Brock lowered his gun and blew out a sigh. “Clear.”
Holstering her weapon, she asked, “What do you think about that message?”
He got to his feet and walked into the bathroom to grab a towel. Using it, he pulled the curtain back and together they examined the writing that glared back at them.
“Leave or Die,” she read.
EIGHT
“Well,” Brock said, “it tells us one thing. We’re in the right place, asking the right questions.”
“And stirring things up.”
“Which you said you weren’t going to do,” he reminded her, tongue in cheek.
Shooting him a look that said he wasn’t funny, she sighed. “I don’t suppose it’s worth calling the forensics team back here from El Paso, is it?”
Brock rubbed his chin as he studied the writing. “I don’t think so. You and I can gather the evidence as well as any team. The car was a little beyond my abilities, but this… I have a camera in my car. Let me get some pictures.”
“What about a fingerprint kit?”
Raising a brow, he asked, “There’s probably five thousand different prints in this bathroom. You don’t think that would be a waste of time?”
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “This place was pretty clean when we checked in. It had been scrubbed down. I’m thinking it might be worth a shot.”
Brock shrugged. “All right, I’ll bring the fingerprint kit, too. When my car was dropped off, it should have been equipped with everything I had in the other one.” Looking around, he frowned.
She noticed. “What?”
“Whoever did this took the evidence with him.”
“Is it spray paint?”
“I think so. Doesn’t look like it was brushed on.” He leaned in closer, lips pursed. “Yeah, definitely sprayed.” With a gloved finger, he touched it then looked at the glove. “And dry. It was probably done shortly after we left the hotel.”
“So, where’s the can? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She didn’t like the look in his eye. Warily, she questioned, “Where are you thinking of looking for that can?”
A smile started at one corner of his lips. He really did have beautiful lips. She blinked and focused on what he was saying.
“Exactly where you’re thinking I’m thinking.”
She groaned, her brief romantic thoughts dissolving like fog in the morning sun. “Ugh. I hope you’ve got some extra sets of gloves in that well-equipped car of yours. Dumpster diving is definitely my least favorite sport.”
“Weak stomach?” He smirked.
Narrowing her eyes at him, she gave a tight smile. “What, you think a woman can’t handle a dirty job like that?”
False innocence radiated from him. “Hey, I didn’t say that.”
“Right.” Gisella snorted and walked to the main door of the room. All bantering aside, she examined the hinges. “This door creaked like an old rocker this morning when we left. Now suddenly, it opens without a sound.”
He handed her a tissue and she swiped the top hinge. A substance with a brown tint appeared on the surface. “Oil.”
Brock looked over her shoulder. Once again his cologne wafted to her nose and she inhaled it for probably the tenth time that day. She seemed to do that a lot around him. Flushing, she concentrated on the task at hand. “So, who oiled the door? And why? Because it simply needed it?”
“Or because someone wanted to make sure if he entered you wouldn’t hear him?”
“I don’t like that last possibility.”
“Neither do I.” His breath wafted against her cheek and she realized how close he was standing.
Curling her gloved fingers around the oil-stained tissue, she asked, “Why don’t you get that stuff from the car so I can bag this?”
“Yes, ma’am, why don’t I do just that?” He shot her a knowing smile and Gisella felt her flush burn hotter.
She watched him leave and couldn’t help admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way his clothes looked like they’d been made just for him. He wore them well.
Her cell phone rang and she snatched it from the clip on her side. “Gisella here.”
“Gisella, this is Ben. How’s it going down there in Boot Hill? Are you making any progress?”
Ben Fritz, her captain.
“Hi, Ben.” She blew out a sigh. “Well, from the looks of my hotel room, it’s obvious we’re making someone uncomfortable.” She quickly brought him up to date. “I really think we’re in the right spot. Give me a few more days and I’ll probably have more to tell you.”
“You got it. Just keep me updated. And let me know if and when you need some backup. I can send Levi or Evan.” Levi McDonnell and Evan Chen. Two other Rangers in her company.
Gisella thanked him. “I think Brock and I’ve got it covered for now. Once we find out who’s trying to get us to leave town, I think we’ll find a lead to the drugs. We’ll be heading over to the border crossing pretty soon. We just have to take care of a few things first.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”
Gisella hung up as Brock walked back into the room with his supplies. “I think we should check your room.”
He nodded. “I thought about that.”
“But I don’t want to leave this scene unsecured.”
“I’ll holler if I need help. My guess is our guy is long gone. The dried spray paint tells me that much.”
She blew out a breath. “You’re probably right. Still, I’ll stand outside the door while you check your room.”
He set the supplies on the floor and they exited the room. Brock went to his door and nudged it with his elbow. It stayed put.
Pulling out his key, he swiped it and with a glove-covered hand turned the knob. Standing off to the side, he gave the door a shove and it swung in.
When nothing happened, he peered around into the room.
And relaxed. Still, she knew he wouldn’t call it clear until he’d checked the bathroom. Still keeping an eye on her own door, she crept closer to his.
“Clear!” he called.
She took her hand from her weapon and stepped back into her room. He followed and said, “No one there. Doesn’t even look like someone tried to get in.”
“So, they’re picking on me, huh?”
He quirked a smile. “Looks like it.” Then he turned to the kit. “Now let’s see what we can find so we can get the little weasel.”
Bit by bit, they processed the room. She snapped pictures while he gathered, bagged and dusted. When she felt she’d gotten all the photos she could use, she helped him finish up. She held up a large bag. “Just a guess, but I think it’s useless to hope anything is going to come off this shower curtain.”
He agreed and stood. “Ready for the fun part?”
She grimaced. “Sure.”
Brock had to admit the woman had grit. Digging through nasty Dumpsters wasn’t his favorite part of the job either. You never knew what you were going to come across. However, it had to be done.
And it would be fun to watch her wrinkle her nose as she went about doing it. He didn’t have a ladder so he’d have to improvise.
Pulling the car up to the Dumpster, he got out and climbed on the hood, doing his best not to leave any dents. To Gisella’s credit, she simply raised a brow and kept any comments to herself.
Snapping a clean pair of gloves on, he leaned over the edge of the bin. “You coming?”
“Right behind you.” Placing a foot on the front bumper, she hauled herself up, keeping to the edge of the car. “Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier to ask for a ladder?”
“Probably.”
He thought he heard her chuckle under her breath but figured she’d bite off her tongue before admitting it. He peered over the edge and examined the contents. He sighed. “Not this one.”
“How do you know?” She gave an indignant snort. “You’re not going digging?”
“No
way. The suspect would have tossed the can and kept going.”
She shot him a wry look. “Or didn’t bother with the toss and just kept going.”
“Taking the evidence with him. Yeah, yeah.” He looked around. “But on the off chance he didn’t…”
“Over there.” She pointed to the other bin next to the end of the building.
Brock maneuvered the car next to that one and Gisella climbed up this time. “Bingo,” she grunted and reached in.
“You found it?”
Had she really or was she playing with him?
“Yep.”
“I can’t believe it was that easy.”
His regret must have shown clearly on his face because she gave a small laugh and asked, “Why? Were you hoping I’d have to get all smelly?”
He winced. “Definitely not.” Then he gave her a slow smile. “I like the perfume you have on now as opposed to Eau du Dumpster. Makes me think of things like roses and candles.”
The flush that popped out on her olive-toned cheeks made him grin. She hopped down, an empty can of red spray paint in her left gloved hand. With a glare that was in direct contrast to her heated complexion, she raised a brow. He kept the smile as he held open a bag.
Dropping the evidence in, she didn’t comment on his obvious flirtation. Instead she said, “We’ll definitely send that off to El Paso. I’m guessing our vandal didn’t have gloves on when he bought it. Maybe there’ll be a print.”
Brock let her change the subject. He probably shouldn’t be flirting with her anyway. Not if he didn’t want his heart to get broken into a million pieces. “I have a friend in the lab. I’ll make a call and get an answer asap.”
Drily, she asked, “What’s her name?”
“What do you mean?” He gave her that innocent look again but before he could respond further, a voice asked, “What’s going on out here?”
Their attention from their evidence, Brock gave a grim smile while Gisella tossed her braid over her left shoulder. “Hello, Sheriff.”
“What are you two up to now?”
Gisella pulled her gloves off and tossed them into the Dumpster. Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “Someone broke into my room. We just finished processing it.”
His brow rose and his jaw firmed. “You didn’t think to give me a call?”
Brock broke in. “There wasn’t any reason to bother you with it right away. We took care of it.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Now look here, this is my town. I’m responsible for all that goes on here. And that means knowing when a crime occurs.”
Gisella nodded. “And we were going to report it, we just thought we’d take care of processing it first.”
“That’s what you thought, huh?” Sheriff Johnston shook his head and sighed. “So, did you find anything?”
“An almost empty can of spray paint.” Brock held up the bag.
The big man blew out a sigh and hitched his pants. “All right. We’ll send it off and see if we get any prints off it.”
“That’s what we planned,” Brock agreed. “You wouldn’t happen to know which store might sell this, would you?” He held the bag so the man could look in.
“Hank’s Hardware is my guess. Two streets over, third building on the right.” The sheriff shrugged. “But it could have come from a couple different places.”
“Or another town,” Gisella said. “There’s no guarantee it was bought here. Or even bought since we got here. Someone could have had it sitting in his garage and decided to put it to use here.”
“True.” Brock showed the evidence to the sheriff. “I’m going to send this off for processing. I’ll let you know what we learn.”
Gisella eyed Sheriff Johnston. “Did you have something you needed?”
“Nah. Old man Grueber said he saw someone digging through the trash over here and I told him I’d check it out.” He headed back toward his car. Over his shoulder, he said, “Y’all stay outta trouble.” Then he stopped and turned back. “Seriously, if you need anything, give me a call, would you? It’s my job.”
Gisella offered him a small smile. “Sure thing, Sheriff.”
With a shake of his head, he climbed in his car and sped away. Gisella looked at Brock and shrugged. “Okay, let’s get this evidence shipped off then get a map of the graveyard and figure out a plan to meet this informant.”
NINE
Hours later, Gisella sat in the car, staring out the window into the dark night, thinking about the man beside her. He exuded strength and intelligence and a cockiness she found charming…and occasionally irritating. But the flashes of vulnerability he’d allowed her to see intrigued her, made her realize there was more to Brock Martin than met the eye.
She’d known him for all of two days and the initial zing of attraction she’d felt hadn’t faded. That worried her. And excited her. She’d thought about getting married, of course; what woman hadn’t? And yet, she’d been so consumed with her job, she hadn’t bothered to even find the time to date someone.
She longed to talk things over with her friend, Corinna, but hadn’t had a moment to make a phone call. Corinna was Captain Gregory Pike’s daughter. She had found his body in their home. His killer had yet to be found.
Which was why Gisella was meeting a possible informant in a dark graveyard. She nearly smiled at the drama of it all. Then frowned. Why the graveyard?
When Brock pulled into a spot under a tree at the entrance to the cemetery, she glanced at her watch.
8:30.
A streetlamp at the entrance cast a weak glow onto the walkway. Earlier, she and Brock had driven over to get a feel for the graveyard’s layout and had picked the best place to park and wait. He shut the car off and soon the cold from outside began to permeate the interior.
“So your caller didn’t specify a meeting spot?” she asked.
“No.” He grabbed his bottle of water from the cup holder and took a swig. “She just said to meet her at the graveyard at 9:00.”
“Weird.”
“Agreed.”
Gisella chewed her lip as she thought. “She said she had something to show you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Wonder what she meant by that? I mean it’s one thing to need to tell someone something, quite another to show someone something. You know what I mean?”
Brock gave a slow nod. “You’re right. But she definitely said, ‘show,’ not tell.” He paused. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Ina from the restaurant, but I didn’t want to scare her off by letting on I knew who she was.” He looked at her. “While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me how—and why—you got into this line of work?”
Gisella sucked in a breath. She’d known that question would be asked sooner or later. Apparently, the time was now. “A lot of different reasons.”
“You mind sharing them?” His hand settled on her shoulder and she jumped—then stilled under the warmth of his touch. It made her nervous that she liked it.
That she liked him.
Really liked him.
In spite of her initial judgment of him after seeing him in action, getting to know him better, she had a feeling there was more to him than he let on. She wanted to probe those depths and figure out what made him tick.
“My brother died of an overdose when I was sixteen,” she said softly. “He was eighteen.”
He drew in a swift breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
He remained silent, letting her go at her own pace.
She brushed at her pant leg and adjusted her badge. “We were at a party. I followed him when he snuck out of the house.” She shot him a wry look. “And yes, he was sneaking out of the house at eighteen. If you knew my parents, you would understand that it was better to sneak out than face the inquisition.”
Brock nodded. “I get it. The old ‘You live under my roof, you follow my rules’ dictatorship?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” She shrugged. “When José realized I’
d followed him, he was furious. But there wasn’t much he could do about it. So he basically ignored me while I watched him drink. Then—” she pulled in a deep breath “—he started snorting the white powder.”
“Cocaine.” He spat the word as though it left a vile taste in his mouth.
“Cocaine,” she confirmed. “I couldn’t believe it. Our father had told us stories of how he used to fight the drug war and here my brother was putting that stuff in his body.” Gisella swallowed at the memory. “There was absolutely nothing I could do about it short of calling the cops and I sure wasn’t doing that. So I watched. And then he was on the ground. Twitching. Clutching his chest.”
Her voice shook and she bit her lip. “I ran to him. Screamed at someone to call for help.” A slow shake of her head shifted her braid. She absently shoved it back. “But it was too late. No one wanted an ambulance there with all the drugs laying around. I grabbed a cell phone out of someone’s hand and dialed 911. But it was too late. He was dead before I finished punching in the numbers.” A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She swiped it away, hoping he hadn’t seen it and clenched her jaw. “I decided then and there I’d get rid of as many drug dealers as I could. And I have. More than any man in my department.” The taunt was soft, without heat.
He gave a small smile. “Your family must be proud.”
Surprised at the continued sting of tears, she blinked them back, refusing to allow another one to fall, and looked into the night.
Automatically she scanned the area. Seeing nothing, she shrugged. “You would think. But no. They’re not happy with my chosen profession. My dad was a Ranger and is on me all the time about the danger.”
Brock jerked. “No way.”
“Why?”
“My dad was, too. What company?”
She told him. He laughed and shook his head. “I wonder if they know each other.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
Looking at her, he ran a finger down her cheek and she shivered. He studied her and she let him. “You’re very beautiful, you know that?” Then he seemed to withdraw mentally. Placing his hand back on the wheel, he drew in a deep breath. “So what do you do when you’re not chasing bad guys?”
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