Rawhide Ranger. Rita Herron
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Navarro’s warning about danger from the spirits taunted her, but she blew it off. Spirits didn’t fire guns or start fires.
Whoever had killed Marcie and the others was obviously still lurking around. And they didn’t want her or the Rangers asking questions.
CABE KICKED THE PALOMINO’S sides and they galloped up the hill, scouring the wooded area where the shooter had disappeared. Another bullet soared near his head, and he ducked, then fired off a round with his Sig Sauer. The horse protested, whinnying and backing up, but he gave the animal a swift kick to urge him forward.
Another shot whizzed by his shoulder, and Cabe cursed and coaxed the horse around another bend of trees, but the shadow was gone, and the trees were too thick to maneuver the horse through, so he brought the animal to a stop, jumped off and ran into the copse of oaks.
He spotted a shadow moving ahead—the tzensa—then jogged to the east where the road lay, in case the shooter had a car ahead. Another bullet pinged off the oak beside him, the bushes to his right rustling as the man dashed through them. Cabe raced toward him, but a rattler suddenly lurched from the bushes in attack.
“Easy,” he said in a low voice. Not wanting to kill the diamondback, he froze, aware any sudden movement would bring it hissing at him.
In the distance, an engine roared to life. He cursed. He was losing the shooter.
Furious, he grabbed a stick, picked the snake up and whirled it away, then jogged toward the sound of the car. The wind ruffled the mesquite as he made it to the clearing. The creek gurgled, water rippling over jagged rocks, and a vulture soared above, its squawk breaking the silence.
But the car disappeared into a cloud of dust so thick that Cabe couldn’t detect the make of the vehicle or see a license plate. Dammit.
He’d never catch the car on foot, or horseback for that matter.
Stowing his gun in his holster, he turned and sprinted back to where he’d left the palomino, climbed on it, then rode back to the crime scene. He had to protect the evidence. Then there was the problem of Jessie Becker.
Mentally, he stewed over the identity of the shooter, considering their current suspects. Her father for one.
Jonah Becker was a ruthless businessman, but to chance hurting his own daughter—would he stoop that low?
The sun was rising higher in the midmorning sky and blazing hotter by the time he reached the crime scene, his senses honed. What if the shooter had been a distraction to mess with the crime scene? What if he’d had an accomplice and he’d gotten to Jessie Becker?
Slowing the palomino as he approached, he scanned the area. The original graves that had held the body of the antiquities broker and activist were still roped off with crime scene tape. Still keeping his gun at the ready, he dismounted, then checked the gravesites to verify that nothing had been disturbed. Everything appeared to be intact.
In two quick strides, he reached his crime kit, and examined it to verify that the evidence he’d collected was still inside. A lawyer could argue that it had been left, unguarded, and could have been compromised.
Hell. He didn’t want to lose the case on a technicality. Maybe Jessie could tell him if she’d seen anyone else around.
Sweat beaded on his neck as he strode over to his Land Rover. But when he reached for the door handle and looked inside, Jessie was gone.
His heart stuttered in his chest. God, he hoped there hadn’t been another shooter.
He didn’t want anyone dying on his watch. Even Jessie.
JESSE LAUNCHED HERSELF AT the Ranger and shoved him up against the Land Rover. “What in the hell were you were doing taking my horse and leaving me unarmed?”
A shocked look crossed his face, then fury flashed into his eyes, and he grabbed her arms to fend off her attack. “Trying to save your pretty little ass,” he barked. “And why didn’t you stay in the car like I ordered?”
“Because I don’t take orders from anyone.” Her pulse clamored, a mixture of anger at him mingling with relief that he’d returned and the shooter was gone. Although she’d never admit that to him. Then his comment registered, and she couldn’t resist taunting him. “So you think my ass is pretty?”
His jaw tightened as if he was working to control his temper, and regretted any compliment, no matter how backhanded it was. “You have a gun?”
Good grief, he was going to turn the tables on her. “Of course. I live on a ranch, Sergeant. I have to protect myself from snakes and rustlers and whatever else.” She gave him a challenging look. “And before you ask, yes, I know how to use it.”
His eyebrow lift infuriated her more. “You’re surprised? Don’t tell me you were expecting some spoiled, rich girl with a dozen servants who lives off her daddy’s dime.”
His evil smile confirmed she’d hit the nail on the head.
She huffed in disgust. “For your information, I have a master’s in business administration,” she continued, squaring her shoulders. “I started the quarter horse training operation, and now we supply working horses to other ranchers. And I not only run the books, but work the ranch myself. I’m a damn good horse trainer, if I do say so myself.”
“I bet you are,” he said with a sultry smile that made her belly clench.
For a moment the air changed between them, their eyes locked, and she sensed she’d won his admiration.
Then his frown returned, and he gestured toward the spot where they’d found the bones. “Then you oversaw the purchase of this land?”
She stiffened, knowing he was backing her into a corner and yanked away from his grip. In spite of his razor-sharp voice, his touch had been protective and almost … tender.
She couldn’t let him confuse her with those touches, or seduce her into incriminating her family. She was not her mother, a woman who fell into bed with every man who looked at her.
“No,” she said cautiously, back in control. “Dad made the deal when I was away at school finishing my degree.”
“How about your brother, Trace?”
She bit her lip. Things had been tense between her and Trace since she’d moved back. Because of Trace’s animosity, she was staying in one of the small cabins on the property instead of the main house. “He put the deal together,” she admitted.
“And your father’s lawyer, Jerry Collier, handled the sale?”
She nodded.
“I’ll need to question your father, brother and Collier.”
That knot of worry in her stomach grew exponentially. She only prayed her father handled the interview without looking incompetent—or guilty. Between his ruthless business tactics, and his recent memory lapses, he might just hang himself.
“You’re going to talk to them now?” she asked.
He regarded her with suspicion in his eyes. “No, but soon. First I have to take care of business, obtain that injunction against this land being used until the land issue is resolved and transport the evidence I collected to trace.” He heaved a breath. “Did you see anyone else here after I rode off?”
“No.”
“No one could have touched my crime kit?”
She narrowed her eyes as if she realized the direction of his thoughts. “No, there was no one else here. And I didn’t touch your kit or the evidence.”
“How do I know I can trust you? You and I don’t exactly have the same agenda.”
His husky voice skated over her with distrust … and sexual innuendo. Damn, the man was so seductive that for a moment, her chest pounded, and she wanted to win his trust. But she would not allow him to turn her into a pile of