The Texas Ranger

by Diana Palmer

  "At least we know that she's involved in all this," Josette said.

  "Yes, but it doesn't help us find her connection to Jennings's murder, or to Jake Marsh. She had no computer contact with anyone except Jennings, in prison, and with the other computers she broke into to make those changes in Jennings's record. She had a clear field there, because the prison where he was staying had just had a systems crash and some prisoners got lost in the cracks."

  "That explains a lot."

  "It doesn't help my conviction record," Grier said curtly. "I'd like to fly down to Argentina, slip a bag over her head and bring her back for questioning."

  "Ask the D.A. for a plane ticket," she suggested lightly.

  "I did." He looked absolutely disgusted. "She asked the budget chief. He said I could stand outside with a tin cup and a sign until I collected the fare."

  Josette laughed. "Okay, that avenue's cut off," she added. "But we still have Jennings's tie to Jake Marsh, and the hit man, York. Well, we had York. He escaped from the hospital."

  "Yeah, I heard about that," he commented, crossing his long legs. "Sloppy police work."

  "No fair. The officer guarding the door was knocked out," she explained. "He has a concussion. Nobody expects a man with a gunshot wound to be walking around."

  "I would," Grier mused, noting her wounded arm in its sling. "Doesn't seem to have slowed you down much."

  "Point taken. The thing is, he's out and we don't know who his target is. We don't think he killed Mrs. Jennings, though. The neighbor described the man as wearing wing-tip dress shoes, and we know that Marsh favors them."

  "Yes, and two-thousand-dollar suits," he added. He got up, grabbing his service revolver out of his desk drawer. Grier checked it, made sure the safety was on and stuck it in its holster at his lean waist. He wore his detective's shield in front on his belt, she noted. "I have a contact who's in the local mob. He usually knows what's going down in the underworld. I'll go see him."

  "Can I go along?"

  He scowled. "Why?"

  "I'm closer to the Jennings case than you are," Josette said simply. "I can think of questions to ask that you might not."

  He looked absolutely perplexed, and there was an odd glint in his dark eyes.

  "I'm not going to storm in and start flashing my credentials," she persisted. "I'll just be an appendage. You can tell him I'm a colleague."

  He gave her a curious appraisal. "Brannon know you're going with me?"

  Josette glared at him. "I do not report every movement I make to Brannon," she said firmly. "Anyway, he won't mind."

  Grier pondered that with narrowed eyes. "Brannon has a peculiar way with him about women," he persisted. "I've heard him speak of you. He's territorial and he has a temper almost as bad as mine. I don't trespass."

  " 'Yes, but then, you probably don't have to pick up wounded women at the hospital to get them to go to your apartment with you," she replied pertly.

  "I don't take women to my apartment," he returned, and he didn't smile.

  She cleared her throat. What Brannon had said about this guy having a badge sewn to his underwear was beginning to make sense. "It's a business matter. I'm working with the D.A.'s office, just like you. There's nothing personal about it. Now, shall we go?"

  Grier shrugged and stood aside to let her go first.

  He drove an unmarked patrol car. Josette glanced at the hubcaps, shook her head and got inside.

  He slid in beside her, noted that she had her seat belt on. and fixed his in place before he started the car. "Something funny?" he asked.

  "Unmarked police cars," she said. "They all have those same round plain hubcaps that regular police cars have. It's a dead giveaway."

  Grier made a rough sound and ignored her until he pulled up at a local billiards parlor. She grinned, but he didn't notice.

  There were two men around a big pool table, while three others sat at a nearby table playing cards.

  "Hello, Bartlett," Grier greeted the elder of the two men, and the shortest. He shook hands with him. "How's it going?"

  "Not bad, Grier." He glanced at the woman beside the detective. "Crippling women these days?"

  "I didn't shoot her," Grier returned drolly.

  Bartlett chuckled. He had a raspy voice, the kind that comes after countless years of smoking. He coughed and went back to his game. He called the shot, and made it.

  "Nice shot," Josette mused.

  He looked at her curiously. "You play?"

  "A little," she said with a smile. "I learned from a girl in college."

  "I don't guess you play much now," he said, indicating her arm.

  "Only if I could hold the cue stick with my toes," she agreed.

  He chuckled. "She's okay," he told Grier. He set up his next shot. "What you want, Grier?"

  "A word in private."

  "Sure."

  He put the cue stick down and moved out into the deserted cafeteria next door with Josette and Grier.

  "Is there any word on the street about Marsh being involved in a hit?"

  The smaller man's eyebrows lifted. "How'd you know about that?"

  "Never mind. What do you know?"

  "Well, what I hear is that Marsh had hired this guy he knows to put away a blackmailer for him. Then he finds out the dead guy didn't have the stuff on him, the blackmail stuff. So now he's going nuts trying to find it and zapping anybody who gets in the way."

  "You know if he's found it yet?"

  "Naw, but I doubt it," the little man drawled. "They say he's got hives worrying that he's going up for Jennings's murder. Not that he did it," he added.

  "Who did? York?" Grier asked.

  "That would be my bet," the older man replied. "York's been in the game for several years. He may look like a kid, but he'd do anything for a dime. Marsh hires him for the really dirty jobs."

  Grier gave Bartlett the description he had of the man who'd gone into Mrs. Jennings's apartment and killed her.

  "Not York," he agreed. "But that wouldn't be Marsh's style, either. He don't torture old ladies."

  "There was a woman with him, in a fancy hat and veil."

  "Marsh has a mistress. I've never seen her. They say she's married to some rich guy that Marsh knows. Word is that she's ready to leave the husband because of something that's going to happen to him."

  "Something connected with blackmail?" Grier wondered.

  Bartlett smiled. "Now what do you think? You're the detective, aren't you?"

  On the way back to the office, Josette was quiet. The presence of the woman in Mrs. Jennings's apartment was disturbing, since no one seemed to credit Jake Marsh with stooping so low as to torture old women. Sowhat if the woman had done the torturing?

  That made the situation even more disturbing—and more complicated. A rich woman, married to a rich man, who had a connection to Dale Jennings, who had evidence of some sort of wrongdoing. In the middle, Jake Marshthe local mob kingpin—and a bit man, and two recent murder victims connected to it all.

  "Someone," Josette said aloud, "is taking extreme risks to get their hands on a piece of blackmail."

  "Someone connected to Marsh and Jennings," Grier added.

  "That woman your contact mentioned, Marsh's mistress," she began. "What if she tortured old Mrs. Jennings, trying to make her tell what she knew?"

  "I've seen it done."

  "Some women are worse than some men," she said.

  His hard face got even harder. "I'll drink to that."

  Josette had a feeling that he was speaking from personal experience, but he was a colleague, not a confidant, so she didn't press.

  "How do we find out who she is?"

  "That's the big question."

  He pulled up in the courthouse parking lot just in time to find Brannon getting out of his black SUV. He stood with his hands on his hips and glared as Grier got out with Josette.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Brannon demanded of Josette in a tone that would have kindled a f
ire under wet wood.

  Grier gave her an I-told-you-so look and walked away with nothing more than a nod to the Texas Ranger.

  "I've been out with Grier talking to one of his contacts," she said calmly. She didn't feel calm. He was glaring at her with silvery eyes that glittered like metal shards.

  "You can tell me on the way to get something to eat. I'm hungry."

  "Listen, Brannon" she began.

  "Aren't you hungry?"

  "No." Her stomach growled loudly just as she said it. "Yes," she amended.

  "We can eat and talk at the same time."

  "Okay."

  It was easier to agree than argue, and Josette did, after all, have to tell him what she'd learned. Not that she wanted to spend a lot of time with him in his present mood. Brannon was really intimidating when he didn't smile.

  He pulled into a nice-looking building where plenty of cars were already parked, even though it wasn't noon.

  "Do you eat here a lot?" she asked.

  "All of us do," he replied. "They always have fresh fish, whatever season it is."

  He led her inside and they waited until a waitress came to seat them. Josette asked for separate checks. Then she ordered the fish platter and coffee. Brannon ordered the same, substituting iced tea for coffee.

  "Okay," he said. "What did you find out?"

  She told him, elaborating about Sandra Gates's flight from prosecution and adding her own suspicions about the part the mysterious woman of Jake Marsh's had played in Mrs. Jennings's death.

  "That's a lot of generalizations," he remarked.

  "I know," she sighed. "If we knew who the woman was"

  "Didn't Grier's contact know anything about her?" Brannon asked far too casually.

  She took the question at face value. "Only that she was rich."

  "Did he ask you to go with him?" he persisted over a forkful of fish. "Grier knows some dangerous people. It isn't safe to tag along with him."

  "Why not? Grier isn't scared of them."

  "That's because he's more dangerous than they are." His eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about him, do you?"

  "He's the resident computer expert," Josette said, nibbling on her food.

  He laughed. He finished his fish and fries, and pushed the plate aside, wiping his mouth with the napkin and sipping iced tea before he answered her.

  "And you're not going to tell me why that's funny, are you?"

  Brannon leaned back and stared at her with faint amusement. "Does he fit your idea of a computer expert?"

  She thought of Phil Douglas in her office and compared him with Grier. "Well, no," Josette confessed.

  His silver eyes narrowed. "Just don't get too attached to him," he said bluntly.

  Her eyebrows arched. "And why not?"

  Brannon leaned forward abruptly, so that his face was inches from hers. "Because you're mine," he said flatly.

  While Josette was trying to think of a snappy, mature reply, he got up, grabbed the check, and stood aside to let her out while she was still fumbling in her purse for the tip.

  She barely managed to get it on the table under her saucer before she was led to the checkout counter. And before she could argue about it, he'd paid that bill, too.

  "You have to stop feeding me," she muttered as he led her outside to the truck and drew her around to the passenger side.

  "I can't. You're too thin." He paused at the door. The parking lot was deserted. He moved deliberately so that he was standing close to her, both arms on the cab of the SUV behind her.

  "Brannon," she protested, but she sounded breathless as her hands went to his shirt.

  He searched her eyes for so long that her heart began to flutter in her chest. She knew he could see her ragged breathing and the hot flush she felt on her cheeks. But she had no way of resisting him.

  He looked down at her soft mouth hungrily. "All right," he said huskily. "We'll do it your way. Flowers. Candy. Tickets to the symphony concerts."

  "Whwhat?" she stammered.

  He bent and brushed his hard, warm mouth against her soft one. "I love kissing you, Josie," he whispered. "I always did."

  It was hard to resist a man with his skill, moreover, one who could be so tender and teasing. Her hands spread on his chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath. Her eyes closed.

  "We're going to get arrested for lewd behavior," Josette moaned.

  "Kissing isn't against the law," he ground out against her parting lips.

  Brannon levered down against her, his mouth demanding, his body hard and insistent where it flattened against her hips. He groaned softly, and his heavy brows drew together in sweet anguish.

  Josette's eyes opened just briefly and she saw his expression, and knew that he wasn't pretending to be affected by her. He really did love kissing her. And that wasn't all. She felt a blatant, insistent pressure against her belly.

  "Marc," she whispered, drawing back a breath. "There's a car pulling in."

  His eyes looked blank. Glazed. He blinked and drew in a forced breath. Then his head lifted and he glanced at the incoming car's single occupant. Slowly the drawn tension of ardor left his lean face and he smiled quizzically.

  Josette was still reeling. From behind her, on the other side of the SUV, came an amused deep drawl.

  " She said you wouldn't mind if she went along with me. Ha!"

  It was Grier's voice, and he was already walking toward the restaurant before either of them could say a word.

  "Oh, Brannon," she moaned, puffing back from him with wide eyes, a swollen mouth and a bubble of laughter on her lips.

  "Did you tell him that?" he asked softly.

  Josette sighed. "Yes, I actually did. But you do mind," she added with sudden realization.

  Brannon fingered her soft hair. "I've been in law enforcement almost half my life, yet Grier has done things I never dreamed of." He shrugged. "He hates women, but they follow him like a chicken follows a rattlesnake, with pure fascination."

  Whyhe was jealous! Why hadn't she seen that before?

  He glared at her. "I'm not jealous," he said, reading her expression. "I just don't think it's safe for you to go places with Grier."

  She studied him, from his wavy blond-streaked light brown hair to his silver eyes, to his handsome lean, tanned face, to his chiseled mouth and she laughed breathlessly.

  "I always thought you knew how good-looking you were," Josette said shyly. "But you don't think of yourself that way, do you?"

  He shifted as if uncomfortable. "Looks don't mean much."

  She smiled. "You'd be sexy and attractive if you had a big nose and ears like jug handles," she said.

  One eyebrow arched. "Would I?"

  That faint hint of masculine insecurity made her melt. Did he really need to be reassured that she found him attractive? Impulsively she reached up with her arms and drew his mouth down to hers. She kissed him softly, feeling the delight of it all over her yielded body. Brannon seemed surprised at the move, but he kissed her back tenderly.

  "Your only real problem is that temper," Josette whispered. "You make Grier look like a pacifist."

  He chuckled, not at all insulted. "I'll calm down in a few years."

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "They say kids take the rough edges off a man."

  "Kids?" She searched his eyes, perplexed, but found nothing there. "Do you have many rough edges?"

  He pursed his lips and looked deliberately at her stomach. "We'll have to talk about that one of these days. And about kids. Meanwhile, how about a symphony concert? There's one Saturday night."

  Josette hesitated. "We're here on a murder investigation."

  "Good. We can investigate the conductor and the first chair violinist," he replied easily. "They'll make dandy suspects. I'll even file a report, after."

  "Brannon!" she said, exasperated.

  "Detectives get an occasional night off. Saturday is going to be ours." He kissed her one last time before he opened the pa
ssenger door. As he helped her climb up, he noticed several teenagers in a van parked near the restaurant. They were watching the couple at the black SUV with wide eyes and big smiles. The smiles got bigger when Brannon walked around to the driver's side and they saw the cream-colored Stetson, boots and revolver, and the Texas Ranger badge on his shirt.

  Brannon almost blushed as he started the vehicle.

  Josette, who had been watching the byplay, laughed softly to herself. But she blushed, too.

  He glanced at her as she fastened her seat belt. "You still blush. Imagine that, at your age."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, you were blushing, too, Brannon!"

  "I never blush," he said curtly.

  As they passed the teenagers, one of the girls let out a long, enthusiastic wolf whistle at Brannon.

  He could hear Josette's soft laughter, but he wasn't going to look at himself in the mirror. He was not blushing.

  "What about the safe-deposit box?" Josette asked when they were back in front of the D.A.'s office.

  "Dead end. I checked every bank in town that didn't require a court order, and I'll go back and check the ones that did. But so far, nobody has a record of Dale Jennings renting one."

  She thought about that, hesitating about getting out of the vehicle. "Suppose," she began, "just suppose it was in the woman's name."

  "It might be," Brannon said. "But we're no closer to finding her name. Apparently it wasn't Sandra Gates."

  "I'll bet Grier can find out who she was," she said without thinking. "He seems to know his way around the underworld."

  "Then let him do his own legwork. I mean it, Josie," he said shortly, and his eyes were threatening. "I'm not having you at risk for any case, no matter how important."

  "What do you know about the man that you're not telling me?" she demanded.

  "Things I can't repeat," he said harshly.

  "Things?"

  Brannon hesitated and bit off a hard sigh. "Classified things, Josie," he said finally.

  Her eyebrows shot up. That could mean anything.

  "Justtake my word for it and humor me, could you?" he asked, exasperated, scowling at her. "Listen, having you get shot was hard enough on my nerves. I don't want to risk you twice."