by Addison Fox
The bright neon lights of Manuel’s Kitchen came up on his right and he turned off, images of riding a desk and staring at a computer all day fading as fresh tortillas and warm tacos filled his mind instead. He swung into a parking space and saw Belle find one a few cars down. He strolled down to meet her, curious to see she’d added lipstick and had done something to her eyes.
“Makeup for Manuel’s?”
“It’s a Friday night out. Even if it’s only with you, it’s nice to remember I do have lady parts every now and again. I fixed up because it might be nice if someone took an interest in looking at them.”
The dig was direct and intentional and he knew damn well not to rise to the bait. Which made it that much more fun to do so. He leaned in, effectively caging her between her seat and open door. “Darlin’. I always notice your lady parts.”
“Oh, Tate. Such sweet words.” She fluttered her eyes in exaggerated movements. “It wasn’t your notice that was the problem. It’s how you struggled with the fact I have a brain that caused our problems.”
Belle ducked out beneath his arm, effectively escaping the small area and neatly turning the moment on him. He had to give her credit for execution and a direct hit and slammed the door in her wake.
Point one, Granger.
He followed behind like a puppy, the sexy sway of her hips adding a second point to her side of the tally column. Tate cursed himself for the foolish decision to head here instead of cornering her in the kitchen that morning and telling her what he knew. What had seemed like a good idea at the time was fast shaping up to be one of his dumber moves and he sped up to grab the front door of Manuel’s, determined to maintain that small measure of gentlemanly behavior.
He knew damn well the woman had a brain. And contrary to what she thought, his issue wasn’t with what went on in her head. It was the stubborn persistence in her heart that caused their problems.
Manuel’s was busy but they’d managed to hit a rare lull and were given the back booth as requested. The hostess didn’t recognize them and for that Tate was grateful. He wanted quiet time with Belle and nobody paying attention. Nor was he interested in having gossip travel its way back up to the Pass.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” said Belle. “It’s nice to see it hasn’t really changed.”
“I haven’t been here in a dog’s age myself.”
The disbelief on Belle’s face registered momentarily before she seemed to pull back, the surprise in those slightly widened eyes vanishing. “I guess I figured you would’ve come here more often.”
“Just never seemed like the place to come back to.”
And it hadn’t. Although it hadn’t struck him before they began dating, it soon became evident that everybody in Midnight Pass was interested in watching the evolving romance between Belle Granger and Tate Reynolds. The romance had been new enough for the two of them and they’d both quickly realized they needed a few places to call their own.
So they’d gone exploring. And in their explorations had found places like Manuel’s, as well as a quiet holler near Reynolds land and the back study cubby at the seldom-visited Midnight Pass library. They’d also found a park near El Paso and more fun than either would have expected watching the elephants at the El Paso Zoo. Those quiet places had been theirs. Spots they ran to where they could be alone with each other.
A few special places to shut out the world.
Their waitress came to take their order. She had the look of the harried and slightly hapless, and Tate gave her his broadest smile. “Hey there.” The smile did its job, putting their waitress at ease, and in a matter of moments she had their drink orders and was reading off the specials.
Tate ordered an old favorite—beef enchiladas—and knew from experience they’d be perfect. Belle seconded the order and their waitress toddled off, promising a quick delivery on the drinks and a basket of hot tortilla chips coming right out.
“How do you do that?” Belle asked.
“Do what?”
“It’s so effortless. You smile and people just seem to fall in line. Women,” Belle added, “especially.”
“For the record, I did nothing but be nice. And for the second record, you’re the only one who doesn’t fall in line effortlessly.” He had no idea why he went there, but the fact they seemed unable to spend ten civil minutes with each other likely had something to do with it.
How did she do this to him? It was oddly effortless, yet always present.
More to the point, why couldn’t he resist?
Despite being a youth who had committed more than his fair share of high jinks, he had grown up. He was an adult who had responsibilities to his family, to their ranch and to the business of Reynolds Station.
Even more important than having responsibilities, he actually liked having them. Living a life with purpose, rising each day to conquer their corner of the world—it mattered.
And so, he acknowledged, did Belle.
And wasn’t that the problem?
“What did you want to talk about?” Belle asked. The subject change was obvious, but at least it got them past their earlier, tense words.
“You met one of my ranch hands, Tris Bradshaw, last week during the interviews?”
“Yes.”
“Tris is pretty new to the ranch and I haven’t known him very long, but I think this is worth sharing.”
“Do you suspect him of something?”
“I considered it at first. But now I’m not so sure.”
Belle’s eyes sharpened as she leaned forward. “Do you know something, Tate?”
“Tris mentioned to me he’s seen things out at the far end of the ranch. We put him on fence line detail his first few months. It’s a good way to grow familiar with the land and the property, understanding what’s ours and the vast area that Reynolds Station covers. Anyway, he mentioned seeing some depressions in the grass and evidence of some strange pressure against the fence line.”
“Pressure?”
“Not the sort an animal would make, but what looked like a human testing the fence line. Like a piece or two of fence that had bent and come loose from the post.”
“Was it in the same area we found the body?”
“No, and that’s what was so interesting about Tris’s remarks. He said he’s found these pressure points at different places and at different ends of the property. Said it seemed weird at the time but not weird enough to give it much notice. He fixed the gaps and moved on. Until now.”
Belle Granger might have a poker face, but Tate still saw the telltale signs of her interest. She was mad, and if he wasn’t mistaken—and he didn’t think he was—disappointed, as well.
“I interviewed him. He never mentioned a word about this.” Belle’s eyes flashed with irritation, those pretty blue depths going full cop on him.
“Before you get your back up, why don’t you hear me out?”
“I’m not getting my back up. I’m trying to understand why an interview subject didn’t tell me pertinent information. Information I probed for repeatedly.”
Tate got why she was mad. If the situation had been reversed, he couldn’t honestly deny that he wouldn’t be pissed off, too. But he also couldn’t stand by and let one of his men be dismissed. Or let their worry over losing their job cloud his judgment.
“You don’t think they’re scared of you? Scared of what happened on the ranch?” Tate fought to keep his voice level, but all of a sudden, the fear he’d been hiding inside himself needed to find a way out. “You don’t think this is disruptive and upsetting? To all of us.”
“Believe me, I understand the disruption. I’m investigating a murder in my own town. On the land of people I care about. Deeply.”
The confession caught him off guard momentarily, but he rallied quickly. “You don’t think these men aren’t questioning that you thin
k they did it?”
“I’m not suggesting Tris or anyone else committed a crime. I’m suggesting I need to know what happened. Asking questions is the way to find that out. To find leads. Tris’s instincts are real, a product of working the land like he does. What he found is something we need to look into so we can capture the person who did do this. His unwillingness to talk to me has now let this go for almost ten days.”
Ten days.
Belle’s words leaped up and slapped him in the face. Ten days when the police could have been investigating, looking for information or perhaps finding a lead to catch a killer.
“I’m doing my job, Tate. What don’t you understand that?”
“I understand it fine. Just fine.”
He more than understood it. In this case, his own stubborn behavior had contributed to making the situation worse.
“But you don’t like it. Which brings us right back to the same place we always land.”
“What place is that?” The question was a lie because he knew exactly what place Belle spoke of. How could he not? The repetition of their fights was something he could set his watch by.
And by keeping this to himself for a few days—by not encouraging his men to speak to her when they had a chance—he allowed his pride to contribute to a killer roaming free.
* * *
Belle took the last bite of her enchiladas and fought the groan working its way up her throat. She’d eaten too much. Of course, it had been inevitable. The mix of fresh tortillas wrapped around beef so tender it practically melted would cause anyone to overeat.
That and the fact that shoving food into her mouth had kept it occupied and off a conversation with Tate.
She’d try to remember that tidbit in the morning when her pants didn’t button.
God, would they ever find a way past their endlessly circular arguments? Even if her comments had put Tate in his place.
She understood his ranch hand’s fear. People didn’t like talking to cops. Whether it was the over-dramatization of far too many TV shows or the simple reality of standing next to somebody who had the power to change their life.
But dammit, Tris’s fence line information was something she could’ve used.
The past week had provided surprisingly few leads, despite the fact that the entire department was working the case, either directly or during free time. They’d tugged hard on the drug angle, but so far, those loyal to the region’s runners had been unwilling to give up information. The entire department, as well as the Feds, had all tried various tactics on each of their informants but to no avail.
When sources like that dried out, Belle knew, things were in a bad place.
Even El Asesino had gone to ground.
The fact that all the normal chatter they recorded on his business had gone quiet for the past week and a half was a significant indicator that something was going on.
What the time had given them, was an opportunity to investigate similar crimes. Just the day before, she’d been pulled into a small, top secret task force and briefed on the details discovered on Jesse Abrogato’s body. The findings had been concerning, but it was even more troubling to realize this MO appeared to be a match for two other open investigations.
The initial irritation that had flowed freely at being kept in the dark on the details had morphed and changed quickly. Upon closer reflection and a deeper dive into the first two murders, Belle better understood the hesitation of the department brass.
It appeared as if they had a serial killer on their hands.
And the department’s complete inability to capture—or even garner a working lead on—a very elusive killer had the brass worried. The Feds, too.
She’d been brought into a small circle of trust because it was her case—a circle that didn’t extend too far past the chief, the Feds assigned to the Pass and the captain. And since the crimes had all been perpetrated against criminals, word had been contained up to now. The public’s general safety realistically wasn’t at risk.
But Belle also knew that if something like this got out—especially the holding back of it—the news had the potential to cause significant damage to people’s confidence. Confidence that was already stretched because of all the problems that flowed back and forth over the border.
“Why so serious, Belly? Didn’t you like your enchiladas?”
She fought the grimace at his use of that stupid nickname and ignored the shot of warmth it sent to the very place he mentioned. “I liked my enchiladas just fine. What about you?”
Tate patted his stomach and sat back. “I’ve missed these. And somehow managed to forget just how good and perfect they are.”
Sort of like you, Belle thought to herself. “You really haven’t come back here?”
“No.”
She wondered at the quick response. More to the point, wondered that he didn’t elaborate. “I haven’t been here either. Not since—” she hesitated, then continued. “Not since we used to come here. It’s nice to know it’s still just as good as before.”
“Some things just have staying power, I guess.”
She didn’t miss the innuendo, or the reality that the two of them hadn’t had staying power, but something in his words stung all the same. It was silly to wish for things that couldn’t be.
It was even worse to long for the things that you couldn’t have.
* * *
Jesse Abrogato’s funeral was a joke. An atrocity. How could anyone, including a priest, stand over the casket and intone words of praise and love and forgiveness on a killer? How could a man of the cloth speak of things like perpetual light and eternal rest? In hell, he hoped.
No, he corrected the line of his thoughts. He prayed. Prayed his deeds would be rewarded and his willingness to do the work others refused would someday be recognized for the gift to humanity it really was.
From his view at the back, he could see how the weeping women had assembled themselves beside the casket. A line of solidarity.
A mother’s love. A sister’s devotion.
What a laugh.
The woman had raised a killer and the sisters had turned a blind eye, and he was expected to feel sympathy? They all were?
Yet somehow they did. Everyone assembled had their tissues and their tears, their kind words of sympathy and their memories of the dead as they spoke to the grieving mother, the crying sisters.
Where was the censure? The questions? When had the woman lost her focus on being a good mother, raising a fine and honorable son? Why hadn’t she forced the boy to change his life?
Even now, she wore clothing that was likely paid for by drug money. Wore jewelry that came from the same. And she stood in the midst of a rich funeral and cried for the dead.
Yet he was supposed to feel bad or guilty or bereft at her loss? Supposed to feel bad or guilty for his own decision to act? To do something?
Never, he thought to himself as he settled into the back row and watched the assembled crowd. He’d burn in hell first.
Chapter 9
Belle reread the small funeral card before slipping it into her purse. She’d purposely arrived early, hoping to recognize anyone who appeared out of place or unusual, but saw nothing. Even now, well after the body had been laid to rest, she hadn’t seen anything out of place.
Instead, she watched the steady tears and endless grief of a family torn apart.
Another soul lost to the drug trade. Was that part of the grief? Part of the sadness? His family’s realization that they not only lost a loved one, but one who’d hurt others?
She’d been a cop long enough to have developed a thick skin. She understood you couldn’t save everyone, nor were you meant to. But dammit, some days it hurt more than others. And in the worst way, today was about loss.
The loss of a life. The loss of a loved one. And the loss of
ever having an opportunity to make different choices.
Belle glanced around the funeral home, her gaze skittering from family members to friends to what were likely acquaintances. Friends of the mother and sisters, all there to show their support. She saw the plainclothes they’d put in the back, there to keep additional eyes on the proceedings and make sure that nothing inappropriate went on. Jesse Abrogato had lived a tough life and while they been unable to pin his murder on another rival gang, no one was taking any chances.
And didn’t that sting?
It had been eleven days since the body was found and they were no closer to having any leads than when it started. She’d been over and over Reynolds land with the chief and had scheduled a follow-up on the lead from Tate. She planned to ride the fence line on Monday with his ranch hand Tris Bradshaw. Since the line had been repaired, she had little hope it would make a difference, but she’d do it.
She had to do it. Had to do something.
Because so far they’d found nothing.
Belle originally wanted to believe it was all a random act of violence—something that was once and done, a tragic end to a life full of poor decisions—but the recent news from the chief made that impossible.
Abrogato’s death wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Nor were the implications of a killer on the loose something they could ignore. It didn’t matter who the killer had targeted; it was their job to find him or her and take them down. Hard.
* * *
Belle drove through the downtown streets of Midnight Pass, the sorrow and melancholy that had ridden her throughout the funeral not quite done with her. That weird mix of sadness and vengeance didn’t sit well with her, and all she wanted was to clear her head.
It was Saturday, which meant she didn’t need to go back to work. And she was smart enough to know that eleven days straight without a break wasn’t smart either. So the rest of the afternoon would be for her. Taking a right at the edge of town, she headed for the small park that had been updated and refined over the past few years.