby-red lips parted into a grin as her gaze skated over him.
“Hey there, cowboy, you here to register for the auction?”
Dex offered her a small smile. Melissa, with her simple clothes and no makeup, was far more attractive than this dolled-up female. “No, I’d like to talk to Vance Baxter.”
She checked the calendar. “Do you have an appointment?”
Dex shook his head. “No, but I think he’ll see me. Just tell him Dexter Hawk from Hawk’s Landing is here to talk to him. I’m interested in his services.”
A lie would get him through the door faster than the truth.
The girl excused herself, then returned a minute later with Baxter behind her.
He was in his forties now, tall and lean with a goatee and silver streaking the hair at his temples. Although he was dressed in a Western shirt and jeans, he wore an expensive-looking gold watch and a gold signet ring with t
he logo for his business etched on it.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Dex extended his hand and Baxter shook it. “Dexter Hawk.”
Baxter gave a slight nod of recognition. “I met one of your brothers a while back. You own Hawk’s Landing, right?”
Dex nodded. “Sure do. We’ve been hearing about your success for a while now.”
The man grinned. “Thanks. Come on back.” Baxter motioned for him to follow, and Dex walked behind him through a set of doors, then down a narrow hall to a massive office on the right. Sleek cherrywood furniture mixed with metal bookshelves gave the place a rustic yet classy feel.
Photographs on the wall showcased Baxter accepting numerous awards for his breeding and included pictures of satisfied customers and their purchases—a testimonial for his business obviously meant to impress potential customers and buyers.
“So, Mr. Hawk, my receptionist said you’re interested in my services. I thought you and your brothers were focusing on the equine business.”
Dex offered a small nod, surprised that Baxter knew that much about him and Hawk’s Landing. “Yes, at this point we are. But we’re open to expansion. You’re familiar with our ranch?”
“You and your family have been in the news a lot lately.”
Dex grimaced at that comment.
“I was sorry to hear about your daddy,” Vance said, his voice sincere. “A shame after all these years that it turned out that way.”
“Yes, it was,” Dex said. More than a shame. “You have an impressive operation. Congratulations on your success.”
“Staying relevant is key,” Vance said. “I try to keep up with the latest science and breeding techniques. So far, it’s worked.” He lifted a brochure from a stack on his desk and pushed it toward Dex. His chest puffed up with pride as he described his connection with Emmet Wilson.
“If you’re interested in expanding the cattle side of your operation, I’m holding an auction tonight. Six o’clock.”
“Maybe next time. I’ll certainly discuss it with my brothers,” Dex said.
Baxter leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, scrutinizing Dex. “So, why are you really here, Mr. Hawk?”