Praise for the reigning queen of romance
DIANA PALMER

“Palmer’s talent for character development and ability to fuse heartwarming romance with nail-biting suspense shines in Outsider.”

—Booklist

“A gentle escape mixed with real-life menace for fans of Palmer’s more than 100 novels.”

—Publishers Weekly on Night Fever

“The ever-popular and prolific Palmer has penned another sure hit.”

—Booklist on Before Sunrise

“Nobody does it better.”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly…heartwarming.”

—Publishers Weekly on Renegade

“Readers who enjoy stories by authors who know how to pack an emotional wallop will add Palmer to their list.”

—Booklist on Renegade

“Nobody tops Diana Palmer when it comes to delivering pure, undiluted romance. I love her stories.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

Also by Diana Palmer

The Morcai Battalion

Winter Roses

Trilby

Lacy

Heart of Winter

Outsider

Night Fever

Before Sunrise

Lawless

Diamond Spur

Desperado

The Texas Ranger

Lord of the Desert

The Cowboy and the Lady

Most Wanted

Fit for a King

Paper Rose

Rage of Passion

Once in Paris

After the Music

Roomful of Roses

Champagne Girl

Passion Flower

Diamond Girl

Friends and Lovers

Cattleman’s Choice

Lady Love

The Rawhide Man

DIANA PALMER
LAWMAN

In memoriam

To Gene Burton,

Our neighbor, our friend

LAWMAN

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

1

THE OLD JACOBS PLACE was in disrepair. The last owner hadn’t been big on maintenance, and now there was a leak in Garon’s study. Right over his damned computer, in fact.

He glared at it from the doorway, elegantly dressed in a gray suit. He’d just arrived in Jacobsville from Washington, D.C., where he’d been taking a course at Quantico on homicide investigation. It was his new specialty, that area of law enforcement. Garon Grier was a career FBI man. He worked out of the San Antonio office, but he’d recently moved from an apartment there to this huge ranch in Jacobsville. His brother Cash was the Jacobsville police chief. The brothers had been alienated for some time. Cash had disowned his family over his father’s remarriage just days after his beloved mother’s death from cancer. That long feud had only just ended. Cash was newly, happily, married to Tippy Moore, the “Georgia Firefly” of modeling and motion picture fame. She had just had their first child, a little girl.

Cash thought the child was the crown jewels. To Garon, she looked more like a little red prune with flailing fists. But as the days passed, she did seem to grow prettier. Garon loved children. No one would ever have guessed it. He had a demeanor that was blunt and confrontational. He rarely smiled, and he was usually all business, even with women. Especially with women. He’d lost his one true love to cancer. It had eaten the heart out of him. Now, at thirty-six, he was resigned to being alone for the rest of his life. It was just as well, he decided, because he had nothing to give to a woman. He lived for his job. He would have liked a child of his own, though. A little boy would be nice. But he had no desire to risk his heart in pursuit of one.

Miss Jane Turner, the housekeeper he’d hired, came into the room behind him, her thin face resigned. “There aren’t any construction people available until next week, Mr. Garon,” she said in her Texas drawl. “We’d best put a bucket under it for now, I reckon, unless you want to climb up on the roof with a hammer and nails.”

He gave her a superior look. “I don’t climb up on roofs,” he said flatly.

She looked him over in the suit. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she muttered, turning to go.

He gave her a shocked look. She must think he never wore anything but suits, when he’d grown up on a sprawling west Texas ranch. He could ride anything with four legs, and he’d won prizes in rodeo competitions in his teens. Now, he knew more about guns and investigation than he did about rodeo, but he could still run a ranch. In fact, he was stocking purebred black Angus cattle here, and he planned to give his father and brothers a run for their money in cattle shows. He had in mind founding his own champion herd sires here. If he could lick the problem of getting qualified cowboys to work for an outsider, that was. Small towns seemed to draw into themselves when people from other places moved in. Jacobsville had less than two thousand people living in it, and most of them seemed to watch Garon from behind curtained windows every time he walked around town. He was surveyed, measured up and kept carefully at a distance for the time being. People in Jacobsville were particular about letting strangers join the family, because that was what they considered themselves—a family of two thousand souls.

He glanced at his watch. He was already late for a meeting with his squad of agents at the San Antonio FBI office, but last night his flight had been unexpectedly delayed in D.C. by a security hitch. It was early morning before the plane landed in San Antonio. He’d had to drive down to Jacobsville, and he’d barely slept. He walked out onto the wide, concrete front porch with its gray floor and white porch swing and white wicker furniture and cushions. Those were new. It was late February, and his housekeeper said they needed someplace for his company to sit when it came. He told her he wasn’t expecting to have any. She snorted and ordered the furniture anyway. She was an authority on everybody who lived around here. She’d probably become an authority on him in short time, but he’d told her graphically what would happen if she dared to pass on any personal gossip about his life. She’d just smiled. He hated that damned smile. If he could have gotten any other spinster lady with her cooking skills to work for him…

He glanced at an old, black car of unknown vintage coughing smoke as it went slowly down the road. That would be the next-door neighbor, whose little green-trimmed white clapboard house was barely visible through the pecan and mesquite trees that separated his big property from her small one. Her name was Grace Carver. She took care of her elderly grandmother, who had a serious heart condition. The granddaughter wasn’t much to look at. She wore her blond hair in a long pigtail, and went around mostly in loose jeans and a sweatshirt. She was shy around Garon. In fact, she seemed to be afraid of him, which was curious. Maybe his reputation had gotten around.

He’d met her when her old German shepherd dog trespassed into his yard. He’d escaped his fenced pen and she came looking for him, apologizing profusely the whole time. She had green eyes, very pale, and an oval face. She was plain, except for her pretty mouth and exquisite complexion. She’d only stayed long enough to make her apologies and introduce herself. She hadn’t come close enough to shake hands, and she’d left as soon as she could, almost dragging the delinquent dog behind her. She hadn’t been back since. Miss Jane had mentioned a week or so later that the old dog had died. Old Mrs. Collier, Grace’s grandmother, didn’t like dogs anyway. Garon remarked that Miss Carver had been nervous around him. Miss Turner told him that Grace was “peculiar” about men. God knew what that meant.

Miss Jane also said that Grace didn’t get out much. She didn’t elaborate. He didn’t ask anything else about her. He wasn’t interested. He liked an occasional night out with an attractive woman, preferably a modern, educated one. Miss Carver was the sort of woman he’d never found interesting.

He checked his watch, closed the front door and climbed into his black Bucar for the drive to San Antonio. He was entitled to use a Bucar—the FBI’s term for a bureau conveyance—even though a new black Jaguar sat in the garage next to his big Ford Expedition. He carried all his gear and accessories in the Bucar. So he drove it to work. It was going to be something of a commute, but no more than twenty minutes either way. Besides, he was tired of apartment living. Miss Turner was astringent, but she was a hell of a good cook, and she kept house without talking his ear off. He considered himself fortunate.

He set off down the driveway, casting a curious glance after Grace’s choking engine. He wondered if she knew that her car had a mechanical problem, and reasoned that she probably didn’t. He glimpsed her from time to time mulching and pruning her roses. She had several bushes of them. That was one thing they did have in common. He loved roses, and during his brief marriage, he’d grown several varieties. It was a hobby he enjoyed, and he had plenty of room to practice it again here at the ranch. Of course, it was February. Not many roses would bloom this time of year.

THE OFFICE WAS BUZZING when he got there. A local homicide detective with San Antonio P.D. was waiting for him, in his office.

“I haven’t even had time to brief the SAC about the workshop, yet,” Garon muttered to the secretary he shared with another agent. “What’s he want?” he added, nodding toward the tall, dark-headed man standing at the window with his hands in his pockets and his black hair in a long ponytail, even longer than the one Garon’s brother Cash, wore. It designated a renegade.

“Something about an abducted child case he’s working on.”

“I don’t do missing person cases unless they end as homicides,” he reminded her.

She gave him a knowing look. “I work here,” she pointed out. “I know what you do.”

He glared at her. “Don’t get smart.”

“Don’t get snippy,” she shot back. “I could be making twenty dollars an hour as a plumber.”

“Joceline, you can’t even put a washer in a faucet,” he replied patiently. “Or don’t you remember what happened when you tried to fix the leaky one in the women’s restroom?”

She pushed back her short, dark hair. “The floor needed mopping anyway,” she told him haughtily. “Now, if you want to know what Detective Marquez wants, why don’t you go and ask him?”

He sighed irritably. “Okay. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Already had one, thanks,” she said. She gave him a smile.

“I hate liberated women,” he grumbled.

“Gee, can’t you lift a coffee cup all by yourself?” she asked with mock surprise.

“When you come asking for a raise, see what happens,” he said.

“When you want a case report typed, see what happens,” was the smug reply.

He muttered in gutter Spanish all the way into his office. He hoped Joceline understood every single nasty word. But if she did, she didn’t let on.

The detective heard his footsteps and turned. He had black eyes and an olive complexion, and a worried expression.

“I’m Marquez,” he introduced himself, shaking hands. “You’d be Special Agent Grier, I assume?”

“If I’m not, I don’t have to look at all that paperwork piled on my desk,” Garon replied dryly. “Have a seat. Like a cup of coffee?” he added, then grimaced.

“We’ll have to go get it ourselves, of course, because my secretary is a liberated woman!” he raised his voice as she went past the door.

“The computer is about to eat your six-page letter to the attorney general about your proposed new legislation,” she called merrily. “Sorry, but I’m sure you can draft a new one…”

“If you ever get married, I’ll give you away!”

“If I ever get married, I’ll give you away,” she retorted and kept walking.

He sat down behind his desk with a rough sound in his throat. “She and my housekeeper must be sisters,” he told the visitor. “I hired them and they tell me what to do.”

Marquez only smiled. “I was told that you head a squad that deals with violent crimes against children,” he said.

Garon leaned back in his chair, and all the humor went out of his face. “Technically I head a squad that deals with violent crime, up to and including serial murder. I’ve never worked child murders.”

Marquez frowned. “Then who does?”

“Special Agent Trent Jones was our crimes against children specialist,” he replied. “But he just got transferred back to Quantico to work on a high profile case. We haven’t had time to replace him.” He frowned. “I thought Joceline said you had a missing person case?”

Marquez nodded. He looked as solemn as Garon did. “It started out as a missing person case. Now it’s a homicide; a ten-year-old girl,” he said quietly. “We’ve checked out everyone close to her, including both parents, and we can’t turn a perpetrator. Now we think it might have been a stranger.”

This was serious business. The news had been full of abducted children who were murdered by convicted sex offenders, all over the country. The case was, sadly, not that unique.

“Do you have any leads?”

Marquez shook his head. “We only found the body yesterday. That’s why I’m here. I found a similar case. I think it’s a serial crime. That means I can ask you for help.”

Garon leaned back in his chair. “When was she abducted?”

“Three days ago,” Marquez said quietly.

“Any latents at the scene?” Garon asked.

“No, and we had the criminologists on their hands and knees all over her bedroom with blue lights. Nothing. Not a single latent fingerprint.”

“He took her out of her bedroom?” he asked, surprised.

“In the middle of the night, and nobody heard anything,” Marquez replied.

“Footprints, tire tracks…?”

Marquez shook his head. “Either this guy is very lucky, or…”

“…or he’s done this before,” Garon finished for him.

Marquez drew in a long breath. “Exactly. Of course, my lieutenant doesn’t buy that. He thinks we’ve got a pedophile who carried the kid away and killed her. I told him that this is the second case of bedroom abduction we’ve seen in the past two years. The last one was over in Palo Verde, and the child was murdered in a similar manner. I found it listed on VICAP, the FBI’s violent criminal apprehension program. I showed it to the lieutenant. He told me I was chasing ghosts.”

Garon’s eyebrow lifted. “Did you check for other unsolved child homicides?”

“I did,” Marquez said somberly. “I found two in Oklahoma eight years ago. They happened about a year apart, and the children were abducted from their homes, but in daylight. I showed the cases to my lieutenant. He said it was coincidence, that there were no real similarities except the kids were strangled and stabbed.”

“The victims,” Garon replied. “How old were they?”

Marquez pulled out a BlackBerry and brought up a screen. “Between ten and twelve years of age. They were raped, strangled and then stabbed.”

“God!” Garon burst out. “What kind of animal would do that to a child?”

“A really nasty one.”

“I’d hoped that the red ribbon would show up in those VICAP postings that matched this homicide. But I had no luck.” Marquez looked up from the BlackBerry. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an evidence bag. He handed it to Garon.

Garon opened it and looked inside. “A red silk ribbon?”

“The murder weapon,” Marquez said. “The first officers on the scene were San Antonio P.D. They found it tied tight around the neck of the ten-year-old girl. Her body was found in behind a little country church north of here yesterday. We transported the body here to our medical examiner for processing. We haven’t released that bit about the red ribbon to the press.”

Garon could guess why. All homicide detectives tried to hold back one or two pieces of evidence so that they could weed out potential suspects who were lying about their involvement in the murder. Every police department had at least one mental case who tried to confess to any violent crime, for reasons best left to a psychiatrist.

He touched the ribbon. “It might have something to do with his fantasy,” Garon mused, having participated in seminars by the FBI’s behavioral science department, observing profilers at work. Modus operandi was the method used to kill. Signature was a feature linking all victims of a serial killer in a way that was important only to the killer, and it never changed. Some left victims posed in obscene ways, some used a particular marking of victims, but a number of serial killers left something that identified them as the suspect.

Garon glanced at the detective. “Have you checked the database for similar ribbons at other crime scenes?”

“First thing I did, when I saw the ribbon,” he replied. “But no luck. If there was such a ribbon, maybe it was overlooked or held back from the file. I’ve tried to contact the police department in West Texas, at Palo Verde, where the last homicide occurred, but they don’t answer phone calls or e-mails. It’s a tiny little jurisdiction.”

“Good idea. What do you want from us?”

“A profile would be a good start,” he said. “My lieutenant won’t like it, but I’ll talk to our captain and see if he’ll make a formal request for assistance. He mentioned the profiling to me himself.”

Garon smiled. “I’ll fill in one of our ASACs, so that he’ll expect it.”

“Not the SAC?”

“Our special agent in charge is in Washington, trying to appropriate funds for a new project we’re trying to get started, partnering with the local middle schools to discourage kids from using drugs.”

“He might need to ask somebody with more money than our government seems to have,” came the dry reply. “On a local level, our own budget is cut to the bone already. I had to buy a digital camera out of my pocket so that I could get my own crime scene photos.”

Garon laughed shortly. “I know that feeling.”

“Is it true, that a lot of cases never get listed on VICAP?” Marquez said.

“Yes. The forms are shorter than they once were, but it takes about an hour to fill them out. Some police departments just don’t have the time. If you could find a second case with a red ribbon involved, I might be able to help you convince your lieutenant that there’s a serial killer loose. Before he kills again,” he added somberly.

“Can you spare us an agent, if we put together a task force to hunt this guy?”

“We can spare me. The rest of my squad is trying to run down a mob of bank robbers who use automatic weapons in holdups. I’m not essential personnel to them. My assistant can run the squad in my absence. I’ve worked serial murder cases, and I know agents in the Behavioral Science Unit I can call on for help. I’ll be glad to work with you.”

“Thanks.”

“No sweat. We’re all on the same team.”

“Do you have a business card?”

Garon took out his wallet and pulled out a simple white business card with black lettering. “My home phone is at the bottom, along with my cell phone number and my e-mail.”

Marquez’s eyebrows lifted. “You live in Jacobsville?”

“Yes. I bought a ranch there.” He laughed. “We’re not supposed to be involved in any business outside the job, but I pulled strings. I live on the ranch. The manager takes care of the day-to-day operation, so I have no conflicts.”

“I was born in Jacobsville,” Marquez said, smiling.

“My mother still lives there. She runs a café in town.”

There was only one café in town. Garon had eaten there. “Barbara’s Café?” Garon asked.

“The same.”

He frowned. He didn’t want to step on the man’s toes, but Barbara was a blonde.

“You’re thinking I don’t look like a man with a blond mother, right?” Marquez smiled. “My parents died in a botched robbery. They owned a small pawn shop in town. I was just six at the time. Barbara never married and had no family. I used to take mom and dad food from the café. After the funeral, Barbara came and got me out of state custody and adopted me. Quite a lady, Barbara.”

“I’ve heard that.”

Marquez checked his watch. “I have to run. I’ll phone you when I’ve talked to my captain.”

“Better make it an e-mail,” Garon replied. “I expect to be in meetings for most of today. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Okay. See you.”

“Sure.”

IT WAS A GOOD DAY, Garon thought as he drove himself back to Jacobsville. The squad was working witnesses at the last big bank robbery to find any information that would further the investigation. Men armed with automatic weapons were a danger to the entire community of San Antonio. He’d talked to the senior ASAC about setting up a task force in concert with San Antonio homicide detectives to work on the child murder. He had a green light. The ASAC had a friend in the Texas Rangers. He gave Garon his number. They were going to need all the help they could get.

He glanced toward the Carver place as he drove by. Her car was still sitting in the driveway. He wondered if she could start it again. It was a miracle the piece of junk ran at all.

He pulled into his driveway and almost ran into the back of a silver Mercedes convertible. A familiar brunette with dark eyes got out, dressed in a black power suit with a skirt halfway up her thighs that showed off her pretty legs. He knew her. She was the realtor who’d just gone to work for Andy Webb, the man who’d sold him this ranch. Her aunt was rich; old lady Talbot, who lived in a mansion on Main Street in town.

What was her name? Jaqui. Jaqui Jones. Easy to remember, and her figure was more than enough to make her memorable in addition to her job.

“Hi,” she said, almost purring as he climbed out of the Jaguar. “I just thought I’d stop by and make sure you were still happy with your ranch.”

“Happy enough,” he said, smiling.

“Great!” She moved closer. She was only a little shorter than he was, and he was over six feet tall. “I’m hosting a party at my aunt’s a week from Friday night,” she said. “I’d love to have you join us. It would be a nice way to meet Jacobsville’s upper social strata.”

“Where and what time?” he asked.

She grinned. “I’ll write down the address. Just a sec.” She went back to her car and bent over to give him a good view of her body as she retrieved a pen and pad. It didn’t take second sight to know that she was available and interested. So was he. It had been a long, dry spell.

She wrote down the address and handed it to him. “About six,” she said. “That’s early, but we can have highballs while we wait for the others to show up.”

“I don’t drink,” he said.

She looked startled. He was obviously not joking.

“Well, then, we can have coffee while we wait,” she amended, smiling so that he could see her perfectly capped teeth.

“Suits me. I’ll see you then.”

She hesitated, as if she wanted to stay.

“I’m just in from D.C. very early this morning,” he said. “And it’s been a full day at the office. I’m tired.”

“Then I’ll go, and let you get comfortable,” she said immediately, smiling again. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

He’d gone around her car to put the Bucar in front of the house, on the semicircular driveway, so she simply pulled around him to shoot out the driveway, waving a hand out the window as she passed him.

He went inside, almost colliding with Miss Jane. “That fancy woman parked herself in the driveway and said she’d wait for you. I didn’t invite her in,” she added with a faint belligerence. “She’s only been in town two months and she’s already got a reputation. Put her hand down Ben Smith’s pants right in his own office!”

Apparently this was akin to blasphemy, he reasoned, waiting for the rest.

“He jerked her hand right back out, opened his office door, and put her right out on the sidewalk. His wife works in the office with him, you know, and when he told her what happened, she walked into Andy Webb’s office and told him what he could do with the property they’d planned to buy from him, and how far!”

He pursed his lips. “Fast worker, is she?”

“Tramp, more like,” Miss Jane said coldly. “No decent woman behaves like that!”

“It’s the twenty-first century,” he began.

“Would your mother ever have done that?” she asked shortly.

He actually caught his breath. His little mother had been a saint. No, he couldn’t have pictured her being available to any man except his father—until his father had cheated on her and hastened her death.

Miss Jane read his reply on his face and her head jerked up and down. “Neither would my mother,” she continued. “A woman who’s that easy with men she doesn’t even know will be that way all her life, and even if she’s married she won’t be able to settle. It’s the same with men who treat women like disposable toys.”

“So everybody in town is celibate?” he queried.

She glared up at him. It was a long way. “People in small towns mostly get married and have children and raise them. We don’t look at life the way people in cities do. Down here, honor and self-respect are a lot more important than closing a business deal and having a martini lunch. We’re just simple people, Mr. Grier. But we look deeper than outsiders do. And we judge by what we see.”

“Isn’t there a passage about judging?” he retorted.

“There are several about right and wrong as well,” she informed him. “Civilizations fall when the arts and religion become superfluous.”

His eyebrows went up.

“Oh, did you think I was stupid because I keep house for you?” she asked blithely. “I have a Master’s Degree in History,” she added with a sweet smile. “I taught school in the big city until one of my students beat me almost to death in front of the class. When I got out of the hospital, I was too shaken to go back to teaching. So now I keep house for people. It’s safer. Especially when the people I keep house for work in law enforcement,” she added. “Your supper’s on the table.”

“Thanks.”

She was gone before he could say anything else. He was still reeling from her confession. Come to think of it, the Jacobs County Sheriff, Hayes Carson, had recommended Miss Jane. She’d worked for him temporarily until he could get the part-time housekeeper he wanted. No wonder she was afraid of her old job. He shook his head. In his day, teachers ran the classrooms. Apparently a lot of things had changed in the two or so decades since he graduated from high school and went off to college.

He was lying awake, looking at the ceiling, when there was a frantic pounding at the front door.

He got up and threw on a robe, tramping downstairs in his bare feet. Miss Jane was there ahead of him, turning on the porch light before she started to open the door.

“Don’t open it until you know who it is!” he shouted at her. His hand was on the .40 caliber Glock that he’d stuffed into his pocket as he joined her.

“I know who it is,” she replied, and opened the door quickly.

Their next-door neighbor, Grace Carver, was standing there in a ratty old bathrobe and tattered shoes, her long blond hair in a frizzed ponytail, her gray eyes wide and frantic.

“Please, may I use your phone?” she panted.

“Granny’s gasping for breath and her chest hurts. I’m afraid it’s a heart attack. My phone won’t work and I can’t start the car!” Tears of impotent fury were rolling down her cheeks. “She’ll die!”

Before she got the words completely out, Garon had dialed 911 and given the dispatcher the address and condition of the old woman.

“Wait for me,” he told Grace firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

He ran up the stairs, threw on jeans and a shirt and dragged on his boots without socks. He grabbed a denim jacket, because it was cold, and was downstairs in less than five minutes.

“You’re quick,” Grace managed.

“I get called out at all hours,” he said, taking her elbow. “Jane, I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ve got my keys. Lock up and go to bed.”

“Yes, sir. Grace, I’ll keep her in my prayers. You, too.”

“Thank you, Miss Jane,” she said in her soft voice. She had a faint south Texas drawl, but it was smooth and sweet to the ear.

Garon bypassed the Bucar, unlocked the black Jaguar and put her inside. She felt uncomfortable, not only because she was in her nightclothes, but because she wasn’t accustomed to being alone with men.

He didn’t say anything. He drove to her grandmother’s house, pulled up in the driveway and cut the engine. Grace was up the steps like a flash, with Garon on her heels.

The old lady, Mrs. Jessie Collier, was sitting up on her bed in a thick blue gown that looked as if it had been handed down from the 1920s. She was a big woman, with white hair coiled on her head and watery green eyes. She was gasping for breath.

“Grace, for God’s sake,” she panted, “go find my bathrobe!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grace went to the closet and started rummaging.

“Stupid girl, never can do anything right.” She looked at Garon angrily. “Who are you?”

“Your next door neighbor,” he replied. “The ambulance is on the way.”

“An ambulance!” She glared at Grace, who’d returned with a thick white chenille robe. “I told you…we’d go in the…car! Ambulances cost money!”

Grace grimaced. “The car won’t start, Granny.”

“You broke it, did you?” she raged. “You stupid…” She groaned and held her chest.

Grace looked anguished. “Granny, please don’t get upset,” she pleaded. “You’ll make it worse!”

“It would suit you if I died, wouldn’t it, young miss?” she chided. “You’d have this whole house to yourself and no old lady to wait on.”

“Don’t talk like that,” the younger woman said softly. “You know I love you.”

“Hmmmf,” came the snorted reply. “Well, I don’t love you,” she returned. “You cost me my daughter, held me up to public disgrace, made me ashamed to go to town…!”

“Granny,” Grace ground out, her face contorting with pain.

“Wish I could die,” the old woman raged, panting.

“And be rid of you!”

The ambulance came tearing up the dirt road, its sirens blazing, its lights flashing. Grace gave a sigh of relief. She hadn’t wanted their neighbor to hear any of this. It was none of his business. She was too embarrassed even to look at him.

“I’ll go and bring them up here,” she said, anxious to escape.

“Fool girl, ruined my life,” the old woman grumbled.

Garon felt a ripple of pure disgust as he watched the elderly woman clutching her chest. The girl was doing all she could for her grandmother, who seemed about as loving as a python. Maybe it was her illness that made her so nasty. The woman in his life had died expressing apologies to the nurses for having to lift her onto bedpans. That kind, loving, sweet woman had been an angel even in her final hours. What a contrast.

The paramedics came up the steps behind Grace, carrying a gurney. With a nod to Garon, they went to work on old Mrs. Collier.

“Is it a heart attack?” Grace asked worriedly. “Will she be all right?”

One of the paramedics glanced at her. “Are you her daughter?”

“Granddaughter.”

“Has she had spells like this before?”

“Yes. Dr. Coltrain gives her nitroglycerin tablets, but she won’t use them. He gives her blood pressure medicine, but she won’t take that, either.”

“Medicine costs money!” the old lady snarled at them. “All I have is my social security. Couldn’t feed a mouse on what she makes, working part-time at that flower shop and cooking…”

“I can’t leave you alone all day, and I’d have to if I worked full-time,” Grace said in a subdued tone. She didn’t add that she’d have to pay someone to stay with her grandmother, also, and there was no way anybody who knew her would take the job.

“Good excuse, isn’t it?” Mrs. Collier grumbled. She cried out, suddenly, clutching her chest. “Oh!”

“Where are her nitroglycerin tablets?” one of the medics asked quickly.

Grace ran around the bed to the side table, and handed them to him.

Mrs. Collier protested, but he got it under her tongue anyway.

She shivered as it took effect, but the medic who was monitoring her vitals gave the other one a speaking glance.

“We’re going to have to transport her,” he told his colleague. “Can you come with her?” he asked Grace.

“Yes. Just…just let me get dressed. I won’t be a minute.”

She went out without a backward glance, dashed into her room, threw on jeans and a sweatshirt and her old sneakers and rushed right back to her grandmother. She didn’t bother with makeup or even comb her hair. She wasn’t going to a social event, after all.

Garon glanced at her. She wouldn’t win a beauty contest, but she was a fast dresser, he thought with admiration. Most women he knew took hours dressing and making up.

“I’ll follow you in the Jag and bring you home,” he told her.

She started to protest, but one of the attendants shook his head. “We’ll probably have to keep her overnight at least,” he said.

“I won’t stay!” Mrs. Collier raged, but she was still gasping and clutching her chest.

“She’ll stay,” the older paramedic said with a deliberate smile. “Let’s load her up, Jake.”

“You bet.”

Grace stood back beside Garon as they wheeled Mrs. Collier out, still muttering angrily.

Garon didn’t say anything. He escorted Grace down to the Jag and helped her into the passenger seat.

“You’ll need your purse, won’t you?” he asked.

She indicated the fanny pack around her waist. “I’ve got Granny’s cards to check her in,” she said dully. “She can’t die,” she added in a hollow tone. “She’s all I’ve got in the world.”

Which wasn’t a hell of a lot, Garon was thinking. But he didn’t say it. He was resigned to losing most of the night’s sleep he’d been hoping for.

2

IT WAS MIDNIGHT before they had Mrs. Collier through the battery of tests that had been ordered. It had been a heart attack, fairly severe. Dr. Jeb “Copper” Coltrain came out into the waiting room to talk to Grace after he’d seen the results of the tests.

“She’s bad, Grace,” Copper told her. “I’m sorry, but it can’t come as much of a surprise. I told you this would happen eventually.”

“But there are medicines, and they have these new surgical procedures that I saw on the news,” she argued.

He started to put a hand on her shoulder but immediately drew it back before it could make contact. She’d stiffened, something Garon noted with idle curiosity.

“Most of those procedures are experimental, Grace,” he said gently. “And the drugs still haven’t been approved by the FDA.”

Grace bit her lower lip. She had a beautiful bow of a mouth with a natural pink tint, Garon noticed without wanting to, and a peaches and cream complexion that he’d rarely seen on a woman once she took her makeup off. Her hair was a soft, golden-blond. She had it in a ponytail, but when unfettered, it must reach halfway down her back, and it had just a faint wave. She had small, pert breasts and a small waistline. She was perfectly proportioned, in fact. Looking at her long legs and rounded hips in those tight jeans made him uncomfortable and he averted his gaze back to Coltrain.

“Maybe it was just a little attack,” she persisted.

“There will be a bigger one, and soon,” he replied grimly. “She won’t take her medicine, she won’t give up salty potato chips and brine-soaked pickles—even if you stop buying them for her, she’ll have them delivered. Face it, Grace, she’s not trying to help herself. You can’t force her to live if she doesn’t want to!”

“But I want her to!” she sobbed.

Coltrain drew a long breath, his gaze drawn to Garon, who hadn’t said a word. He frowned. “Aren’t you Cash’s brother?”

Garon nodded.

“The FBI agent?”

He nodded again.

“I couldn’t get the car to start and the phone didn’t work,” Grace told Coltrain before he could interrogate Garon any further. The redheaded doctor was abrupt and antagonistic to people he didn’t know.

And Mr. Grier here looked like a man who wouldn’t take much prodding before he exploded. “I had to ask him for help,” she concluded.

“I see.” Coltrain was still staring at Garon.

“I could stay with Granny tonight,” she offered.

“No, you couldn’t,” Coltrain said shortly. “Go home and get some sleep. You’ll need it if she gets to come home.”

Her face fell tragically. “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

“When,” he corrected irritably. “I meant, when.”

“You’ll have them call me, if I’m needed?” she persisted.

“Yes, I’ll have them call you. Go to the office and do the paperwork,” he ordered. She hesitated for a minute, glancing at Garon. “He’ll wait,” Coltrain assured her. “Git!”

She went.

Coltrain stared at the taller man through dark-circled eyes. “How well do you know the family?”

“We’ve spoken once until tonight,” he replied.

“They live next door to me.”

“I know where they live. What do you know about Grace?”

Garon’s dark eyes began to take on a glitter. “Nothing. And that’s all I want to know. I did her a favor tonight, but I am not in the mood to take on dependents. Especially spinsters who look like juvenile bag ladies.”

Coltrain was indignant. “That attitude won’t get you far in Jacobsville. Grace is special.”

“If you say so.” Garon didn’t blink.

Coltrain drew in a long breath and cursed under it. He stared after Grace. “She’ll go to pieces if the old lady dies. And she’s going to,” he added coldly. “Along with the other tests I ordered, I had them run an echocardiogram. Half her heart muscle’s dead already, and she’ll finish off the rest of it the minute I let her out—if she even lives that long. Grace thinks I sedated her. I didn’t. She’s in a coma. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. That’s why I can’t let her see Mrs. Collier—she’s in ICU. I don’t think she’ll come out of it. And Grace has nobody.”

Garon frowned. “Everybody has relatives.”

Coltrain glanced at him. “Her mother and father divorced when Grace was ten. Mrs. Collier had to take Grace,” he added without explanation, “and never let the girl forget what a favor she did her. Her mother was living out of town when she died of a drug overdose, when Grace was twelve,” he said. “Her father had been killed in a light plane crash two years before that. There are no uncles or aunts, nobody except a distant cousin in Victoria who’s elderly and disabled.”

“Why does she need anyone? She’s a grown woman.”

Coltrain looked as if he was biting his tongue. “Grace is an innocent. She’s younger than she seems,” he said enigmatically. He sighed. “Well, if you can drive her home, I’ll be grateful. Maybe Lou and I can manage something, if we have to.”

Lou was his wife, another doctor. They were in practice together with Dr. Drew Morris.

Garon scowled. He felt as if he was being put in charge, and he didn’t like it. But he couldn’t just walk off and leave Grace, he supposed. Then he had an inspiration. Someone had to be sacrificed, but it didn’t necessarily have to be himself. “Miss Turner works for me. She knows Miss Carver,” he began.

“Yes,” he replied. “Jane was her teacher once. She’s the closest thing Grace has to family in Jacobsville, even though there’s no blood relationship.”

So that was it. He shrugged. “I can spare Miss Turner to help out. She can stay with Miss Carver tonight.”

“Kind of you.” It was said with faint sarcasm.

Garon didn’t even blink. His dark eyes were glittering. He didn’t give an inch.

Coltrain, having met his match, drew in a slow breath. “All right. But I’m going to sedate Grace before I send her home. If Miss Turner can stay with her tonight, I’ll appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Garon returned.

COLTRAIN DREW GRACE into the emergency room, into a cubicle, and listened to her heart.

“I’m okay,” she fussed.

“Sure you are,” he agreed as he turned to pick up a syringe that he’d already filled. He swabbed Grace’s arm and shot the needle in. “Go home. You’ll sleep.”

“I didn’t call Judy at the florist to tell her I couldn’t make it in the morning,” she said dully. “She’ll fire me.”

“Not likely. She’ll understand. Besides, Jill, who works in the ER, is Judy’s cousin. She’ll tell her what happened long before you can call her,” he added with a kind smile.

“Thanks, Dr. Coltrain,” she said, standing.

“Your neighbor is going to loan Miss Turner to you. She’ll stay with you tonight,” he added.

“That’s nice of him,” she said. She made a face. “He’s uncomfortable to be around.”

He frowned slightly. “He’s in law enforcement. In fact, from what his brother, Cash, told me, he’s good at homicide detection…”

“I have to go,” she broke in, avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t have to like him, Grace,” Coltrain reminded her. “But you need someone to help you through this.”

“Miss Turner will do that.” She turned toward the door of the cubicle. “Thanks.”

“You’ll get through this, Grace,” he said quietly. “We all have to face the loss of people we care about. It’s a natural part of life. After all,” he added, joining her in the hallway, “nobody gets out of the world alive.”

She smiled softly. “It’s good to remember that.”

“Yes. It is.”

GARON WAS WAITING, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, pacing. He glanced up as she and Coltrain reappeared. He looked tired as well as irritated.

“I’m ready,” she said without meeting his dark eyes. “Thanks for waiting.”

He nodded curtly.

“I’ll call you if there’s a change,” Coltrain assured her. “Honest.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Coltrain.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

She started toward the door without another word. She’d forgotten that her phone didn’t work, so how could Coltrain call her?

Garon followed behind her, his hands still in his pockets. He hadn’t said another word to Coltrain, who glared after him until a nurse caught his attention.

GARON OPENED THE DOOR for Grace and settled her into the passenger seat. By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, she still hadn’t spoken a word.

He glanced at her as he drove. “You know the doctor well, do you?”

She nodded without looking at him.

“He’s abrasive.”

Pot calling the kettle black, she thought amusedly, but she was too shy to say it. She nodded again.

His eyebrow jerked. It was like talking to himself. He wondered why Coltrain had given her a shot instead of something to take by mouth. Hell, he wondered why the doctor was so concerned about her that he wanted someone with her at night. A lot of people had serious illness in their families. Most people got through it without tranquilizers. Especially women as young as this one looked.

Well, it was none of his business, he thought. He pulled out his cell phone and called Miss Turner. She answered at once, obviously still up.

“Can you go home with Miss Carver for the night?” he asked her.

“Of course,” she replied without a second’s hesitation. “I’ll be ready when you get here.” She hung up.

He flipped the cell phone shut and laid it in the empty cup holder. “We’ll pick Miss Turner up at the house and I’ll drive you both over there. Tomorrow, Miss Turner can use the Expedition and drive you to work and then to the hospital. I’ll have one of the boys run it over first thing tomorrow and leave the keys with Miss Turner.” The SUV was his second vehicle, which he used primarily around the ranch. His foreman and the rest of his cowboys had their own transportation. He didn’t tell Grace, but he was going to have one of his mechanics overhaul her car as well. He didn’t like having her as a responsibility longer than he had to.

He didn’t mind helping out this neighbor, as long as it didn’t require any personal involvement with her beyond the minimum. Still, he did feel sorry for her. She seemed to be a misfit in this small town. Obviously she wasn’t overly interested in him. She was as far over in her seat as she could get, and she did nothing to try and attract his attention. He hadn’t missed the way she flinched when Coltrain had started to lay a compassionate hand on her shoulder. It raised a red flag in his mind, but he was too worn-out from the travel and the interrupted sleep to pursue it. The sooner he had her settled, the sooner he could go back to bed.

They pulled up at the front door of the ranch house and Miss Turner came out with a small satchel and her purse. She got into the back seat.

“I locked up,” she told him. “You’ll have your house key with you, of course.”

“Of course,” he drawled.

“Grace, are you all right? How’s your grandmother?”

“She’s not well, Miss Turner,” Grace replied drowsily. “Dr. Coltrain thinks it’s a heart attack. He won’t give me a lot of hope.”

“Never you mind. He’s the best we have. He’ll do whatever he can, you know that.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you for coming home with me,” she added. “It’s a big house.”

“It is,” Miss Turner agreed.

He pulled up at the front door of the rickety old white Victorian house, making a face at the lack of fresh paint. Presumably there wasn’t any spare cash for upkeep. Pity. It was a pretty house.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Grace said formally, “and for letting Miss Turner stay with me.”

She looked as if it were like pulling teeth to say that. She had a fiercely independent stubborn streak that he was just meeting. His estimation of her changed a little.

“Lock the doors,” Garon cautioned Miss Turner after she’d exited the car and was helping Grace toward the front porch.

“We will. I’ll get up early and come over to fix breakfast, as soon as the Expedition gets here.”

“Okay. Good night.”

He drove off, already going over the next day’s routine in his mind. He didn’t give Grace a second thought.

BUT THE NEXT MORNING, awake and rested, he felt badly about the way he’d treated Grace the night before. He remembered how he’d felt when his mother had died; but especially, when the woman he loved had died. He remembered how sad and depressed those events had made him. At the time, he’d had no one to help him get through it. His family was back in Texas, and he’d been living in Georgia, working out of Atlanta, when it happened. He should have remembered how alone he’d felt. He’d been less than sympathetic with Grace.

So he got up earlier than usual, made biscuits, fried bacon and scrambled eggs. He phoned the Collier house and only then recalled that the phone was out of order. He climbed into the car, dressed in city clothes and drove over to get Grace and Miss Turner.

They were dressed, just coming down the steps. Grace was wearing jeans and the floppy sweatshirt again, with her hair in a bun. They both looked surprised to see him.

“I made breakfast,” he said without preamble. “Let’s go.”

“But you didn’t have to do that,” Grace protested.

He started to take her arm, to herd her out the door, but she stepped back in an instant, her eyes wide, her cheeks rosy.

He glowered at her. “It’s only breakfast. I’m not proposing,” he added sarcastically.

Her eyebrows went up. “Well, thank God for that,” she replied carelessly. “I’ll consider it a lucky escape.” She hesitated when he gave her a blank stare. “Or shouldn’t I have said that until after breakfast?”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes did. He made a rough sound in his throat, avoided Miss Turner’s amused gaze and led the way out to the car.

Grace ate with apparent enjoyment, but she was wary of her big, taciturn neighbor. She’d never met anyone quite like him. If he had a sense of humor, it must be very deeply hidden.

“It was very nice,” she said when she finished the last strip of bacon. “Do you mind if I use your phone to call the hospital?”

“Help yourself,” he said. “There’s an extension in the hall.”

She got up, wiping her mouth gently, and went to find the phone.

“How’s she doing?” Garon asked Miss Turner.

“She’s going to take it badly,” she replied. “Mrs. Collier is a nightmare of a mother substitute, but Grace has lived with her so long that I think she just overlooks the bad attitude.”

“I noticed that the old lady seems to dislike her.”

Miss Turner grimaced. “It’s even worse than it seems. Mrs. Collier failed Grace at a time when she needed her most. I think it’s guilt that makes the old woman treat her so hatefully.”

“What happened?” he asked curiously.

“It’s not my business to talk about Grace’s business,” came the terse reply.

He sighed and finished his coffee. Apparently secrets were part of small town life.

Grace came back subdued. “She’s in ICU,” she said as she sat back down at the table. “He didn’t tell me that last night.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons. Are you going to work?”

“I have to,” Grace said baldly. “Granny’s social security check barely pays for the utilities. I have to get in as many hours as I can.”

“No ambition to go to college or learn a profession?” Garon asked.

Grace gave him a bald stare. “And where would I get the money to do that, even if I didn’t have to take care of Granny? She’s been an invalid since I graduated from high school, and I’m all she has.” She scowled. “You know, for a man who wants everybody else to mind their own business, you sure spend a lot of time prying into other people’s.”

His eyebrows arched. “See here, I’m loaning you my housekeeper…”

“Miss Turner doesn’t have to be loaned,” Grace replied. “She has a heart.”

He glowered. “So do I.”

“You must keep it put up in a safe place, so that it doesn’t get used much,” she returned. She got up. “Thanks for breakfast. You’re not a very pleasant person, but you are a good cook.”

“Thank you the hell for small favors,” he gritted.

“You’re nasty, I’m nasty,” she returned. “If you ever develop a pleasant personality, I’ll even smile at you.”

Miss Turner was trying very hard not to smile. She did like this job, despite the odd behavior of her boss.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Garon assured her. “I have to go. I’m up to my neck in meetings today. The keys to the Expedition are on the key rack by the front door,” he told Miss Turner. “Use it as much as you need to.” He hesitated. “Try not to run over her with it unless you absolutely have to,” he added, nodding toward Grace. “She’d probably puncture a tire with her attitude.”

“It’s no surprise to me that you’re not married,” Grace observed. “But thank you for the use of your vehicle. I’ll see about getting mine fixed.”

“Most mechanics won’t work for free,” he pointed out.

She glared at him. Her eyes sparkled when she was mad, and her soft complexion took on a pretty blush. “I can trade eggs and cakes for a tune-up with Jerry down at the filling station,” she told him.

“Bartering?” he said, astonished. “What century are you people living in?”

“A better one than yours, I guarantee,” she replied. “Around here, we’re people, not numbers in a case book.”

“I’m amazed you’re not a number in a home for the unbalanced,” he said under his breath.

“We’ll go when you’re ready, Grace,” Miss Turner interrupted, sensing an explosion.

“I’m ready now, Miss Turner.”

Garon glanced at her disapprovingly. “You go to a job looking like that?” he exclaimed.

She frowned, glancing down at her neat, clean jeans and spotless white sweatshirt. “What should I wear to work in the back of a florist’s shop, a ball gown?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The women in my office wear pantsuits and makeup.”

“That’s probably because they think you’re eligible, and they want to impress you,” she retorted. “My boss is a woman and she dresses the same way I do.”

His eyebrow jerked. “To each his own. I’ll be home late tonight, Miss Turner. Just put some cold cuts in the fridge for me.”

“I’ll do that, boss,” she replied.

He turned at the front door. “I hope your grandmother improves,” he told Grace quietly.

“Coals of fire?” she muttered.

“Glad you noticed.” He went out and closed the door.

Grace felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach. She hoped she wouldn’t have too much more contact with her taciturn neighbor. And she really hoped that Granny would get better as the day wore on.

JUDY, in the florist shop, was all kindness and compassion. She offered to let Grace off, with pay, to stay with her grandmother.

Grace shook her head. “Thanks, but Dr. Coltrain would have a cow,” she murmured as she constructed a wreath for a funeral. “He doesn’t want me hanging around ICU. I can’t go in, you know, except for a few minutes three times a day. She’s really bad, Judy. I’m afraid.”

“She’s been your family for a long time,” Judy agreed. “But there’s a whole world out there that you’ve never seen, Grace. You have to think ahead.”

She moved restlessly. “I don’t know what I’d do, if she…well, I mean, Cousin Bob in Victoria would let me come and visit, but he’s in bad shape himself and he has a nurse who stays with him. I’d be alone, here in Jacobsville.”

Judy reached over, patted her hand, and smiled. “You’ll never be alone in Jacobsville. We’re your family, Grace. All of us.”

She managed a smile through a mist of quick tears. “Thanks.”

Judy shrugged. “You’ll get by. We’ll all look out for you. Not that you need it anymore,” she added. “You’ve become very independent over the years. I’m proud of the way you’ve handled yourself. You’re an inspiration.”

“Not me.”

“You.” Judy smiled. “Not many people could come back so well from what happened. You’ve got guts, girl.”

Grace didn’t like to talk about the past. She moved some more red roses closer to where she was working and started Judy talking about the new water rates. That was good for an hour.

MRS. COLLIER was still in the coma when Grace left her about dark. Miss Turner had come in the Expedition, probably at Coltrain’s urging, and insisted that Grace come home.

“You can’t work and stay at the hospital all hours,” Miss Turner said firmly. “Besides, Jolie will call you if you’re needed. We’ve gotten your phone fixed. Right?” she asked the pretty nurse on night duty.

“You bet I will,” Jolie assured her with a smile.

“All right, I’ll go home. Thanks,” she added, and followed Miss Turner out to the Expedition.

GARON HAD COME HOME a little later than his usual time and had still gone out to help his boys with some heifers who were calving for the first time. Late February was just right for new calves, with the first green grass cautiously poking its head up out of the cold ground. His black Angus cattle were pretty, and he bred for specific traits, since he ran beef cattle. It was something of a blessing that the former owners, the Jacobs family, had been horse ranchers, because the barn was well-kept and the fences had been built to last almost new. It had been a simple matter to string electric wire around the existing pastures to ensure that his animals didn’t wander.

He came up onto the porch just as Miss Turner drove up at the steps.

“How’s her grandmother?” he asked when she joined him.

“No change,” she replied. She shook her head. “She’s holding up well, but I think she’ll go to pieces if the old lady dies. She’s not used to having to live alone.”

“Don’t tell me she’s afraid of the dark,” he laughed.

She looked up at him and she didn’t smile. “If Mrs. Collier dies, I’ll have to find someone to stay with Grace for a while, just until she gets used to the idea. Or maybe she might go up to Victoria and stay with her cousin Bob for a few days,” she added, thinking aloud.

“Take it one day at a time,” he said. “It’s not wise to borrow trouble.”

“I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Her car is missing,” she said suddenly.

“I know. I had Brady bring it over here and overhaul it,” he replied. “I was tempted to send it to the junkyard instead, but I guess it’s got two or three miles left in it…”

The phone rang insistently. He reached for it before Miss Turner did. “Grier,” he said shortly.

“You stole my car!” Grace Carver accused.

3

“I DO NOT STEAL CARS,” he replied indignantly. “I work for the FBI.”

“They wouldn’t have hired you in the first place if they knew you stole cars,” she replied, ignoring his defense. “Where’s my car? It’s no use saying you don’t know, because the mailman saw one of your cowboys driving it off this morning after I went to work.”

He didn’t deny it. “It’s a death trap. I’m having it overhauled by my mechanic,” he said. “Then you can drive yourself.”

There was a brief pause. “I see.”

He bit his tongue. “I didn’t mean that I mind you and Miss Turner using the Expedition,” he said irritably. “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

She blinked. “It must be a handy sort of gift, reading minds, considering your line of work,” she said too sweetly.

His eyes darkened angrily.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Sorry, that slipped out. Just pretend you never heard it.”

“There’s a saying,” he began slowly, “about biting the hand that feeds you…”

“I wouldn’t bite yours,” she replied. “No telling where they’ve been!” Before he could react to that she thanked him again for helping with the car, and hung up quickly.

He slammed the freedom phone down into its cradle and muttered something under his breath.

Miss Turner’s eyes widened. She’d never seen evidence of a temper in her taciturn new boss. Well, she thought as she walked toward the kitchen, at least he seemed more alive than he usually did. She wondered what in the world Grace had said to him to provoke that response.

GRACE, MEANWHILE, was feeling mean. Her neighbor had taken her car out of good intentions, so that he could fix it for her. She knew he wouldn’t charge her for it, either. She grimaced. She needed to stop taking out her frustration on him. Just because she was frantic about Granny was no reason to hurt other people. Not that he seemed the sort of person you could hurt…

She wasn’t working today, except on her own little project that consumed much of her free time and what little of her income she could spare. So when she got to a stopping point, she went into the kitchen and started cooking. She’d heard Miss Turner say that Garon was partial to an apple cake, and she was famous for hers. She used dried apples, which gave the dessert a taste all its own.

That afternoon, when Garon’s foreman, Clay Davis, brought the car back, she went out to thank him with the cake in a carrier.

He was headed toward a pickup truck driven by one of his men, but he stopped when he saw Grace coming and smiled, doffing his wide-brimmed hat.

“Miss Grace,” he said respectfully.

She grinned. “Hi, Clay. Would you do me a favor and take this to your boss?”

He looked at the cake in its carrier. “Hemlock or deadly nightshade?” he asked wickedly.

She gaped at him.

He shrugged. “Well, we’ve sort of heard that the two of you don’t get along.”

“It’s just a nice apple cake,” she defended herself.

“I felt guilty for saying unkind things to him. It’s sort of a peace offering.”

“I’ll tell him.” He took the cake.

She smiled. “Thanks for fixing my car.”

“Key’s in it,” he said. “And you need to watch that oil gauge,” he added. “We patched the leak, but just in case, don’t set off anywhere until you’re sure it’s got oil in it. If you notice a leak, let us know. We’ll fix that.”

“Thanks a lot, Clay.”

He shrugged. “Neighbors help each other out.”

“Yes, but there’s not a lot I could do for your boss. He’s already got all the help he needs.”

He smiled. “He does have a sweet tooth,” he confided, “although Miss Turner isn’t much of a hand at cakes or pies. Don’t tell her I said that,” he added. “She’s a great cook.”

“She just doesn’t do pastries,” Grace finished for him, smiling back. “That’s okay. I can’t fry chicken or make biscuits.”

“We all have our gifts,” he agreed.

“Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

He drove away with the cake beside him on the truck seat.

THAT NIGHT, Grace drove herself to the hospital. She sat outside the intensive care unit, in the waiting room, until very late. Coltrain found her there, alone, when he made his last rounds.

He ground his teeth together. “Grace, you can’t work all day and sit here all night,” he grumbled, standing over her.

She smiled. “If it were your grandmother, you’d be sitting here.”

He sighed. “Yes, I would. But I’m in better health than you are…”

“Don’t start,” she said curtly. “I take very good care of myself and I have a terrific doctor.”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me,” he replied. “Ask Lou,” he added. Lou was his wife.

She shrugged. “It was worth a try.” Her eyes became solemn. “The nurse said there’s no change.”

He sat down beside her, looking worn. “Grace, you know that heart tissue doesn’t regenerate, don’t you?”

She grimaced. “Miracles still happen,” she said stubbornly.

“Yes, I know, I’ve seen them. But it’s a very long shot, in this case,” he added. “You have to get used to the idea that your grandmother may not come home.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She clasped her hands together, very tightly, in her lap. “She’s all I’ve got, Copper.”

He bit his tongue trying not to say what he was thinking. “Don’t make her into a saint,” he said curtly.

“She was sorry about it all,” she reminded him with big, wet eyes. “She didn’t mean to get drunk that night. I know she didn’t. It hurt her that Mama went off without a word and dumped me in her lap.”

“Is that what she said?” he fished.

Her face closed up. “She wasn’t a motherly sort of woman, I suppose,” she had to admit. “She didn’t really like kids, and I was a lot of trouble.”

“Grace,” he said gently, “you were never a lot of trouble to anyone. You were always the one doing the work at your house. Your grandmother sat and watched soap operas all day and drank straight gin while you did everything else. The gin is why her heart gave out.”

She bit her lower lip. “At least she was there,” she said harshly. “My father didn’t want kids, so when I came along, he ran off with some minor beauty queen and never looked back. My mother hated me because I was the reason my father left. And no other man wanted her with a ready-made family, so she left, too.”

“You looked like your father,” he recalled.

“Yes, and that’s why she hated me most.” She looked at her clasped hands. “I never thought she cared about me at all. It was a shock, what she did.”

“It was guilt, I imagine,” he replied. “Like your grandmother, she had a high opinion of her family name. She expected what happened to be in all the newspapers. And it would have been, except for your grandmother playing on Chet Blake’s soft heart and begging him to bury the case so nobody knew exactly what happened. But it was too late to save your mother by then.”

She swallowed, hard. “They never caught him.”

“Maybe he died,” Coltrain replied curtly. “Or maybe he went to prison for some other crime.”

She looked up at him. “Or maybe he did it to some other little girl,” she said curtly.

“Your grandmother didn’t care. She only wanted it hushed up.”

“Chief Blake was sorry because of what happened to my mother,” she said absently. “Otherwise, I expect he would have pursued the case. He was a good policeman.”

“It was more than that,” he said, his expression solemn. “The perpetrator thought you were dead. Chet thought you were safer if he kept thinking it. He didn’t mean for you to live and testify against him, Grace.”

Her skin crawled at just the memory. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you suppose he kept the file?”

“I’m sure he did, but it’s probably well hidden,” he told her. “I doubt Cash Grier will accidentally turn it up, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he added gently.

She grimaced. “It was. Garon has been very kind to me,” she told him, “in a sore-paw, irritated sort of way. I don’t want him to know about me.”

“It was never your fault, Grace,” he said, his voice soft and kind, as if he were talking to a small child. In fact, it had been Copper who treated her when the policemen brought her to the emergency room. He’d been a resident then.

“Some people say I asked for it,” she bit off.

“Hell!”

“He lived close by and I used to wear shorts,” she began.

“Don’t ever make excuses for a creature like that,” he lectured. “No normal man is going to leer at a twelve-year-old child!”

She managed a smile for him. “You’re very good to me.”

“I wish I was good for your social life,” he replied.

“You don’t even date, Grace. You’re twenty-four years old. You should have had therapy and learned to get on with your life. I blame your grandmother for that. She wouldn’t have a relative of hers connected in any way with a psychologist.”

“She’s very old-fashioned.”

“She’s an ostrich,” he corrected hotly. “Protecting the family name by pretending nothing happened.”

“Everybody knows what happened,” she reminded him.

“Not really. They only know the bare bones.”

“They all look out for me, just the same,” she said, feeling warm and protected. “We’re all family in Jacobsville,” she added thoughtfully. “Like old Mr. Jameson who was in prison for bank robbery and came home when he was released. He’s paid his debt to society. He’s sorry. Now he’s just accepted.”

He smiled. “It’s one of the nicer things about little towns,” he had to agree.

“You don’t think anybody would tell Garon…?”

“Nobody gossips about you,” he said. “Not even Miss Turner.”

One thin shoulder lifted. “He’s a stranger here, even if his brother is our police chief,” she said. “I don’t suppose people would rush to air the dirty linen.”

“You’re not dirty linen,” he said firmly.

She smiled. “You’re a nice doctor.” She hesitated.

“Can’t I see Granny, just for a minute?”

He made a face. “If you’ll promise to go home afterward.”

She was reluctant, but she did want to see Mrs. Collier. “Okay.”

“Come on, then.”

He led her into the unit, spoke briefly to the nurse and escorted Grace into a small cubicle where her grandmother, white as a sheet and unaware of anyone around her, lay quiet on the bed.

Grace had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. The old lady already looked dead. She was breathing in a way that Grace remembered vividly from her early childhood. Her grandfather had breathed like that the day he died. It was a rasping sort of sound. It was frightening.

Coltrain moved to her side. “Grace, it helps to remember that this is something all of us will face one day. It isn’t an end. It’s a beginning. Like the cocoon that produces a butterfly.”

She looked up at him with eyes that were far too bright. “My whole family is dead.”

“You still have a cousin up in Victoria, and he likes you.”

She had to admit that he was right. Although the cousin was in his late seventies and a semi-invalid. She moved to the bedside and slowly, hesitantly, touched her grandmother’s broad shoulder.

“I love you, Granny,” she said softly. “I’m sorry…I’ve been such a burden to you—” Her voice broke. Tears poured down her cheeks.

Her grandmother moved jerkily, as if she heard, but her eyes didn’t open. After a minute, she was still again, and the raspy breathing worsened.

Coltrain, who knew what it meant all too well, drew Grace out of the cubicle and back into the waiting room.

She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be. Damn, Grace, you shouldn’t be here alone!”

Just as he said it, the door opened automatically and Garon Grier, in a three-piece gray suit, walked into the waiting room.

Coltrain stared at him blankly. Grier was the last person in the world he’d expected to see, especially after the man had been so cool with Grace when her grandmother was brought in.

Garon joined them, his dark eyes on Grace’s ravaged face. “Miss Turner said you’d probably be here,” he said curtly. “I went by to thank you for the apple cake, and your car was gone.”

“You baked him an apple cake?” Coltrain asked, surprised.

Grace moved restlessly. “I was rude to him and I felt guilty,” she explained. “He had one of his men fix my car.”

“Which she accused me of stealing,” Garon added. One dark eyebrow lifted. “But the cake did make up for the insult. It’s a damned good cake.”

She smiled through her tears. “I’m glad you liked it.”

He glanced at Coltrain. “I thought I’d follow you home,” he told her. “Clay said the car may still leak oil. You live on a lonely stretch of road.”

Coltrain liked the man’s concern, but he wasn’t showing it. “Let him follow you home, and stay there,” he told her. “You can’t do any good here, Grace.”

She drew in a long breath. “I guess not.” She turned to Garon. “I have to stop by the lady’s room for a minute, then I’ll be ready to leave.”

“I’ll wait,” he assured her.

She walked down the hall. When she was out of earshot, Coltrain turned his attention to Garon.

“Mrs. Collier won’t last more than a few hours,” he said bluntly. “I think Grace knows, but she’s going to take it hard.”

Garon nodded. “I’ll make sure she’s not alone over there. When her grandmother is gone, she can stay at the ranch with us for a week or two, until she gets her bearings. Miss Turner will treat her like a long lost daughter.”

“Isn’t that something of a turnabout for you?” Coltrain asked warily. “Just recently, you didn’t even want to be bothered with Grace’s transportation.”

Garon avoided his eyes. “She’s got a good heart.”

Coltrain hesitated. “She’s a good person,” he amended. He frowned. “Aren’t you working late?”

He nodded. “We have a murdered child north of here,” he replied. “Homicide is my specialty, so I was assigned to the case.” His expression tautened. “I’ve been in law enforcement most of my life. Usually, not much shocks me. This case…” He shook his head. “The perp took the child right out her bedroom window. We found evidence of a violent encounter in the room.” His eyes flashed angrily. “This man is an animal. He has to be caught.”

“Have you found any clues?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m like a snapping turtle. I won’t stop until I’ve found him.”

Coltrain smiled. “You’re like your brother in that I gather.”

“Back when he was a Texas Ranger,” he confided, “Cash chased a robbery suspect all the way to Alabama.”

Coltrain chuckled. “That, I’d believe.”

He shook his head. “If anyone had told me that he’d settle down in a small town and have kids, I’d have laughed my head off. Since his daughter was born, earlier this month, he’s become a committed family man.”

Before Coltrain could reply, Grace came back down the hall, looking morose and lonely.

Garon felt her pain keenly. He was no stranger to loss.

“Come on,” he said gently. “I’ll follow you home.”

Grace hesitated. She looked up at Coltrain.

“You’ll call me…?”

He nodded. “I’ll call you, Grace.”

Above her head, Garon’s eyes met Coltrain’ sand a silent message passed between them. Coltrain would call Garon as well. He told him, without saying a single word.

GRACE PULLED UP at her front steps with Garon right behind her. She got out of the car hesitantly. It had been a very long time since she’d been alone with a man at night. She didn’t trust men.

She hesitated at her steps, turning on the gravel path to watch Garon get out of his car and join her. She was stiff as a poker, something he must have recognized.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Do you want me to send Miss Turner over to spend the night with you?” he asked.

“No. I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she added jerkily.

He scowled. She’d been relaxed at the hospital, with Coltrain nearby. But on her own like this, with him, she seemed to grow thorns and barbed wire. It didn’t take rocket science to know that she was uncomfortable. He wondered if she was that way with other men.

“You’ve got our number,” he reminded her. “If you need us, just call.”

“Thank you. It’s very kind,” she said.

He drew in a long breath. “I have a hard time with relationships of any sort,” he said out of the blue. “My line of work puts off any number of people, especially when they realize that I carry a gun all the time, even off duty. I make them uncomfortable.”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m not used to people, either,” she confessed. “Granny and I keep to ourselves. I have little jobs that I go to,” she added, “and I have just a handful of casual friends. But nobody close.”

He cocked his head. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “But I don’t talk about it.”

She made him curious. He noticed that she was still wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, with a jacket. None of her clothing was new, and her loafers had torn places and scuff marks. She must budget like crazy, he thought.

“You like roses?” he asked, noticing the pruned bushes near the front porch.

“I love them,” she replied, smiling. “I’m especially fond of my Audrey Hepburn and my Chrysler Imperial.”

“A pink and a red,” he mused.

“Why, yes!” she burst out, surprised.

“I haven’t had much opportunity to plant bushes in recent years,” he said. “I might get back to it, now that I’ve got the ranch. It used to be a hobby.”

“I’ve babied these rosebushes since I was a little girl,” she recalled warmly. “My grandfather—he’s dead now—loved to grow them. He knew all the varieties, and he taught me. We were best friends. He died when I was nine.”

“I never knew any of my grandparents,” Garon replied. “They all died before we were born.”

“We?” she asked. “You and Cash?”

“There are four brothers,” he replied. “Cort and Parker are the other two. Cort runs our West Texas ranch with our father. Parker’s in law enforcement.”

“Was your dad a lawman?” she wondered.

“No. But our grandfather was a U.S. Marshal,” he said proudly. “I’ve still got his gunbelt and his old Colt .45.”

“My granddad was a horse wrangler,” she said. “But he got kicked by a bull and crippled. He retired and moved here with Granny when my mother was a little girl.”

“Your roots go back a ways here,” he said.

“Yes. It’s nice to have some.”

He checked his watch. “I’d better get home. I’ve got some paperwork to do before I can go to bed. Call if you need us.”

“I will. Thanks,” she added.

He shrugged. “It was a good cake.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Lock your doors,” he called as he got into his car.

“I will. Good night.”

He waved and drove off, but she saw him hesitate at the end of her driveway until he saw lights go on in her house. It was rather comforting.

SHE LOCKED THE DOORS and checked them twice. She checked the broom handles placed crosswise in all the long, old-fashioned windows to keep anyone from opening them. She checked her bedroom window four times. It was a ritual that she never skipped.

Her neighbor had surprised her by showing up at the hospital. He was a loner, as she was. She hadn’t liked him at first, but he did seem to have a few saving graces.

She put on her long white gown and brushed out her hair so that it swirled around her shoulders like a sheet of gold. She didn’t look into the mirror while she did it. She didn’t like looking at herself.

It was almost dawn when she heard someone knocking like crazy at the front door. She was sleeping in a downstairs room, rather than the old bedroom she’d had on the second floor of the house. It wasn’t far down the hall. She threw on a thick robe and paused to look out the small square windowpanes after she turned on the porch light.

She frowned. It was her neighbor, dressed and solemn. Her heart ran away with her. She could only think of one reason he might be here.

She opened the door with a little sob in her voice. “No,” she said huskily. “Please, no…!”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“She’s…gone?”

He nodded.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t make a sound. She just looked up at him with her tragic face, crying helplessly.

He moved forward to take her by the shoulders. It was an invasion of her personal space that shocked, frightened her. She jerked nervously, but when his hands loosened and were barely resting on her, she relaxed suddenly and moved into his arms. She couldn’t remember a time in her young life when anyone had held her while she cried.

He smoothed her long, tousled hair with a big, gentle hand. “People die, Grace,” he said gently, using her name for the first time. “It’s something we all have to go through.”

“You lost your mother,” she recalled, sobbing.

“Yes.” He didn’t add that she wasn’t the only person close to him that he’d lost. He didn’t know her well enough to confide in her.

“Was it quick?” she wanted to know.

“Coltrain said she just took a little breath and relaxed,” he replied. “It was quick and painless. She never regained consciousness.”

She bit her lower lip. “Heavens,” she choked, “I don’t know anything about her burial policy. She went to the funeral home herself and filled out all the papers. She had a little policy…I don’t know where it is.” She wept again, liking the feeling it gave her to lean on him. She hadn’t ever been the sort to lean. He was warm and strong and right now, he wasn’t threatening.

“I’ll help you with that,” he said. “But you’re coming home with me now. Go upstairs and change, Grace. We’ll worry about the arrangements tomorrow. Which funeral home?”

“Jackson and Williams,” she recalled.

“I’ll phone them while you’re getting dressed. I’ll phone the hospital, too,” he added before she could ask.

“I don’t know how to thank you…” she began, lifting a face torn with grief to his eyes.

“I don’t want thanks,” he returned. “Go on.”

“Okay.”

She turned and went to her room.

Garon watched her go with narrowed eyes. Coltrain had been emphatic about keeping an eye on Grace. He said that she was going to take it hard, and she’d need someone to watch her. The redheaded doctor had known her for many years. Maybe he just cared more than most other people did.

Garon pulled out his cell phone and dialed information.

4

GRACE SAT WITH GARON in the office of the funeral home, while Henry Jackson went over the arrangements for Mrs. Collier’s funeral with her. Garon had taken a vacation day so that he could help. He didn’t tell her that he hardly ever took time off, but she guessed it.

There weren’t a lot of arrangements to make. Mrs. Collier had laid out her desires, and even paid for her casket, a simple pine one. She was to be buried in a local Baptist church cemetery, next to her late husband. Her insurance would cover the costs of the service, so that Grace had nothing to worry about.

The next stop was Blake Kemp’s office, where Grace learned that she’d been left the house and land. It was a little surprising, because she’d expected her grandmother wouldn’t leave her anything at all.

Garon was sitting in the waiting room while Grace spoke to her grandmother’s attorney.

“I didn’t think she’d leave me anything,” she began.

Blake leaned forward. “She had a guilty conscience, Grace,” he said gently. “She failed you the one time she shouldn’t have. I know she wasn’t kind to you. Maybe that was just an involuntary response to her own behavior.”

“She blamed me for Mama,” she replied.

“She shouldn’t have,” he said with the ease of someone who’d known the family for many years. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“That’s what Dr. Coltrain said.”

“And he’s right. We’ll go ahead and file the papers, making you executrix of her estate.” He held up a big hand when she started to speak. “You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll handle it. Now, about the funeral,” he began.

“Mr. Grier is helping with that,” she said.

“Cash?” he exclaimed.

“No, his brother Garon. He lives next door to our place,” she said.

His eyebrows arched. He wasn’t expecting that. From what he’d heard of Cash’s brother, he didn’t go out of his way to help people.

“He’s very nice,” she continued. “He had his men fix my car. And I baked him an apple cake.”

He smiled gently. “It’s about time you started noticing bachelors, Grace.”

She closed up at once. “It’s not like that,” she assured him. “He’s only being kind. Miss Turner probably had something to do with it.”

“She might have,” he conceded. “Well, if you need anything, you know where I am.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He smiled. “It’s no trouble. When we get the papers drawn up, you can swing by and sign them. I’ll do the rest.”

She started back out of the office, smiling at the receptionist, a new girl who’d replaced Violet Hardy, who was now Kemp’s wife. Garon got up from the comfortable sofa and went with her. The receptionist’s eyebrows arched and she grinned at Garon. He scowled.

“It’s the thing about small towns,” Grace said uneasily when they were out on the sidewalk. “If you’re seen with anybody, people gossip. It’s not malicious.”

He didn’t reply, but he didn’t like it, and made it obvious.

“Thank you for taking time off to help me do these things,” she said when they were on the way back to her house. “I really appreciate it.”

“I didn’t mind.” He checked his watch. “But I have to go back to my office. We’re working on a murder. A child. I have some more calls to make.”

She stiffened. “Do you have any leads?”

He shook his head. “It’s early times. She was apparently taken right out of her bedroom, with her parents asleep next door and kept for several days. A hiker tripped over her body behind a church.” His face hardened. “She was ten years old, and all her immediate family members have alibis. She was assaulted. What the hell kind of human being feels attracted to little girls?”

She was breathing uneasily, her arms folded tight over her chest. “Inadequate men,” she bit off, “who want control.”

Her reply surprised him. He glanced at her. “Excuse me?”

“Men who can’t make it with grown-up women,” she said tautly. “And they hate women because of it. So they victimize the most helpless sort of females.”

“You’re good,” he murmured with a faint smile.

“Yes, that’s my take on the case, too.” His eyes were still on the road. “You’ve got potential. Ever think of law enforcement for a career?”

“I hate guns.”

He laughed. “You don’t have to have a gun. We employ civilians at the Bureau,” he added. “Information specialists, engineers, linguists…”

“Linguists?”

He nodded. “In the old days, you had to be an agent to work for the Bureau. But now we’re more laidback.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “You’re not laidback, Mr. Grier,” she returned.

He glanced at her curiously. “How old are you?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Tell me,” he persisted.

“Twenty-four.”

He smiled. “I’m thirty-six. That doesn’t qualify me for a rocking chair. You can call me Garon.”

She gave him a long look. “That’s a name I’ve never heard before.”

“My mother had four children, all boys. My father says she used to sit on the porch and go through baby name books for hours. At that, my name isn’t quite as bad as Cash’s.”

“Cash isn’t all that unusual,” she pointed out.

“His real name is Cassius,” he replied with a smile.

“My gosh!”

“That’s why he uses ‘Cash,’” he chuckled.

“Are the two of you close?”

He shook his head. “We’ve had some family problems since my mother’s death. We’re in the process of getting to know each other. Cash went off to military school when he was about eight or nine years old. Until this past year, we didn’t really speak.”

“That’s sad, to have a family and not speak.”

He wondered about her parents, but it was too soon to start asking personal questions. He didn’t want any more contact with her than necessary. He was married to his job. On the other hand, he’d just talked to her about his work, and that was something he’d never done before. She had an empathy about her that was hard to resist. He felt at home with her. That was dangerous, and he wasn’t going to let anything develop between them.

GARON DROPPED GRACE OFF and went back to work. Marquez’s captain had called and the senior ASAC called Garon into his office and authorized the Bureau’s assistance. Garon would head up the task force as they searched for a murderer who killed little girls. Nobody was saying it out loud, but it was very possible that they had a serial killer on their hands. At least four cases shared the same basic pattern of death.

“I’ll get started, then,” Garon told him.

“Marquez’s captain said the case needs to be solved as soon as possible,” ASAC Bentley remarked. He was older than Grier, near retirement and had asked for assignment to San Antonio, where he had relatives. He was a kindly man, with a good heart, and he was a superior agent. Garon respected him. “The captain has an open mind, but Marquez’s lieutenant doesn’t. He thinks it’s all coincidence.”

“I don’t. The cases are too similar,” Garon said doggedly.

The ASAC smiled. He’d known Garon a long time. He knew how determined the agent could be. “That would be my gut feeling, too. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll try,” he replied. The grin gave him away.

HE PHONED MARQUEZ and they met at a local diner. Marquez looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“You look like you’ve been burning the midnight oil,” Garon remarked.

He laughed, a little hollowly. “I take these homicides seriously. I phoned the Oklahoma P.D. where the other red ribbon murder occurred. That was an eleven-year-old girl. They found her facedown in a patch of brown-eyed Susans near a cemetery.”

“Assaulted?” Garon asked.

Marquez nodded curtly. “Yes. Strangled, as well. And then stabbed about twenty-five times. Just like this one we’re working on. Too similar to be unrelated.”

Garon’s lips made a thin line. “A very personal attack.”

“Exactly my feeling. The perp hated the child, or what she represented. It was overkill, plain and simple. Something else—there was another victim, same basic MO, over near Del Rio, about ten years ago, killed with a knife and left in a field. I was looking for similar cases and happened to run into one of our older investigators who remembered it. It wasn’t even fed into a database, it was so old. I e-mailed the police department over there and asked them to fax me the details.” He ran a hand through his thick, straight black hair. “Little girls. Innocent little girls. And this monster may have been doing it since the nineties, at intervals, without getting caught. I’d give blood to get this guy,” Marquez added. He paused long enough to give the waitress his order and wait until she could pour coffee in his cup before he spoke again. “He’s got to be a repeat sex offender. He’s too good at what he does for a sloppy amateur. It takes a wily so-and-so to take a child right out of her own bedroom with her family in the house. And he does it over a period of years, if the cases do match, without getting caught or even seen.”

“That piece of red ribbon?” Garon murmured, sipping coffee, “must have something to do with a fantasy he’s acting out.”

“That’s what I thought,” the younger man said. “The detective who told me about the Del Rio case also remembered hearing of a similar cold case, from twelve or more years back, but he couldn’t recall where it happened. He thinks it happened in south Texas.”

“Did you look in the database for that case?”

“Yes, but the Del Rio case wasn’t there. God knows how many others aren’t, either, especially if they happened in small, rural towns.” He smiled. “I told my lieutenant about that Del Rio cold case, and about the other two children in Oklahoma who were taken from their homes and found dead. I said we needed to get the FBI involved so you guys could do a profile of the killer for us, and he laughed. He said the deaths had no connection. So I went to the captain, and he called your ASAC. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Garon mused. “Most veteran cops hate paperwork and complications. Nobody wants to be looking for a serial killer. But we might catch this one, if we’re stubborn enough.”

Marquez pursed his lips. “I asked one of your squad members about you,” he said. “He says that you’ll chase people to the gates of hell.”

Garon shrugged. “I don’t like letting criminals get away.”

“Neither do I. This guy’s a serial killer. I need you to help me prove it.”

Garon paused while their steaks were served. “What sort of similarities are we talking about, with that cold case in Del Rio?”

“All I have is sketchy information,” came the reply, “but the manner of abduction was the same, and they narrowed the suspects down to a stranger. The victim was assaulted and stabbed. I don’t know about red ribbons. I filled out our case on the form for VICAP and I did turn up several child murders in other states. But none of the children were strangled and stabbed, which may signify some other perp.”

“Or he might have changed his habits. Maybe a gun gave him more power in an abduction.” As they both knew, a murderer might change the way he killed, but if the crime had a signature, it usually wouldn’t vary from crime scene to crime scene.

“Any red ribbons in those other cold cases?” he asked, because the ribbon did seem to serve as a signature in at least one case.

“No. At least,” he added, “there were none in the information I accessed. As I said earlier, we always hold back one or two details that we don’t feed to the media. Maybe those detectives did, too.”

“Did you try calling the detectives who worked the Oklahoma cases?”

“I did. The first Oklahoma one was sure I was actually a reporter trying to dig out unknown facts in the case. I gave him my captain’s phone number, and he hung up on me. He said anybody could look that information up online. Nobody at the second police department knew anything about a cold case.”

“How about the other Texas case?”

“That’s a doozy of a story,” Marquez told him with pure disgust in his tone. “It’s in Palo Verde, a little town up near Austin. I couldn’t get their single policeman on the phone at all. I tried e-mailing him, along with my phone number. That was week before last, and I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“We get a lot of kooks e-mailing us for various reasons,” Garon told him. “And we get about two hundred spam messages a day. The captions are so misleading that you occasionally open one without meaning to. It’s always a scam or a link to a porno Web site. Even with filters, they get through. Maybe your message ended up in the deleted files.”

“I hate spammers,” the younger man muttered.

“We have a cyber crime division that spends hours a day looking for scams and shutting them down.”

“Good for you, but that still doesn’t solve my problem.”

“You can fly to Oklahoma and show your credentials in person, can’t you?”

“I can barely pay my rent,” Marquez said miserably as he finished his steak. “I can’t afford the airfare.”

“Your department would pay for the tickets,” Garon said.

Marquez’s eyebrows met his hairline. “Like hell it would,” he shot back. “Didn’t I tell you that I had to buy my own damned digital camera because my lieutenant wouldn’t authorize the expenditure? He likes his job and the city manager goes over departmental budgets with a microscope.”

“I know how that feels.”

“No, you don’t,” the younger man assured him. “Unless you’ve had to bring in a receipt for a cup of ice water you bought from a convenience store to back up claiming it on your expense account!”

“You have got to be kidding!” Garon exclaimed.

“I wish I were,” the other man said sadly, shaking his head. “I guess they’d lock me up for a whole giant Coke.”

Garon chuckled helplessly. “You need to come and work for us,” he told Marquez. “You could even have a Bucar.”

“A what?”

“A bureau car,” Garon told him. “I get to drive mine home at night. It’s like moving storage for all my equipment, including my guns.”

“Guns, plural?” the detective exclaimed. “You have more than one?”

He gave the detective a wry look. “Surely you have access to body armor and stop sticks and a riot gun…?”

“Of course I do,” he muttered, “but it’s not my own. As for stop sticks, I pull my service weapon and try to blow out tires as long as the suspect isn’t near anything I might conceivably hit by mistake. As for a riot gun…” He pushed back his jacket to display his shoulder holster. “This is it. I hate shotguns.”

“They let you wear a shoulder holster?” Grier asked. “We aren’t allowed to.”

“I don’t know if I want to apply to the Bureau if I can’t wear a shoulder holster. Besides, they move you guys around too much. I like being near home.”

“To each his own.”

“Who else is going to be on this task force you’re setting up?” Marquez asked.

“We’ve got the sheriff’s department, because the murder took place out of town in the county, along with a K-9 unit, a Texas Ranger…”

“A Ranger? Wow,” the other man said with a wistful sigh. “I tried to get in, five years ago. I passed everything except the marksmanship test, but two other guys had higher scores than I did. That’s quite an outfit.”

“Yes, it is. My brother was a Ranger, before he came down to work in San Antonio. He was with the D.A.’s office as a cyber crime expert, then he moved to Jacobsville.”

“He’s chief of police there,” Marquez nodded.

“Quite a guy, your brother. He’s making some major drug busts.”

Garon felt a ripple of pride. He was proud of his brother.

“Who else?” Marquez persisted.

“We have an investigator from the D.A.’s office who specializes in crimes against children. We’ve volunteered our crime lab at Quantico for trace evidence.”

“We have one of the best forensic units in the country.”

Garon smiled. “I know. I don’t have a problem with letting them process data.”

“When do we meet?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, at El Chico’s. About one o’clock. I found one policeman who knows the family of the victim and used to live in the neighborhood. He’ll meet us there.”

“I’ll have the Texas Ranger on hand and the D.A.’s investigator,” Garon told him. “I hope we can get this guy.”

“No argument there.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a couple of hours off after this, but I should be back in my office before quitting time, if you need to contact me. I forgot to give my numbers. If you can’t reach me at the office,” he added, pulling out a business card, “my cell phone number is on this.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

Marquez reached for his wallet when they were finished and the waitress had produced the bill, but Garon waved him away and passed his credit card to the woman.

“My treat,” he told Marquez with a smile. “It was a business lunch.”

“Thanks. I wish I could reciprocate, but my lieutenant would send me out to solve stolen gas station drive-off cases if I presented him with a lunch bill.”

Garon just laughed.

THE LAUGHTER FADED when he got home. Miss Turner was looking worried and standing by the telephone.

“What’s going on?” Garon asked her.

“Nothing, I hope,” she replied. “It’s just that I can’t get Grace on the telephone. I’m sure she’s all right. Maybe she’s just not answering her phone.”

“I’ll drive over and see,” he replied, and was out the door before Miss Turner could ask to go with him.

He pulled up in the front yard of the old Victorian house, noting again how little maintenance had been done on it. He took the steps two at a time and rapped hard on the door. He did it three times, but there was no answer.

He started around the side of the house. And there she was. In the rose garden, with pruning shears, cutting back her rosebushes. She was talking to them, as well. Obviously she hadn’t heard him drive up.

“I know she never liked you,” she was telling the roses. “But I love you. I’ll make sure you get all the fertilizer and fungicides you need to make you beautiful again, the way you were when Grandaddy was still alive.” She sniffed and wiped her wet eyes on the sleeve of the flannel shirt she was wearing. “I don’t know why I’m crying for her,” she went on after a minute. “She hated me. No matter what I did for her, she never wanted me in her life. But now she’s gone and it’s just you and me and this enormous house…”

“Are the roses going to live in it with you, then?” he asked curiously.

She turned so fast that she almost fell over. Her hand went to her chest. She was almost gasping for breath. “You move like the wind,” she choked. “What are you doing here?”

“Miss Turner couldn’t raise you on the phone. She was worried.”

“Oh.” She went back to trimming the rosebushes.

“That was kind of her.”

He glanced around at the bare landscape. There was a garden spot behind the house that looked as if it had just been plowed. He wondered if she kept the garden, or if her grandmother had grown vegetables.

“Did you find the man who killed that little child?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not that simple to solve a murder. This is one of several similar crimes, some from years ago. It takes time. We’re forming a task force to investigate it.”

“My father used to work for the sheriff’s department here as a deputy, just like Grandaddy did. That was a long time ago,” she added. “He quit when he married my mother because she didn’t like him taking risks.”

“What did he do afterward?”

“He got a job as a limousine driver in San Antonio,” she replied. “He made good money at it, too. Then he met a pretty, rich woman that he’d been hired to drive around, and he went head over heels for her. He left my mother and filed for divorce. She never got over it. The other woman was ten years older than she was, and she owned a boutique.”

“Is your father still living?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He and his new wife were driving to Las Vegas when a drunk driver ran into them head-on. They both died.”

“You said your mother disliked you?”

She nodded. “I look like my father. She hated me for that.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She…died about twelve years ago,” she said. “Just two years after Daddy did.”

“What did she do for a living?”

“She was a nurse,” Grace said quietly.

“You’re going to kill those bushes if you keep snipping,” he pointed out. “And the temperature’s dropping.”

She shivered a little as she stood up. “I suppose so. I just wanted something to do. I can’t bear to sit in that house alone.”

“You don’t need to. Pack a small bag. I’ll take you home with me. You and Miss Turner can watch movies on the pay per view channel.”

She looked up at him, frowning. “That’s not necessary…”

“Yes, it is,” he said gently, studying her face. It was wet with tears. “You need a little time to get adjusted to life without your grandmother. No strings. Just company.”

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