by Carolina Mac
“Think he’s going to get Misty?”
“He better be.”
ANNIE AND SCOTT lingered over coffee in the master suite at Coulter-Ross. Annie’s room was huge. Sleeping area at one end with a walk-in closet and ensuite, breakfast area in front of the garden doors and at the far end, a comfortable seating arrangement grouped around a fireplace with a floor level hearth.
The drapes were open, and the glass garden doors revealed hundreds of leaves swirling down onto the flagstone patio as a December wind picked up the pace and howled through the pines.
“A good day to stay inside and put a fire on,” said Scott with a smile. “I love being here at the ranch with you, sweetheart.”
“Any time we have together is calming time for me.”
The governor raised an eyebrow. “I hear a but.”
“I told the boys about your proposal and they think it’s too soon to act on it. They urged me to wait.”
Scott nodded. “I agree with them. They can see how unhappy you’ve been, and they want an end to it. The last thing I’m looking for is a rebound thing that turns out making us both miserable. I’ve waited years for you and me to get to this point in our relationship, and I want it to be right.”
Annie reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m breathing a sigh of relief, honey. I thought you might want a wedding right away, and I can’t do it. In truth, all I want for the next little while is nothing.”
“With my schedule at the Capitol, nothing is what I want on the weekends too. We’ll talk about it again in the spring. Until then, the status quo is all I need. I love you, Annie.”
Two little taps on the door and it opened. Jackson ran across the Mexican tiles, the wooden heels of his cowboy boots ringing. “Guess what, Mommy and Scotty?”
The governor grinned, reached down and pulled Jackson onto his lap. “What? It sounds exciting. Tell us.”
“Daddy phoned me.”
Annie’s face lost color and she gripped the edge of the table. “What did you say, sweetie?”
“Daddy checked up on me and Pye. That’s all. I can’t tell you the rest. It’s a secret.”
“When did he call you, sugar?”
“Rosie came in my room to get me for the phone and I had my jamas on.”
“Early this morning?” She looked at Scott and he shrugged. “Did Daddy say where he was?”
“Nope.”
“What’s the secret stuff?” asked Annie, “Can you whisper it to me?”
“Don’t think so. Next time Daddy calls, I’ll ask him if I can tell you.”
“Okay. I’m glad he called you, honey.”
Jackson ran off and Annie called Blaine.
“Hey, Mom, can I call you back? I’m chasing Kingsley.”
“Race called Jacks on the landline. Can you trace that?”
“Holy, fuck. Try star sixty-nine, Mom and see what you get. Call me back.”
Annie ran to the kitchen and tried it. Budget Inn, Giddings.
She called Blaine back right away. “Budget Inn in Giddings.”
“Do me a huge favor, Mom. Call Jesse and give him that info. He’ll have to handle it. I’m trying to catch up to Farrell.”
“Sure, baby. Doing it now.”
JESSE LEANED BACK, luxuriating in the comfort of Ty’s rocker in Charity’s room. The baby had just closed her eyes and fallen asleep when his cell rang.
“Jeeze, Jesse,” whispered Ty, “you shouldn’t have your fuckin phone in here.”
He stood up, laid the baby in her crib and smiled at his brother. “That a new rule?”
“Damn right.”
He took the call in the hall. “Hey, Ace, what’s up?”
“Race called Jacks this morning.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope, I’m not. Blaine told me to do the star thing for the last number and it said Budget Inn in Giddings.”
“Hey, great detective work, sweetheart. Why isn’t Blacky telling me this?”
“He’s hell bent on the tail of the murderer and he couldn’t. He wants you to act on this.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll call the Sheriff and join him in town. Thanks, Ace. Good work.” He ended the call and turned to his brother, “You’re in charge, Ty. Make sure you don’t have your cell in the nursery.”
“Fuck off, Jesse. Go to work.”
RACE LEFT THE Budget Inn and headed for another town. Any town, it didn’t matter as long as he kept moving. He needed food and worse than that, he needed supplies for his arm. He couldn’t go too far afield because his plan wasn’t complete yet. Every fiber in his body wanted to return to Coulter-Ross and Annie. Declan would fix his arm, no problem, but would Annie turn him in? Of course not, they loved each other.
He drove north to Lexington. A small town with a diner and a couple of stores. He parked in the lot for customers of the Quickie-Mart and made it his first stop. Inside, he bought six rolls of gauze, a tube of antiseptic cream, a roll of medical adhesive tape and a red sweatshirt with a big map of Texas on the front.
He left there with his shopping bag and walked down the street to the Lexington Diner. After ordering a hot beef sandwich with extra fries, he hit the washroom and did his best to fix up his arm. Using his left hand was awkward, but he slathered the antiseptic cream over the raging red, raw area, then wrapped yards of gauze around it like a mummy arm. He secured the whole mess with adhesive tape, then pulled the new sweatshirt over his head. The long sleeves covered everything nicely. He smiled at himself in the cracked mirror and went back to his table.
THE BUDGET INN wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive from the Quantrall ranch. Jesse stood at the registration desk showing the clerk his creds and explaining what he wanted as Sheriff Cumberland came through the door.
“Hey, Jesse, hope we got something here.”
Jesse nodded towards the clerk, a tall, thin black man. Looked like a college student. “Mr. Watkins is going to show us the names of the people who registered last night.”
“Umm… I don’t know. Don’t y’all need a warrant or something to see the names?”
“Okay,” said Jesse, “I won’t look at the register. Read them to me.”
“I don’t think I should.”
Sheriff Cumberland moved his large bulk closer to the desk and laid a big hand on Watkin’s skinny arm. “Mr. Ogilvie murdered three people in the last twenty-four, son. Invading his privacy would be the last thing I’d be worried about, if I were you.”
“He’s a murderer?”
“You bet.” Cumberland pointed at the computer and growled, “Now read the names.”
Mr. Watkins spouted off a dozen names.
“Stop,” said Jesse. “Go back to Mr. Rule.”
“Mr. Rule was in room two thirty.”
“What time did Mr. Rule check out?” asked Jesse.
“Didn’t check out. Not yet, anyway.”
Jesse glanced at his Rolex. “Guess it ain’t eleven for a while yet.”
“That’s right,” said Watkins, “so technically, Mr. Rule still has his room rented.”
“Let’s go take a look, Mr. Watkins. Bring your key.”
Watkins hesitated. “Do you think he’s still in there?”
Jesse shook his head. “Nope. No Harley in the parking lot. He’s gone.”
“I don’t think this is right.” Waving the master key card, Watkins stepped out of the elevator onto the second floor. “No, sir, it ain’t right, but because y’all are the police, I’ll do my duty and let you in. If I get fired, I’m gonna say y’all made me open the door.”
“You go ahead and do that, son,” said the Sheriff. “Tell your boss to come on down to my office and we’ll have a chat.”
Watkins opened the door then retreated to the front desk.
Jesse stood beside the bed staring down at the mess of blood, pus and darkened skin stuck to the sheets. “Better call Val. If this is Race’s blood, I think our boy is hurt worse than we thought.”
They were miles from the highway, twisting and turning their way along unmaintained roads with ruts deep enough to shake your teeth loose. “My shocks are gonna be fucked,” hollered Blaine as he gripped the wheel harder.
The road narrowed, the farther they distanced themselves from civilization. Blaine spotted a farmer’s lane ahead and spoke to Farrell on the open line. “Come back and park. We’ll take my truck the rest of the way.”
“Yeah, makes sense. Travis will be along soon, and we’ll have three vehicles in the middle of fuckin nowhere.”
Farrell jumped in the shotgun seat and took over watching the tag on the screen of Blaine’s laptop. “There must be a lake or a river out here somewhere, you know... like a final destination.”
“Could be boar hunting country,” said Blaine. “No lake or river needed for that.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Farrell gripped the laptop tighter as the road got rougher.
“Does boar hunting mean the doc will have a stash of guns out here?”
“Fuck, let’s be ready in case he does. Good call, bro.” Blaine lit up a smoke. “I searched Kingsley and his kin up, down and sideways and I couldn’t find any place out of town he’d ever been to, or gone for a holiday, or charged on a card. Goddam nothing.”
“Yeah, but if he borrowed a place from a friend and not anybody named Kingsley, you’d never know about it.”
Blaine nodded. “How far ahead is he?”
“About a mile. I’ll phone Travis and see where he is.” Farrell told Travis the routes to take to catch up. “He won’t be here for an hour. Forty-five at the earliest. He had to go to Quantrall to get the dogs.”
“Not much point of him coming without the dogs, was there?” asked Blaine. “You and I can kill Kingsley on our own.”
Farrell grinned. “Fuckin right.”
“I HEAR WATER,” Misty said to Hoodoo. “Sounds like it’s over this way. “She turned and tramped through the trees and came out into a little clearing. “Look, baby, you can get a drink.”
The big dog didn’t need to be told twice. He splashed into the icy cold stream and lapped up water like there was no tomorrow. Misty got down on her knees beside him, cupped her hand and slurped up all she could hold. “that’s better, isn’t it?” She stroked Hoodoo on his head. “Wish I had food for you. Let’s sit here and rest for a while.”
She plopped down on a log, let out a sigh and fingered the moon pendant hanging against her chest.
JESSE ARRIVED AT QUANTRALL in time to eat lunch with Tyler. Brian was at the clinic in Smithville, Bobby was at work managing Annie’s Foundation, and Paul ate lunch with Wendy at his own house on the far side of the seventy-five hundred acres.
“Good pie, Molly,” said Tyler. “Lemon is one of my favorites, next to pecan.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Molly as she cleared their plates. “I think Charity is feeling better. She finished her bottle for me.”
“Fantastic,” said Tyler. “She’s a good drinker, just like her uncle Ty.”
Jesse chuckled and refilled his coffee mug. His phone jangled on his belt and he grabbed it. “Val, how did things go at Budget Inn?”
“All the samples are being tested, but I did a quick one on the blood because I remembered from the other scene that Mr. Ogilvie is AB-neg. And, it was a match. Less than one percent of the population has that type, so I think you can safely say he stayed overnight in the hotel.”
“From the mess of the bed and the bloody towels, how badly hurt do you think he is, Val?”
“The blood had accumulated on the sheets where his right upper arm would have been resting when he was sleeping. It has to be a considerable wound, Jesse, open and infected.”
“Since the transport vehicle crashed and Race was hurt, the wound hasn’t been treated—that we know of. That might be why its infected.”
“I’d bet on it,” said Val. “Mr. Ogilvie will start feeling weak and woozy as the poison flows through his bloodstream.”
“Okay, that’s great information, Val. Thanks a bunch.”
After talking to Val, Jesse called Annie.
“Was he there, cowboy, when you got to the hotel?”
“No, he was gone, but we did glean a little information. He’s hurt Annie, probably from the crash that let him escape. Val Wescott thinks his right arm is banged up pretty badly.”
“He won’t go to a regular doctor or to emergency. He’s too wary for that.”
“No, but there’s a tiny chance he might come home hoping Dec can do something.”
“He won’t,” Annie snapped, “He knows damn well I’ll turn him in if he shows his face here.”
“No, Ace, that’s not what he knows. He knows you love him, and he knows as soon as Jacks sees his Daddy all hurt and bleeding—y’all are going to help him.”
“Not this time, Jesse. I swear it. I won’t help him this time.”
Jesse asked a question he didn’t want to know the answer to. “Is the Governor there for the weekend?”
“How did you know about that?”
“News travels. Does he have security with him?”
“No. He came alone. Drove down from his own ranch.”
“Double up at the gate and I’ll see if Sheriff Cumberland can give you a patrol.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I still love you.”
Tears burned behind Jesse’s eyes as he pressed end.
“HE STOPPED,” said Farrell, staring at the screen.
“How far ahead of us?” asked Blaine.
“Two miles, tops.”
Blaine stepped on the gas. “Tell me when to turn.”
“Not much more road, bro. Soon we’re off-roading.”
“No problem. I’ll change gears.” He down-shifted into four by four gear.
Farrell stared at the screen and said, “Take a right.”
Blaine jammed on the brakes and stared into the solid line of trees. “Where the hell would you like me to turn?”
“Don’t get mad at me, cause there’s no fuckin road. He went right, so do it.”
“Fuck, I’m gonna bust a spring or something,” said Blaine. He turned into the narrow opening and scrub bushes on both sides of the truck keened against his metallic paint job.
“Lucky’s gonna shit himself when he sees the scratches,” said Blaine. “I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t clock me.”
“He is kind of hyper about paint, ain’t he?”
“Talented, though. So talented.”
Farrell pointed, “Two track opening up ahead of us. We’re good to go.”
“But go where?”
“How’s Travis gonna find us in here?” asked Farrell “Breadcrumbs or some fuckin thing?”
“We’ll think of something.”
“Better think of it soon. We’re almost on the doc.”
“Y in the road,” said Blaine. “Right or left?”
“Left, but not far. I say we walk from here, so he doesn’t hear us.”
“What does it matter? There’s only this one track.”
“Your call, boss. I’m just your fuckin slave.”
“Shut up, Farrell, I’ve got enough stress.”
“See it? There’s a shack.”
Blaine braked and shut off the engine. “Rifles, let’s go.”
Farrell jumped out and reached into the back seat to get his Remington. Blacky was currently shooting an HK PSG1 with a Redfield Rampage scope. He changed guns more often than Farrell changed his boxers.
“Hear anything?” asked Blaine in a whisper.
“Nada. I’ll go right. You go left.”
Blaine nodded and took off. He came up on the back of the wooden structure. No door. No window. He waited for a couple of minutes to give Farrell a chance to get into position, then circled the building.
Kingsley’s SUV was parked in the tiny clearing at the front of the shack.
He’s not making a sound. Wonder if he’s in there?
He waved Farrell to the right side of the door and he took the left. Blaine took a chance and hollered, “Ken Kingsley, you are surrounded. Come out with your hands on your head.”
A shotgun blast exploded a large hole in the flimsy wooden door and a piece of sharp plywood took Farrell in the right leg.
“Jesus, Christ,” hollered Farrell. He clutched at the tear in his jeans and ripped the big shard of wood out of his leg. Blood poured out as soon as Farrell removed the wood. He rolled on the ground moaning and pressing denim against the wound as hard as he could. “That’s my fuckin snake-bit leg.”
“Stay on the ground,” said Blaine. “You’ve got to suck it up for a minute. Lay on your belly and cover the door. I’m gonna take the window around the side and push him out.”
Farrell winced, grunted as he positioned himself, and aimed his rifle at the door. “Yep, good plan.”
Blaine ran around the side of the shack and fired through the window. Glass shattered, Kingsley spun around in surprise and returned fire, then beat it for the door.
The narrow wooden door swung wide, Kingsley barreled through with his shotgun blazing and without hesitation, Farrell put a bullet between his eyes. Kingsley dropped to the ground with a thud. Dead as dirt.
“Good shot, bro,” said Blaine as he ran around the corner. “Stay there while I look in the shack and then I’ll get you some help.”
Farrell winced. “Yeah, take your time. Where would I go anyway?”
Blaine looked inside. Didn’t take more than a minute to see that the place was empty. Ten by ten pre-fab shack with a wooden plank floor and one window. No Misty. She must have got away from Kingsley and ran into the bush.
“She’s not in there,” Blaine said to Farrell. “She must have got away from him.”
“You don’t know that she was ever here, bro,” hollered Farrell. “Don’t make shit up.”