by DiAnn Mills
Bella listened to Carr voice his thoughts, always analyzing his statements, always reading his body language. She believed in his innocence, but she had to be looking for an error. Allowing her feelings for him to blind her meant someone else could be killed. Yet she sensed something else bothered him. “What else is on your mind?”
His gaze bored into hers, cold and calculating. “When were you planning to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
Carr’s eyebrows narrowed. She hadn’t seen him angry before, only heard about his temper. “When I talked to Roano today, he had a few questions about Darren and me having a disagreement regarding our church’s building project.” He folded his hands on his desk, and she didn’t understand what had gotten him so hot. “For the record, I thought the project should be debt-free. Darren wanted to secure a loan for half of it. Once Roano was finished, he told me something interesting. Said you and he had gone to school together. Why didn’t you tell me you grew up in Runnels County? that your father was a Spider Rock enthusiast?”
Uneasiness chased a chill up her spine. Why hadn’t the deputy questioned her about her life there? She didn’t remember him from school, but much of those days were a blur. “The information hadn’t come up in the investigation.”
“But you pretended ignorance about the Spider Rock.”
He had no idea what nightmares the legend procured. “I said I didn’t believe in it, and I knew very little about the legend. And for the record, my father was the treasure hunter, not I. What I know is minuscule compared to what we’ve researched online or what you’ve relayed to me from your book.”
He leaned back in his chair. Still no sign of his infamous temper, unless his rage lay dormant until it exploded in a burst of fury.
She silently dared him to challenge her. “I’ve seen how the Spider Rock treasure affects those who forsake everything to find it. I don’t have specific clues. Sure I’ve heard the stories and seen the map. But as far as I know, the gold could be anywhere.”
“I’ve done all I could think of to help you, and you played me for some kind of a fool. I understand I was a suspect in the murders. Probably still am. I also understand you’re an FBI agent sent to find out who committed those murders and under no obligation to tell me anything. But I thought we were friends, on the same side.”
In his shoes, she’d be upset and feel betrayed too. Perhaps a little information for friendship’s sake was in order. “I lived in this county until I was fifteen years old. My father was obsessed with finding the treasure, which is why I left the area.”
“You left the area? But not your parents?”
“Right. I went to live with an aunt.”
“Seems strange. Do they still live here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Are you going to tell me any more? Because I have a hard time believing you don’t know where your parents are.”
“Believe what you want. Doesn’t matter. Because of those early years, the FBI assigned me lead agent in the investigation.”
He studied her as though weighing what she’d said—or perhaps what she hadn’t said. “What prompted you to join the FBI?”
She smiled and his animosity appeared to diffuse, if there had been much at all. She’d been asked this question before, and the answer had motivated every step of her career. “Concern for violent crime. I believe good and decent people deserve to walk the streets and country roads of the U.S. without fear.”
“I see. But there’s more, isn’t there?” Intensity crept across his face. “We all have our secrets, Bella.”
No point in getting in his face. He saw straight through her avoidance. “I haven’t been back here since.” Bella wrestled with how much more to tell Carr. She’d allowed her feelings for him to affect her logical, matter-of-fact method of processing information in the investigation. Yet deep in the pit of her stomach, where reason collided with intuition, she knew Carr was one of the finest men she’d ever met. Her original impression of him being arrogant and guilty of violent crime changed when she watched how he led his life. His role in the crimes lay in circumstantial evidence, and at this point, she’d learned nothing to convince her otherwise.
“I’m sorry for not telling you the truth.” She hoped he believed her.
Silence wafted about the room. Uneasiness warred against her normal mode of wanting to be in control. But beyond her domineering personality traits was how she felt about truth and justice.
“Earlier today, I found footprints leading to my car. A note had been placed under the wiper blades.” She pulled it from her shoulder bag and read the typed note, omitting her first name. “‘Be careful. You’re safer in Houston. Brandt plays for keeps.’”
“Someone wants to make sure you’re safe.”
“Maybe. Would have been nice if the person had signed it.”
He paused. “Footprints, huh? It must have rained in Abilene too. What size shoes?”
“What do you think?”
“But the note says to stay away from Richardson.”
“He’s not the only one involved who wears a size-twelve shoe.”
Carr’s openness urged her to take another step forward. But was this the right thing to do? Vulnerability had never been a part of her adult life, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted to start now. Bella stood and walked to the window—the light streaming in had come to represent clarity of thought. From the view there, the butte appeared to hold up the sky. Wasn’t she the special agent who supposedly had her act together, sent to locate a murderer and make an arrest?
“Who is the other ghost?” His words were spoken barely above a whisper, coaxing her. She feared making a mistake, and yet she detested looking over her shoulder like a coward afraid of her own shadow.
“My father.”
Carr scooted back his chair, and in an instant, he was beside her. “The FBI assigned you to a case in which your own father may be involved?”
“I don’t think they’re aware of his possible role in what is happening here.”
“I haven’t heard of a man named Jordan in this case.”
“His name is Stanton Warick.”
Carr’s eyes softened.
Her pulse raced. “Do you know him?”
“I know the name. While getting my feet wet about ministering to troubled teen boys, I visited a couple of churches in the county—sort of to see if I could relate to teens. I spoke to them about my life before becoming a Christian.” He hesitated, his eyes capturing hers. “I remember a couple of boys with the last name of Warick.”
Must be a mistake. “They were in church? I find that hard to believe.”
“Yep. These boys came from youth groups.”
Did she really want to venture into this? But how could she not explore the possibility? “First names?”
“I don’t remember.”
Bella doubted the boys were a part of her family. She couldn’t remember any other Waricks from her childhood. However, she’d look into it. The Stanton Warick she remembered had no use for church or anything that didn’t profit him. This evening when she was able to get online, she’d have Warick’s info, which would give his address and how he spent his time. She’d have the information now if her BlackBerry had a signal. Still, she’d made a commitment to Aunt Debbie to find her siblings, and she intended to keep her word. They might need her.
“Was Pastor Kent with you during those visits?”
Carr nodded. He stepped to his desk and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “I’m assuming those boys could be related to you. Why don’t you give me their names?”
Why not? What did she have to lose? “Ty, Alex, Zack, and a girl—Anne.”
“All right. I’ll see what I can find out. Are they cousins?”
“Something like that. I’d hate to involve kids in all of this. But it may be necessary.”
“Wish I could figure out how your mind works.”
“With this investigation?” She knew exa
ctly what he meant.
“For starters.”
“It’s always a puzzle, but unlike a jigsaw where you start with the corners and sides, the pieces are all random.”
Carr stuffed his hands into his jeans pocket. “In the middle are three dead men, and Darren’s body may or may not fit.”
“I’m inclined to believe it does,” Bella said.
“What else goes into the puzzle?”
“The Spider Rock treasure, Brandt Richardson, Stanton Warick . . .”
“I can almost hear the gears grinding in your head. What else are you thinking?”
Bella reached for the pad of paper on his desk, tore off the names of her brothers and sister, and drew a square on a clean piece. “What if the treasure is in the middle of the puzzle with the High Butte in the background? And in one corner are the three victims. In another corner is Brandt Richardson, and in the other two corners are other players?”
“Like Warick?”
“Yeah.” She doodled on the bottom of the paper while mentally processing what she remembered about her father and Brandt’s relationship.
“So who else could be in those two corners?”
Bella allowed her mind to clear. “Maybe Darren. We both know he heard or saw something that bothered him. Maybe someone who was close to the victims—or someone close to Richardson.”
“What are Richardson’s habits?”
She started to tell him he didn’t qualify for the information. But then again, he might have answers for her. “He’s manipulative, charming. Uses disguises like a chameleon. The one characteristic he cannot alter is the raspy sound of his voice.”
Carr moistened his lips. “No one with that kind of voice has contacted me. Let me be a part of this investigation. I can help. The killer won’t suspect me.”
“You aren’t trained, and it’s too dangerous. Out of the question, and I don’t want to bury a friend.”
He chuckled, the deep resonating sound that she’d grown to welcome. “Glad to hear you’d miss me.”
“This isn’t a child’s game, Carr.”
“I figured that out when Jasper and I found those bodies. The more I think about it, the more complicated it gets. You came here looking to arrest me or Brandt Richardson for the murders. Possibly both of us. So in addition to four dead men, who shot out your tires, planted a rattler in your bed, returned my rifle, left a note on your windshield, and whatever else he’s done?”
“If I had answers to those questions, I wouldn’t be here.”
“What else has happened?”
“Small change.”
“Aye, a stubborn woman you are,” he said with a thick Irish brogue. “You must possess a handful of four-leaf clovers, or the bad guys wouldn’t be wasting their time.”
“Nice to think I can scare them.”
“I don’t want you as a statistic on the FBI’s hero list. I did my own research on Brandt Richardson, and I’m perturbed only two agents were sent to conduct the investigation, and one of them isn’t even around. Is this a part of economic cutbacks?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You and my aunt Debbie would get along just fine.”
“If she’s concerned about your ornery hide, I imagine so.”
“Now you sound like a local.”
“Good. Nothing worse than being shunned in the community because of your city-slicker ways.” His features softened. “I have another motive. When this is over, I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better.”
A strange sensation snaked up from her stomach to her throat, rendering her speechless, and it had nothing to do with the case. She hadn’t seen his interest coming, and thus she refused to respond.
“Your face is red,” he said.
“It’s a first.”
“To blush or for a suspect to want to court you?”
She laughed. “Court? As in the nineteenth century?”
“Whatever it takes.” He nodded as though accenting his words. “I’m serious.”
“Interest in me isn’t a good idea.” What if Carr had read her emotions?
“Let me be the judge of what’s a good idea or not.”
The importance of maneuvering Carr from this topic crept to the forefront of her mind. “I need to talk to Lydia. She recognized me, and I haven’t addressed it properly.”
“Sure. But I’m not apologizing for making you feel uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Maybe things would change when this was over. But until then, Carr was off-limits in the romance department.
Chapter 21
When Brandt was fourteen years old and read the side of a cigarette pack, he saw those expensive nuggets that made him look cool could kill him, so he threw the cigarettes away. Hadn’t touched one since.
When he read his body might last longer if he jogged, he bought a pair of running shoes, and he still had the body of a twenty-year-old. Except for his left knee.
When he realized his four-point average could land him a free ride in college, he dug into the books and now held a degree in business and a minor in history.
When he learned about a lost Spanish treasure buried somewhere in the triangle of Aspermont, Rotan, and Clyde, Texas, he decided the cache of $64 million in gold belonged to him.
And fourteen years ago, when he first saw Rachel Bella Warick, he knew she had to be his. He craved—no, needed—the green-eyed beauty.
He intended to have the gold and Rachel. Yet neither was in his awaiting hands. But he was growing closer, and he could taste and smell the sweetness of pure bliss.
Chapter 22
Halfway back to the hotel on Friday evening, Bella considered pulling over and reading the information on her BlackBerry about Stanton and Mair Warick, but she wanted to give the report her full attention. With the highway winding ahead of her, Bella’s mind drifted back to when her father married Mair. He’d promised Bella their new life would be like a storybook. What a joke. She wanted to believe there’d been good times during her childhood, but she couldn’t remember them.
Bella’s siblings had been on her mind since she first took on the assignment in Houston. But how did she right all of those years when she’d deserted them? She’d been selfish in not making contact. Ty, Alex, Zack, and Anne. Beautiful children. She’d missed them terribly in the beginning. Would she recognize any of those angelic faces from the past? If their lives had been anything like her first fifteen, they needed encouragement and support—and counseling. She was in a position to take care of them, and it was time she began.
She pulled her car into the hotel parking lot, weary and needing a break from the stress of an unsolved murder case. Tomorrow, she and Carr planned an early morning horseback ride to take the edge off the stress of the case and begin the weekend.
Bella had no intentions of burning daylight on the FBI’s dollar, and she had plenty of work to do once they finished. She’d take clothes to shower and change before enjoying one of Lydia’s mouthwatering breakfasts. Lots of leads were on tomorrow’s lists, including an afternoon drive to Austin to see Yvonne Taylor again.
Carr promised to show her a sunrise unsurpassed by any she’d ever seen. He must have forgotten she’d spent the first fifteen years of her life under those sunrises. Memories of nature’s beauty had slipped from her thoughts along with any semblance of pleasantness.
Tonight, she’d load up on caffeine and work late on those puzzle pieces that she and Carr had attempted to fit together. But first she wanted to read e-mails and study the report on Stanton and Mair Warick.
At the hotel, she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, grabbed her laptop, and hurried inside. She greeted the female attendant behind the desk, the one who had claimed to be the manager, and made her way to the elevator and second floor. As the elevator closed, a man dressed in a gray silk suit stepped in behind her, with silver-rimmed glasses and eyebrows that were joined in the middle. He smiled and she returned the gesture, noting she could have seen her
reflection in his glasses.
“Have a good evening.” She exited the elevator on her floor.
When he didn’t respond, she jerked back to see why. In the crack of the closing door, the man offered a slight nod. Instantly, Bella realized the man was Brandt Richardson.
She pressed the elevator button up, but her reflexes weren’t fast enough and the door closed. Racing down the hall, she flung open the door to the stairs and took two steps at a time up. By the time she stood in front of the next floor’s elevator, Brandt had disappeared. She shifted the laptop and shoulder bag and rushed down the steps to the lobby, but no one had seen a man in a gray business suit.
He could be a guest.
How many other times had she encountered Brandt and not realized he was following her? Surprise did not assault her, only the frustration that Brandt had continued to outsmart her. The dreadful cat-and-mouse game.
The implication seized her, and fear dug its claws into her heart. Brandt had planned the encounter on the elevator. He could have killed her, and no one ever would have known. In the past when she worked at outthinking a criminal, she took all the findings about him and slipped into his shoes. In this case, size twelve. The same size as her father’s. They were working together. She was positive.
* * *
Carr looked forward to tomorrow’s ride with Bella like a kid who anticipated a birthday surprise. She’d be at the ranch by 5:45, and they’d grab a cup of coffee before saddling up to leave by daybreak. They’d ride east into the sunrise—Bella and the sunrise, two beauties who were equally breathtaking. One he could only admire from a distance, and the other would ride beside him, off-limits until her investigation cleared both of their lives.
Not since before finding the three victims had he looked forward to anything with enthusiasm. The deaths he regretted, and he mourned losing Darren. Soon this would be over. All of the families involved needed closure, and the murderer needed to be in custody.
Carr leafed through the stack of mail on his desk. Most of it could be tossed into the trash unopened. An envelope bearing his church denomination’s return address captured his attention. Rather than ponder its contents with the understanding he’d not contacted them since the ordeal started, he lifted the flap of the envelope and listened to it crack and complain.