X


[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

After she leisurely ate her meal, she took a bath and wrapped up in her chenille robe, her long hair
dripping around her shoulders in a wavy golden curtain until she wrapped a towel tightly around her
head to absorb the moisture. She sat on the bed to go over her case notes.
The file on Dale Jennings was thick, and references to Jake Marsh turned up every few pages.
She couldn t forget that Dale had helped one of Marsh s friends get a job working in Bib Webb s
campaign. There had to be something to that.
She d taken a lot of time gathering this much evidence and printing it out. She didn t want even
one loose end that she didn t tie up. Furthermore, she was going to share it with the police and the
district attorney s office, so they had access to everything she d dug up.
The most noticeable thing about the file was the lack of anything that pointed to that missing
piece of evidence Dale had held onto. There was no mention of a safety-deposit box, or a key. There
was nothing to point to a hiding place.
She remembered what Brannon had said, about the transfer to a state prison, and her eyes
narrowed in thought. Perhaps if Phil Douglas, back at the office in Austin, could find a starting point,
he could turn up something besides the name of the person who d gotten Dale out of federal prison.
She made a note on the canary legal pad to that effect.
When she finished, she put the file along with the legal pad and pen on the bedside table and
propped herself against the headboard with both plump pillows. She wasn t really sleepy, and her
mind was whirring around so fast that she couldn t hold a single thought in it. She turned on the
television, but there wasn t anything interesting on, except the weekly political faux pas. In an election
year, one-upmanship on the nightly news was definitely the thing.
She turned off the television in disgust. What was there to do in a hotel miles from her
apartment? She missed Barnes, her cat. Usually he slept curled up next to her on the bedcover.
She wondered if Brannon had a cat these days. He used to have a mangy old yellow tomcat that
slept on the kitchen floor at night. It had been Gretchen s pet, but Brannon had fed it, and when
nobody was looking, he played with it. He called it John, after the fictional John Reid, the original
 Lone Ranger of television legend. He d always wanted to be a Texas Ranger, Gretchen had told her
once. He knew the tiniest details about the first Rangers. He d worked hard at law enforcement, just to
have a shot at a job with the exclusive law enforcement group. It was a difficult job to get, too. There
were only fifteen Ranger sergeants in Company D, Brannon s company, that operated out of San
Antonio, and they had to cover forty-one counties. They worked with many other law enforcement
agencies to solve crimes, because their authority was literally borderless a Ranger could go
anywhere in Texas to assist in criminal investigation, and infrequently even went overseas in such
endeavors.
Gretchen had wondered if Brannon s infatuation with law enforcement had been because of his
father. As a young boy, Marc felt he had no power at all. He was at the mercy of a verbally abusive
father, and Marc was the only protection his mother and Gretchen had. While old man Brannon might
not beat his son, he was apparently good at mental cruelty, which was, in its own way, equally
destroying to a young ego.
She remembered how often Brannon went out of his way when he was on the Jacobsville police
force to keep young offenders on the right track. He was a caring man. And he liked cats. She smiled,
thinking sadly of poor Barnes, sitting in the vet s boarding room while she was away.
She knew Brannon had good horses and beef cattle at his Jacobsville ranch, the one that his
manager kept solvent for him. He was an expert horseman, another Ranger skill that he d mastered
long before he pinned that star on his shirt. He could spin a lariat, bulldog, ride bareback do most
anything that equestrian skill demanded. She remembered horseback rides with him in San Antonio
during those wonderful, idyllic days before Henry Garner s murder. She liked to ride, too.
Her mind, oblivious to the present as she wandered through happier times, was intent on the
good memories. It was so intent on them that she forgot her wet hair was still done up in a towel. She
was about to cut out the bedside lamp when a sharp knock came at her door.
Chapter Eight
Josette got out of bed and padded to the door in her bare feet, keenly aware that she was wearing
nothing but a robe over bare skin. She hesitated, remembering all the reasons she shouldn t open that
door. Her purse with the stun gun was halfway across the room, and she didn t have a firearm. For all
she knew, the murderer could be on the other side of the door.
Her heart pounded. Her mouth was dry. The knock came again, far more insistent. She went
close and looked out through the peephole. It was Brannon, disheveled and dusty, with a cut beside his
firm, chiseled mouth.
With a sigh of relief, she opened the door at once and let him in.  What in the world happened to
you? she exclaimed.
He wiped the cut beside his mouth.  I got jumped at my apartment as I was getting out of the
truck, he said, traces of anger still evident in his deep voice.  I didn t know if they had a double
header in mind, so I came to check on you.
 You could have phoned, she pointed out.
 A lot of good that would have done if they d already managed to get into the room, he said
sarcastically.
The concern, which was obviously genuine, made her feel warm inside. She stared at his face.
She winced as she reached up to trace beside the cut.  Well, at least they didn t seem to do any
permanent damage to you. How many were there?
 Two.
 Recognize them?
He shook his head.  Too dark, and they were wearing face masks.
 Why would they jump you? she wondered aloud.
 At a guess, it was a warning that we re getting too close to something they want to stay hidden,
he told her. His eyes narrowed.  Wet hair?
She nodded.  I was going over my notes before I dried it. I forgot all about it, she added with a
sheepish smile, as she recalled where her mind was when she was about to turn out the light.
He went and put on the chain latch and made sure the door was locked before he sailed his
Stetson into the chair next to it. Then he caught her hand and pulled her into the bathroom.
She didn t need to ask why. He stood patiently while she got a washcloth and soaped it, reaching
up to clean the wound on his forehead. He d been in a fight with a suspect while they were dating.
She d patched him up then, too, flattered and secretly amused that he came to her for bandaging that
he could easily have done himself.
 We don t even have an antiseptic or a bandage, she murmured as she bathed the cut.
 I ll get one when I get home. Thanks.
He washed his hands and his face before he wiped them on a towel and turned toward her,
reaching for the towel wrapped around her head.  What are you doing? she protested.
He wrangled the towel off her hair and plugged in the hair dryer that came with the room.  Nice [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • wrobelek.opx.pl
  •  
     

    Drogi użytkowniku!

    W trosce o komfort korzystania z naszego serwisu chcemy dostarczać Ci coraz lepsze usługi. By móc to robić prosimy, abyś wyraził zgodę na dopasowanie treści marketingowych do Twoich zachowań w serwisie. Zgoda ta pozwoli nam częściowo finansować rozwój świadczonych usług.

    Pamiętaj, że dbamy o Twoją prywatność. Nie zwiększamy zakresu naszych uprawnień bez Twojej zgody. Zadbamy również o bezpieczeństwo Twoich danych. Wyrażoną zgodę możesz cofnąć w każdej chwili.

     Tak, zgadzam się na nadanie mi "cookie" i korzystanie z danych przez Administratora Serwisu i jego partnerów w celu dopasowania treści do moich potrzeb. Przeczytałem(am) Politykę prywatności. Rozumiem ją i akceptuję.

     Tak, zgadzam się na przetwarzanie moich danych osobowych przez Administratora Serwisu i jego partnerów w celu personalizowania wyświetlanych mi reklam i dostosowania do mnie prezentowanych treści marketingowych. Przeczytałem(am) Politykę prywatności. Rozumiem ją i akceptuję.

    Wyrażenie powyższych zgód jest dobrowolne i możesz je w dowolnym momencie wycofać poprzez opcję: "Twoje zgody", dostępnej w prawym, dolnym rogu strony lub poprzez usunięcie "cookies" w swojej przeglądarce dla powyżej strony, z tym, że wycofanie zgody nie będzie miało wpływu na zgodność z prawem przetwarzania na podstawie zgody, przed jej wycofaniem.