Her face reddened, but she just nodded. I turned on my heel and left her.
As I returned to the living room, the sound of an engine made everyone turn their heads, and I hurried to the window in time to see a green Jeep rumbling down the hill. Colin had finally arrived, thank goodness. I grabbed Kyla’s coat from the peg and ran out to meet him, slamming the door behind me in what I hoped was a meaningful way. The north breeze hit my face, and I knew I was going to miss my own coat. Even if the blood hadn’t ruined it, the memories had.
I waved at Colin as I ran. “Don’t get out—you have to take me away from here,” I called.
He earned major points by slipping back behind the wheel and restarting the engine without question. I jumped in the front seat, and he pulled away just as the front door opened and my relatives boiled forth like bees from a hive. He reversed in front of them as I waved, fake smile pasted on my face, then we were off, and I heaved a sigh of relief.
“You know, in the future when we’re around my family, you should always back in to a parking spot to facilitate a quick getaway,” I advised him.
“Duly noted,” he laughed. “It’s good to know there’s going to be a future,” he added, glancing at my face before returning his eyes to the road.
I felt the warmth of a blush rise in my cheeks, but somewhat to my surprise I realized I didn’t want to take it back.
“So where to?” he asked.
I looked around. We were approaching the first gate. To the left, the pasture sloped gently down toward the dry creek bed, the yellow grass bending gently in the breeze. Brown cattle were scattered as far as we could see, like ships on a flaxen ocean. A few of them raised their heads to watch us, probably wondering if we had any feed cubes. On the other side, the rising land became increasingly rugged, dotted with cactus and mesquite, gray rocks breaking through the weeds like the bones of some enormous prehistoric creature. A pair of doves streaked across the sky, moving fast as though blown by the north wind. Dusk was falling over a harsh, beautiful country.
“Can we just pull over for a minute?”
He obligingly stopped the Jeep and cut the engine.
I opened the door and got out long enough to pop the seat forward and crawl into the back. Colin laughed, and did the same on his side. Together on the narrow bench seat, I slid into his arms, slipping my hands under his shirt to feel the warmth of his chest, breathing in the outdoor scent clinging to his jacket, the faint hint of soap and sweat and man on his skin. I’d missed him, I’d longed for him, and holding him now reminded me how very, very glad I was to be alive. We kissed for a very long time, but, fortunately or unfortunately, there was no room for anything else. At last, I rested my head on his shoulder and waited for my heart to stop pounding.
“Might I suggest that you give more consideration to the size of the backseat when purchasing your next car?” I said.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about that very thing quite recently,” he answered solemnly.
I chuckled, and he pulled me closer, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head. I touched the cast that ran from wrist to elbow. “Does your arm hurt?”
“Not too bad.”
“Are you just being manly?”
“Yeah. It aches like a son of a bitch.”
I raised his other hand to my lips and kissed his wrist. He stroked my cheek.
After a few moments, he said in a more serious tone, “I have some news for you.”
I stiffened, then tilted my head to look up at him, but all I could see was the line of his jaw and the pulse beating at the base of his throat.
He took my silence for the invitation it was. He said quietly, “T. J. Knoller didn’t make it. He died about an hour ago.”
A sharp pang of guilt and regret shot through my chest. “I knew I shouldn’t have moved him, but I was so afraid that if we left him, the gang would kill him. If I’d just waited until you got there…”
Colin shifted and held me tighter. “You can’t think like that. You were trying to save his life, and getting him to the hospital as quickly as you did at least gave him a fighting chance. I figured you’d be blaming yourself, so I asked the doctor. Nothing could have saved him. The bullet had done too much damage.”
I said nothing, knowing his words were meant to be comforting, but not feeling comforted. I thought of T.J. telling Kyla to hide in the barn loft, of stepping between me and two armed killers. I reminded myself that he was also the man who’d pointed a gun at both of us, which helped a little. However deserved or undeserved, he had brought his death on himself. Nevertheless, I was sorry.
I said, “It’s such a terrible thing. Will we ever know what really happened?”
“I think we’ve got a pretty good idea. T.J. came around for a while in the hospital and talked. He knew he was dying.”
I sat up then, turning in the uncomfortable seat so I could see his face, resting my legs across his lap. “What did he say?”
“He gave us names and details about the gang. Not enough to make up for the pain he caused, but enough to make some arrests, and more than enough to shut them down—in this county at least. He wanted to get rich, and he didn’t mind cheating or stealing to do it, but I don’t think he was a killer by choice. By the time things turned violent, he was in too deep to back out.”
“Do you think he was being truthful when he said Carl was the one who killed Eddy?”
Colin nodded. “I do. He said it again in the hospital, and by then he had no reason to lie, and he knew it. Eddy wanted out and made the mistake of asking Carl for money to keep quiet about it. If he’d asked T.J., he’d probably be alive today.”
“But why would Carl leave him where he could be found? And on our ranch?”
“That was sheer bad luck. It was easy for Carl to persuade Eddy to go to T.J.’s place and kill him there. When T.J. found out what Carl had done, he was horrified and demanded that Carl take the body somewhere else. Your uncle’s caliche pit was close, and just across a barbed-wire fence. Of course, Carl should have buried Eddy right then, but instead he decided to go into town to establish his alibi. He spent the rest of the evening living large and buying rounds in R.T.’s BBQ and Sports Bar. By the time he sneaked back to finish the job, we’d already found the body.”
I frowned. “If he’d just buried the body, he wouldn’t have needed an alibi.”
“If criminals always did the smart thing, we’d never catch them,” Colin said. “In this case, I expect that killing his friend and then moving the body in the darkness shook up old Carl more than he’d expected. I think he panicked, and couldn’t bring himself to dig a shallow grave with Eddy just lying there. At least not without a stiff drink or two.”
I shivered a little and decided I could hardly blame Carl for that bit. “Okay, fine. That explains Eddy. But what was the plan with the racehorses?”
“Ah, now that’s where things get interesting. T.J. needed a way to launder money for Los Zetas. He’d never been involved in the drug-selling side of the business, but he was actually quite clever with money. He was running a series of real-estate deals in about six counties, selling one property, buying another, always moving the money into different banks. I don’t envy the investigators who have to figure out that mess. The thing is, Los Zetas were making more drug money than ever, and T.J. decided that horse racing would be an amusing way of laundering large sums of cash. He and Carl had already tested it once by buying a racehorse in New Mexico, racing it a couple of times, and then ‘selling’ it for quite a bit more than it was worth. They enjoyed the racing so much—acting like rich owners and betting—that they decided to invest in a local track and run horses here. The purse they managed to finagle was big enough to tempt any gambler, and they decided to stimulate the bettors by a very public rivalry between their two horses. They agreed that whoever won, they’d split the pot, sell both horses, and pass some, but most definitely not all, of the proceeds on to their Los Zetas associates.”
“Then Carl got greedy?” I asked.
“More like T.J. got scared. Remember, he’d never wanted Eddy dead, and he was afraid that suspicion was going to fall on Carl and from there onto him. Plus, I think that Manuel was starting to become a factor.”
I said, “How in the world did someone like Manuel get involved? He was always so nice and quiet, and he’d worked for Carl for years. Heck, he’d pretty much been Carl’s slave for as long as I’ve known him.”
“We’re still trying to sort that out. We think Manuel started acting as the liaison between T.J. and Los Zetas. As you say, no one would ever suspect him, and he might have had a relative in the gang, or he might just have started making himself useful. In any event, it’s pretty clear that the gang leadership was giving him more authority. I think he was putting pressure on T.J. who had decided that it wasn’t safe to be skimming money from the gang.”
“And that’s when Carl sold the horse to Uncle Herman.”
“Right.”
I frowned, struggled, and finally admitted, “I don’t get it.”
Colin laughed. “You’re not alone there. It was an idiot move, and even T.J. wasn’t sure about all the details. I talked about it with Sheriff Bob. After putting together all the pieces, including that paperwork you found in Carl’s house, we came up with a theory. Carl was furious with T.J. for reneging on the money they planned to skim. He had proof that the land T.J. was suing your family for really did belong to Herman, and he figured it must be worth a lot of money if T.J. was willing to sue for it. It’s also likely that he was tired of being the hired hand, so to speak. He wanted a bigger piece of the money-laundering action, and maybe he thought he could cut T.J. out altogether if he had enough leverage. So, he traded the horse to Herman for the rights to the land.”
“Did T.J. know?”
“Oh, yeah. Carl came to him with his offer for the land. The shit hit the fan at that point. T.J. didn’t have any money for the land or for anything else. So he had to tell Carl about the Zetas. Up to that point, old Carl thought T.J. had some fancy investors in his pocket, but he had no idea who they were. T.J. was very good at keeping his various dealings in separate silos.”
“Oh,” I said slowly. “So when Carl found out he hadn’t just double-crossed T.J., but a drug cartel…”
“Exactly. He panicked. He absolutely had to ensure that Double Trouble won that race, and he had to get Big Bender back before the Zetas learned what had happened.”
“And how was he going to do that?”
“T.J. would have been willing to trade the land and more back to your uncle Herman to get the horse. And you saw what Carl decided to do about the race.”
I shook my head. “And so he decides to shoot Big Bender’s jockey, but misses and hits Travis instead.”
“That about sums it up. T.J. stepped in to do as much damage control as he could, trying to implicate your uncle Kel and protesting the race results. But Carl had really messed up this time. There was no way to keep it from the drug cartel, especially with Carl’s own ranch hand Manuel also working for the Zetas.”
“So who killed Carl?”
“T.J. didn’t know who pulled the trigger, but it was certainly ordered by the gang. Manuel is the most likely suspect. For one thing, he would have been able to get your uncle’s gun without too much difficulty.”
“And today? Were they planning to kill T.J., too? Or did they really just want to talk with him?”
“There’s no way to know.” He shrugged, then squeezed my hand. “They didn’t plan on you being there, that’s for sure.”
“Or the lion,” I reminded him.
“Or the lion,” he agreed. “By the way, the sheriff called the folks who have the exotic ranch over at Llano, and they’re out hunting the lion with tranq guns now. With any luck, they’ll be able to capture him alive and find a real rescue zoo for him.”
I shifted on the seat again, starting to feel cold. “And did you ever find out who attacked you? Was it Carl?”
“It was T.J. I recognized him in the hospital today, although I don’t think he recognized me. I guess pretending his car was broken down was a pattern with him.”
“But his truck is black,” I protested. “You said the guy who attacked you was driving a white truck.”
“I’m pretty sure he has half a dozen trucks on that place of his, or he could have borrowed Carl’s truck for that matter.”
I frowned. “I was so sure it was Carl. Anyway, why would T.J. have wanted to hit you?”
“I never got around to asking.” He looked thoughtful. “I wonder if Ruby June wasn’t involved in all this a little more than we originally thought.”
“I think she was, but what does that have to do with it?”
He shrugged. “He was hiding her on his place for a reason. I was asking awkward questions and getting close. You do the math.”
“I’m really sorry. It’s my fault you were out there in the first place instead of somewhere warm and safe.” That little pill Ruby June. I was almost sorry I’d promised not to turn her in.
“No, not your fault. Maybe my own, for being so careless. But it was T.J. who had the tire iron.”
I held his hand, but then another thought occurred to me. “And what about those papers? I didn’t have time to look at the contracts and deeds, but Sheriff Bob’s name was on them. In fact, I really thought Bob was the one behind everything for a while. What was all that about?”
He just shook his head. “Bob was involved in some land deals with T.J., and somehow Carl found out. He probably took the paperwork as insurance, thinking he could hold it over either or both of them if he needed to. T.J. might have thought there were advantages to having a sheriff as a partner, but he was too smart to draw Bob into any of his shadier activities. It won’t look all that good for Bob if it gets out, but there was nothing illegal about it.”
“And Bob telling Elaine you’d gone to Austin?”
He grinned at that. “That was dumb, but he just didn’t want Elaine telling Kel what I was doing. He figured that Kel would want to go along and might be able to pressure me by using his relationship with you as leverage. It wouldn’t have worked,” he added.
“I don’t know. You don’t know my uncle Kel,” I answered with a grin. I thought over what he’d told me and added, “You know, between suspecting Bob and trusting Ruby June, I think I’ve been a gullible idiot,” I said finally.
“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice carefully light. “But not about that. What possessed you to break into Carl’s house? Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?”
He was angry and trying to control it. I met his eyes.
We stared at each other for a long moment. I could have become angry in return at his presumption in judging me, but I knew his anger stemmed from real concern. I could have argued or explained or justified. But I didn’t feel like it. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.
Instead, in my best Kyla imitation, I opened my eyes wide, batted my eyelashes, and said, “I solemnly promise never to break into a drug-dealing, jockey-shooting, goat-fucking son of a bitch’s ranch house ever again. Unless of course I need to.”
As though from far away, part of me waited in agonized suspense, instinctively realizing this—this insignificant tiny argument—had suddenly become a pivotal moment in our relationship. If he’d argued or stayed mad or become hurt, it would have been all over. He didn’t. He drew in one startled breath, and then gave a great shout of laughter.
He pulled me back into his arms and began kissing me again, exuberant, joyful kisses on my cheeks, on my forehead, on my neck, and on my nose. He followed them with passionate kisses on the lips, which I returned with breathless happiness.
When I could finally speak again, I pushed away from him and leaned forward to open the door of the Jeep. Darkness was almost upon us and a single glittering star shone through a rift in the heavy clouds. Drawing in a great breath of clean cold air, I
realized that I was stiff, chilled, and happier than I had ever been.
“Where to?” he asked, looking without enthusiasm in the direction we’d come.
I reflected that Kyla was perfectly capable of packing my bag and driving my car, and it was less than three hours to Austin, where I had a warm house, a new bed with fresh sheets, and a fat poodle who would still be at the neighbor’s for another whole night. In other words, all the privacy we could want.
“Take me home,” I said.
Also by Janice Hamrick
Death Makes the Cut
Death on Tour
Acknowledgments
No novel is written in a vacuum (it would be far too noisy and the cat hair would stick to the keyboard). With all sincerity, though, I am deeply grateful to the many people who made this book possible.
My heartfelt thanks go to my editor, Matt Martz, for his sound judgment, impeccable instincts, and mad editing skills. I’m grateful to all the amazing people at St. Martin’s Press, including Justine Gardner, who copyedits with the eyes of an eagle, and Sarah Melnyk and Cassandra Galante, who have done so much to promote my work.
I’d also like to thank my amazing agent, David Hale Smith of InkWell Management, for his ongoing support and enthusiasm, and Kristan Palmer, who keeps us both on track.
Scott Montgomery, who is the best moderator ever, has my gratitude for making my book launch a roaring success, for throwing me softballs on panels, and for introducing me to so many marvelous books and writers. I’m also deeply grateful to John Kwiatkowski, Hopeton Hay, Douglas Corleone, Norb Vonnegut, and Martin Porter, who have been beyond generous with their time, support, and advice.
And finally, my thanks go to Cindy Marszal for reading those imperfect first drafts and talking things through with tiny hands.
Death Rides Again (A Jocelyn Shore Mystery) Page 26