Daughter of Texas (7 page)

“Here.” She set the sheet of paper on the desk.

Shifting his focus back to business, he picked the paper up. The face staring up at him could have been any number of men walking around the streets of San Antonio, or all of Texas, for that matter. But the sketch was a start. “I'll get this circulating.”

“Paige said she has a photo to show you,” Corinna said. “She's still in the conference room.”

“Thanks. If you can give me a few minutes, I'll take you back to Gisella's,” Ben said. “And we can go over the funeral arrangements.”

She closed her eyes as if in pain. “Can we do that later tonight?” When she opened her eyes and stared at him he saw the plea in her pretty gaze. “I'm really not up for that right now. I'd rather go to the studio. I really need to rehearse. The benefit show is less than a week away.”

He admired her dedication in the face of such grief. “Are you sure you're up to it?”

Some unidentifiable emotion flickered deep in her eyes. “I need to.”

Respect for her courage filled him. He understood that need. Working the case was helping him to deal with his own sorrow. Dancing might help her heal. Or at least take her mind off her grief.

“Okay. I'll have an SAPD officer outside the studio at all times. You are not to go off anywhere alone,” he said with a pointed look.

One corner of her mouth tipped upward in acknowledgement. “I can live with that. I've learned my lesson.”

Satisfied, he led her from the office back to the conference room. Oliver had a hip hiked on the table near Paige.

Oliver straightened as they entered the room. “Paige was just telling me you caught a glimpse of the guy who broke into your house last night.”

Ben showed him the sketch. “I want every law
enforcement officer within a hundred-mile radius to have a copy of this. We need to catch this guy.”

Oliver studied the picture with a furrowed brow. “Sure, boss.” He loped out of the conference room.

Paige stood and withdrew a photo from a large square leather case. “I took the liberty of enhancing the photo of the second shooting victim. Since our facial recognition software has been unsuccessful in identifying this man, I thought you might want to release his picture to the public.”

Ben took the photo. It looked like coma guy, but in the rendering the man's eyes were open and his face clean shaven. “How do you know he has blue eyes?”

Paige arched an eyebrow. “I stopped by the hospital on the way in and took a peek. The imaging software on my laptop is top notch. It was easy to plug in coma guy's specs and come up with a nearly flawless image. Thankfully, you all have good quality printers here.”

“Great job.” Ben walked to the door and called out, “Anderson!”

A few seconds later, Anderson Michaels appeared in the doorway. He flashed the ladies a charming smile before addressing Ben. “You rang?”

Ben handed him the photo of coma guy. “See what you can do about getting this on the air. Hopefully, someone will come forward with some information.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Anderson took the photo.

Ben shook Paige's hand. “Thank you. You did good work today.”

Paige gave him a friendly but sad smile. “I just hope we catch this perp.”

“We'll walk out with you,” Ben said. They all left the
building together. Ben made sure Paige was on her way in her car before he started his Jeep. Corinna struggled with the passenger seat belt.

“Problem?” he asked.

“It's twisted,” she muttered.

“Here, let me.” He leaned over to reach for the top of the shoulder harness. His chest came in contact with her shoulder. Her breath fanned out over his neck; the scent of her orangey shampoo filled his senses. His gaze traveled over her face. The complexity of longing and frustration playing across her features fascinated him. He searched her warm brown eyes.

His breathing hitched as an answering longing hit the pit of his stomach and worked its way into the vicinity of his heart. His hand slid along the rough material of the shoulder strap, his fingers trailing inches from her body as he unwound the harness. He stopped at the buckle and secured the seat belt into place with a click.

And still he stayed in place, leaning close, maintaining the contact of his chest to her shoulder. He savored her scent and the way her mouth opened slightly as if she, too, was having as much trouble catching her breath as he was.

It would be so easy to dip his head and claim her mouth. Too easy to lose himself in the moment. Too easy to forget that she was Greg's daughter and way off-limits.

But not that easy.

He lurched away and gripped the steering wheel. He had to remember his promise. No matter how magnetic
Corinna's draw was on him. Greg had counted on Ben to protect her. And that meant from himself, as well as the rest of the world.

A
s Ben drove through town, Corinna fought to regain control of her breathing. For a moment, she'd thought Ben was going to kiss her. Anticipation had thrummed through her system, setting her already taut nerves on high alert. But then he'd jerked back, leaving her feeling disappointed and irrational for even contemplating a kiss.

She glanced discreetly at his profile. His ruggedly handsome features were grim with concentration. More concentration than the afternoon traffic warranted. His big, strong hands gripped the wheel, turning his knuckles white as he drove through downtown San Antonio. Clearly, he was upset.

Because he'd wanted to kiss her?

The thought was heady, yet she had no business thinking of him in any romantic way. Only heartache lay down that road. He lived a life she wanted to leave behind her. A dangerous, unpredictable life. A life that took her father. She tugged the resentment and anger she'd been harboring for so long more securely in place and told herself to be grateful he'd had the self-control to put a stop to the attraction arcing between them. Her own
willpower to resist him was in short supply. She could trust that Ben would stay true to his convictions.

She gave a mental scoff. Trust was definitely
not
one of her issues with Ben.

When he pulled the Jeep to the curb in front of the white, flat-roof building housing the San Antonio professional ballet company, she was out the door with her bag before he'd even turned off the engine. She needed the distance.

He exited and came around the front of the vehicle as an SAPD officer stepped from his cruiser parked nearby. She paused on the walkway as Ben and the officer caught up to her.

The two men shook hands.

“I've secured the premises. The only other exit besides the front door has an alarm. I've also cautioned the staff to keep all the windows locked.”

“I appreciate that,” Ben said. He turned to Corinna.

“This is Officer Hagerty.”

She nodded a greeting to the older gentleman. “Officer.”

“Miss Pike, I'm sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man,” Officer Hagerty said. His deep voice echoed with sincerity.

Sadness bowed her shoulders. She could only give him a lackluster smile. Clutching her bag to her chest, she turned to go, but Ben's hand on her arm halted her progress.

“What time should I pick you up?” Ben asked.

The last thing she wanted was to spend more time alone with him. He unsettled her, made her aware of her
grief and loneliness, made her want things that could never be. “You don't need to be my chauffeur.”

Surprise flickered in his gaze. “I don't mind. It's part of my job.”

A shaft of anger pierced her. Disconcerted, she said roughly, “I'd rather you concentrated on the part of your job that brings my father's murderer to justice.”

A pained expression crossed his features.

Her cheeks stung with contrition for lashing out. She took a deep breath before adding in a more careful tone, “I'm sure Officer Hagerty could give me a ride to Gisella's when I'm ready to leave.”

“Would be my pleasure,” the officer replied.

Ben's eyebrows drew slightly together. She felt his gaze all the way to her toes. She fidgeted with her bag and couldn't help returning the favor of staring back.

Finally, he said, “I suppose Officer Hagerty driving you would be okay. Though I was thinking you might want to see Gabby tonight.”

She did miss the feline and could really use a dose of her unconditional love. But that would mean not only more time with Ben, but going to his apartment again. She wasn't sure that was a good idea. Being too close, too alone with him made her ache with yearnings that had no business invading her life. She didn't want to get attached, caught up in his world. The same world had taken her father from her.

She had to clear her throat of the yearning before she could answer. “I can see her tomorrow. You mentioned getting me a key.”

“I did. I'll have one made tonight and bring it by tomorrow morning.”

Why did he keep suggesting they see each other? He couldn't possibly know she was having trouble keeping her heart from wanting him. Flustered, she stumbled back a step toward the door. “You can just give it to Gisella.”

He blinked. “Okay. If that's what you want.”

“It is.” She backed up another step, creating more space between them. “I need to go.”

Ben's lips pressed together in a firm line.

She turned and hurried inside before she could give into the urge to soothe away his upset. She hoped the next time she heard from Ben he'd tell her he'd found her father's killer, even though logically, she knew it could take months for that to happen. But that was all she wanted from him. Wasn't it?

 

After dropping Corinna off at the studio and making sure the officer there was aware of the danger to Corinna's life, Ben headed back to the Ranger headquarters. He had work to do on Greg's case, but his mind kept wandering to her. As breakable as she appeared, he kept catching glimpses of a core of steel.

Over the last few days he'd become aware of her on a deep, visceral level and that scared him. He wanted to distance himself, yet at every turn he found himself drawing closer to this complicated and fascinating woman.

The fact that she'd made her feelings clear, that she didn't want anything to do with him, should make him happy. But he wasn't.

He'd been around her numerous times over the years, but he'd never really gotten to know her. Partly because
of the age difference—seven years had seemed a huge spread when he was nineteen and she was twelve. As adults, the years didn't seem like much.

Except the main reason he'd never had the chance to know her was Greg. From the very first, Greg had warned Ben off, saying, “Remember, she's my daughter. Show her respect.”

Ben had heard the underlying message in those words loud and clear over the years, each time Greg repeated the refrain.
Stay away. Off-limits. You're not good enough for her.

He blew out a harsh breath. Yeah, he accepted Greg had wanted more for his daughter. A life untouched by the evil they dealt with. Getting involved with a Ranger would keep her tied to that world.

Come on, he had to get a grip, had to stop thinking about her and concentrate on finding the murderer before he got to Corinna. Because only then would he be able to move forward with his life as captain of Company D.

 

“Here's a good one,” Corinna said, handing a picture of her parents over to Ben for his perusal. They sat at the kitchen table in her family home. The evening sun had begun to set on another endless day. Tomorrow would be the funeral. Corinna couldn't believe three days had passed since her father's death. They seemed like a lifetime. She'd been shot at, she'd shot at someone and then presumably the same guy tried to break into the room where she was sleeping. It was a lot to take in.

Her hand shook slightly, making the photo waver. She was struggling to maintain her self-control as they
pored over pictures chronologically of her father's life for the montage to be displayed at the memorial.

“I see where you get your beauty,” Ben murmured as he gazed at the picture of her parents when they were newly married.

She appreciated his compliment but her emotions were scraped raw; all she could muster was a brief smile in acknowledgment.

The board where Ben tacked the pictures was nearly full. Corinna bit her lip to keep her tears from flowing. It just wasn't right. Her father shouldn't be dead. Her fists clenched.
Why? Why?
her mind silently screamed.

“This is great,” Ben said, taking a photo out of another box and holding it up for her to see. “We have to use this.”

Her breath caught.

The image showed her father from the chest up, holding a small baby in his big, strong hands. The look of tender love on his handsome face was her undoing. Corinna could no longer hold back the tears. She pushed away from the table and ran out the back patio door.

Ben came out behind her, but she kept running all the way to the horse pasture. Thankfully her neighbor had agreed to care for the animals. As she neared the fence, one of the stallions trotted over. A big roan Quarter Horse named Dasher. She climbed the planks and allowed the animal to nuzzle her neck as she wrapped her arms around his head. Tears flowed, running down her cheeks to dampen the horse's satin coat.

She heard Ben approach and quickly dried her eyes. She felt the horse growing wary at the stranger. It occurred to her that Ben never visited the horses when
he came to their house. A safe enough subject for now. She lifted her head to see him standing back a few feet. “You don't like horses?”

He met her gaze. “Not particularly. I ride when I have to.”

He meant in parades and such, which was sometimes required of the Rangers. “Did something happen to spook you?”

“No. They're just really big animals and unpredictable.”

“And you like things predictable.”

“I like things I can control,” he countered.

She stroked Dasher's neck. “Horses are controllable. You just have to know how to gain their trust.”

“A lot like people,” he said.

“I suppose.” She stared off into the distance. The flat terrain of the sprawling state lay in darkness now that the sun had finished setting. Though a quarter moon rose, it didn't provide enough light to illuminate the land. Everything seemed to be in shadows. Just like her life. “I guess I'll have to sell this place.”

Her father had loved this land, this ranch. She couldn't imagine someone else living here.

“Not until you're ready.” Ben's answer was quick and decisive.

She nodded. Impulsively she said, “I want the memorial here, not at the funeral home.”

“But all the arrangements have been made,” he protested, his voice closer now. “Besides, it would be too dangerous having people coming and going from the house. It'd be too easy for a bad guy to sneak in among the guests.”

“I don't care. I want it here. If a bad guy does sneak in, you and the other Rangers will be here to take him down.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, but could barely make out his features in the dim glow of the moon. “Please. It's important to me. I don't want the memorial in some unfamiliar, sterile place. Can you make it happen?”

His voice softened. “If that's what you want.”

“It is.” She reached for one last stroke of Dasher's smooth cheek before hopping off the fence. She nearly knocked Ben over. He was closer than she'd thought. His strong hands steadied her. His masculine scent mingled with the smells of the hay and horse, making a heady, potent combination. Her mouth went dry. Unfamiliar yearnings spiked. She longed for Ben's arms to slide around her, for him to press her close and tell her everything was going to be all right.

And the world tilted slightly.

She swayed. Ben tightened his hold. “Corinna, maybe you should come inside and have a drink of water.”

Gathering her equilibrium and sanity, she pulled out of his grasp. The last thing she needed was to be attracted to or attached to Ben. He was part of her father's world. A place she had every intention of leaving behind. “I think I should return to Gisella's now.”

She needed to go somewhere, anywhere away from him and the confusing sensations swirling around her head and chipping away at her heart.

 

Ben stood at the graveside of his fallen captain. The casket hovered over an open pit lined with a red velvet covering. The red, white and blue flag draped over the
polished mahogany-wood casket fluttered in the humid breeze. The pastor gave the eulogy in soothing modulated tones. The faint sound of crying lifted on a puff of air.

The blustery fall day, heavy with humidity and rain, had been predicted. Wearing his best navy suit, Ben barely noticed the temperature as his gaze searched through the throng of mourners gathered in the Sunset Memorial Park cemetery. He hoped that the murderer would give him or herself away. But so far no one raised an alarm in Ben's senses. No one in the crowd resembled the intruder in the sketch.

There was a handful of civilians in attendance, all of whom had been checked out by the Rangers. Neighbors, buddies from Greg's college days, family friends from when the late Mrs. Pike had been alive.

The majority of those present were in law enforcement and Ben's mind rebelled at the thought of any of these men and women being in cahoots with Greg's murderer. Still, Ben tried to view each with a critical eye.

Sheriff Layton, in full dress uniform, his shocking white hair blowing in the wind, stood with his arm around his petite wife. Grief cut deep lines in his craggy face. A good number of San Antonio police officers in dress uniform were also in attendance.

Senior Captain Parker and his wife, a willowy redhead, held hands, their expressions somber. Beside them stood Ranger Assistant Chief Ambrose Ralston, a heavy-set man with a normally jolly disposition. Today he appeared grim as he paid his respects. Sweat beaded on his flaccid face.

Behind and flanking the chiefs stood a sea of white-hatted, dark-suited, silver-starred Rangers, from all the companies around the state. The loss of one of their own reflected in each face.

Ben's gaze roamed over the more prestigious mourners. The death of a Ranger deserved the respect of every office of the state, including its official representatives. San Antonio Mayor Les Bernard, in his mid-forties with sandy blond hair and GQ looks in a well-tailored suit, stood with his platinum blonde wife, but there was a gap of space between them.

Texas State Senator Frederick Huffington, in his late fifties and decidedly on the paunchy side in a brown suit stood staring at the casket. At his side, his spouse dabbed at her nose with a tissue.

And finally, the head of the State of Texas, Governor John Kingston, a regal man in his late sixties in a pin-striped suit, held an arm firmly around his silver-haired wife.