by Rita Herron
Was he apologizing before the storm? “It is personal to me,” she said quietly as she opened the door.
Lolita rushed toward her, her hands plastered to her cheeks, her eyes filled with concern. “Oh, my goodness, Miss Jessie, we have been so worried. Wilbur told us you were attacked. Your daddy is frantic.”
Jessie’s heart clenched. “I’m fine, Lolita.” She gestured toward Cabe. “This is Ranger Sergeant Cabe Navarro. Where’s Dad?”
Lolita’s once-over was filled with disdain. “In his study. I tried to convince him to go back to bed, but he insisted he couldn’t rest until he saw you.”
“Thanks, Lolita. I’ll go and assure him I’m fine.”
Inhaling a deep breath, Jessie silently prayed her father was coherent as she crossed the foyer to his study. She felt Cabe’s eyes boring into her back, and hoped she could pull off this meeting without any trouble.
Palms sweaty, she rapped on the door, then pushed it open. “Dad, it’s me. And Ranger Sergeant Navarro is with me.”
Her father pivoted his office chair toward her, then stood. Exhaustion lined his face along with worry. “My God, Jessie, Wilbur said you were attacked, that you were in the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I should have called, but it happened late last night and you were in bed. I’m fine, really.”
He swept her into a hug, which made fresh tears swell in Jessie’s eyes. It was the first time he’d shown affection toward her since she’d returned.
“I was so worried about you, baby.” He pulled back to examine her. “What happened?”
Cabe cleared his throat. “Someone assaulted Jessie in the barn, sir. I recovered a hammer I believe her assailant used. Hopefully we can lift some trace from it and nail whoever did it.”
Her father’s gaze darted to Cabe and he released her. Deep groove lines fanned besides his mouth as he scowled. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Cabe extended his hand. “Ranger Navarro. I’m here investigating the recent murders.”
Her father’s forehead creased with a scowl. “And what exactly are you doing with my daughter?”
Jessie pressed a soothing hand to her father and urged him back to his chair. “Sergeant Navarro came out to the barn to investigate my attack last night, Dad. And he drove me home from the hospital.”
“Why would someone want to hurt my daughter?” Jonah asked.
The tension thrumming through the room made Jessie’s head throb again.
“I don’t know, sir. Perhaps someone in town thinks she’s covering for your crimes.”
Jessie gasped at his bluntness. “Cabe—”
“We all know that the land you purchased was made through an illegal deal, Mr. Becker,” Cabe continued. “And the most recent cadaver I found proves that that land is a Native American burial ground.”
“I had no knowledge of a burial ground when I purchased that property. Billy Whitley faked those papers.” Jonah rubbed a hand over his chin. “Why can’t you let it go? That damn Whitley man wrote a confession before he killed himself.”
Cabe cleared his throat. “We now believe that note was forged, Mr. Becker. That Billy didn’t commit suicide, that he was murdered. And—” he paused, his gaze meeting Jessie’s “—forensics proves that the clay used to glue the murder victims who were buried in the ritualistic style came from your property.”
Jessie’s arm tightened around her father’s shoulders. “Anybody could have sneaked onto the ranch, dug up the soil and buried those bodies while we were all asleep. Someone is framing my father.”
“Maybe,” Cabe admitted. “All the more reason for me to continue this investigation.” He removed the warrant from his rawhide jacket. “Sir, I have a warrant requesting a sample of your DNA and blood.”
“Why my blood?” Jonah asked.
“Because the killer’s blood was mixed in the face paint used on the bodies. If you are innocent, then letting me test your blood can eliminate you as a suspect.”
Her father’s strained expression sent alarm through Jessie. She hadn’t been around her father in years. How well did she know him?
If he was innocent, why did he look so nervous?
Chapter Nine
Cabe took the DNA and blood sample and locked them in his crime kit. Then he left a disgruntled Jessie with her equally hostile father while he searched Trace’s room for the .38. As he expected though, Trace’s suite was clean.
The house furnishings had a country feel. Paintings of horses and the rugged land decorated the walls, antiques, oak and pine furniture filled the rooms, and handmade quilts covered the beds.
A room with a four-poster bed draped in pink satin drew his eye, the rosebud wallpaper suggesting it was Jessie’s room. Or it had been in the past. The closet was bare of a woman’s clothes, and there were no personal photos on the dresser or walls. He made a mental note to ask Jessie where she was sleeping. If not in the main house, she could be staying in one of the smaller cabins on the Double B.
On the chance that Trace had hidden the gun somewhere else in the house, he searched the upstairs quarters, the closets, drawers, then the downstairs suite which belonged to Jonah.
Inside Jonah’s bathroom, he found several bottles of prescription pills, an array of vitamins, medication for high blood pressure, cholesterol, arthritis…Was the old man’s health failing?
No gun anywhere in his room though, so he headed to the kitchen. The cook glared at him, and he asked her to step out of the room while he searched. The pantry was stocked with food, liquor and a variety of teas. He pushed the cans and boxes around, even checked the canister set in case Trace had ditched the gun inside, but found nothing. The drawers held cooking supplies but no gun either.
Frustrated, he moved to the outside of the house, checked the garage, the gardening shed, the trash. But his search yielded nothing.
By the time he returned to Jonah’s study, Trace had joined Jessie and her father.
Animosity radiated from Trace. “Dad called and said you were searching for a gun.”
Suspicion mounted in Cabe’s chest. “You own a .38? Where is it, Trace?”
Trace gave him a smug smile. “I did. But I loaned it to Ellie a few months ago.”
Ellie? Evidence was stacking up against her. “I guess I’ll have to talk to her again then.”
“It won’t do you any good,” Trace said snidely. “Ellie said the gun went missing over a month ago.”
Cabe clamped his mouth tight. “Did she file a report?”
“Yeah, with the sheriff’s office. You can check.”
“I will,” Cabe said. Then he directed his gaze to Jessie. “I’m going to check out the burial sites and see if Dr. Jacobsen has made any new discoveries.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jessie said.
Cabe frowned. “Are you sure you’re up to that? The doctor ordered you to rest.”
She folded her arms, her jaw set stubbornly. “I’ll rest once I prove that you’re wrong about my father, Ranger. I want my family’s name cleared and you off the land as soon as possible.”
Cabe gritted his teeth. So, it was back to calling him Ranger instead of Cabe. Damn.
Not that he could blame her. She probably felt violated now he’d searched her family home.
Still, his job demanded he explore every lead and suspect. Even if he had to hurt Jessie in the process.
“I’d like to stop by my cabin, shower and change clothes before we go to the site,” Jessie said as they stepped back outside. “I can meet you out there.”
Cabe grunted. “No. I told you, you’re in my protective custody now. I’ll make a call to the sheriff and verify that Ellie filed that report on the gun while I wait.”
Anything to distract himself from the fact that Jessie would be stripping naked in the bathroom, and that he had to keep his hands off.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING to spend the night at my house,” Jessie argued as Cabe drove her to the cabin she kept on the ranch.
&n
bsp; Cabe shot her an impatient look. “Jessie, someone tried to kill you last night in the barn, and before that we were both shot at in town. I am staying with you, so get used to it.”
She’d like to get used to it. That was the problem.
But having him in her home, near her things, leaving his scent and the imprint of his body behind would be pure torture.
Still, she refused to give him the satisfaction of revealing how much he rattled her. And how much she wanted a repeat of that kiss.
Instead, she muttered a sound of disgust and stared out the window, the sight of the horses running freely in the pasture a reminder that she was no longer free.
“Sounds more like prison,” Jessie muttered.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said in a low voice. “But it’s better than being dead.”
Of course he was right. But she didn’t have to like it.
A minute later, he parked at her cabin, then she jumped from his SUV and hurried to the door. She needed to escape Cabe’s presence. He was confusing the hell out of her. Last night when she’d been injured, he’d been protective and tender. And when he’d shared the story about his family and his brother’s death, she’d felt a connection, an intimacy that had roused deep feelings for the man.
He had obviously been caught between two worlds, two cultures, his entire life. And now to return and face the same issues and prejudices had to be difficult.
And that kiss…that kiss had been erotic and sensual and had incited a hunger in her body that only he could sate.
Damn the man.
But today he’d acted as if that kiss had never happened. As if it had meant nothing. As if they were complete strangers.
He was back to professional cop mode—cold, distant, brooding. He could arrest her father and throw him in jail without hesitation—or concern for her.
Irritated with herself for wanting him anyway, she left him standing in her den, looking out of place next to her feminine décor and antiques.
Seething, she rushed to her bedroom and bath, then stripped her clothes, tossed them in the laundry basket, and climbed in the shower beneath the warm spray of water. The sharp pain in her temple had subsided into a dull ache, and exhaustion pulled at her. All she wanted to do was crawl in bed and sleep the day, and her worries, away.
Except she didn’t want to crawl in bed alone. She wanted Cabe tucked in beside her, holding her, caressing her, running his fingers over her bare skin and making her body hum.
Closing her eyes, she imagined him opening the bathroom door, stripping and standing in the midst of the steamy small room. She could see his powerful muscles bunch on his arms, his broad chest rising and falling as he stared at her, his thick long length hardening and throbbing to be inside her.
Stop it, Jessie. You’re not going to throw yourself at a man like your mother.
Especially not Cabe Navarro, the Texas Ranger who wants to put your father in jail.
Darn it. She rinsed, climbed out and dried off. While she’d been fantasizing about the man, he was probably snooping around her cabin looking for evidence to incriminate her family.
It was up to her to save her father.
And the only way she knew to do that was to help Cabe find out the truth about the murders.
Then he could leave town, and she could forget that she’d ever wanted him.
CABE PUNCHED IN the sheriff’s number while he studied Jessie’s house. Light pine furniture and earth tones dominated the connecting den and kitchen. An afghan embroidered with horses draped the top of a crème sofa, and candlewick throw pillows were scattered across the back. Splashes of soft green in the two wing-backed chairs and matted photos added color.
Interesting that she’d chosen to stay in this small place when the main house had enough room to accommodate her.
But she and Trace obviously didn’t get along, so she probably needed the distance between them. God knew he couldn’t stand the bastard.
Sheriff Hardin’s voice came over the line, yanking him back to the case.
“Hardin, it’s Navarro. Listen, I searched the Becker ranch house for that .38 but didn’t find it. Trace admitted he owned one, but said he gave it to Ellie.”
“Trace gave Ellie a gun?”
“Yeah. Apparently they’ve been having an affair.”
“Geesh. That’s news,” Hardin muttered.
“Shocked me, too. And Jessie had no idea.” The shower water kicked off, and Cabe inhaled a deep breath, forcing his mind off an image of Jessie’s naked body. “Anyway, Trace claims that Ellie told him the gun went missing about a month ago. Did she file a report?”
“Not with me, but she might have filed it with one of my deputies. Let me check.”
Papers rustled in the background, and Cabe walked over to the fireplace and studied the collection of iron horses Jessie had lined up on the mantel. Odd, but there were no family photos, no cozy shots of her and Jonah here either.
“Here it is,” Hardin said, interrupting his thoughts. “It was dated six weeks ago. Shane Tolbert took the report.”
“Tolbert. Funny how his name keeps cropping up.”
Hardin made a clicking sound with his teeth. “I know, it is disturbing.”
“So what was Ellie’s story?” Cabe asked.
“According to the report, Ellie insisted the .38 was in her purse at one of the rallies. A fight broke out, and later she discovered it was missing.”
“So any number of people could have stolen it.”
“Yeah. Looks that way.”
Another dead end. “I have the DNA and blood sample from Jonah Becker. I’m going to run by the burial sites and see if Dr. Jacobsen has found anything else, then talk to Charla Whitley and meet up with you later.”
Jessie appeared in the doorway just as he ended the call. She’d swept her long curls into a ponytail, pulled on a hot-pink T-shirt and jeans, all of which should have made her look like a tomboy. But the pink shirt highlighted the natural rosy glow of her lips and cheeks. And the way the thin fabric hugged her breasts made his mouth water. Dragging his gaze from her chest, he forced his eyes south. But that proved no better. Those tight jeans showcased hips and lean muscular legs that he wanted wrapped around him.
Damn.
She jammed her Stetson on her head. “Ready?”
Cabe nodded, and they walked silently to his SUV, the midday sun heating his back and neck. Five minutes later, he parked at the site where they’d discovered the bodies. Crime scene tape still roped off the various areas, and Dr. Jacobsen had built a platform over the excavation site of the Native American graves to protect the grounds and bones.
A slight rumbling beneath Cabe alerted him to the disgruntled spirits below, the whisper of the spirits rising up to him from their graves and pleading for justice. War drums pounded, the screams of the dead piercing and painful.
A small handful of students had gathered to assist Dr. Jacobsen, who was running some kind of machine over the grounds. When she looked up and spotted him, she stopped, leaned it against an oak and approached them.
“What are you doing?” Cabe asked.
Nina tilted the brim of her cap, squinting through the sun. “Using ground penetrating radar—it’s called GSSI, Subsurface Interface Radar—to search for other graves. The equipment can detect coffins as well as bones buried beneath the ground.”
Cabe scoured the land visually, wondering how many bodies might actually be buried here. “Have you found any other burial spots?”
An excited smile spread over her face. “I sure have. Two so far, but there are more, I just know it.”
Jessie’s brow furrowed. “You found two more. My God.”
Nina motioned for them to follow her. “I also unearthed two more artifacts which confirm our theory about the bodies being Natives. Come and see.”
Cabe and Jessie trailed her to a workstation she’d created beneath a tarp, and she indicated two items bagged and lying on the folding table.
/> Cabe’s breath stilled in his chest. A gold armband adorned with garnets and Native American etchings—rare and probably priceless. And a pacho, a prayer stick, notched out of painted cottonwood.
“Those are beautiful,” Jessie whispered.
“And extremely valuable,” Nina added. “I also researched that headdress you found, Cabe, and confirmed that it was dated back to the 1700s.”
Cabe whistled. “You’re right. Collectors would pay a fortune for these as well as that headdress.”
“My father didn’t know anything about this,” Jessie said defensively. “He wanted ranch land, not Native American artifacts.”
But that antiquities broker, and Billy and Charla Whitley, had known, and they’d probably realized they had a treasure chest at their fingertips.
And if someone intended to expose the truth and stop their treasure hunting, any one of them might have killed to protect their secret fortune.
AS CABE DROVE TOWARD Charla Whitley’s house, Jessie twisted her hands in her lap.
She had to accept that the land her father purchased was a Native American burial site, and that it rightfully belonged to the Comanche people. Perspiration beaded on her neck, making her hair stick to her skin.
The only question in her mind was if her father had known that he’d bought it illegally. She wanted to protect him, but if he had knowingly cheated and robbed the Natives, her respect for him would be crushed.
Her cell phone jangled from her purse, and she grabbed it and connected the call. “Hello.”
“This is Dr. Taber. May I speak to Miss Becker?”
Jessie’s heart thumped. “This is Jessie.”
“Miss Becker. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to touch base. I examined your father yesterday, and I hate to say it, but his mental capacity and coherency seems to be declining even more.”
Worry knotted Jessie’s stomach. She wanted good news. “What do you think is going on, Doctor?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll probably need to run another battery of tests. I’ve consulted a specialist, and I’ll be back in touch to schedule them. Meanwhile, maintain his medicine regime.”