Daughter of Texas (5 page)

Behind the desk, the rust-colored, high-back leather chair beckoned for its owner to sit. Ben wasn't that man.

How could he ever measure up to his mentor and friend's legacy? Greg had been a fierce leader, determined to right wrongs and bring order out of chaos. He'd taught Ben how to exert power without aggression, how to remain calm in the face of deadly situations and how to uphold the law while upholding justice because the two didn't always coincide.

Greg's certificates covered the wall facing Ben. College diplomas, academy documents, Ranger credentials. Pieces of a man's life.

Shaking off the melancholy threatening to cut off his breath, Ben moved behind the desk. With a slight hesitation, he sat in the leather chair. As difficult as this situation was, he had an investigation to conduct. He was Captain now.

Get on with it,
he admonished himself.

With determination, he booted up the computer. It didn't take long to figure out the password—Corinna. Ben opened the top drawer and examined the contents—pens, paperclips, stacks of sticky notepads, official forms.

Which reminded Ben that he wanted to get Daniel's promotion in the works right away.

He found what he needed in the stack he pulled from the drawer and filled in the blanks. The desk phone rang just as he finished.

For a long moment he stared at the instrument as if he'd never seen a phone before. Finally, he picked up the receiver. “Fritz.”

The administrative assistant's voice came over the line. “You have a call on line one.”

“Thanks, Marissa.” He depressed the blinking light.

“Captain Fritz.”

“This is SAPD Officer Talbot. Sir, we have a situation here at the hospital.”

A
drenaline spiked through Ben. “He woke up?”

“No, sir. We have a Corinna Pike here demanding to talk to the unconscious man. She said you'd know her.”

Surprise rushed in, pushing the adrenaline to the background. “I do. I'm on my way.”

What was she doing there? And asking to talk to the victim? How crazy was that? She had no business involving herself in his investigation.

The question rattled inside his head as he hung up and glanced at Gisella, who stood in the doorway of Greg's office. “Corinna's at the hospital wanting to see coma guy,” Ben said.

Surprise flickered in her dark eyes. “I assumed she was still asleep in her room when I left this morning. I should have looked in on her. There's an SAPD officer stationed outside my house. They'd have informed me if she'd left. How did she get to the hospital?”

Frustration pounded at his temple. “I have no idea.”

“I can go,” Gisella offered.

Rising from the chair, Ben shook his head. “No. I'll take care of her. She's my responsibility.”

Gisella arched an eyebrow.

For some reason, heat crept up Ben's neck. “Was there something you needed?”

“I was just going to give you a quick update on her,” she replied.

“How did she seem to you?”

“She's taking her father's death hard, as one would expect. She wasn't happy when I told her she needed to stay inside the house at all times.”

Picturing her bleak eyes when they'd parted last, he didn't know how she'd survive after such a loss. And now she'd left the safety of Gisella's home, putting herself in needless danger when the assassin was still at large and probably knew she could ID him. The need to see her, to protect her, spurred him on.

“Call my cell if you need me,” he said before hurrying from the office.

He encountered little traffic on his way to the hospital. Rather than wait for the elevator, he took the stairs and emerged on the fourth floor opposite the nurses' station. He tipped his hat in greeting and hastened down the hall. The smell of antiseptic burned his nose. The soft noises of the hospital echoed inside his head as he neared Corinna.

She looked fragile and beautiful and in need of protection. Her leather-soled shoe tapped soundlessly against the linoleum, and her slender arms were wrapped around her middle. She wore jeans and a plum-colored tank top. Her dark, silky hair was captured at her nape in a twist, emphasizing her slender neck and porcelain skin. Her eyes were wide and filled with desperation in the swirling depths.

The stark white bandage taped to her bare biceps reminded him of how close she had come to being killed. His heart contracted painfully.

Acknowledging the two haggard-looking SAPD officers with a tip of his head, he led her away by the elbow. “Corinna, what are you doing here? You were supposed to stay at Gisella's.”

“I couldn't just sit there doing nothing,” she said, her voice breaking.

He could see how badly she was hurting. He wished he could make her feel better. But he didn't know how to accomplish such a feat. “How did you get here?”

She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth before answering. “I called a taxi and went home to get my car.”

“But how did you get past the SAPD officer?”

“He probably hadn't arrived yet. I left Gisella's around six this morning.”

A fist of aggravation and anxiety slammed into his midsection. He was going to have to do a better job of protecting her, not only from her father's killer but from herself. He sought an even tone as he said, “We can't protect you if you're sneaking off and running around alone.”

A little crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I don't need to ask permission to live my life.”

“But we can't protect you if we don't know what you're doing.”

Through gritted teeth, she said, “I can take care of myself.”

And the state's Ten Most Wanted would meet him for coffee tomorrow morning. She was lean, bordering
on too thin, petite with delicate features. A strong wind could blow her over.

He pushed back his hat and rubbed at his pounding temple. “Corinna—”

She cut him off in a voice that shook with suppressed emotion. “Tell them to let me in there.” Her sorrowful brown eyes implored him to understand. “I want him to tell me who shot my father.”

“He hasn't come out of his coma,” he stated gently.

Her pretty lips pressed together in a straight line. She took a breath and slowly let it out. “I understand that. But I read online that sometimes coma victims can still hear and rouse to respond to what's being said to them. Maybe…” She took another shuddering breath. “Maybe he'll want to wake up to tell us who shot him. And my father.”

Ben had thought the same thing. He'd tried, but nothing happened.

An inner nudging made him pause. If the man in the bed could hear, maybe listening to the woman who'd tried to save him, the daughter of the other victim, might be the catalyst to bring him back to consciousness. Who was Ben to deny her the attempt?

“Let me check with the doctor. If he says yes, then I'll take you in there,” he said.

Her face lit up with hope.

His stomach dropped. “You can't get your hopes up. This is a long shot and may not work.”

“But it could.”

Her desperate expression beseeched him to believe along with her. He wanted to. He wanted the man to
wake up. But he was realistic enough to know not everything turned out the way one wanted or hoped.

After securing the doctor's permission, Ben sent up a silent prayer he wasn't making a mistake by allowing Corinna to go into the room.

She'd suffered too many traumas already. He wasn't sure she could sustain any more.

 

Corinna walked into the hospital room, acutely aware of Ben's hand on the small of her back, the warmth reassuring. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He towered over her five-foot-four frame. Compassion and determination etched lines in his attractive face. He was handsome, she'd give him that. Dressed in pressed cotton slacks, a pale green dress shirt and sporting a fancy tie, he radiated strength.

Just as her father had. And look what good all his strength had gotten him. Dead.

With a shudder she marched forward. They had five minutes, the doctor had grudgingly stated. She had a feeling that Ben's powers of persuasion had something to do with the doctor's acquiescence.

In the bed, hooked up to tubes and monitors, lay the man she'd found wounded in her father's study. He looked much different now—cleaned-up, pale and at the mercy of the doctors. Empathy formed a tight knot deep inside of her. “Do you know who he is?”

“No. We've been unable to ID him so far. I'm still waiting for the facial recognition software database to come up with a name.”

She moved to the side of the bed. Careful of the IV attached to the back of his hand, she closed her fingers
over the man's and leaned close. “My name is Corinna Pike. I'm the woman who found you last night.”

Anticipation gripped her chest. “You were in my house with my father, Ranger Greg Pike. Someone shot you. Can you please wake up and tell us who did this to you? Who shot you? Who shot my father? I need to know who killed my father.” She waited, peering at him for some sign that he'd heard her.

Nothing. His face remained unresponsive.

Ben shifted closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged him off. Desperation clawed at her. Her throat burned and tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped on to the blanket covering the injured man. “Please. I beg of you. Wake up!”

Still nothing. Disappointment gathered steam. She put her other hand on his shoulder and gave a sharp shake. “Wake up.”

“Corinna,” Ben said in a gentle reprimand.

She released the unresponsive John Doe and stepped back, her clenched fists tight at her sides.

“We need to give him time to heal,” he said.

“But what if he never regains consciousness? He's the only one who knows what happened.”

She turned to face Ben. There was little doubt that whoever had killed her father had done so because he was a Texas Ranger. They were men and women who faced danger daily, while their loved ones waited in the wings and worried. Then grieved.

She would never live that life again. Not when she knew God wouldn't answer her prayers for protection. As long as she'd thought God was watching over her
father, she had refused to let the deadly reality of his job paralyze her.

Now…fear wanted to devour and destroy.

But it had an accomplice: the unknown.

Ben touched her arm. “I'm going to catch your father's murderer with or without this man's help. And I'm not going to let you get hurt, either.”

Resolve to do all she could to help catch her father's killer sprouted roots in her soul and spread shoots of anger through her, spearing her fears.

Somehow, someway, they'd find the person responsible.

Ben led her away from the unconscious man. “Come on, let's go where we can sit and talk.” Outside the room, Ben said to the officers standing guard, “Thank you, gentlemen. Let me know immediately if there's any change.”

Corinna allowed Ben to guide her through the hospital corridors. Ben pushed open a door and led her through a dimly lit room to a larger area. The high ceiling, wooden bench pews and sunlight filtering in through intricately carved stained glass windows brought Corinna to awareness. Ben had brought her to the hospital chapel.

Everything inside her rebelled.

She halted on the threshold to the sanctuary. “No. No, I can't be here.”

He captured her hand. “Sit with me. Pray with me.”

Shaking her head, she backed away, but he held her tethered to him. “I can't.”

“Corinna, let God comfort you.”

“No!” She yanked her hand free and moved back into the vestibule. “I don't want anything to do with
God. Not now. I prayed every day of my life for Him to protect my father, but He allowed this to happen.” She wiped furiously at the tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why did He allow this to happen?”

Pain flickered in Ben's deep brown eyes. “Corinna, God didn't do this. A human did. A man…” He paused as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Or a woman killed your father and shot that guy laying in a coma. And lest you forget, whoever it was took a crack at you, too.”

“I know God didn't physically kill my father, but He could have protected him. My father believed, he had a deep faith. Why didn't God save him?”

“Your father
was
saved. You have to believe he's in heaven now.”

“I don't know what I believe anymore,” she said, frustrated that he didn't understand the sense of be trayal burning inside of her. “I don't understand why God didn't protect Dad here on Earth.”

Ben sighed, his expression full of sorrow. “I don't have an answer for you. But I do know that God is good and there is evil in this world.” His expression implored her to understand. “Evil did this, not God.”

A deep aching pain pressed on her lungs until she thought she'd choke. She had to get out of the chapel, away from Ben and his well-meaning words that didn't answer her questions about God or offer any relief from the pain of being set adrift from all the certainties in her life. “I've got to go. I can't….”

Ben's expression stilled, frozen in mute wretchedness. He reached out to stop her, but she hurried from the chapel and through the hospital until she was
outside in the late morning sun. She knew Ben wasn't far behind.

She gasped for breath. She couldn't seem to draw in air. Ben's words echoed inside her head.
Evil did this, not God.

But God could have stopped it, her mind screamed.

Not waiting for Ben to catch up, she ran for her car and drove to the dance studio, the only place where she could retreat, where she could be free of the tormenting question. But somehow she doubted she'd ever be able to erase the look of heartbreak she'd seen on Ben's face when she'd turned away from his offer of comfort.

And it tore at her heart.

 

Ben followed closely behind Corinna's car all the way to the studio to make sure she arrived safely. He didn't understand her reluctance to allow God to offer her comfort. It made no sense. Ben knew that Greg and Corinna were committed to their faith. Greg had shown Ben the true meaning and power of believing in God. To know Corinna was questioning her faith hurt Ben deeply. One more way Ben would be letting Greg down if Corinna lost her faith.

He pulled his Jeep into a spot a few spaces down from Corinna's car. He debated going into the dance studio after her. Would she rebuff or welcome his effort?

Deciding his promise to watch over her took precedence over their feelings, he went inside the small crowded lobby. A variety of dancers milled around. Some stretching. Others quietly talking.

Corinna stopped short, frowned and hurried to his side. “What now?”

“You should return to Gisella's,” he stated, keeping his voice low so only she'd hear him. “We don't know if you're out of danger. That guy could come after you again.”

She glanced around and then waved him away from the congregating dancers. “I'm safe here. Look around you. No one is going to try something with so many witnesses.”

He looked around. She
would
be surrounded by people. But that didn't mean she was safe. “How long?”

“I don't know. A couple of hours and then I'm headed to Miriam's for the rest of the day.”

“Miriam's?”

“It's a shelter for battered women and children. We're having a benefit recital to raise money so the shelter can remodel their kitchen and purchase more beds.”

Ah. That Miriam's. He hadn't known she was involved so closely with a charity. Especially a faith-based ministry like Miriam's. “What do you do there?”