Ranger Courage

by Lynn Shannon

  It was another thread to pull, and Weston was grateful. Police work was tedious, but every detail was important. One of them could crack the case wide open.

  “Let’s assume Nolan is dead,” Weston said. “The killer has intimate knowledge of the events surrounding Jack Starin’s death, along with Nolan’s murder.”

  Grady tapped the marker against the whiteboard. “That brings us to our other two suspects, Mike Steel and Nolan’s best friend, Tom Belvin. On the surface, Tom fits Emilia’s profile. Thirty-seven, college educated, well-liked, born and raised in Union County. He admitted knowing two of the victims. One arrest for drug possession years ago, otherwise, Tom’s criminal record is clean. After interviewing friends and coworkers—including a couple of ex-girlfriends—there’s no indication he’s violent.”

  “So we can’t eliminate him,” Avery said. “But he’s not a top suspect.”

  “Correct,” Grady said. “Which brings us to Detective Mike Steel. He fits Emilia’s profile perfectly, down to being a chess champion. He doesn’t have an alibi for any of the abductions. Mike applied for the university’s Chief of Police position. He was interviewed several times, but when asked about his previous history with alcohol, Mike got defensive. The dean felt Mike failed to recognize his own mistakes, and told him so.”

  Avery’s mouth flattened. “And then they hired me.”

  There was a faint hint of vulnerability in her tone and Weston stepped closer, as if he could shield her from the pain. He hated to see Avery hurting.

  “That may have been the trigger,” Emilia said. “From Mike’s point of view, his career was destroyed by your dad, and then he lost a valuable position to you. He decides to get revenge. His primary target is you, Avery, but by killing women associated with Harrison University, he also damages the school.”

  Weston rocked back on his heels. Everything lined up. “Has Mike been questioned again?”

  “We’ve tried several times.” Grady frowned. “His attorney keeps shooting us down. The sheriff allowed us to search Mike’s desk and locker, but it didn’t yield any new leads or establish a connection between Mike and the women.”

  “Have you traced the killer’s phone call to Avery?” Weston asked.

  Grady hooked a thumb in his belt. “The killer is tech savvy. He used a burner phone to call Avery, and then turned it off. We can’t get a location. I have technicians keeping an eye on it, but unless the killer uses the phone again, we won’t pin him down.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like Mike,” Avery said. “When the sheriff’s department switched to tablets for reports, it took Mike months to figure the system out. He complained about it constantly.”

  Weston shrugged. “He could’ve been faking.”

  “Maybe, but what if we’re focused on the wrong suspect?” Avery asked. “I have trouble believing Mike snapped and suddenly started killing women to get back at me and my dad over a job.”

  “Avery…” Weston shifted in his boots, trying to figure out the best way to say her perspective was compromised due to her personal relationship with Mike.

  Avery blushed and her shoulders turned inward. “I know how it sounds. I get it.”

  Emilia’s gaze locked on Avery’s face. “But you think we’re missing something?”

  “I don’t know. Mike’s reaction when we confronted him was off. He was furious. Insulted, really. If he was the Chessmaster, wouldn’t he have planned his answers better? We could be barking up the wrong tree and end up missing the killer in the process.”

  Weston studied the whiteboard. Avery was right. They didn’t have a shred of hard evidence linking Mike to these murders. It was all suspicion and supposition. Emilia’s profile was an important tool, but it wasn’t proof.

  “No one wants to overlook anything,” Grady said. “Trust me. We’re tracking down every lead. We just don’t have much to go on.”

  “Meanwhile Rachel is still missing.” Avery ran a hand through her hair. “I released a statement asking for information about Nolan Starin to the media. The crisis center is running a tip line, and volunteers are spreading flyers around town. I’d like to check in with them. Maybe there’s a new lead.”

  Weston glanced at Grady. There was worry in his fellow ranger’s expression, concern Weston shared. Was Avery right? Were they narrowing in on the wrong man?

  Avery spent the car ride second-guessing herself. When Weston put the truck in Park at the crisis center, she undid her seatbelt. “You think I’m wrong about Mike, don’t you?”

  He hesitated. “Honestly, I don’t know. You have insight into Mike I don’t. You know him well. At the same time—”

  “I could be in denial because he’s my friend.”

  “Yes.”

  Weston confirmed her own suspicions. Her emotions were muddled by a combination of exhaustion and worry. Where was Rachel now? Was the Chessmaster hurting her? The echo of Rachel’s screams kept playing in Avery’s head over and over.

  She exited the truck and shivered against the rush of cold air. Weston came around the vehicle and hugged her. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased away. His jacket was soft under her cheek, and she could make out the faint beat of his heart.

  Avery lifted her face, and Weston kissed her. It was soft and gentle and filled with the promise of more. Avery’s breath hitched. “What was that for?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “I needed it. Do you mind?”

  “No.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again. Ill-advised, perhaps, because every touch between them cracked the walls around her heart even more.

  She dropped back to her heels, and Weston brushed the hair away from her face. His touch sent heat straight through her, and the look in his eyes yanked on her heart. Buried in those brown depths was a wealth of emotion.

  This was hard for him. A killer was stalking and threatening her, and Weston had lost the last woman he loved. Not to violence, but Melissa had died all the same. Yet he didn’t pull away or deny his feelings. Instead, he stepped forward. Weston had treated her with honesty, kindness, and consideration. She tightened her arms around his waist.

  Avery had made a terrible mistake with her ex-fiancé, Jeffrey. She’d ignored her own instincts, the soft whisper inside her heart, indicating something was wrong. She’d stuck with him—in part because she genuinely cared—but also because she used logic to make her decisions instead of her heart.

  What was that phrase? God speaks in the silence of the heart. Well, she hadn’t listened. Not when it came to her relationship with Jeffery.

  Things with Weston were complicated, and the timing was terrible. Avery didn’t know what the future held. Weston might not be healed enough to fall in love again. Yet there was a tug in her heart, urging her forward in spite of her fears.

  She would not make the same mistake twice. She would not ignore it.

  Lord, I don’t know where you are leading me, but I will follow. Guide me in the right direction.

  Weston sighed, brushing his lips across the top of her head. “As much as I’d love to stay out here pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist…”

  She stole one more kiss before backing out of his arms. “We have work to do. Come on.”

  They crossed the parking lot. A bell jingled as they entered the crisis center. Phones rang and volunteers answered them and took messages. Flyers containing Rachel Long’s photograph along with information about her abduction were scattered around the room. Avery knew hundreds more were plastered across town.

  Savannah was behind the front desk. Her sister looked exhausted but moved with practiced efficiency. When she caught sight of Avery, a mixture of hope and fear crossed her features.

  “Nothing yet,” Avery said. “Has anyone come forward with new information?”

  Savannah shook her head. “I’ve been coordinating with Luke, and all leads are being followed up on, but nothing concrete.”

  A familiar voice called Avery’s name, and she turned. Nan
a waved from the back of the room. She was standing with Calvin. The retired FBI agent had traded his waders for soft slacks and a button-down flannel shirt. He’d arrived after news about Rachel Long’s disappearance broke and was assisting with the tip line.

  Calvin was talking to an older woman with dyed black hair and an expensive purse. Avery immediately recognized her as Marigold Sampson. Her husband had been the pastor of their church when she was growing up.

  “Avery, dear, you have perfect timing,” Nana said. “Marigold has information about the case.”

  Avery’s heart skipped a beat. “Regarding?”

  “Nolan Starin.” Marigold shifted in her black flats, and color rose in her cheeks. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I heard on the news you’re looking for information about him and his family.”

  “We are,” Avery said. “Nana and Calvin, would you give us a few minutes with Mrs. Sampson please?”

  “Of course.” Nana stepped over to a closed door. “Why don’t you use Savannah’s office? I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  There were only two chairs inside the office, so Avery gestured for Marigold to take one while she sat in the other. Weston remained standing, but his posture was relaxed. Marigold’s gaze darted in his direction, and Avery belatedly realized she’d never introduced them. “Oh, I’m sorry. Mrs. Sampson, this is Texas Ranger Weston Donovan. He’s working with me on the case.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Weston shook her hand and gave her a reassuring smile, flashing his dimples. “Appreciate you coming in.”

  Marigold was over eighty-five, but even she wasn’t immune to the ranger’s charm. She blushed and smiled back. “Glad to help. Now I don’t want either of you to think I’m gossiping.”

  “We won’t,” Avery said. “What can you tell us about Nolan?”

  “Well, he came from a troubled family. Nolan worshipped his father, but Jack Starin was a complicated man. Abusive to his wife, yet charming to neighbors and friends.”

  Avery nodded. Manipulative. That sounded familiar. Marigold’s comments echoed Tom Belvin’s.

  Marigold set her purse on her lap. “Jack was smart, and he passed those brains on to Nolan, along with a good dose of sneakiness. Now Nolan didn’t live with his dad full-time. He was raised by his maternal grandparents. But every summer when he came to town, Nolan started problems and involved the local kids in his troublemaking.”

  “Mrs. Sampson, it’s our understanding Nolan and Tom Belvin were friends,” Weston said. “How close were they?”

  “Very close. It didn’t start out that way, a’course. But after Nolan and Tom found out they were half-brothers everything changed.”

  Avery sat up straighter. “I’m sorry. Hold on. Did you say Tom Belvin is Nolan’s half-brother?”

  Marigold blinked. “Yes, dear. Tom’s mother had an affair with Jack Starin. There was trouble in Mrs. Belvin’s marriage, as can happen from time to time. After the affair ended, the Belvins came to my husband for spiritual advice. They decided to stay together and raise Tom. Jack left them alone for a bit, but when Tom turned, well, I dunno, twelve or thirteen, Jack told him the truth.”

  “Tom lied to us,” she whispered. “Everything we thought about Nolan applies to Tom.” Avery shot from the chair. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sampson, we need to go.”

  Weston opened the door, his cell phone to his ear, already snapping out orders. They hightailed to the exit and raced across the parking lot. Avery sent up a prayer as Weston peeled onto the street, lights flashing and siren blaring.

  Rachel, hold on. We’re coming.

  Seventeen

  Avery gripped the handle above the truck’s door as Weston took a sharp right turn. She glanced at the GPS and pointed down the block. “There. That’s Tom’s house.”

  Her heart jumped. Flames were shooting out of the house at the end of the street. “Tom’s house is on fire.”

  Neighbors were gathered in the street. Smoke wisped in the air, although the front of the home appeared undamaged. Avery undid her seat belt and radioed in the information. Backup was five minutes out. Weston pulled to a stop.

  A bald man ran toward her as Avery hopped out of the truck. He was holding a cell phone. “You guys were fast. I just called 911.”

  “Is anyone in the home?” Avery asked.

  “Tom’s SUV is gone, so I don’t think he’s inside, but I can’t say for sure. I live next door and heard the smoke detector going off.”

  “Okay, we need you and the rest of the neighbors to stay back and keep the street clear for the fire trucks.”

  She sprinted across the yard and joined Weston, who was already on the front porch. He knocked on the door and announced himself as a police officer before trying the handle. A search warrant wasn’t needed since the house was on fire. They had a duty to verify no one was inside, possibly hurt.

  The knob twisted open.

  “Convenient,” Avery muttered under her breath, pulling her weapon. Union County was a small town, but people didn’t often leave their front doors unlocked. Especially when they weren’t home. She clicked on her flashlight.

  Weston eased the door open with his foot. “Tom, it’s the police. Are you here?”

  Avery’s heart pounded in tune to the wailing smoke detector. Announcing themselves was dangerous. This could be a trap. Still, they didn’t have hard evidence Tom was the Chessmaster. He was a liar, sure, but that didn’t make him a killer.

  A momentary sense of panic jittered through Avery as she stepped into the dark living room. She shone her light around the space, checking for Tom. Not here. She followed Weston as he moved into the dining room. The smoke cast a hazy fog over everything. Duty kept her feet moving forward. Tom could be injured and unable to escape. The acrid scent of soot burned her lungs.

  “Tom,” she yelled over the screaming smoke detector. “Police. Can you hear me?”

  No response. Weston pointed to the kitchen, and Avery nodded. The smoke grew thicker. A gas stove hunched in the corner, flames shooting from one of its burners. A charred dish towel rested on the burner next to a boiling pot of water.

  Avery flicked off the burner and poured water from the faucet to douse the flames. It hissed and popped against the overheated metal stove. Had Tom gotten burned or hurt while cooking? Or had the fire been set to lure police to his house?

  She pressed on Weston’s back to indicate he should move forward, and together they followed the hallway to the back bedrooms. A light from the room on the end poured across the carpet.

  “Police,” Weston called out. “Tom, are you here? Do you need help?”

  Avery swiveled into the closest room. Packing boxes lined the wall, next to a rack of clothes. She quickly cleared the attached bathroom and closet. Empty.

  She rejoined Weston in the hall. He stood in the doorway of the lit bedroom. Something in his posture, in the twist of his shoulders made her heart pick up speed. Rachel? She closed the distance between them.

  He held out a hand. “It’s not her, Avery.” His expression was stark. “Neither Rachel nor Tom is here, and I don’t think—”

  She pushed past him into the room and then drew up short. The blood drained to her feet, lightheadedness combined with adrenaline narrowed her vision. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  A female mannequin, dressed in a police uniform and wearing a wig of copper-colored hair, hung from a noose. Smoke curled around the room, casting an eerie fog. The doll’s facial features were strikingly similar to Avery’s own, and somewhere in the back part of her mind, she wondered if it’d been specially made. She clung to the thought. Held on with the fierce knowledge that she was on the verge of passing out and needed something—anything—to stop the quaking of her body.

  Weston came in front of her, dipping his head to catch her gaze. “I won’t let him touch you, Avery. It’s not going to happen.” He placed a hand on her bicep, the heat of his palm sinking straight through the sleeve of her uniform. “I’ll die firs
t.”

  She let out the breath she was holding, tears pricking her eyes. “Don’t you get it, Weston? That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. How many more people will die?”

  Within an hour, Tom’s house was swarming with crime scene investigators. Weston stepped out of the kitchen. Avery was leaning against a pillar on the back porch, one arm wrapped around her midsection. In the other hand, she held a takeaway cup. She spotted him and extended it out. “Want some coffee? A patrol officer was kind enough to bring me one.”

  Weston wanted to tuck Avery in a faraway place where she would be safe. But that wasn’t going to happen. She was a cop, first and foremost. Avery would never abandon her duty or the people counting on her. He took the coffee cup and glared over the crime scene. “Which officer?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “So I can tell him to stop making the moves on you. Bringing coffee is a telltale sign of interest.” He took a sip of the fragrant brew. “Oh, yeah and he splurged for extra hazelnut cream. Definitely need to have a talk with him.”

  She laughed, and a sweet blush crept across her cheeks. “Stand down, Ranger. He’s twenty-five if he’s a day. Too young for my taste.”

  Weston leaned against the railing next to her. “Really? What is your type?”

  Her blush deepened, and Weston drank it in. It was far better than the stark fear that had been in her eyes an hour ago. Avery’s words had been ringing in his head on repeat.

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. How many more people will die?

  Her concern for the victims—including potential ones, like Weston—didn’t surprise him. Spending every day and night together had given him a crash course in Avery. She was a nurturer, and the killer was zeroing in on her Achilles' heel.

  As if she were reading Weston’s thoughts, the smile melted from Avery’s face. She glanced at the back door and the investigators inside. “I hate this.”

  “We all hate it.” He elbowed her gently. “You’re not in this alone.”