Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (26 page)

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Kelsey leaned against the wall, closing her eyes, and prayed for strength and intelligence in every move, then peered out carefully.

There was someone there.
All she could see was a silhouette, moving slowly, stopping, moving slowly.

She felt her heart beating and wondered,
Could this be the
man? A killer, stalking by night?

She prepared to meet him. She looked out again.

He was coming closer and closer, and the shadow he cast seemed to dwarf the chapel of the Alamo and the street itself.

She braced herself to accost him. She turned and faced the man with the mammoth black shadow.

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Before she could open her mouth, Kelsey heard Logan Raintree’s voice in the night.

“Stop! In the name of the law, stop. I have a Colt aimed at your back and will shoot to kill or cripple. Hands above your head. Turn slowly!”

Kelsey stepped out from her hiding place. By the glow of the moon and the streetlights she could see that a man stood in the plaza. Logan’s gun was aimed at him, and he was slowly turning, as ordered.

She walked out, her own weapon drawn. She saw that the man was big—tall and big, not fat, but heavily muscled.

Corey Simmons.

“Logan!” Corey said with relief. “What the hell?” She could see that Logan wasn’t smiling. As she walked back to the plaza to skirt around Corey and join Logan, she saw that Corey was starting to lower his hands.

“No! Keep them up!” Logan shouted.

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Corey did. He now had a Colt and a Glock aimed at him.

His handsome face appeared puzzled.

“What’s wrong? What’s this about?” he demanded.

“You carrying a weapon?” Logan asked Corey, f lashing an angry glance Kelsey’s way.

She frowned in return, indicating her own grasp on the Glock.

“I got me a little peashooter here, and it’s legal! Totally legal. Hell, Logan, you know that. This is Texas!” Corey said.

“Get his gun,” Logan told Kelsey.

She went over to Corey. He was carrying a Smith & Wesson, stuffed into his waistband.

As she took it, she saw his eyes on her, wide and disbelieving. “What’s this all about, Kelsey?” He sounded hurt and confused.

She backed away from him. “Why were you following me?” she asked.

“I just left a bar up the street, over there, on the other side of Ripley’s.”

“The bars are all closed now,” Logan said.

“Yes, it’s closed. That’s why I left!” Corey returned indignantly. “Smell my breath!”

He exhaled a rich plume of alcohol that spoke for itself.

“So, why were you following me?” she asked again.

“Hell, I didn’t know I was following you. I didn’t intend to follow anyone. But if I
was
following you—or anyone else—it would be to make sure you got where you were going safely! Some bad things have been happening here, which you know! Can I put my hands down now?” IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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“Not yet. Kelsey, see what else’s he’s carrying,” Logan said.

“Sorry,” Kelsey murmured, patting him down.

“Best thrill I’ve had all night,” he told her. “Except I’d like to know what gives you the right to do this.”

“Probable cause!” Logan said, walking forward.

Kelsey turned to Logan. “He’s got his wallet, Logan. His wallet, his keys and nothing more.”

“Please, could I put my hands down?” Corey asked.

Logan nodded as Kelsey stepped away from him. Corey let his hands fall, shaking his shoulders, then rubbing his arms. “What the hell is the matter with you two?” he grumbled. “It’s me! Corey. The coward who couldn’t stay in 207!”

“It sure looked as if you were following Kelsey,” Logan said.

“Well, I wasn’t. And you can check out Mike’s bar tomorrow. He’ll tell you I’d been drinking, and that when he closed the place, the two of us were still shooting the breeze, and then I left. On foot. No driving under the in-f luence. Can I have my gun back?”

Logan’s jaw locked; Corey saw his expression.

“Fine,” Corey said. “You keep it. For now. Check out my story with Mike tomorrow. Then you can give it back to me.”

He probably expected Logan to return the gun after that, but Logan didn’t.

“Great. You’re being a good, responsible citizen,” Logan said.

“So, now what? We stand here in the street?” Corey asked. “Ah, come on! I want to get back, I want to get IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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some sleep. And you know, don’t you, that I can complain about this?”

It was the wrong thing for him to have said.

“You go ahead and complain.” Logan’s voice was quiet.

Deadly.

“I’m sorry!” Corey said. “I’m just tired.”

“Then let’s move on,” Logan said.

“Walk ahead,” Kelsey suggested.

He did. They followed at a distance.

“Why did you leave without me?” Logan whispered fiercely.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“But

we

know
stuff goes on around here!”

“I was armed, Logan, and I heard him. I was ready for him. Please, have some faith in me.”

“We’re talking about someone who can drug people in a heartbeat and lure them away, Kelsey.”

“I was okay, Logan, really.”

He paused, looking at her. “If I start to wander off alone, stop
me,
will you?”

Up ahead, Corey sensed or heard the friction. He came to a halt. “Guys? Do I get to keep walking? What’s going on here?”

“Yes!” they both snapped.

“Keep walking,” Logan added.

They reached the Longhorn together. The saloon was quiet; the bar was shut down for the night.

Kelsey moved ahead to use her passkey to let them in the IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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front door. Corey Simmons had one, too, as did the other guests.

She moved back so he could go ahead of her.

“Now, that just doesn’t feel right,” Corey said. “Me, stepping in front of a lady.”

“Don’t think of me as a lady, Corey. Think of me as—”

“Yeah, yeah. A U.S. Marshal.”

He went in, but waited for her and Logan. “Am I allowed to go to bed? Wake up and have coffee and breakfast in the morning?”

Logan studied him and nodded. “Of course.”

“But now I’m on your radar. You suspect me of something. God Almighty, all I did was walk back to my hotel after drinking. I was being a responsible citizen, Raintree.”

“Yes, you were.”

“You harassed me for nothing,” Corey said angrily.

“Perhaps,” Logan agreed.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“I’m sorry. It
appeared
that you were following a young woman at three in the morning, and there’s been bad stuff happening, as you pointed out yourself,” Logan said.

“Corey,” Kelsey told him quietly, “if you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get one. You’re probably totally innocent, but if Logan hadn’t accosted you when he did, you would’ve met up with my Glock. Go to sleep, all right? What were you doing out so late drinking, anyway?

I can see having a few beers, but shouldn’t you be getting ready for the rodeo? Don’t you want to be in top form?” That made him even more indignant. “I’m a cowboy!

The real deal. We know how to drink and smoke and IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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cuss—and still be in top form!” Corey shook his head as if they’d never understand. “Besides, I wouldn’t hurt a f ly.

Hell, I even wrangle a calf gently!”

“I’m sure you do,” Kelsey said.

Corey muttered under his breath. He stared hard at Logan, and then Kelsey. “Well, good night, I guess.”

“Good night, Corey.” Kelsey spoke in a low voice, but Logan didn’t respond.

He started up the stairs. Logan and Kelsey watched him as he approached his room—her old room—at the far end of the upstairs gallery. He walked to the railing and looked down at them.

“Going to bed now,” he called softly.

“Sweet dreams!” Kelsey called back.

Logan just watched him. He’d make sure their door was locked that night. And bolted.

Corey Simmons waved, and moved away from the balcony. They heard a door open and then shut.

“Is it Corey?” Kelsey whispered.

“We don’t know, do we?”

“Well, he wasn’t going to drug me, Logan. He didn’t have a thing on him, I guarantee you, no needles or anything of the kind.”

“Maybe not. It still seemed suspicious.”

“And his story could be completely true,” Kelsey said.

“Could be. I’ll check at Mike’s bar tomorrow.”

“All right. So. Now what?” Kelsey asked him.

He shrugged. “Now we go to Room 207. And we see what it offers tonight.”

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* * *

He wondered why. The bed was comfortable and the night quiet, and he liked having Kelsey beside him. He respected her. He knew she’d been good when she’d worked for the U.S. Marshal’s Office; if she hadn’t been, she wouldn’t be here. Jackson Crow still seemed a somewhat elusive character, but Logan was convinced that he did know his business and that he’d chosen his people carefully.

At night like this, with her by his side, he could forget for a few seconds at a time what they both did. Her breathing was soft, the feel of her hair against his bare skin as soft as a whisper, and the warmth of her body touched him.

He felt an urge to protect her—and to experience ease and comfort, as well.

The old-fashioned clock on the bedside table ticked the seconds away. The drapes were drawn, but they were gossamer and lace, much as they would’ve been years ago, when the Longhorn was built.

The room was quiet. That night’s shadows seemed to be natural ones, caused by the glow of artificial light from beyond the delicate curtains.

He drew her closer to his chest, and felt the movement of her breath as she slept. She seemed at peace.

He remembered waking earlier and discovering that she was gone. He thought about Corey Simmons and reminded IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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himself ruefully that, yes, she was capable, and yes, she’d been prepared if someone had accosted her.

But the strange image in his dream kept coming back to him. Shadows, and then a face, and a face he knew, not from life, but from the pictures he’d seen of her.

Sierra Monte. Appearing as a face in the shadows and crying out.

Help me. Help them. Help
her.

Even if he was learning to forgive himself, he could never forget the words that first warned him Alana was in trouble. The call from a bitter man, asking him, “Do you know where your wife is, Ranger Raintree? I think she’s calling you. I’m going to give you a chance because you seem to follow the law, Raintree. Instead of shooting people, you arrest them, and I respect that. You arrest people and they wind up on death row with a little extra time. So I’m giving
you
time to find your wife. They say that you’re some kind of soul sucker or psychic. Anyway, I hear her calling.

Help me, help me, help me.
”

He felt sweat bead on his cold skin, and he fought hard not to relive the past. This was the present. And there’d be another dead woman if they couldn’t stop what was happening.

He’d been lost in his own thoughts for a long time when he suddenly realized that Kelsey had stiffened beside him.

She pushed herself into a sitting position.

“Kelsey?”

Her eyes were open; she stared straight ahead.

“Kelsey?” he said again.

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But she didn’t seem to hear him. She seemed to still be asleep and yet she was staring across the room.

To Logan, nothing had changed. The room looked exactly the same. The drapes seemed to f loat as if a breeze was coming in, although the windows were closed. However, this was no paranormal phenomenon—the air- conditioning ducts sat directly beneath them. The dressing table was to the left of the windows as he looked at them, and the wall was to the right, a bare corner. The second tall period chest broke up the expanse of wall; a swivel mirror sat atop it.