Scorned Justice: The Men of Texas Rangers Series #3 (Men of the Texas Rangers)

by Margaret Daley

  The sad, near-tears look she gave him tightened his gut. Not a week ago she’d turned a much different look on him—one he was finding he preferred. He shrugged.

  She scrunched her brow. “You’ve always been so nice to me. What did I do wrong?”

  “Your aunt is the prosecutor who ruined my family. She’s responsible for my poor mama and older brother dying.”

  “Not Aunt Becky. She wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “She didn’t do it herself, but her actions caused their deaths. She might as well have pulled the trigger. It would have been faster.”

  The girl’s eyes grew so round that they were all J. R. saw for a few seconds. Eyes that didn’t understand. Eyes filled with innocence.

  Tears welled up in them, and the girl squeezed them shut for a moment. “She was nice to you. She thought you were a hero,” she said between sucking in shaky breaths, trying not to cry. “Rob, you saved Aunt Becky’s life. Why did you do that?”

  When she called him Rob, he was thrown back to that evening last week when they’d opened their home to him, fixed some of his favorite things to eat, and had talked to him like he was somebody.

  “Rob?”

  He blinked several times, then stood up. I could have let Rebecca die then. I wouldn’t be wrestling with what to do about Kim now. Why didn’t I?

  “The doors and windows are locked. You can’t get out. I’ll untie your feet and hands if you behave. Understand?”

  She nodded, those large eyes looking at him as though trying to find the person he’d pretended to be. He wasn’t Rob.

  He started to loosen the ropes about her feet but instead said, “You can untie yourself. If you want to watch some TV, go ahead.” He flicked his hand toward the set, then hurried from the room.

  Sitting at the kitchen table with a clear view of her, he could watch her from a distance until he figured out what was going on with him. He’d never killed a child. He thought he could. He’d killed his fair share of people—mostly men. Laura had bothered him—seeing the trust fade from her eyes and horror take its place when she realized what he was going to do. He rubbed his hands down his face as though to scour it until only raw skin was left.

  Dressed in a simple, pale blue dress that fell to just below her knees, Marge showed Brody into her small, neat apartment. Jeremiah’s girlfriend was nothing like he’d thought she would be. With only a touch of makeup on and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she appeared demure, almost fragile, like a china doll.

  “Please have a seat, Ranger Calhoun. Would you like something to drink? It’s officially fall, but the temperature feels like summer.”

  “No, thank you.” He waited until she sat, then took the seat across from her.

  “Roy told me you came to see him about Jeremiah. What can I do to help you?”

  How can a woman like this be in love with a murderer on death row? Roy tipped her off. Is this an act? It’s got to be.

  “Who are some of Jeremiah’s friends? Does he have any family besides Roy?”

  “Jeremiah has a sister, but she left San Antonio years ago. His brother enlisted in the service that first year Jeremiah was in prison. He’s traveling the world, I guess. He and his sister don’t contact Roy, so I don’t know anything beyond that.”

  “Do they contact Jeremiah?”

  “He’s never mentioned it.”

  “How about friends? Does he keep up with any?”

  “He’s been in prison a long time. All his friends are inside.”

  “Has he mentioned Judge Rebecca Morgan to you?”

  “We don’t really spend our time talking about others. Our time is precious together since the state has . . .” She clamped her mouth together, tension exhibited in her jawline. Folding her hands together in her lap, she straightened until Brody wondered if she would snap in two. “Jeremiah was falsely convicted. His lawyer has been working on a retrial. I’m confident he will succeed and then the truth about Jeremiah will come out.”

  “Ma’am, I’ve looked over the transcript of the trial, and the possibility of that is remote.”

  Her dark eyes became diamond hard. “Jeremiah assures me it will. I choose to believe him. He’s such a gentle, kind man. He doesn’t belong in prison.” A thread of steel reinforced the strength behind her words.

  Marge was holding herself together—barely. What would happen when her fantasy fell apart? Had it already, and she had decided to strike out at Rebecca?

  “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

  She lifted her chin and stared at him. “Why, volunteering at the hospital. I do it twice a week on my days off.”

  “What do you do to make a living?”

  “I transcribe medical records.” She gestured toward a desk off to the side with a computer on it. There was no evidence that she had even used it, but then everything he’d seen of her place was like that, overly neat, as if she had to be ready to show the apartment at a moment’s notice. The sense that something wasn’t right with the woman slammed into him. Rigid. Controlled. Cold . . . Deadly?

  “Any family living in San Antonio?”

  “No, I’m estranged from my family. They don’t understand my love for Jeremiah. But then, I shouldn’t have been surprised. They aren’t a very loving family.” The chill in her voice dripped off each word.

  Brody rose. “Thank you, ma’am, for your time.”

  Marge saw him to the front door, and the moment he escaped into the hot summer, he could feel himself begin to thaw out. This woman could definitely take care of herself. Was she capable of carrying out a plot of revenge?

  The irony in the whole situation was that Jeremiah Jones had someone to love him and accept him for who he was. Brody was falling back in love with Rebecca—if he had ever fallen out of love with her—and she couldn’t accept that he was a law enforcement officer. That was who he was, and if he walked away from the job he’d always wanted, what would that do to him? How would that affect their relationship?

  Striding to his SUV, he placed a call to the woman who confounded him and tied him in knots. “I just got through talking with Marge, and I almost feel sorry for Jeremiah.”

  “Don’t. I shiver when I think about that man.” Rebecca sounded tired.

  “Have you taken a break?”

  “No. Kim’s out there somewhere, and it’s getting close to twenty-four hours. I know how important the first day or so is in a kidnapping. The police in Little Rock called Sean back. Owen Smith can be accounted for yesterday. He has a job, and his employer, as well as some of his coworkers, vouch for his whereabouts.”

  “Okay. For the time being we’ll set him aside and concentrate on the ones who don’t have good alibis. I want you to look at Marge in detail. Also look into her family. She said they don’t live in San Antonio, but there was a slight hesitation before she answered me. She could be lying to me. It won’t be the first time someone has.”

  “I know. If everyone was compelled to tell the truth, our jobs would be so much easier.”

  “Ah, that’s the day I’d love to see. I’m wrapping up my interviews and will come get you and Aubrey.”

  “Your dad said he could take me to the hospital. A deputy will come with us. That’ll save you time coming all the way back out here. Okay?”

  He thought of the nearly one-hour drive and saw the wisdom of having his father and the deputy drive them. “That sounds good. I have two people to interview connected to Daniel Watson, then I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “See you soon. I don’t look forward to seeing Thomas and telling him we don’t have any more leads. Tory is staying at the hospital. She said she’ll come back home with us.”

  “Does Thomas remember anything else?”

  “I only talked to him a few minutes, but nothing else so far. Tory says he’s been sleeping a lot. The staff has been in and out a lot today.”

  When he disconnected, he checked the next address, then climbed into his SUV to head for the home of Daniel
Watson’s mother, clear on the other side of San Antonio.

  J. R. drank his fourth bottle of beer, trying to numb himself so that he could do what his sister expected him to do. He didn’t want Kim to suffer. He didn’t want to get close and kill her with a knife or by smothering her. Maybe he could shoot her in the back. If he saw her eyes, he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger. Or better, a poison that acted so fast she wouldn’t know what hit her. Maybe he could research different poisons on the Internet and kill her tomorrow. He could chloroform her, then go and buy the poison.

  With the TV on in the other room, he paced around the kitchen, peeking to make sure Kim was doing what he had told her to do. She was—had been since she woke up. She’d even tried to talk to him from the living room, but he had too much thinking to do to carry on a conversation. Especially when she looked at him—no longer with worship but with distrust. He didn’t like that.

  He had to do something fast. Sissy was getting impatient. He had never liked making her angry. She could be worse than Mama.

  The sound of pounding on the front door jolted J. R. He went rigid. More pounding followed. He hurried toward the entrance, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Parting the blind in the dining room, he checked to see who was on his porch.

  Sissy.

  18

  She hasn’t lived here in eighteen months,” the older woman, probably about fifty, told Brody.

  “Do you know where she moved to?” Brody looked past the woman, whose red hair probably came from a box, and saw a younger woman behind her. The younger woman hung back from the foyer, standing in the entrance to what was most likely the living room, one filled with lots of boxes. The smell coming from the place reminded him of the time he’d spilled milk and hadn’t cleaned it up well.

  “Yes, she is at the Kennedy Cemetery. Has been there since she found out her son was killed.”

  “May I come in?”

  “What for?”

  “I’m working on a kidnapping case and need your help.”

  “I don’t know anything about a person being kidnapped. I never condoned what my nephew did, and I always believed he was guilty. Clare never did. She was a foolish woman when it came to her children.” Daniel’s aunt stepped to the side. “This is my daughter, Susan. Now, she’s a proper daughter—not like Clare’s. Evil girl, like her younger brother. Those three just didn’t understand that the evidence pointed to Daniel’s guilt. No question about it. Then to go and commit suicide because he was killed. Like I said, plain foolish.”

  Brody followed the rotund woman into the living room. Her daughter remained in the entrance, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Now, Mama, Linda wasn’t that bad. They were a close-knit family.”

  “Linda tried to kick me out of this house, but my sister said in her will I could stay as long as I needed after taking care of her all those years Daniel was in prison. Clare’s word meant something. Not Linda’s.”

  “Where is Linda and her other brother?” Brody sat on the edge of the chair, the scent of apples and cinnamon wafting through the air—overpowering, as though to mask the odor of filthiness. Stacks of items littered the perimeter of the room and oozed over toward the middle until there was only a small space available for two chairs, a table, and a TV. The livable space was probably no bigger than eight feet by eight feet. A two-foot stack of magazines—old ones—surrounded the only lamp.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. I haven’t heard from her or her brother, J. R., in over a year. She had better things to do than see to her only close relatives—my daughter and me.”

  “What better things?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  The piles of possessions seemed to close in on him, robbing him of a decent breath. He took out a business card and gave it to Daniel’s aunt. “If you remember anything about where they are or if they contact you, please give me a call. I would like to talk to them.”

  “What’s this about? You said a kidnapping? The two kidnappings were solved ten years ago when they caught Daniel.”

  “This kidnapping is recent and involves a ten-year-old girl. We’re looking into people who might have a grudge against Judge Rebecca Morgan. She was the—”

  “The prosecutor on Daniel’s trial. She did her job. Is the little girl her daughter?”

  “No, niece.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I doubt I’ll hear anything, but if I do, I’ll give you a call.”

  He stood slowly and turned to make his way through the maze of boxes and piles of belongings, and nearly bumped into the woman’s daughter.

  “I’ll show you to the door.”

  As he passed an area near the entrance, he thought he caught a whiff of something rotten. He glanced down and saw some food on a plate—black and moldy. Acid churned in his stomach. He hastened toward the exit.

  Instead of shutting the door, the daughter walked out onto the porch with Brody. “Mama hasn’t heard from Linda, but I have.”

  “You have? When?”

  “At a restaurant a month ago. She was with a man and acted like she’d never seen me before. I tried to say something, but she hurried the man out of the place before I could.”

  “So she’s probably still in San Antonio. Does she go by Linda Watson?”

  “That’s her name, but J. R. always called her Sissy.”

  “Sissy, what are you doing here? I told you it was too dangerous for you to come here.” J. R. blocked the entrance into his rented house. He glanced toward the living room to make sure Kim had done what he’d asked: go to the bathroom.

  “Where is she?” His sister burst into the house, shoving him out of the way. Anger had transformed her beautiful features into something he didn’t like to see. Losing control usually followed.

  When she started across the living room, he grabbed her arm to halt her. “We need to talk about this.”

  “I’m done talking with you. We agreed to this plan and now you’re backing out. I’ve put more than a year of my life into this, and all I’ve asked is for you to follow through with what you are supposed to do. Don’t forget who’s been giving you money.” She yanked her arm from his grip and stormed toward the hallway that led to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

  He went after her and stopped her again in the corridor. “It isn’t that simple. I didn’t realize I have a line I won’t cross. Killing a kid is that line. I’m not our brother. I can’t do it.”

  “Then I will, you coward. Rebecca Morgan needs to pay for what she did to our family. Daniel was murdered. Mama killed herself because of his death. She used to visit him every week at the prison, and when she couldn’t, she gave up on her life. I had to stand by and watch. I couldn’t do anything for either one of them. I will not let her go about her life as if she hasn’t destroyed ours.” The rage in Sissy’s expression was mirrored in her voice. “Where is she?”

  For a few seconds J. R. stood rooted to the floor while his older sister reached for the knob of the bathroom door. Then he moved. “No, leave her be. Keeping her alive could be worse for Rebecca Morgan.”

  Sissy swiveled toward him. “We talked about this and decided not to. It increases the danger to us. We need to finish this and leave the country. There are places we can go with the money I’m taking from the Sinclairs and live quite well, outside the reach of the law. That’s the beauty of my plan. They’re paying for everything. They just don’t know it yet.” She spun around and wrenched the door open.

  Kim sat on the floor in the corner, her legs curled up against her chest, her body shaking. The sight tore at J. R. He remembered doing that very thing as a child when his mama and older brother went on a rampage, unable to contain their anger at anyone in their path.

  The child stared at her. Hope flared inside the girl for a few seconds before she recognized the expression on Sissy’s face—hate. Kim scrambled as far away from her as possible, cowering between the wall and the toilet.

  Siss
y charged into the room and snatched Kim’s arm, hauling her up. As she began dragging the girl from the bathroom, the child cried out, “I don’t understand, Tory.”

  “Which restaurant?” Brody asked the cousin of J. R. and Linda Watson.

  “Gill’s Steakhouse.”

  “Do you remember when?”

  “Five weeks ago this coming Friday. It was around seven thirty. She was with a good-looking man. Big, had on a western suit with boots and a cowboy hat. Brown hair. I didn’t get close enough to see what color his eyes were.”

  Brody gave her one of his cards, afraid his other one was already lost in the mess in the house. “Please call if you remember anything else. It’s very important.”

  “I will tell you that Linda had a mean streak a mile wide. I once crossed her, and she hasn’t ever really forgiven me, so I wasn’t surprised she ignored me in the restaurant.”

  “Do you have a photo of Linda and J. R.? That could help me.”

  “Probably,” she jerked her thumb toward the house, “that is, if I can find it in there. Mama won’t throw out anything. She’s sure she’ll need it sometime in the future. But the reality is, she doesn’t. I’ll look for some pictures and give you a call if I can find any. Maybe Mama will know where to look. She’s probably the only one who might.”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” Brody headed for his SUV, putting in another call to Rebecca. “I may be a little late to the hospital. I have another lead I want to check. I get vibes from the Watson family that there might be something going on with two of them—J. R. and Linda, Daniel’s siblings.”

  “I hope it leads somewhere, because each moment that passes I feel we’re losing Kim. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s killed or vanishes. This is all my fault. This is . . .” Her voice faded into silence.

  “Don’t go there, Rebecca. You’re a victim of someone who wants revenge. You can’t control that.”

  “I don’t know if I can let this go.” She lowered her voice, a thickness in it. “There’s a part of me that realizes I’m not responsible, but a little voice inside me keeps accusing me of being the one who brought this on my family and my friend. Remember what Tory said.”