Lonestar Homecoming (22 page)

A frown furrowed Allie's forehead. “What if he calls here?”

“Tell him to call me on my cell. I'm not hiding anything from him, but he's such a worrywart I'm not going out of my way to tell him about it.” She hugged Allie, then Hope. “You be good, honey. Miss Allie has some kittens for you to play with.”

Hope's eyes widened. “Can I have one?”

“We'll have to ask Daddy.”

She hurried to the car. Under a blue bowl of sky, the ribbon of highway snaked through the desert past the striated rocks standing sentry along the road.When she was a kid, she used to imagine they were Apaches with their bows drawn, ready to attack.Allie's car, a red Ford Escort, performed well on the narrow road. Recent rains had brought the wildflowers into full bloom, and Gracie ran her window down to inhale their aroma. Sage and creosote overshadowed the slight floral scent of the colorful blossoms.

She followed Highway 67 north to 17. Once on the familiar road, the crushing weight of what she was about to do pressed on her chest. What if someone recognized her? The years hadn't changed her much since she was a green eighteen-year-old.At the same time,maybe
they'd
changed and moved on. Pecos was hardly a Mecca for job seekers.There had always been people moving in and out when she was growing up. She could hope for a town very different from the one she left.

Her father used to tell her stories about his first trip to Pecos. He was a hippie in the sixties. The local police arrested him and cut his hair before they turned him loose. He swore he'd never set foot there again, but then he met her mother, and she convinced him to give the town another try.

Gracie's lips curved up at the memory, and she accelerated when she saw the sign that said the town was two miles away. Salt flats and exposed gypsum fled past her window. She pressed harder on the gas when she saw the water tower in the distance.

She slowed as she came to the road that led to the ranch. Should she turn in or not? The steering wheel cranked, almost by itself, and she was driving past the oak and cottonwood trees that lined the narrow humped road. Her old home was just ahead on the right. Her foot eased off the accelerator, and she stared as the ranch came into view.

The gray-green paint on the one-story glistened in the sun. It must have been redone lately, but it was the same shade it had always been. White shutters and a red door and trim gave it a smart, hip appearance.The barns beyond the house had new roofs and fresh red paint on their boards. She stopped the car in the middle of the road.

Taking the inheritance from her grandmother apparently hadn't harmed her father's financial footing. All she had to do was turn in to the blacktopped driveway and pull up to the porch. She could get out and press that doorbell. Her dad would open the door. He'd either embrace her or shut the door in her face.

She discovered she didn't have the courage to find out. When a movement flickered behind the curtain, her foot came down on the accelerator and she sped away, her pulse pounding against her throat.

N
O ONE PAID ANY ATTENTION WHEN
M
ICHAEL ENTERED HEADQUARTERS
,
flashed his badge, then walked back to the bank of gray metal filing cabinets. Caesar trotted at his feet.The building reeked with the smell of ink. Computer keyboards clacked, and printers whirred as they spit out papers. He glanced at the wanted board but saw no one he recognized. He nodded to a woman who brushed by with a stack of papers, then found the filing cabinet he needed. Most of this would be digitized, but the tactile sensation of paper and pictures in hand would help him marshal his thoughts.

Sliding open the filing drawer, he found the file marked with his brother's name. Once he saw the details of the case, it would become even more real, and he doubted he'd be able to turn his back until his brother's killer was brought to justice. He was disobeying a direct order by even looking through this file. He carried it down the hall to an unassigned cubicle and turned on the computer. As it hummed to life, he flipped open the file. Caesar curled at his feet. His brother's face assaulted him with memories.

He picked up the glossy eight-by-ten photo and stared into Philip's crinkled blue eyes. “I miss you, man,” he whispered.
I love you
had never been part of their vocabulary, and he wished he had a second chance.

Laying aside the picture, he began to read the paperwork. Phil had told his boss that he suspected Vargas would move a massive stock of high-tech weapons into Mexico. At first, most of the Border Patrol thought Phil's suspicions were based on faulty information. Pickens in particular thought the tip most likely came from someone with a grudge against Vargas who was deliberately trying to mislead the patrol.

The doubt of his colleagues did nothing to deter Phil. He pressed on, and when no one would believe him, he went to the designated meeting place to find it swarming with Mexican paramilitary who were packing a van full of weapons. Phil called for reinforcements, then waited for their arrival.When most of the gang left and the van was about to pull out, Phil intercepted the two drivers. A shoot-out followed, with both the driver and his accomplice being killed in the confrontation.

While not the best outcome, Phil had prevented the arms from reaching the cartel, where they would have killed more innocent Mexicans. Instead of applauding Phil, though, a newspaper article focused on his partner, Hector Estevez, as the hero who arrived in time to prevent Phil's death.Weird.A week later, Phil was forced off the road and killed. Phil was a good driver and he knew these roads. How had they managed to blindside him?

Suddenly, Caesar sat up with a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“What are you doing?” Estevez stared at him from the cubicle entry. “I thought you were still on sick leave.”

Michael flipped the file closed. “Just checking out a few things.”

“That's Phil's file.” Estevez folded his arms across his chest. “Pickens said he didn't want you involved. This is Border Patrol business, not army. How'd you get access to this anyway?”

Michael rose and stepped past Estevez to return the file to its home. Estevez followed. “Someone tried to bomb my house last night. With my wife and kids there.”

“I heard about that. Not very popular, are you?”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “You don't sound upset about it.”

Estevez shrugged. “What do you expect? You come in here playing the big man because of your service overseas.We've seen as much enemy fire as you. Most of us serve in this forsaken place with never a thank-you for risking our lives every day.”

“I thought we were on the same team.” Michael barely managed to shut the drawer without slamming it. “Don't you want Phil's killer brought in? You two were partners for five years.”

Estevez grimaced. “Yeah, I want him caught. But I always knew Phil was going to end up dead. He took too many chances. His heart always ruled his head.”

“I can't dispute that. It's what made him good at what he did, though.” Michael nodded to the filing cabinet. “He was the only one who figured out that arms shipment was going through.The rest of you sat on your thumbs and did nothing to help him.”

A dull red ran up Estevez's neck. “He nearly got himself killed, and we saved his bacon.”

“That's bull.You and the rest of the posse came riding in after he'd done the work. For some reason, the newspaper mentions you as the big hero, not Phil.What's up with that?”

The other man's lips tightened. “I don't write for the paper, so I couldn't say what they had in mind.”

“What are you and Pickens doing to find my brother's killer? Pickens said he had some leads, but I don't see anything in the file.”

“You'd have to ask Pickens. That's not my case, just like it's not yours.” Estevez's name blared on the speaker. “If I find you here after I take this call, I'm notifying Pickens.” He stomped down the hall.

Michael might have five minutes. He went back to the cubicle. Maybe there was more information on the computer. The Border Patrol wouldn't just let this case go uninvestigated.Was it possible Pickens had shut out Estevez because he suspected Phil's partner of some duplicity? Michael found it hard to believe that anyone who knew Phil would want him dead, but no one was above the right kind of bribe or threat. Phil had never mentioned his partner's background to Michael. Maybe now was the time to find out.

He called up the case file, then clicked on the investigation tab. DNA hadn't turned up anything. No witnesses. An anonymous tip had told the patrol where to find Phil's vehicle, which seemed odd to Michael.Why not let the desert do its work and hide the evidence? It could have been weeks or months before the site was found, especially since his truck had gone into an area that was hard to see.The truck ended up in a grove of cottonwood trees. Finding him from the air would have been difficult. Only dogs might have found him. So the killer
wanted
Phil's death to be discovered.As a warning, or something else?

Michael skimmed the rest of the short file. No real leads. So why had Pickens lied about it? Because he knew the trail led back to one of his men? After closing the file, Michael launched a browser window. He typed in
Hector Estevez
and quickly found several links. The son of immigrants, he'd worked his way through college and had plenty of accolades from the university and the Border Patrol. There was a picture of Estevez with Phil, and Michael allowed himself to linger over it a minute. Maybe Estevez really had cared about Phil.

He sat staring at the search box. There was so much he didn't know about Gracie, and while he hated digging into things behind her back, he suspected there was much she hadn't told him. She'd been looking up something in the San Diego paper last week. He knew her fiancé's name. And, of course, hers. He found the site for the paper, then put both names in the Google search box. Several articles came up, and he navigated to the first one, which reported the discovery of the dead federal agents. Scanning it, he paused when he remembered the Feds were looking for her and he had forgotten to call them.

If he abided by his duty, he'd have to tell her to turn herself in. While logically he knew that was what
should
be done, he found himself reluctant to call the federal agent. In spite of what the article said about her not being under suspicion, he knew better. The FBI would assume her guilt because she fled the scene.

It had to be done. Grimacing, he dug the number out of his wallet and placed the call. When he asked for Special Agent Adams, he was transferred right away. He identified himself as Gracie's husband.

“We'd like to talk to her, Lieutenant Wayne,”Adams said, his voice sharp with interest.

“I can tell you all she saw. The federal agents recommended she go into hiding. They said the cartel would seek revenge because she talked to them.” Michael recounted everything Gracie had told him.

“I appreciate your call, but please ask your wife to come in. She might be able to give our artist a composite of the men she saw. And we need a better description of the van.”

“We're in Texas. It's not just a stroll across town.”

“Your wife is in serious trouble. She's the only witness to a brutal slaying. If she doesn't cooperate, I'll get a warrant for her arrest as a material witness.” Adams's voice was inflexible.

Michael wished he hadn't called. “Can you send someone here? We've got three kids to care for.”

“I'll be there on Friday,” Adams said. “Give me your address.”

Michael rattled it off. “Call when you get your itinerary.” He hung up. Gracie would freak at this news.

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly time to meet Gracie at the courthouse. He grabbed his hat and headed for his truck.

19

G
RACIE'S FLIP-FLOPS SLAPPED AGAINST THE TILEAS SHE PACED THE HALL,
waiting for Michael. She heard the precise march of Michael's regulation shoes along the ceramic.Watching him walk with head up and
shoulders squared, the agitation humming along her spine calmed.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Are you? Once we do this, it won't be easy to get rid of me.”

He stopped and stared into her face. His blue eyes probed hers. “I
don't want to be rid of you. I'm a man of my word, Gracie.”

Such a good man.
She didn't deserve him. “It's the only reason I'm here today.”

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “The only reason?”

She felt the blush travel up her neck and lodge where his skin rested against hers.“Maybe not the only reason,” she whispered.“You're a good man, Michael Wayne.”

He colored a little, then dropped his hand. He offered his arm. “Let's go finalize our family.”

She linked her arm with his. “‘Our family' has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

“There's no phrase that's better.”

She smiled as he led her to the judge's chambers, and the bailiff showed them in.

“Your Honor,” he said when they reached the judge's desk.

Judge Thompson glanced over the top of the bifocals perched on the end of her nose. “Right on time, I see.” She rustled through the papers. “This is pretty straightforward.You kids didn't waste any time in getting this done, and Wally assures me there are good reasons for this haste.You've asked for the custodial period to be waived as well. You want to share with me what those reasons are?”

Gracie exchanged a glance with Michael. “I. . . I'd rather not, Your Honor.Those reasons are. . . personal.”

The judge frowned. “What about Hope's father?”

“He's dead,Your Honor.”

The judge nodded. “You're both alone, then.Well, I see no reason to withhold your petition.You're adults and in your right mind.Your children are small and need the stability of two parents. I'm granting the adoptions.The clerk will have papers for you to sign and will issue new birth certificates in Hope's new name. Congratulations.” She rose and shook their hands.