Circle Eight Millennium: Lazarus

by Beth Williamson

  “Wow,” he murmured.

  Wow indeed.

  Chapter Five

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  Laz didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he raised one to adjust the rearview mirror. Hell and damnation. He’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

  With Beatrice Cartwright.

  She’d always been this presence, reminding him of the person he wasn’t, and he’d resented her for that. Now he’d seen her as a person, a smart, sexy woman. One he’d just had sex with. Although sex seemed too mild a word.

  It was a mating. An elemental mating of two beings.

  He hadn’t been a monk, but he hadn’t been engaging in casual sex on a regular basis either. Nevertheless, the experience with Bea had been intense. More so than any other encounter in his life.

  What did that mean?

  He should have been focusing on his job, not on the woman. Her ideas for connecting the crimes were incisive and commendable. She was damn near profiling the perp without the training most cops had. He wasn’t kidding when he’d told her she would have made a good cop.

  The drive to the hotel ten miles outside town took no time at all. In fact, he was in a stupor and didn’t remember a goddamn second of it. He brought in the binder and spent the evening pretending to review his notes.

  What the hell had she done to him? He was never that distracted. Ever. Apparently until he’d put his hands—and more—on Beatrice Cartwright, and then he couldn’t find his ass with both hands.

  He stared blindly at the television until he fell into a restless sleep. His dreams were full of sensual images. He woke to the gray light of predawn, soaked with sweat and hard as an iron bar. Laz didn’t like complications in his personal life. Bea had become a massive complication.

  He got up and jumped in the shower, letting the hot water sluice down his body. If he wasn’t careful, he would get tangled up so tight in Bea’s web, he would choke himself to escape.

  That was an unfair thought. Truth was, he had been attracted to her for at least fifteen years and yesterday was like popping a cork that had needed to be let loose long before then.

  When he got out of the shower, his cell phone was ringing. He picked it up, trying not to get water on the screen.

  “Graham.”

  “Holy shit, Ranger! I’ve called you ten times. Do you ever pick up your phone?” Bea’s voice shot through the earpiece at him.

  “I was in the shower.” He didn’t realize the implications of what he said until she was silent for a few beats.

  “Oh.”

  He wondered if she was imagining him naked. His dick thought that was an excellent idea and stood at attention. He told it to go to sleep, but it didn’t listen. Bea’s voice was enough to remind him how passionate she was.

  Damn, what had he done?

  “What did you need, Beatrice?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but it wasn’t quite all there. He hoped like hell she didn’t notice.

  “I remembered something! Last year in the spring, March thirteenth, I remember the date because it was the Ides of March, there was a small business expo at the Circle Eight.” Her voice grew louder as she spoke.

  Laz, however, stopped actually hearing her. March thirteenth was his birthday. And an event was held at his family’s ranch on his birthday last year. Something he knew nothing about because he’d cut himself off from his father and the Circle Eight.

  “Are you listening? I remember the florist. She was the same age as me and we talked about our favorite bands from growing up. I just went back and looked at the sticky notes. It’s her. She was there same as me.” She hooted into the phone. “I’ll bet if we check the attendee list, all five businesses would be on there.”

  His heart pounded. “You found the connection.”

  “Yes! I wouldn’t have unless I hadn’t Googled all of the business owners. I remembered her as soon as I saw her picture.” She paused. “You know what this means, right?”

  “We have our first real lead.” The cop in him was running through a dozen scenarios and making mental lists as she continued to speak.

  “Laz, you need to stop wandering off when I’m talking. We have to go out to the Circle Eight. We have to talk to your father.”

  The words finally sank in and Laz sat down hard on the edge of the mattress. He’d tried, quite hard, to forget he was in his hometown and a mere fifteen minutes from the ranch he’d grown up on. The land that had been in his blood since before he was born.

  Damnation. He was going home after all.

  Bea arrived at the hotel half an hour later. He walked out to the parking lot while his gut jumped like a pack of frogs had taken up residence. How the hell was he going to go to the Circle Eight? She leaned against her raggedy blue truck, her arms crossed and an eager expression on her face. She wore a purple plaid shirt and a pair of knee-length pants. A pair of white tennis shoes completed the outfit. Her hair was in the usual ponytail. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was eighteen again. Then again, her breasts were rounder and made his hands itch to cup them again. He wondered if she wore that pink lacy bra.

  The visceral memories of the day before slammed into him and he wanted to turn and walk back into the hotel. No woman had a right to look so delicious and tempting. He wondered if he could invite her back to his bed to continue what they’d started yesterday. Laz was a fucking idiot. Where the hell was his brain?

  In his underwear.

  “Should I drive?” Her voice snapped him out of his ridiculous train of thought.

  He shook his head both to tell her no and dispel the lingering attraction to her. “This is official business. We need to take my car.”

  She frowned. “You told me I had to ride in the back if I rode in your car, which isn’t going to happen. Let’s take my truck.”

  It was true he had a laptop and various other pieces of equipment that prevented someone from sitting in the passenger seat. Laz wouldn’t go so far as to say he did it intentionally. A partner had never been in his playbook. Not that he hadn’t tried to get along with an assigned partner. He just preferred to work alone.

  Now Beatrice had pushed her way into his carefully constructed life and he had to either make room for her in his car or ride in a civilian vehicle. Laz wasn’t sure when he made the decision, or why, but it was made.

  He unlocked the car and pulled out the bag, binders, and jacket from the passenger seat, then folded down the laptop. “Your ride awaits.”

  She raised her brows but said nothing. After grabbing her small leather purse from the cab of the truck, she locked it and headed back to him.

  After they were both in the car, he risked a glance at her. She stared straight ahead, for which he was grateful. The enormity of what they were about to do threatened to make him turn around and drive away. He’d known he would have to face his past one day but not today.

  Unfortunately, it was going to happen whether or not he was ready or willing. He started the car and headed down the familiar path to the Circle Eight. The minutes ticked by and his gut wound tighter and tighter.

  Finally, he couldn’t take another moment of silence. “What prompted your memory of the expo?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was going through a box of receipts and found the flyer.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I thought it might help.”

  “You were going through a box of receipts.” He could hardly believe that was what she chose to do after the most momentous sexual experience of his life. Perhaps it hadn’t been as momentous for her.

  That was a lowering thought.

  “My mind was spinning after, uh, after what we did. I didn’t have a gun to clean and I can’t do anything else in the store until the insurance claim is finalized. I have to do something to settle my thoughts when I’m stressed.” She shrugged. “Receipts are boring but don’t require brain power.”

  “Your mind was spinning.”

  “Are y
ou just going to repeat what I say?” She clucked her tongue. “I can think of a few more interesting things to talk about.”

  Laz considered his next words with care. The last thing he needed was to say the wrong thing, offend her, and send this new, terrifying relationship, such as it was, off the rails before they really got started.

  “My mind was spinning too.” He kept his eyes on the road and didn’t put any emotion in his words, although they were running riot in his gut.

  She cleared her throat. “That so? Huh, I wouldn’t have thought so given your greeting this morning.”

  “I meant what I said to you. I’m not the same person I was before I left Brier Creek. I made mistakes, just like every other human being.” He spotted the giant tree that marked the border of the Circle Eight and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I can’t fight the right words right now for you, but I will.”

  She stared on the side window. “Okay, I can be patient. I’ve spent my life perfecting the art of waiting.”

  He heard much more in her words than he had time to explore. They’d both made choices, or had been pushed to making choices, that had shaped their lives.

  They turned into the main gate and the familiar sight of the Circle Eight sign was a punch to the gut. He had a flash of memory from when he was eight and his father had commissioned a local blacksmith to repair the original sign from the late eighteen hundreds. When the man had hung up the intricate scrolls in the number eight, it had seemed magical to a young Laz.

  Now the weather and elements had taken some of the shine off the iron, but it was still as beautiful as it had been twenty years earlier. A wave of homesickness washed over him. His throat grew tight and damned if he didn’t miss everything; even the smell of the air was familiar.

  Bea didn’t say anything, for which he was grateful. The emotions running riot through him were enough to make him turn the car around, but he didn’t. He was a Graham after all, and his blood ran stubborn.

  The house came into view and his homesickness started to slide into a shade of joy. The color had changed, no longer a cream, but more of a light green, but the long, sweeping front porch was still peppered with rocking chairs throughout and a swing at both ends.

  A hound dog perked up from his prone position on the grassy front lawn. The vibrant green seemed incongruous for hot Texas weather. Perhaps his father had installed sprinklers to keep up appearances. Or maybe they’d found drought-resistant grass that could finally withstand the heat.

  The dog bayed at the car but stood his ground. Laz put the car in park. He lowered his chin to his chest and took a deep breath.

  “I know you didn’t want to come here but I’m glad you did.” She touched his hand, her fingers cool against his overheated skin.

  He managed to nod. “Sometimes we have to do shit we don’t want to do.”

  “Amen to that.” She held out the flyer to him. “Ready?”

  There was no pity in her face, but he saw understanding. She had her own family issues to deal with, although for her, it was dealing with ghosts. Laz had to deal with living, breathing people along with his ghosts. It was a helluva thing to come back to the scene of the crime ten years after the fact.

  He took the paper and reached for the door handle.

  The dog trotted up to Bea and nudged her palm with his snout. She crouched down and scratched him behind the ear.

  “Hey there, Bear, what are you up to today?” Her voice was sweet and melodic. Damn, he wished he didn’t know she could sound like that. It put all kinds of ideas in his head he didn’t need to think about right about then.

  “You know him?” Laz watched the dog, his canine tongue lolling out at the attention from a pretty girl.

  “He was Rose’s birthday present about five years ago. Can’t hunt worth a damn but he is loveable.” She straightened up with one last pat for Bear.

  The dog sniffed at Laz’s pants but made no move to befriend him. It was just as well. He was there as a ranger only, not as a welcomed visitor.

  “If I’d known there was to be a party, I’d have baked a cake.”

  Laz turned to find his father on the front porch. The elder Graham had aged in the last ten years. His formerly thick, dark hair was nearly completely silver. Lines bracketed his eyes and mouth and the sun and wind had turned his skin into a honey-colored leather. His eyes were the deep blue-green color looking back at everyone with the arrogance and strength he had in abundance.

  Physically he looked the same. Big with wide shoulders and big hands. Laz resembled him in many ways, especially in the inability to have an honest conversation with each other.

  “Pa, I’m here on official business.” Laz was pleased his voice was steady although his heart was beating against his ribs like a bass drum.

  “I see.” He gestured to the car behind him. “I heard you were a ranger, but that doesn’t look like a cop car.”

  “It’s unmarked.” Laz held the flyer up. “I need to ask you about the business expo you hosted last year.”

  His father put his hands on his hips and narrowed his gaze, then looked at Bea. “Good morning, Beatrice. I didn’t know you were on terms with Ranger Graham.”

  “Mr. Graham.” She stepped up beside Laz. “He’s investigating the break-in at the store. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Bad business, that,” his father replied. “Sorry to hear about it.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you have a few minutes, the ranger has some questions.” Beatrice sounded calm and reasonable while Laz wanted to howl.

  He could almost feel the disappointment coming off Pa in waves. Why shouldn’t he be? Laz had never been the son he could and should have been. No, he’d been a wastrel and selfish asshole.

  “I was just sitting down with some coffee. You can join me.” His father turned and went back into the house.

  Bea raised her brows, her turquoise glasses shining in the bright sunshine. He gestured with his hand for her to precede him up the front steps. It was time to enter the lion’s den.

  Laz would rather face down a loaded gun.

  Beatrice could see the tension in the ranger’s jaw and expression, which were tight and harder than granite. This was a reunion that had been ten years in the making. She almost felt like she was standing on railroad tracks while two trains hurtled toward each other at breakneck speed.

  One of the Graham men needed to ease up on the throttle, but it wasn’t her place to tell either of them that. She was glad she was there, and not because they might get a clue to the identity of the perp, but because although he wouldn’t admit it, Laz needed her there.

  It made her feel good about herself. She spent so much time struggling to keep the store solvent, Bea had little left over for herself, her personal life, or even her sex life. The last couple days with Laz had been eye opening and reminded her she needed to live and not just exist.

  Now it was her turn to pay it forward and remind him of the same.

  The inside of the house was a huge great room that had been constructed similarly to the original house on the property, which sat half a mile away. No one lived there any longer due to the lack of electricity and indoor plumbing, but the Grahams kept it up.

  The one thing that still remained from the first of the family to settle on the ranch was the table. It was a massive piece of furniture hewn from wide planks and sat at least fifteen people. The benches were also original. The elder Graham was setting down a carafe of coffee and three cups.

  “Do you take cream or sugar, Beatrice?”

  She nodded. “Both, please.”

  Laz stood there, gazing at the room with what she surmised was longing. He’d missed his home. and rightfully so. Perhaps this day would change his banishment, self-imposed or not, and he could come back where he belonged.

  The three of them settled at the table and busied themselves fixing the coffee just so. Beatrice pointed at the flyer.

  “Let me tell you why that expo is important.�
� She relayed the background of the five burglaries and the theory they were connected through the expo attendees.

  Mr. Graham frowned, his silver eyebrows in a sharp V. “You’re saying I invited a thief into my house?”

  “I don’t know, but if we could look at a list of the attendees, we can find out if we’re right about how the crimes are connected.” Bea looked at Laz, whose gaze had not left his coffee.

  The air almost shimmered with tension as the two Graham men sat across from each other. Neither one looked at the other and somehow she was stuck between them.

  “Do you have the records?” she prompted.

  Jeremiah nodded. “I do. It will take a few minutes to find it. Don’t use computers or nothing. It’s all in my filing cabinet.”

  “Maybe we could go look?”

  “Yep, I suppose we could.” The older man got to his feet, taking the cup with him.

  When he left the room, Bea met Laz’s gaze, his expression hard to read. “Do you want to stay here?”

  He shook his head. “No. I gotta see this through.”

  They followed Mr. Graham through the house and down the hallway. The man’s office had always been off-limits when they’d been kids. It was a masculine domain with dark wood paneling and a huge bookcase full of books of varying shapes and sizes. A fern that had seen better days sat on a plant stand by the big window where sunshine streamed in.

  A tall, black filing cabinet sat in one corner where Jeremiah stood, gazing at the open drawer. He sipped at the coffee as he walked his fingers across the manila folders.

  “Was anything stolen?” he asked.

  “Some, but the son of a bitch did more damage than he stole.” She was bitterer about the personal nature of the crime than the money. Insurance would pay for most of it, but it wouldn’t mend the pain at the destruction of her family’s store.

  “Then we need to find him.”

  “Yes, sir, we do.” Laz finally spoke. “If we’re right, he’s done the same thing to four other businesses.”

  “Is that right?” Jeremiah glanced at his son. “We, is it? You two partners?”