Her Christmas Hero: Christmas Justice / Snow Blind / Christmas at Thunder Horse Ranch. Cassie Miles
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towns,” he said with a smile when he slid back behind the wheel. “I check the house weekly.”
“Is it safe?”
“The men who took the shot will assume we’re leaving town. I would. And I don’t want to be predictable.”
He pulled the SUV into the garage. The automatic door whirred down behind them, closing them in. Laurel let out a long breath. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.
“We’re safe?”
“For the moment,” Garrett said, turning in his seat. “We need to talk.” His gaze slashed to Molly, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. Alone.
“I know.” Laurel bit her lip. She didn’t know much. She’d hoped Garrett would somehow have all the answers, that he could just make this entire situation okay.
It wouldn’t be that simple. She clutched Molly closer. Laurel had no idea how they would get out of this situation alive.
* * *
THE INKY BLACK of the night sky cloaked Mike Strickland’s vehicle. Stars shimmered, but it was the only light save a few streetlights off in the distance. Trouble, Texas, was indeed trouble.
“They couldn’t have just vanished.” Strickland slammed his fist onto the dash of the pickup he’d commandeered. He’d switched license plates and idled on the outskirts of town, lights off, in silence. He tapped a number into his cell.
“They come your way?” he barked.
“Nothing,” Don Krauss said through the receiver, his voice tense. “There are only two roads into town.”
“But a lot of desert surrounding it,” Strickland muttered in response to his partner’s bad news. “We need satellite eyes.”
Krauss let out a low whistle. “You request it, the boss’ll wonder why.”
Strickland activated his tablet computer. The eerie glow lit the cab. “You see the history on this sheriff? Garrett Galloway?”
“Yeah,” Krauss said. “So?”
“It’s perfect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, his backstory is perfect. He grew up in Texas. Went to school at Texas A&M. Joined the corps there. Got a few speeding tickets. Headed to a small town, ran for sheriff.”
“Like a thousand other Texas sheriffs.”
“Everybody’s got something. No late taxes, no real trouble. It feels wrong,” Strickland said quietly.
Silence permeated the phone. “What are you thinking?”
“You saw his moves. He didn’t learn those in college. Maybe Laurel McCallister didn’t get here by chance. Who comes this close to nowhere on a whim?” Strickland glanced around. “And we’re at the frickin’ end of the earth.”
“Still doesn’t help to explain if the boss asks about using the satellite.”
“I’ll say it’s a hunch.”
Strickland could almost see his partner’s indecision. “You gotta learn to take risks, Krauss. If we don’t get rid of those two, we’re dead. But if my hunch is right, and Garrett Galloway isn’t just some hick sheriff, we might be able to feed the boss something new.”
“And save our skin. I like it.”
“Keep digging on Galloway. Even the best slip up sometimes.”
“I’m on it. What do we do until then?”
“I’m contacting headquarters. I want to see a sweep of this part of Texas from the time we arrived until now. This place is dead at night. I want to know who’s been moving around and which way they went.”
“This could go to hell real fast, Mike.”
Strickland scratched his palm. “We just need one break, Krauss. One opening, and our targets won’t live long enough to disappear again.”
* * *
A DIM LIGHT illuminated the preacher’s garage. A plethora of boxes provided too many invisible corners and a variety of spooky shadows along the walls. Laurel shivered, but slid out of the car anyway. She bundled Molly into her arms before following Garrett into the preacher’s house. He carted in the supplies while she scanned the kitchen, studying each corner, each potential hiding place, each possible weapon. One thing she’d learned in her job: details mattered.
Laurel stepped into the living room. A front door and a sliding glass back door. Not exactly secure. And, of course, doilies everywhere.
The muscles in her shoulders bunched and she cocked her hip. Molly grew heavier and heavier with each movement. She walked back into the kitchen. The decor erupted with grapes and ivy.
So very different from Garrett’s house. She’d seen enough of the place to know it hadn’t been a home to him, just a way station.
With a sigh, she sat down at the table, shuffling Molly in her lap. She and Garrett needed to talk, but not with Miss Big Ears listening to every word. Molly let out a small yawn. The girl had to be exhausted, but she wouldn’t be easy to put down. Even then, the nightmares came all too easily. “Do you have any milk?”
“Warm?” he asked, searching through a couple of cabinets. He pulled out a small saucepan before Laurel could answer.
She nodded. Molly sat up and rubbed her eyes, a stubborn pout on her lip. “I don’t want milk. This isn’t home. I want my mommy and daddy. I want Matthew and Michaela.”
Laurel froze. Molly hadn’t mentioned her brother’s and sister’s names since they’d left Arlington. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat. “I want them, too, honey. But we have to hide. Like a game.”
“I don’t like this game. You’re mean.”
The girl’s lower lip stuck out even farther and her countenance went from stubborn to mutinous. She crossed her arms, and all Laurel could see in her niece’s face was an enraged Ivy. Some might think she could wait Molly out, but her niece could be as tenacious as...well, as Laurel herself.
“It’s late, Molly.” Her tone dropped, words firm and short. She didn’t want to have another drawn-out adventure getting the little girl to bed. Before the car bombing, it had taken some cajoling, at least two stories and two tiny glasses of water before she could get the child to close her eyes. Now...Molly didn’t fall asleep until her poor body simply rebelled. “It’s time for bed.”
“Then why aren’t you having hot milk, too?” Molly scrunched her face and crossed her arms.
Garrett turned around. “We’re all having warm milk, and I made you a very special recipe,” he said, adding a dash of sugar and a little vanilla and nutmeg to the cups he held.
He set a plastic cup in front of Molly and a glass mug in front of Laurel, then brought over a plate of vanilla wafers. The aroma mingled in the air around them, and Laurel sighed inside. It smelled like home and family. She swallowed briefly, her eyes burning at the corners.
Garrett took a seat, the oak chair creaking under his weight. His large hands rounded the cup. He raised it to his lips, sipped and stared at Molly. She glared back, but when he licked his lips, dunked a vanilla wafer into his cup and bit down, she leaned forward and took a small sip from her cup.
Molly’s eyes widened a bit and she tasted more. “Wow. That’s yummy. But I want chocolate chip.”
“Glad you think so.” He slid one of Hondo’s cookies toward the little girl and she gifted Garrett with an impish smile.
He winked at Molly, who downed another gulp. Laurel couldn’t resist, even though she detested the drink. She chanced a taste. The nutmeg and vanilla hit her tongue with soothing flavors. “Mmm. How’d you come