Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (12 page)

Logan was frustrated. “We have to find Vanessa Johnston quickly,” he said.

She laid a hand on his arm. “We will find her, but even if there’s a f lock of birds up there the size of a 747, I doubt we’d see them anymore. It’s too dark. Time to quit for the night. Besides, we can’t continue the search if we don’t get some rest.”

He sighed. “All right. Where’s your car?”

“At the Longhorn. Or rather, the parking garage across the street. Jackson picked me up this morning.”

“Then I’ll take you back.”

When they reached the inn, Kelsey said, “Why don’t you come in with me? You’re curious about the saloon. You can talk to Sandy, and she can tell you more about what was going on with Sierra Monte and the bloody disappearance in Room 207 a year ago. It’s highly possible that Sierra died by the same hand that’s killed these other girls.” He looked at her, shaking his head. “The Sierra Monte case is still open. It did occur to me, of course, except that none of the remains match her DNA. Honestly, we’re not inept in Texas.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Bodies with no names. And now a name with no body,” he murmured.

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“Please, just park. Come in. The food here is good,” Kelsey encouraged him.

He found parking, and they walked into the Longhorn together.

Inside, the saloon was lively. That night, Sandy had a trio—piano player, fiddler and guitarist—playing on stage, and the music was at a pleasant level. Poker games that involved peanuts were going on at a few of the tables, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“Rodeo in town,” Logan said. He set a hand on Kelsey’s shoulder and whispered, “Over there, at three o’clock. The real deal. See how his jeans are worn and his hat’s been folded a million times? And his boots are scuffed to pieces.

There…” He turned her slightly. “Ten o’clock. A city slicker down to play cowboy. Shiny new boots. Designer cowboy shirt. Face clean and pure as a newborn babe’s—no nicks, scrapes or scars from a tumble or an argument with a bull or a bronco. Or even a calf.”

“Ouch,” Kelsey said. “Judgmental, aren’t we?”

“Nope. I hope they all come to San Antonio and have a good time—and keep the city prospering.”

“Hey!” Sandy said happily, swinging past them, her fingers twined around a half-dozen beer steins. “Welcome, sit, I’ll be right with you!”

“I can help,” Kelsey called after her.

“Don’t be silly! You’d be like a bull in a china shop.

We’ve got it covered,” Sandy called back.

Kelsey gave an off hand shrug as they went to scrub their hands. “She’s remembering the time at camp when I spilled IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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a whole tray of juice glasses—which happened to be full,” she told Logan.

On their way back from the restroom, she noticed that Ricky, one of the bartenders, had come from behind the long saloon bar and was waving to her, gesturing to a small table near the stage. “C’mon,” Kelsey said, and Logan followed her.

They sat, with Ricky promising he’d bring them a couple of beers. Logan looked around, studying all the renovations. “You’re right. Your friend has done a great job. It’s as if you stepped back into the nineteenth century. Very different from when I was last here, which has to be more than three years ago.”

“The rooms are beautiful, too,” Kelsey assured him.

Ricky brought their beers. He was twenty-four, eternally cheerful and he loved working in the saloon. “The special is barbecue beef. And it really
is
special.”

“Barbecue beef for me,” Kelsey said. “Would you like a menu?” she asked Logan.

“Refuse a special that’s
special?
” he asked. “Make it two, please, Ricky.”

He’d caught Ricky’s name, although she’d said it only once when he delivered the beers. Kelsey liked that he was cordial to those who waited on him. She glanced away, wondering again what was the matter with her. She was listing his good points as if she was planning to bring him home to her mom, and she had to remind herself that their relationship was professional—they were
working
together—

and that he could be a real hard-ass.

She was startled when someone suddenly swooped down IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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on her, giving her a mammoth hug, then stepping back quickly in acknowledgment of Logan. “Sorry, sir! But this young lady is my heroine. Forgive me if I got too friendly.” Kelsey turned to Logan, “This is Mr. Corey Simmons, Logan. Corey, Ranger Logan Raintree. Corey is here for the rodeo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan said, rising to accept Corey’s outstretched hand.

“Pleasure is mine. Hey, now, we’re not in any trouble for rabble-rousing, are we, Ranger?” Corey asked, his grin wide.

“I’m just here for the barbecue,” Logan told him, taking his seat again.

Corey dragged over an unused chair, and set it, facing backward, in front of the table. He straddled it, resting his elbows on the chair back.

“Guess I’m being a little nosy, but I happen to know that the lady is a U.S. Marshal,” Corey said. “And glad of it, I am. She’s a brave soul, and I had to beg her not to let the world know that I’m willing to ride any bull—but afraid of my own shadow.”

She’d wondered if Logan was going to be irritated by the cowboy joining them; he wasn’t. He gave Corey a broad smile. “Any one of us can be spooked, Simmons,” Logan said. “So, you’re taking part in next week’s rodeo?” Corey nodded. “I’m going to stay on the bull longest, I swear it! And I ride a fine barrel race, too.”

“Good luck to you,” Logan said. “Tell me about your experience in Room 207.”

Corey Simmons had the grace to blush. “Well, of course, IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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now I’m thinking I let my imagination run away with me, you know? What with that awful story about the room…

Well, there’s the older story, too, but it’s the new one that scares the bejesus outta me!”

“But you didn’t really
see
anything?” Logan asked him.

“It was like I opened my eyes and saw a sea of blood everywhere! Dripping down the walls, on the f loor…well, I’m just glad to be outta there. I would’ve left the inn if it wasn’t for the Marshal here!”

Logan looked at her with some amusement. Kelsey shrugged.

“We all get carried away now and then,” she murmured.

They were close to the bar. As she spoke, she saw that a man sitting on one of the wooden stools at the end had turned toward them. He didn’t look like a cowboy. He was tall and thin and wearing jeans, but with a tailored shirt and loafers. His hair was cut stylishly short, and there was nothing weathered about him. He saw her looking at him, and slid off his bar stool, coming toward them.

“Oh, Lord help us,” Logan groaned.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

She didn’t have to wait to find out. Corey grinned broadly. “It’s the newspaper man!” he said, apparently pleased that they’d drawn his attention.

But when the man approached and said, “Why, Mr. Simmons, did I hear that correctly? You were scared out of your room by a vision of
blood
on the walls?” Corey wasn’t so pleased anymore.

“No, you didn’t hear anything correctly, Murphy,” he said. “Listening in on other people’s conversations is rude, IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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and if you write about a conversation you
think
you heard, I’ll denounce you as a liar!”

Kelsey noticed that Logan didn’t stand. “You’re interrupt-ing a private conversation, Ted,” he told the man. “You’re not welcome here,” he added.

No one seemed to want the man around. It didn’t stop him.

“So, word is out that you spent the day at the morgue, Ranger Raintree. What’s going on? Is there a serial killer loose in the city, and you’re not alerting the public?” Kelsey watched Logan’s fingers clench his beer stein. It was made of heavy glass, but she was afraid it would shatter.

He managed to look up at the man. “Actually, I’m not with the Rangers right now, Murphy, and if there’s something to be said, you’ll hear it from a law enforcement spokesperson. I’m here for dinner with a friend, and I’d appreciate it if you let us enjoy that dinner in peace.” Murphy was persistent. “Friend?” Murphy’s eyes snapped to Kelsey. “What kind of slacker do you think I am, Raintree?
Friend?
This is Marshal Kelsey O’Brien, in from Florida.

So, what is it? Drug running? Murder? Or
murders,
plural?” Logan stood at last, towering over Murphy. “If you don’t leave, we will. Kelsey, I’m sorry, but…” She stood, too.

“I’ll take care of this creep, if you want,” Corey Simmons said, grinning. “You can’t touch him. That would be Ranger or Marshal brutality. But I’m just an old cowboy, and I can take him out. It’d be worth the night in jail.” By then, patrons near them had heard the confrontation, and with Logan and Corey Simmons both looming over IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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Murphy, the tension and testosterone seemed to be rippling through the bar.

Sandy came rushing over. “Ted Murphy! What are you doing? Get out! See that sign over the bar? It says the owner has discretion over who should and shouldn’t be served.

You’re creating a public disturbance, and you’re going to ruin my business, and if you do, I promise I’ll sue you—

and your paper—up the wazoo. Do you understand me?” Ted Murphy had already taken a few steps back. No doubt he’d known he wasn’t going to taunt Logan Raintree into pounding him and creating negative press for the Texas Rangers. Corey Simmons didn’t seem to care about the consequences.

“I think I’ve gotten what I came for,” Murphy said.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned away, took the time to drop cash on the bar and walked out.

“That sniveling little bastard!” Logan said.

“He’s gone now. Please, sit, enjoy the saloon,” Sandy pleaded, glancing from him to Kelsey.

Kelsey nodded and glanced at Logan.

“Sure. I’m looking forward to a
special
special barbecue,” he said with a smile. Kelsey sat, he sat and so did Corey Simmons.

“Ease up,” Kelsey warned Logan softly. “You’re going to break that glass.”

He stared at his hand, at his white knuckles against the bronze of his skin.

Then he grinned, but it was a deadly grin. “God knows what the man is going to plaster all over that damn tab-loid.”

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“Then it’s a rag. Who cares?” Kelsey asked.

“Well, it’s a local paper, a daily, but it sure ain’t a very respectable one.”

“My point exactly,” Kelsey said.

“Hey, it’s me he’s going to skewer,” Corey said. “Big

’fraidy-cat tough-boy cowboy. But you know what? He’ll get his. I promise you,” Corey said. “Drink up, friends, drink up!” He lifted his stein. Kelsey politely lifted hers in return. Obviously, Corey could see that Logan’s mood hadn’t lightened. He stood, winking at Kelsey. “I’ll just leave you two alone now. If you need me, you know where to find me!”

When he’d left, Logan looked at Kelsey. “Murphy truly is a rat,” he told her. “He’ll put all kinds of half-truths in the paper, and get the public going, screaming that the police and the Rangers are putting the city in danger.”

“It may not be that bad,” Kelsey said. She tried to smile.

“Hey, I come from Key West. If news isn’t bizarre, it’s worthless.”

He finally cracked a real smile. Then it faded. “Sorry. I don’t loathe many people, but I loathe that man. When my wife…”

His voice trailed off. She was surprised to feel her heart sink.

He had a wife. Well, that wasn’t a great surprise. The man was walking sexuality, rugged and masculine to a fault.

After a moment, he continued speaking. “When my wife was murdered, and I found her just minutes too late…” He shook his head and then looked at her again. “It was one of those instances. The kind we’ve talked about. I found IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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her because I heard her.” He brought his fingers to his forehead. “In here,” he said. “I heard her crying out, and then, after I found her, I realized I’d heard her because she was dead. I’d put a killer on death row, and his brother wasn’t happy. When the trial was over, he kidnapped my wife—

and didn’t give a damn if the world knew who’d done it.

He said he’d heard I had ‘Injun powers,’ and that if I wanted her back, he’d give me clues, but I’d have to use those powers. I don’t think he even meant to kill her—he buried her alive, but he didn’t set up the oxygen supply right, and she suffocated. I got to her, but too late. We put her killer on death row, too, but…” He paused. “Reporters all over were writing about the case. I never said how I found her, never spoke to anyone about it. I was sent on leave. When Murphy got wind of what happened, he wrote an article about Indian dream states, one that actually suggested Texas Rangers with Native American blood used peyote, and that my, uh, supposed drug habit might have been the reason Alana was so easily taken. There was a protest, of course—the Department of Public Safety was going to sue.

I didn’t know about it, and I didn’t give a damn about it at the time. But the article couched the insinuations so carefully that everything was merely a suggestion. An impli-cation. And in the end there was no lawsuit. Murphy isn’t stupid. He’s a vicious bastard, but he isn’t stupid. If he puts anything out there now, it’ll be filled with innuendo, but he’ll manage to make us all look like bumbling idiots.” Kelsey wasn’t sure what to say; she felt his pain and bitterness as if it were a tidal wave, washing across the table and sweeping her in. She wanted to touch him, tell him IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012