by Lynn Shannon
Now it was time to make his.
Thirteen
Late afternoon sunshine crept across Calvin Miller’s ramshackle cabin. Firewood was piled on the corner of the porch, and a squirrel danced through the clearing to a collection of pine trees. Avery’s breath created puffs in the cold air. She knocked on the wooden front door and shifted her feet to keep warm. It’d taken three hours to drive to this remote corner of Texas wilderness. She prayed it was time well spent.
Beside her, Weston shoved his hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket. “When you said Calvin Miller lived off the grid, you weren’t kidding. Does his house even have electricity?”
“Nope. He has a generator. Calvin never discussed it much but working as an FBI agent for four decades took its toll. This cabin was his escape from the world. When he retired, he moved here full-time. No landline. No cell phone. He goes into the nearest town for supplies and church on Sunday but otherwise stays here.”
“How often did your dad visit?”
“Quite a bit. And I know they discussed work from time to time. I came fishing with my dad once or twice and overheard them.” She knocked again before glancing in the smudged window. The inside of the cabin was dark. “I don’t think he’s here. Let’s try the lake.”
They stepped off the porch and she led Weston to a small dirt path. The scent of pine embraced them. Avery huddled deeper into her coat, even as her mind raced to fill the silence. The very awkward silence. Most of the car ride to Calvin’s land had been spent discussing the case, but Avery kept replaying the moments from earlier in the break room. Even now, her fingers brushed against her chin. The sensation of Weston’s touch seemed embedded in the skin.
She dropped her hand. Anything romantic between them was out of the question. Union County was Luke’s area, but there could be occasions when Weston would assist on cases. Avery had vowed to keep her professional and personal life separate. She intended to keep that promise.
While Weston would never treat her the way Jeffrey had, that didn’t eliminate potential complications between them. What if they dated but things didn’t work out? Avery had enough sense to know a man like Weston wouldn’t be easy to get over.
She needed to safeguard her heart. It was the only way.
A sudden break in the trees revealed a clearing with a small lake in the center. Calvin stood next to a nearby shack, holding a fishing pole in one hand and a pistol in the other. No doubt he’d heard them coming down the trail. Calvin was closing in on ninety, but his back was still ramrod straight and his mind as sharp as the hook on the end of his fishing line. He was dressed in a winter coat and waders. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face.
His eyes crinkled as a broad smile broke across his face. Calvin holstered the pistol. “Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t Avery Madison.”
She grinned and waved a hand at his waders. “I’d hug you, Calvin, but the car ride home won’t be pleasant if I smell like fish.”
He chuckled, but it ended in a harsh cough. Avery took in his flushed cheeks and surmised he was fighting off a cold. “It’s not a great day for fishing.”
“Gotta catch my dinner, Avery.”
“Catfish?” Weston asked.
“Yep.” Calvin’s gaze swept over the Texas Ranger and narrowed. “You know anything about fishing, son?”
“More than a bit.” Weston extended his hand and introduced himself. “Got another pole? I can lend a hand in catching your dinner.”
Calvin hmphed but did as Weston asked. The group went to the lake’s edge, and Avery waited until the bait was settled in the water before shifting the conversation to the case. She went through the facts they’d gathered and the connection to her father. “Do you know why someone might target me because of Dad?”
Calvin’s jaw tightened. “Avery, is Mike Steel still working for the Union County Sheriff’s Department?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“Then if I were you, I’d start looking at him.”
Avery reared back. She would’ve been less surprised if Calvin had slapped her. “What are you talking about? Mike would never hurt anyone.”
Calvin met her gaze before a tug on his line drew his attention back to the lake. “I never said anything before now because there was no need, but Mike Steel isn’t the man you think he is.”
“Stop talking in riddles, Calvin. Just say it.”
He nodded and reeled in his line. A catfish plopped on the bank. “It started with an attempted murder. Beverly Wilson was in her home when a man broke in through the back door, assaulted her, and attempted to strangle her with a rope. The perpetrator was interrupted when Beverly’s husband arrived home unexpectedly. Your father and Mike were assigned to work the case.”
Avery’s heart skittered. The basic facts—breaking in through the back door and strangulation with a rope—matched the cases they were working. Emilia had been right. They’d needed to expand their search of the sheriff’s files to strangulations.
“Back in those days, the sheriff’s department didn’t have a crime scene unit,” Calvin continued. “Kenneth and Mike collected the evidence themselves, and Mike was supposed to transport it to the lab. Instead, he stopped at a local bar. Mike had a drinking problem, but he’d contained it to his off-duty hours.”
Weston pulled his own fish out of the lake. “Until he couldn’t.”
Calvin nodded. “Mike got drunk. While he was in the bar, his patrol car was stolen along with all of the evidence. It was never recovered.”
Avery closed her eyes. “Beverly’s case was compromised.”
“That’s right. Worse yet, Mike wanted Kenneth to cover for him by saying the patrol car was stolen while he was doing a safety check of the bar. Kenneth refused. He went straight to the sheriff and turned Mike in. The entire situation was an embarrassment to the department.”
Weston groaned. “They covered it up.”
“Essentially.” Calvin tugged on the knit cap covering his hair. “The department made up a story about the stolen patrol car to save face. Mike went to rehab, but his career was irreparably damaged, and he blamed Kenneth. Mike’s never been able to climb the ranks higher than detective because the stint in rehab went in his permanent file.”
“Hold on,” Avery said. “You’re suggesting Mike killed two women and threatened me to get revenge for an incident that happened…what? More than twenty years ago? That doesn’t make sense. I’m far more interested in Beverly’s attacker.”
“Except Beverly’s attacker—guy by the name of John Starin—is dead. Kenneth kept working the case until he got a break. When the police went to John’s house, the man opened fire. He was killed in a shoot-out.”
Avery frowned. “Still, I have a hard time believing Mike is behind this. Drinking on the job is a far cry from murdering women.”
Calvin threw his line back into the water. “I agree. It’s extreme. But Avery, think about it in another way. You were a kid when Mike became a detective. Now, you outrank him and your career outshines his. Jealousy and revenge are powerful motivators, particularly when they’ve had decades to ferment.”
A cold shudder ran down her spine. She didn’t want to believe it, but…hadn’t she also sensed Mike’s jealousy? It’d slithered through their relationship since her move back to Union County.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Mike applied for the Chief of Police position at Harrison University. He mentioned it to me in passing once.”
Weston’s gaze shot to her. “When?”
“Right after I took the job. He came to the office to congratulate me and made a joke about how the job should’ve been his. It was awkward because I didn’t know what to say. Mike never brought it up again, and I forgot about it.”
“Avery, any job he applied to, the drinking incident would be reported to his potential new employer.” Calvin arched his brows. “Losing the position to you may have been the final straw.”
“He’s triggered by it,” Avery sa
id. “Mike comes up with a plan of revenge, killing women in the same method as the case that started it all. Taunting me to catch him. Pitting us against each other…just like we were for the job.”
Weston’s headlights cut through the darkness as he took the exit for Union County. Beside him, Avery was quiet. The GPS was set for Mike Steel’s house. Weston wasn’t sure what to think of Calvin’s assertions, but the sooner they confirmed or negated them, the better.
Weston’s phone rang, his dash lighting up with Luke’s name. Finally. His fellow ranger was tracking down the information Calvin had given them to verify it. Avery answered the call and let Luke know he was on speaker with both of them.
“Calvin was telling the truth about the fallout between Mike and Kenneth,” Luke said, ignoring pleasantries. “According to the retired detective I spoke to, no one knew precisely why the two men stopped being partners. However, everyone in the department suspected it was connected to Mike’s drinking. When he came back from rehab, many of the detectives refused to partner with him.”
Weston flipped on his blinker and turned into Mike’s neighborhood. “Well, that could create some resentment.”
“What about the Beverly Wilson case?” Avery asked.
“The retired detective I spoke to remembered it. John Starin was the attacker. Beverly’s necklace and her bloody nightgown were found inside John’s house, along with a length of rope consistent with the one used on the victim. Kenneth was the one who closed the case.”
“How did my dad figure out John Starin was Beverly’s attacker if Mike’s patrol car was stolen with all of the evidence?”
“Don’t know,” Luke replied. “I’ve requested the file from the sheriff’s department, but it’s apparently been misplaced. That’s why it took me so long to call you.”
“Misplaced, huh?” Weston asked. “Accidentally? Or intentionally?”
“Too early to say yet. The file room is a labyrinth and we’re looking for a twenty-year-old case. I’ll call you as soon as it’s located.”
Weston’s hand tightened on the steering wheel. As a detective with the sheriff’s department, Mike Steel had access to the file room. Had he hidden or destroyed the records? It was something to consider. “Thanks, Luke. Appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Weston hung up. He stopped outside of Mike Steel’s house and shoved the vehicle into Park. Avery was staring at the two-story structure, her mouth flattened into a grim line. “Let’s do this.”
They rang the bell, and moments later, Mike answered. He was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair disheveled. Behind him, a television was playing the news. “Avery. Weston. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“No, Mike, it isn’t,” Avery said. “We need to talk.”
Mike opened the door wider and let them pass. The living room was small and held a couch flanked by a couple of armchairs. A microwave dinner was balanced precariously on the corner of a portable table. Mike lowered the volume on the television. “Take a seat if you want. What’s going on?”
“We have reason to believe Debra and Marianne’s murders are connected to a case from a long time ago,” Weston said. “One you worked with Avery’s dad, Kenneth.”
Mike’s forehead wrinkled. “Which one?”
“Beverly Wilson.”
The detective’s friendly demeanor dropped away. He glared at them. “Beverly’s case has nothing to do with these recent cases. Who told you about it?”
“That’s not important—”
“Yes, it is.” The tips of Mike’s ears turned deep red. “I’ve worked hard to put my mistakes behind me, and now you’ve dredged them back up again. What game are you playing?”
“This is no game, Mike.” Avery arched her brows. Game? Interesting choice of words. “When you heard about the circumstances surrounding Debra’s murder, why didn’t you mention Beverly Wilson’s assault? The two cases are similar enough, you should’ve said something.”
“Are you kidding? First of all, Beverly Wilson wasn’t murdered. And second, her attacker is dead. John Starin isn’t the one after you now. Not unless he’s a ghost from the grave.”
“How did my father figure out John Starin had attacked Beverly?”
Mike scoffed, tossing the remote on the coffee table. It landed with a clatter. “You think I know? I was in Arizona doing mandatory rehab for a drinking problem I didn’t have.”
“How long were you there?” she asked.
“What difference does it make? I’m not interested in revisiting ancient history.” His gaze narrowed and he puffed out his chest. “I’ll ask you again, what’s this really about?”
Weston shifted until he was standing slightly in front of Avery, drawing the detective’s attention back to him. “Where were you last Friday night between the hours of seven and midnight?”
Mike sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t answer. The color from the tips of his ears spread into his cheeks and neck. “I’m a suspect?”
The question came out through gritted teeth, and Weston had the distinct impression Mike was barely holding it together. He gestured to an armchair. “Sit down, Mike.”
“This is my house. I’m not taking orders from you.”
“If you like, we can take this down to the station for everyone to see.” Weston kept his tone calm. “But I don’t think that’s in your interest. We aren’t trying to take you down, Mike. Our goal is to get to the truth. Now sit down.”
The detective threw himself into the chair. He seemed to struggle with his emotions, his fingers clenching and unclenching. The man had a temper.
“I didn’t have anything to do with the murders,” Mike said. “Kenneth and I had a falling out, yes. And I was angry about the way he handled the stolen patrol car, but it’s absurd to think I’d target Avery twenty years later because of it.”
Weston decided to continue down that path instead of challenging him about the chief of police position at Harrison University. The point was to get as much information as possible. He sat in the other armchair and faced Mike. “We have to eliminate you now that this information has come to light. That’s how investigations go, as you well know.”
Mike’s shoulders dropped. “It took me years to rebuild the trust of my department. How many people know about the stolen patrol car?”
“Myself, Avery, and one other ranger. That’s it. Things don’t need to go further, as long as you answer my questions. Where were you on Friday night between the hours of seven and midnight?”
“I was here.” Mike laughed, but there was no real mirth. It came out hard. “Alone. My wife divorced me years ago.”
Avery took a seat on the arm of the couch. From there, she could still listen in but wasn’t in Mike’s line of sight. Weston kept his gaze locked on the detective across from him. “What about on Saturday night?”
“I worked my shift. Got off in the evening at eight and came home. Went to sleep and returned to work for Sunday evening. And before you ask, no. No one can verify I was at home during the hours Marianne was abducted and killed.” Mike blew out another breath. “Again, I have no reason to hurt Avery. This is ridiculous.”
“Did you apply for the chief of police position at Harrison University?”
Mike’s jaw tightened and his leg started bouncing. “I did. So?”
“It couldn’t have been easy when Avery was hired for the job instead of you.” Weston kept his attention on the other man, watching each facial expression as it flickered across his face. “Especially considering the history you had with her dad. I mean, if Kenneth hadn’t turned you in all those years ago, if your time in rehab hadn’t gone on your permanent record, you’d be in her shoes.”
Mike froze, and a hardened mask dropped over his features. It was cold and unyielding, and a pinprick of fear stabbed at Weston. Had the enraged side of Mike, the out-of-control temper, been an act? Because the man Weston was looking at now was far different. This version of Mike could be respon
sible for two brutal, organized, and well-planned murders.
Mike stood. “We’re done here. Get out of my house. Both of you.”
Weston rose. “Don’t be hasty—”
“I said get out. You don’t have a shred of evidence linking me to these murders. If you want to interview me again, you can go through the sheriff and my lawyer.” He pointed to the front door. “You know the way.”
Avery’s complexion was pale, but she squared her shoulders and turned for the door. Weston followed. The cold air smacked his cheeks. He glanced back inside to see Mike crossing the living room. Just as the detective reached to close the door, a car’s headlights from the street swung into the living room. The beam flashed on a certificate hanging on the wall.
First place in the Texas State Chess Tournament.
Weston froze on the porch, that pinprick from earlier now a sharp jab. Mike shot him a hard smile before his gaze shifted to Avery. Something unreadable passed across his features.
Then he slammed the door in Weston’s face.
Fourteen
Weston leaned away from his computer and rubbed his eyes. Almost eleven. For hours, he’d been digging into everything he could find about Detective Mike Steel and Jack Starin. It was a slow and frustrating process. Beverly Wilson’s case file was still missing. Luke had assigned two troopers to search the sheriff’s file room to find it.
Through the wood-and-glass doors leading to the small office nook, he spotted Avery pacing with her cell phone plastered to her ear. She was talking to the dean of Harrison University, and from the crinkle of her brow, the phone call wasn’t going well.
Avery’s grandmother appeared in the doorway. Her hair was tucked into rollers and she wore a belted robe. She carried a tray loaded down with a carafe and slices of pie. “I’m about to turn in, but I thought you and Avery would like a late-night snack.”
He rose, took the tray from her hands, and placed it on the coffee table. “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Madison. Thank you.”