by Carolina Mac
“I can tell how sad you are, Annie-girl.”
She looked up at Travis with tears in her eyes. “He didn’t even give us a chance, Trav. Couples need more than a few months to make a good marriage.”
“Jesse did the same thing,” said Travis. “The two of them are cut from the same cloth. They want what their parents had but they aren’t willing to put in the work.”
Annie managed a tiny smile. “When is your book coming out?”
“It’s already on Amazon.”
Declan wandered down the hall and walked straight to the coffee maker.
“How’s the patient?” asked Annie.
“Restless. Nervous and antsy and he won’t take the meds the doctor prescribed. He says they make him too sleepy.”
“He’s supposed to be resting to heal his shoulder,” said Annie. “Want me to straighten him out?”
Dec winked at her. “Yes, please.”
Annie scooted down the hall, tapped lightly on Brad’s door and let herself in. She sat on the side of the bed and picked up his hand. “I heard you were misbehaving.”
“It’s like I don’t know which end is up, and my brain is all mixed up. My work must be a mile high on my desk by now and all I can do is lie here and look at this beautifully decorated guest room.”
Annie squeezed his hand. “Stop stressing. It’s not good for your heart.”
“Your home is lovely, Annie. A projection of yourself.”
Annie winked at him. “You flatterer, you,” She picked up the glass of water and the two white pills Declan had laid out. “Take your meds and sleep. When you wake up, we’ll get you out of bed and you can call your assistant for an update. How’s that?”
“You drive a hard bargain, Annie. But okay. You win.”
Quantrall Ranch. Giddings.
JESSE watched Tyler pick at his breakfast and let his food go cold. “Should you call her?”
Tyler shook his head. “No point.”
“You could work things out if you tried,” said Jesse.
“I made a decision,” said Tyler. “I’m not changing my mind this time.”
“Okay,” said Jesse. “End of discussion. I won’t mention it again.”
“Thanks.” Tyler got up and left the table.
“I feel bad for him,” said Marnie. “He’s so unhappy.”
“He’s a stubborn one and he’ll have to work it out for himself. We can’t help him.”
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
“MORNING CHIEF, what’s the good news.”
“Don’t have any. Get’s worse every fuckin day.”
“Tell me.”
“Another biker down at McNichol and the I-35 bridge. I knew the guy when he was on Austin homicide.”
“Oh, shit. A cop?”
“Retired, but a good cop.”
“I’m sorry, Chief. I’m leaving now and I’ll call you.”
“Where we going?” asked Farrell. He finished eating and pushed his plate away.
“The sniper shot a retired cop,” said Blaine. “This is gonna make the media go nuts.”
“If he was a homicide detective, Lopez would know him.”
“Yeah, he would,” said Blaine. He filled two traveler cups with coffee, and they headed for the truck.
Round Rock.
“HOW FAR NORTH are we going?” asked Farrell, “We’re almost to Round Rock.”
“Yep. Soon be there.”
Farrell peered out the side window. “I can see the bike from here. Take the ramp.”
Blaine parked behind two highway patrol cruisers that had blocked off the intersection a little north of the bridge. People were crowded around the yellow tape trying to get a glimpse of the victim and a couple of uniformed officers were trying to keep them back.
Doctor Simon was down on one knee taking the body temperature when he saw Blaine. “Hey, kid. This guy hasn’t been dead long. One to two hours.”
“Anything different?” asked Farrell.
“Nope. Carbon copy,” said the doc.
“Here’s his ID,” said Tim holding up an evidence bag. “Are you doing the notification?”
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” said Blaine as he wrote the address in his notebook. “He doesn’t live far from here.”
They trudged back to the truck and Farrell programmed the street address into the GPS. “We’ve got patrols on all the bridges throughout the night and what good is that doing? The sniper just hides until the patrol goes by and waits for his next victim.”
“Wonder if he’s as young as he looks in Misty’s sketch?”
“Yep, young for a sniper. Must have leaned to shoot when he was a baby.”
“They’ll be shooting out of their strollers soon.”
Rainford Hillby’s Residence. Round Rock.
THE HOUSE was a long, low rancher with a lot of shrubbery around it and an amazing number of huge mature trees. A nice piece of property in one of the older sections of Round Rock.
“Nice place,” said Farrell as they approached the blue front door. “Why don’t we have an autumn wreath on our door?”
“Buy one and hang it up, you asshole.”
The door opened and a tall blonde woman in early fifties cast them a confused look. “Are you from the gun shop? Rainey didn’t show up for work and I don’t know where he is. I’m worried.”
Blaine held up his badge. “We’re from the police, ma’am. Can we talk to you for a minute?”
She put her hand over her heart, took a step backwards and grabbed onto the hall table. “What happened to Rainey?”
Blaine stepped into the front hall, took her arm and wheeled her into the living room. “Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Hillby. I have to give you some bad news.”
“No,” she cried. “Don’t tell me Rainey is dead. I can’t hear news like that.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. Is there someone you can call to come and stay with you?”
“Oh, my God. Is it true?”
“I’m afraid it is true, Mrs. Hillby.”
“I’ll get some water,” said Farrell and bore into the kitchen. He returned with a glass and handed it to her.
Mrs. Hillby took a few sips, lost all her color and started breathing rapidly. “Rip a blanket off a bed, Farrell. She’s going into shock.”
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
“DID YOU do the notification personally?” asked the Chief.
“We had to call an ambulance for Mrs. Hillby,” said Blaine. “She went into shock and passed out.”
“They’ve been married for a long time. Brenda is a wonderful person. My wife keeps in touch with her.”
“Sorry, Chief. Don’t know what I can say,” said Blaine. “The sniper has to be stopped but other than the patrols on the bridges all around the city, I don’t know how we can zero in on him.”
“There must be a way,” said the Chief.
“I thought of using the dogs, but there’s been nothing left at any of the scenes for them to pick up a scent.”
“He’ll either make a mistake or he’ll stop,” said the Chief. “You can’t go on killing people without someone seeing you at some point in time.”
“No mistakes so far,” said Farrell.
“What about all the sightings on the sketch?” asked the Chief. “Were they checked out thoroughly?”
“Yes, all the calls were checked, and nobody matched close enough to even bring them in for questioning.”
“What the hell are we going to do?”
“I’ll talk to my people tonight,” said Farrell. “The street people have to know something. They always do.”
Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.
ANNIE, Travis and Oliver Magnuson, her chief of security had a meeting in the kitchen. “Anything on camera?”
“Nothing on the perimeter,” said Mag. “If he’s out there, he isn’t disturbing a bush or a twig. Nothing is setting off any of the alarms.”
“Maybe he gave up and went home.”
<
br /> “Is that possible?” asked Mag.
“Nope. I don’t think so.”
“If I were him,” said Travis, “I’d sit tight and wait for darkness.”
Mag nodded. “Makes sense. He’ll try tonight if he’s out there waiting in the woods.”
“We’re ready for him,” said Annie. “Bring it.”
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE sat in his office wondering how in hell they’d get a handle on the sniper. If the kid worked alone, lived alone and talked to no one, they’d never catch him. A lone wolf killing randomly was almost impossible to catch.
He was sitting and staring into space when Misty came into the office. “I’m going to N’Orlean tomorrow to start renovations on my house.”
“You are? You never mentioned that plan to me.”
“I’ve been waiting for the contractor to have time to start and I want to be close by to watch what’s going on because I don’t want any mistakes. It’s my family home.”
“Do you think your mother will ever move back from Lily Dale?”
“She might when the house isn’t so dreary anymore.”
“Is that what you want, Misty? To move back to your own house in New Orleans?”
“I don’t know for sure,” said Misty. “I do love living here with you, but it doesn’t seem permanent. Know what I mean?”
“Not really,” said Blaine. “It feels solid to me, but I don’t have the insight you have, and I never will.”
“I love you, Blaine. It has nothing to do with loving you. It’s more about being where I belong.”
Upset about Misty’s impending departure, Blaine shut himself in the office trying to think of a way to trap the sniper. He was batting zero when his cell rang, and it was Lopez from Austin homicide.
“Lieutenant Lopez, nice to hear from you.”
“No, Blacky, it’s not nice at all. One of my peeps got murdered by the sniper and I’m beyond pissed. What kind of progress have y’all made on that maniac?”
“Not much, although we’ve tried everything we could think of. Hard to catch one lone guy.”
“True.”
“Rainey Hillby was one of our own, kid. We gotta catch this guy and make him pay.”
“I could use more patrols on the bridges at night if y’all have the budget for it.”
“Let me see what I can do. I know you’re doing everything you can and it’s not like I don’t have faith in you, but Jeeze, a retired cop riding to work on his Harley?”
“Once the media gets hold of it,” said Blaine, “there’ll be no stopping them. They’ll flog it until it can’t be flogged any longer.”
“Calhoun knew Rainey, didn’t he?” asked Lopez. “They’re about the same age.
“Said he did. Wives still keep in touch.”
“Shit,” said Lopez, “this is gonna be bad.”
“You call to cheer me up?” asked Blaine.
“Don’t know why I called, really. I know you’re on top of every case you’re involved in. Guess I’m taking this one personally.”
Blaine hung up from Lopez and Cat called. “Governor, it’s been a couple of days. Things going any better for you?”
“I’m burying myself in work for now. It’s the only way to get through the misery.”
“Work helps, sometimes.”
“What’s the story on the sniper? Rumor tells me he shot a retired cop this morning.”
“You are correct and we’re working on it.”
“Mind my own business, right?”
“Not so much that, but I’ve got nothing to tell you. I’m frustrated and I’m looking for a way to find him.”
“I’ll let you get back to it. Oh, by the way, how’s the AG?”
“He’ll be fine. He’s in a safe place until the perpetrators are in custody.”
“You’ve got your hands full. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”
Grady’s Irish Pub. Austin.
FARRELL picked Quinn up from work at Wylie Coyote and escorted her out the back door to the parking lot. “I stashed my truck and picked up my bike, so we should be okay.”
“I’ve missed you.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her. Her fingers wandered up under the hair on the back of his neck and he shivered wanting her so bad. After the weekend, he had to put some space between them—just for now.
“We’ll pick up some stuff at your place and you can stay with me for the rest of the weekend. You’re off tomorrow right?”
“I’m off for Saturday night and Sunday and it hardly ever happens. I don’t think it ever happened before.”
Farrell kissed her. “I’m gonna take you home to my bed, and then tomorrow I’m gonna take you to my ranch to meet my Mom and my brother, Neil.”
“I’m nervous to meet your mother.”
Farrell chuckled. “You should be.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Get on.”
She stared at the bike for a long moment figuring it out. “What do I do?” Quinn threw a leg over, settled into the leather seat, her feet found the pegs and she hung on to the chrome bar behind her.
“Nothing you need to do. Hang on to me and you’ll be fine.”
She let out a little squeal as Farrell took off and held on tighter. After a quick stop at Quinn’s apartment, Farrell blazed through the city into a seedy area of downtown. He parked in the lot behind the pub and helped Quinn off the bike.
“That was so much fun,” she said a little breathless. “I love riding on your bike.”
Farrell kissed her with pent up passion in the shadows and held her warm curvy body close to his own. “Can’t wait to get you home, girl. I might never let you go.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to let me go,” Quinn whispered. She kissed him and probed his mouth with her tongue.
“Get a room,” a voice boomed out of the darkness and Quinn jumped.
“Hey, Kamps,” said Farrell, “got time for a beer?”
“Maybe food too. I ain’t had time to eat today. Playing catch up.”
Farrell took Quinn’s hand. “Let’s go inside. This is Quinn.” Farrell held the door, Kamps went in first and then Quinn.
Kamps chose a booth where he could watch the door and slid across the bench seat towards the wall. Farrell sat next to him and Quinn took the empty seat on the other side.
“Why you riding your Harley, man? Where’s the big red machine?”
“Stashed it. Too visible right now.”
Kamps laughed and showed Quinn his gold incisor. “Shouldn’t be knocking off Blade Devils like you been doing. Those assholes got no anger management.”
Mike, the proprietor, wandered over and gave them the stare. Farrell ordered a pitcher of Shiner’s. “What do you want, baby?”
“Coffee’s fine for me,” said Quinn.
Mike never wrote anything down and he never smiled, just listened, grunted and went to get their order.
“The Devils killed an innocent,” said Farrell, “and I couldn’t let that go. Ain’t my nature.”
A grin spread across Kamp’s tanned face, “I seen your nature in action, Dead-Eye. You a killing machine.”
“Is Roy joining you, Mr. Kamps?” asked Quinn.
Kamps turned his big bald head to look at Quinn. “You, sweet thing, can call me Chet. Nobody calls me that except the Toy.”
Quinn smiled. “Thank you, Chet.”
“Can’t be sure about him showing up. He’s hustling tonight and don’t know when he’ll be free of his business.”
“Roy pass anything along?” asked Farrell. “He’s got ears out for me.”
“He might have mentioned something.”
“What’s the dollar value?” asked Farrell. He pulled out his wallet and set it on the table.
“Roy is an idiot when it comes to cash management.” Kamps kept his eyes on the wallet. “Says he owes you and this one time is for free.”
“Tell me what he heard and let m
e judge what it’s worth.”
Kamps picked up the pitcher, filled his glass with beer and leaned closer to Farrell. Quinn leaned across the table to hear the scoop. “One of Roy’s friends saw a blond kid with a rifle, and he wasn’t near none of them overpasses.”
“Where was this kid?” asked Farrell.
“In the back yard of a big house and he was like… hiding the gun underneath the back porch. Know what I mean?”
“Uh huh. I can picture it,” said Farrell. “Anything else?”
“He hides the gun and he goes in the back door,” said Kamps. “Like he’s sneaking in.”
“Where was Roy’s friend when this was going on?”
“I think Roy mentioned an alleyway behind the house.”
“Where’s the house?” asked Farrell.
Kamps tipped up his beer and finished it. He stared at the empty pitcher and Farrell held it up and waved it at Mike. “That’s kind of a problem area. Roy’s buddy, Mafia Mario, he ain’t Mr. Stability, know what I mean?”
Farrell nodded. Most of Kamp’s and Roy’s friends were users and not highly dependable.
“When Mafia saw the blond kid, he was higher than Jesus on a cloud and he couldn’t exactly recall where he was at—at that moment—know what I mean?”
“Sure do,” said Farrell. “General area of the city?”
“Nope.”
When Mike brought the fresh pitcher of beer, Kamps ordered the breakfast special.
“Want some food, Quinn?” asked Farrell.
“No food, thanks. I’ll have another coffee.”
“That’s pretty good information,” said Farrell. “If I could zero in on a neighborhood it would be solid gold.”
The door of the pub opened, and Roy came running in, his long silver hair flying, his face flushed.
“What?” Farrell jumped to his feet and took a stance.
“Nothing,” said Roy in a whisper. He was breathing heavily from running. “Couple of gangers chasing me. Don’t worry about it.”
Farrell bolted outside and the four punks were standing in a tight knot on the sidewalk flicking their switchblades and laughing. Farrell pushed into the middle of their little group and hollered, “You touch Roy and y’all are dead. Hear me?”
Click.