by Carolina Mac
“Merry Christmas to everybody,” said Jesse. He set Charity’s baby carrier on the floor between his chair and Tyler’s.
Tyler leaned down and touched Charity’s face. “Santa came, little girl. Can’t wait until you open all your presents.”
“She’s too little to open her own,” said Paul from across the table. “You’re excited because you get to do it for her.”
“What if I am?” said Tyler. “You ripped all Shannon’s gifts open last year, if I remember correctly.”
Wendy set a basket of warm cornbread in the middle of the table. “When y’all are done arguing, I’ll serve the special omelets Molly and I made.”
“Can’t wait to taste them,” said Brian at the head of the table. Oldest and most serious of the five Quantrall boys, Brian was a doctor.
Wendy pointed at her husband. “Y’all should follow the good example Brian is settin for y’all. He’s all about peace and goodwill.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “I’ll save that one for my New Years’ resolution. I’ll promote peace and goodwill in the barn, if Ty does what I tell him for a change.”
“If you don’t stop showing up late for chores, I’ll beat you senseless, Paulie.”
Jesse chuckled.
“What time is dinner at Coulter-Ross?” asked Bob. He was the quiet one. Tall and blond like Paul, they looked enough alike to be twins.
Jesse helped himself to another piece of cornbread. “Six,” I think Annie said. “Blaine is coming from Austin and bringing his girlfriend.”
“Don’t think I’ve met her yet,” said Brian. “What’s her name?”
“Misty,” said Jesse. “She’s a psychic. Does readings and stuff like that.”
“Woo woo stuff?” asked Paul. “Why would Blacky hook up with somebody like that? He’s… like a scientist or some damn thing.”
“Criminologist,” said Jesse, “and a lawyer too.”
Wendy served the omelets and sat down. “I’m sure Blaine likes Misty for herself and not what she represents.” She cast a serious glance at her husband. “Y’all could take a lesson.”
“Amen,” said Bobby and winked at Tyler.
AT SIX O’CLOCK two blue Ford trucks transporting the Quantrall clan descended on Coulter-Ross. The two families had been close for years and holidays were always spent together.
Annie greeted everyone at the door and hung up their jackets. A cold front had swept down from Canada and decided to stay for the week. Most Texans were chilled clear through to their bones.
“Let me take the baby, so you can get your coat off, sugar,” she said to Jesse. “Good thing you have her bundled up.”
“I had her ready to go, then Ty put another blanket on her,” said Jesse with a grin.
“Make fun of me if y’all want to. I don’t want her getting another cold. When she was sick, I almost lost my mind.”
Jacks pushed through the crowd of adults to get closer to the baby. “Did Santa bring Charity any presents, Jesse?”
“Sure did. He brought her a load of stuff.”
“Like what? Any toys?”
Jesse chuckled. “Yep, some toys. Uncle Ty bought her toys too, and a rocking horse. So much stuff I can’t even remember.”
“Want to see what I got?” Jackson was off and running down the hall to the great room.
Annie’s ranch house was huge, luxurious and more spread out than the Quantrall homestead. Furnished simply to accommodate the needs of cowboys and kids, it was welcoming and comfortable.
The Quantralls were barely in the door when the next wave of guests arrived. Blaine, his arms occupied holding two large shopping bags of gifts, leaned towards Annie and kissed her cheek. “Hey, Mom, we’re having Canadian weather. Should make you feel right at home.”
“I am at home, honey. I’m transplanted and rooted in Texas.”
“Yeah, I guess you are.” He introduced the two ladies with him, “This is Misty, and this is Carmelita Flores.”
Annie greeted both and took their coats. “Merry Christmas, and welcome to Coulter-Ross. I’ll get you both a drink in a couple of minutes.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Powell,” said Misty. “I’ve seen your picture, but you’re even more beautiful in person.”
Annie smiled. “Thank you, Misty. Nice of you to say.” She motioned them down the hall into the great room.
“Hi, Misty,” hollered Farrell, giving her a little wave. He sat with his leg propped up on an ottoman close to the flat screen.
Carmelita held back, timid in the crowd and not knowing anyone but Blaine and Misty. Blaine noticed and took her arm. “Come sit over here, Carm. I’ll get you some wine.”
In Spanish she asked, “Can I hold the baby?”
“Si.” Blaine nodded and crossed the room to where Jesse sat. “Carm wants to hold the baby, Jesse. Is it okay?”
“Sure, it is.” He carried Charity over and placed the bundle wrapped in a pink blanket on Carmelita’s lap. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Flores. Is Blaine behaving?”
She grinned. “No se.”
MISTY YAWNED as Blaine drove back to Austin. “I’m so full of turkey and pie, I’m about to fall asleep,” she said. “Your Mom is a fantastic cook, Blaine, and a wonderful hostess.”
“Yep, she is.”
“What did you think, Carm?” Blaine asked in Spanish. “Is my Mom as good in the kitchen as you?”
“Si, bueno.”
Blaine parked in the drive and helped Carm into the house with her bag of gifts. Annie had surprised both women with extravagant selections of perfume and spa products. He turned off the alarm and let Lexi loose on the front lawn, then turned his attention to Misty and carried her bags across the lawn to her house next door.
“Hoodoo wants out,” she said. She stuck her key in the lock and opened the door. “Can you sleep over?”
“I’ll give Lexi a few more minutes outside and then I’ll come over.”
“You need a key,” said Misty. “Remind me to have one cut for you this week.”
Are we exchanging keys already? Does that mean I have to give her a key too?
CHAPTER TWO
Tuesday, December 26th.
Boxing Day.
THE CELL on the nightstand beside his head woke him way too soon. He rolled over and let out an exhausted groan, forgetting he was in Misty’s bed. But how could he forget? An artesian well of sexual energy was her greatest asset and he was drowning in it.
He glanced at the unknown caller on the screen, grabbed for the phone and trudged naked into the bathroom so he wouldn’t wake Misty. “Yes, sir. You need me?”
“I do, kid.” The voice was rough and familiar on the other end of the line—wherever the end of the line was—an unknown caller from an unknown location. “I wouldn’t call you on a holiday unless it was unavoidable.”
“Uh huh, go ahead.”
“Go to the rest area outside of San Marcos and you’ll find a tractor-trailer parked there.” He gave him the plate number.
“Any more details?”
“Rumors, son. I need facts and I need you to dig deeper. Something ugly is buried way down deep. Find it for me.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
The voice on the other end whispered. “Watch your back.”
BLAINE DRESSED and explained to Misty that he had to work. He drank his third cup of coffee next door in his own kitchen while he waited for Farrell to drive from Coulter-Ross to Austin. His foster brother, and his right hand, had been trapped in a bike gang when he was younger. Farrell was smart, tough, focused and deadly with a rifle or a handgun. They watched each other’s backs.
The other three members of the Blackmore Agency were Jesse Quantrall, now semi-retired because of his heart condition, Travis Bristol, former Marine and surveillance specialist, and Lily Duke, office manager and black belt.
Carm cleared the breakfast dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Noticing Blaine was dressed to go out and was wearing his waist holster, she
asked in Spanish, “Are you working today?”
“Si, I have an assignment that can’t wait.”
“You have a new boss?”
Blaine shook his long black hair. “Nope, same boss I’ve always had. He used to communicate through Governor Richardson as a safety precaution, but now he’s calling me directly. He likes to keep a low profile.”
He’s miles below the radar and that’s the way he likes it.
Carm had no interest in Blaine’s assignments as long as he was safe. She was a homebody. She smiled and told him what was foremost on her mind. “I’ll cook a turkey today.”
“Okay, Farrell will be with me when I come back.”
She smiled. “Bueno.”
She likes Farrell around because he’s a good eater.
Lexi barked when Farrell parked his red Silverado in the driveway.
“Gotta go.” Blaine gave Carm a hurried peck on the cheek and whipped out the door. He unlocked the big diesel and opened the back door for Farrell to load his rifle case.
Farrell jumped into the shotgun seat and said, “What do we know?”
Blaine shook his head as he backed out the drive. “Nothing yet. Just rumors floating around in high places.”
Farrell stared at Blaine across the console. “Where the hell are the high places, bro? We ever gonna find out?”
“Better if we didn’t. Might scare the crap out of us.”
THE REST AREA was all but deserted. Boxing Day morning—only a few trucks on the road, and even fewer taking a break in the rest area. The cold snap held steady over south Texas and Blaine zipped his leather jacket up as he and Farrell approached the truck.
Farrell chambered a round in his SW and held it steady as Blaine used the bolt cutters on the padlock on the back door. The broken pieces clanked onto the pavement as he reached for the handle on the left-hand door and pulled it open. It screeched with a keening sound on hinges needing oil, but the noise wasn’t the worst of it.
“Jesus Christ.” Blaine covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and gagged down his breakfast. He took a step back, inhaled a breath that he could tolerate and pressed 911 on his cell.
The inside of the rig was dark and cold and only the unmistakable shape of corpses was visible at first. When Blaine’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, bodies of young girls took shape on the bare floor. Some were propped up against the side walls, heads flopped forward on their chests, drooping sideways in death.
“Want me to take a closer look?” Farrell stood with one boot up on the metal step.
“No. Don’t disturb anything,” said Blaine. “At least not yet. Help should be along in a few minutes.”
“Think any of them are alive?”
“Depends how long the truck has been parked here.”
“If they were being transported,” Farrell seemed puzzled, “why wouldn’t the driver keep going and deliver them… to whoever?”
“Why did he leave them here and book it?” asked Blaine, thinking out loud. “He had already crossed the border—that’s the riskiest part. Was he close to getting caught? Did he pick up a tail? Or was it something else?”
“If he left the truck, somebody picked him up or else he hitched a ride,” said Farrell. “Where the hell could he go from here without a ride? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Something this big wouldn’t be a one-man operation,” said Blaine. “They’ve got manpower.”
“Should be prints in the truck and we should get an ID from the tag.” Farrell jogged around to the front of the rig and peered in the window. He returned as sirens sounded on the interstate. “How did the boss know about this?”
Blaine managed a half smile. “He has his ways.”
“Come on, Blacky, that’s what you always say.”
First response vehicles parked near the rig and two deputies strode across the asphalt. “You called this in?” The big chunky guy with a tight-fitting uniform and fat red cheeks glared at Blaine, taking in his leather jacket, his long black hair, and his tats, like he was the root of all evil.
“I did,” said Blaine. “Y’all are gonna need more help.”
“Fuck you, punk. I’ll make the call once I have a look at the scene. Who are you anyway? Show me some ID before I arrest your ass.”
“Bad attitude, sir. What’s your name?” Blaine flashed his cred pack and the deputy sucked in a breath. His red cheeks became even redder. “Mr. Blackmore,” he offered his hand, “pleasure to meet you, sir. Let’s have a look at what y’all have here.” The big cop hauled his bulk up the metal step. He took three strides forward into the back of the truck and threw up.
“Make a note of his name, Farrell.”
Farrell nodded and pulled out his little black book—he called it Blacky’s black book of retribution. The BBR for short.
Paramedics arrived and could offer no help to the dozen young girls that were already dead, but two of the starved teens were unconscious, but still drawing breath. The ambulance attendants, pale after their exit from the back of the big rig, started IV’s and transported the two living teens to the ambulance.
“Where will you take them?” asked Blaine.
“Trauma unit in San Marcos.
“I’ll be along to check on them,” said Blaine to the two boys wearing horrified looks on their young faces. The sight and the smell in the back of the truck wasn’t something they would soon forget.
Blaine called DPS and requested a tow for the big rig. The truck needed to be examined inch by inch at the forensic lab in Austin.
“I’ll go to the vending machines and get us a couple Cokes,” said Farrell. “I’m feeling kind of dry.”
“Get yourself some snacks too,” said Blaine. “We have to wait here until the medical examiner is finished and the tow comes, but the good news for later is, Carm is making us a turkey.”
DARKNESS HAD FALLEN by the time Blaine and Farrell arrived back in Austin. He punched the security code into the panel and inhaled the aroma of roasting turkey as he walked through the door. Feeling good about the warmth of his home and at the same time heartbroken for the dead girls that would never see home again.
“Smells good, Carm. Is dinner almost ready?”
“Si,” she said, as she hustled around the kitchen.
“Did you invite Misty over?” Blaine pulled two Lone Stars out of the fridge and handed a can to Farrell.
“Si.”
Blaine waited for the answer. “And… is she coming?”
Carm shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Enfermos.”
“She’s sick?”
Carm nodded and pointed at the table that was set for the three of them.
“I’ll check on her after dinner.”
Carm asked about their day and Blaine skirted around the details. Farrell drowned her in compliments. Something he was good at, especially for the sweet potato casserole with the melted marshmallows on top. She forgot all about her questions.
After two desserts, Farrell went home, and Blaine trudged across the lawn to Misty’s house. Similar to his Victorian, hers was a little smaller and in good repair. He had no idea how she’d been able to afford a house in this price range on her own—her only source of income, that he knew about, being her psychic readings and her classes on Tarot reading.
He knocked on her door and Hoodoo barked. Her big Bernese Mountain dog was an excellent watch dog. She didn’t come to the door and he tried again.
I’m not knocking any more in case she’s sleeping.
“Okay, she’s sleeping. I’ll text her and she can let me know when she’s up and around.” He walked back home, punched in the security code and was in for the night.
Before he crashed, Blaine called Jesse to bring him up to speed on the new case.
“Jeeze, Blacky, don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything worse. A dozen dead teenagers? My God, who would do such a thing?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Meet me in the
morning and we’ll talk to the two that are still alive.”
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