Shattered Silence: Men of the Texas Rangers Series #2 Read online

  Cody bit back the words he wanted to say to his teenage son. He’d known this move to Durango would be tough for Kyle, especially after the recent death of his mother, but Cody hadn’t really had a choice, not if he were going to protect his son. “I shouldn’t be gone too long,” he replied in the calm voice he’d been using a lot lately. “You could start putting away some of our things.”

  “So you get to run off and leave me with all this work.” Kyle swept his arm wide to indicate the box-filled room.

  “We were supposed to be here yesterday. This meeting at the police station has been set up for a while.”

  “It’s not my fault you had to stay to finish up a case.” His son’s blue eyes—so like his mother’s—pierced right through Cody.

  “Look, son,” he clasped Kyle’s shoulder, “I know this is hard for you, but give this new place a chance. You’ll make friends in no time. You’ve never had a problem with that.”

  Kyle shrugged away from him. “I don’t want to make new friends. I wanna keep the ones I had in Houston. I don’t wanna live in this pathetic town out in the middle of nowhere. What am I supposed to do?”

  Deal with the changes like I have to. Cody clamped his teeth down and fought to control all the emotions bombarding him since his ex-wife died three months ago and Kyle came to live with him full time after years of wanting to have little to do with his father. He was quickly discovering loving his son and relating to him were two very different things.

  “That will change when you enroll in Durango High School on Monday.”

  Kyle turned away. “Sure. That’ll solve everything.”

  Cody plowed both his hands through his hair. Lord, please give me the patience I need with Kyle. “Durango isn’t that small. There are thirty thousand here.”

  “Yeah and most of them are Spics.”

  Cody stiffened. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. Mexicans don’t belong here. This is our country.”

  Cody had heard Kyle’s stepfather say that on a few occasions—almost word for word. “The United States was settled by many different nationalities. Didn’t you learn in history class that America is called the melting pot?”

  “They’re taking jobs away from hard-working Americans. They aren’t paying taxes. They’re overrunning Texas.”

  “Nate has a narrow view of this world.”

  “Wake up, Dad. A lot of people are saying those things, not just Nate.”

  “Who? Your friends in Houston?”

  “Yeah and Mom—” Kyle snapped his mouth closed and charged toward the doorway.

  Cody stood in the middle of his son’s bedroom, trying to fortify himself with deep breaths. But his constricted chest burned. He hated hearing his son parroting his stepfather’s words. Every other weekend for the past ten years hadn’t been enough for Cody to shape Kyle into the young man he’d hoped he would be. Frustration churned his gut as he scanned the boxes stacked around him—a picture of chaos like his life of late.

  Checking his watch, Cody strode into the hallway and toward the kitchen where he found Kyle standing in front of the near-empty refrigerator, studying its meager contents. “I’ll pick up some food on the way back here.”

  “Don’t forget PowerUp Bars.” Kyle shut the fridge’s door and left Cody in the middle of the kitchen, wondering how he was going to get through to his son, a fifteen-year-old who resented Cody for taking him away from Nate when his mother died.

  Then on top of everything, he had made the hard decision to take the Company D’s position in the Durango area. Ranger Al Garcia, his mentor when he had joined the Texas Rangers seven years ago, had been shot and forced to retire due to medical reasons. The case of his attempted murder was still unsolved. He owed Al and planned to figure out who shot him.

  That coupled with Kyle needing to get away from Nate and his influence had convinced Cody coming to Durango would be the best thing for his son. He needed a new set of friends. He was afraid if he had stayed in Houston, his son would have ended up in trouble—with the law. His son’s friends weren’t in a gang—at least he had not found them to be, but the peers Kyle hung with were the closest thing to a gang without being called a white supremacist group.

  Cody snatched up his keys and left his new apartment. It was situated in a complex of well-tended units with landscaped terrain, a pool being cleaned to open April 1st, and a fresh coat of tan paint and dark green trim on the buildings.

  Hopping into his navy blue SUV, Cody surveyed his surroundings, something he did everywhere he went even when he was off duty, a habit that had saved his life once when he had gone into a Quick and Go in the middle of a robbery. He slid a glance at his tan hat on the seat where he’d left it, then started his vehicle.

  His gaze fell onto the apartment complex’s main building where the office was, and he remembered something he’d wanted to tell Kyle. He withdrew his cell and called his son. Kyle answered on the second ring.

  “I forgot to tell you there’s a great exercise room off the pool area. I know it’ll take a while to set up your home gym. Until then, use their equipment. It’s top-notch.”

  “That’s okay. I’m searching for my stuff and putting it together first.”

  Click.

  Cody stared at the silent phone, punched the off button and slipped it back into his pocket. The counselor had said it would take time to reach his son, that he had suffered a devastating loss. He’d had ten years to get over the fact he and Paula wouldn’t stay together, that she would move on with another man. When he allowed himself to think about it, it still hurt, and if he were honest with himself, he missed seeing Paula even if it was only occasionally and solely because they shared custody of Kyle.

  Cody backed out of his parking space and headed toward the Durango Police Station on Alamo Boulevard, the main thoroughfare through the town. If he continued on that street to the highway, he would be at the Highway Patrol building where he would have his office.

  Halfway there, he heard a call come over the radio concerning a body found in a vacant house adjacent to the Rancho Estates, south of town. He programmed the address into his GPS, made a U-turn, and headed toward the crime scene. Most likely, he would be called in to assist in the investigation. He’d call the police chief and let him know where he was going. He might as well see the crime scene fresh.

  As I pace my living room, the adrenaline pulsing through my body finally subsides. I drop onto my couch, my hands trembling. Staring at the gun lying on the table a few feet from me, it finally sinks in. I killed her, that lying whore. She deserved it, using me like that. She laughed at me. Me! After I paid her way here.

  I hardly remember coming from the coyote’s drop-off site, listening to Anna tell me she hated the sight of me. How dare she say I was dumb and had an evil eye. I’m not even sure how I ended up at the abandoned house with my gun in my hand.

  I surge to my feet. Anger festers in my belly, as if eating holes into its lining. We were to be married next week. Now . . .

  I scan the room I painstakingly prepared for her arrival. No dust on any of the furniture. The hardwood floors swept. A new television set. Sitting on the coffee table in front of me is a glass vase with fresh flowers I bought at a florist.

  The sight of the bright red roses shoves the rage into my throat, clogging it. I inhale over and over, but the tightness in my chest threatens to send the fury to every part of me again. Consuming me. Changing me.

  Empowering me.

  For the first time in a long while, I controlled a situation. I took charge earlier. Me! She will no longer laugh at me. I pound my chest and the tightness breaks up, freeing me to be who I am.

  2

  It’s been quiet the past few months. Is it too much to ask for that to continue?” Brock Patterson, Liliana’s partner and the only other detective on the Durango Police force, asked.

  Liliana released a long breath and turned onto the dirt road that led to the vacant house. “I like quiet. Less
paperwork. But I guess that’s over.”

  “I’m just glad you’re the lead on this one. I’ve got my vacation planned. Two days, three hours,” Brock glanced at his watch, “and thirty-eight minutes I’ll be boarding a plane for my camping trip in Colorado.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not like I haven’t heard all the details for the past month. What I don’t understand is how you and your wife can consider camping in a tent in the middle of nowhere a vacation.”

  He laughed. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.”

  The jostle of the ride and the potholes created by the spring rains forced her to concentrate on driving rather than her partner’s humor at her being stuck in Durango working on a murder case. Maybe they would catch a break and solve it in two days.

  Three minutes later, Liliana sighted the vacant house—a patrol car and a dark blue SUV parked out front. The uniformed officer who was the first responder was talking to a man by the SUV.

  Liliana climbed from her car and covered the short distance to them while her partner walked toward the back of the house to check it out. Liliana tried to place the man angled away from her. Why was he here? A witness? Two children found the body and ran home. The six-foot stranger, dressed in dark brown slacks, white long sleeve shirt, yellow-and-tan striped tie, brown boots, and a tan cowboy hat, shifted toward her. She caught sight of the silver star over his heart. The new Texas Ranger assigned to the Durango area. Oh, great!

  She didn’t like change, and Al Garcia, the last ranger who served in Durango, had to retire due to a shooting. He would be missed—at least by her. In the cases they had worked together, they had fallen into a good rhythm and routine. She’d always felt she’d complimented him. He’d never tried to showboat her or keep her out of the loop. This new ranger could be entirely different, and she didn’t have the time or patience to break in a new one.

  “I’m lead on this case, Officer Vega.” Liliana said to the uniformed officer standing next to the ranger.

  “Good to see you. I figured you would be since Patterson is leaving on vacation.”

  Her partnership with Brock had fallen into a good pattern after working together for three years. She usually took the lead on cases involving the Hispanic population of Durango since that community could be closed mouth with a gringo. Swinging her gaze to the ranger standing next to her, she held out her hand. “I’m Detective Liliana Rodriguez. Are you Al Garcia’s replacement?”

  He shook her hand. “Yes. I’m Cody Jackson. I was on my way to the station to meet with your police chief when a call came over the radio about the body found here.”

  Tension gripped her neck and spread down her back. She knew that the Texas Rangers often worked murder cases in Durango, but she had never felt Garcia had been heavy-handed. What was this man’s intention? He didn’t even know the town or its people yet. Probably hadn’t been here a day.

  “Nice to meet you. If I can help you, please let me know.” Hoping that would be all, at least for the time being, she returned her attention to Officer Vega. “Have you checked the premises?” Liliana moved toward the porch, taking out her notepad while the Texas Ranger hung back for a minute speaking to Brock, who had joined him and introduced himself. She’d find out later what the man said to her partner, but for now she had a job to do.

  “Not thoroughly yet. The ranger pulled up before I got the chance to complete my search.”

  On the porch, Liliana stepped around some vomit, throwing a questioning look at the patrol officer.

  “According to what his mother said, Pedro Martinez did that. His friend, Brady Roberts, made it to the bushes over there. At least that’s what she rambled off to the dispatcher when she called this in.” Officer Vega pointed toward some foliage growing wild against the house. “I haven’t had a chance to interview her yet about the boys.”

  “Did she come to the crime scene?”

  “No, she only relayed what her son told her. He and his friend ran home right after they found the body. They were hysterical and she was trying to calm them down.”

  “So the two boys are at the Martinez’s house?”

  The officer bobbed his head once. “But Brady’s parents were on their way home.”

  She glanced back at Ranger Jackson and Brock striding toward them. “I’ll take care of interviewing the boys. The chief said there was a possibility a little girl could be here. Pedro was looking for his sister. She still hasn’t come home. Her mom and some of the neighbors are out looking for the child. The chief is sending some officers to help while we check here.” She pivoted toward Brock. “Cordon off the area around the house and check the rest of the grounds. I’m going to search the house. Officer Vega hasn’t had a chance yet.”

  Ranger Jackson removed his gun from his holster. “I can help with that.”

  “Fine.” As she entered the place with the ranger, two other vehicles pulled up to the scene and parked behind the ranger’s SUV. The scent of blood hung in the air, vying with a moldy, musky odor. Her attention riveted to the body lying in a pool of blood about ten feet inside the entrance.

  The woman, approximately twenty to twenty-five, stared up at the ceiling with vacant eyes. Inching closer, Liliana swept her gaze down the victim’s body, noting the bullet hole in her forehead and chest as well as her rounded stomach. Pregnant? If she was, she was probably about six months, at most.

  The ranger panned the living room. “Tell me what you know. The radio didn’t mention anything about a little girl. Do you think she was taken?”

  Liliana continued her visual inspection of the woman, dressed in a loose, full blouse over brown pants and tennis shoes, muddied. Bits of green foliage stuck to the bottom of her slacks. “Pedro Martinez, age ten, came looking for his eight-year-old sister, Maria. He was sure she was hiding in this house. They were playing hide and seek, and he saw her going this way. He had a friend with him named Brady Roberts. Instead of finding Pedro’s sister, they found this woman. When he saw her, he ran home and told his mother.”

  “So it’s possible the killer kidnapped Pedro’s sister.”

  “Yes or worse, but I’m hoping she’s somewhere in the neighborhood waiting for her older brother to find her.” Liliana drew her weapon and looked over her shoulder at the patrol officer standing in the entrance to the house. “How far did the two boys come into the house?”

  “Brady, according to Mrs. Martinez, went in a few feet while her son only came about this far.” Officer Vega, who had been on the police force for a year, gestured to the spot where he stood in the doorway.

  “You said you didn’t get a chance to thoroughly check the house. How much did you do?”

  “I went as far as the dining room. That’s when I saw his SUV pull up.” The officer nodded his head toward Ranger Jackson.

  “Okay. Let’s do a room-by-room search to rule out the possibility she’s here, maybe hurt . . .”

  “Or dead.” The ranger started toward the hallway leading to the back part of the house. “For that matter, the killer could still be here.”

  “Officer Vega, keep everyone outside until we’re through and know the house is safe for them to come in and process the crime scene.” Liliana inhaled a deep breath and peered toward the Texas Ranger. “I’ll take the upstairs.”

  Liliana ascended the stairs, alert for anything unusual. When she moved into the first bedroom, she surveyed the empty area, not one stick of furniture present. Crossing to the closet, the door open, she peered into it. Empty. She shone her flashlight into the dimness, checking for an entry to a crawl-space or storage area. Again, nothing.

  Back in the hallway, she repeated her inspection of the bedroom next to the first one. Discovering no evidence anyone had been up here recently, she backed out into the corridor and headed to the last door upstairs, like the others, it was open wide into its room.

  Stepping into it, she immediately noticed the few pieces of furniture—a couch along the north wall, an end table next to it, and a cabinet,
the doors open to reveal its empty contents. Funny, how all the doors were open as though someone had searched what lay behind them. What was he looking for? The girl? Something else? Had the girl even been here? Mrs. Martinez had told the dispatcher her husband was on his way home to search Maria’s favorite places in the field while she stayed with Pedro, who still shook.

  “I wish the walls could talk,” she murmured.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the middle cushion on the old couch move. With her weapon still drawn, Liliana crept toward the sofa, aimed her gun, and quickly yanked up the cushion in question. Wide, terrified eyes stared back at her.

  Liliana holstered her gun immediately and knelt next to the couch. This was the part of the job she hated, seeing a child hurting and afraid. “Maria?”

  The child sat up and hugged her arms to her, then rocked back and forth.

  The scent of urine wafting to her, Liliana unclipped her badge from her belt and held it up. “I’m a police officer. Are you all right?” she asked in Spanish in a calm, soothing voice. When the girl didn’t respond, Liliana switched to English. “Are you Maria?” When the child nodded, Liliana added. “You’re safe now. We’ve been looking for you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a gray mouse scurry out from under the couch and race toward the hallway. The little girl stopped rocking. Her dark brown eyes, shiny with tears, grew even rounder as the mouse disappeared out into the corridor. A tear rolled down her plump cheeks. “Did he get him?”

  “Who?”

  “Did the bad guy get Pedro?”

  “Your brother is fine at home with your mama.” She offered the little girl her hand. “C’mon. I’ll help you out of there.”

  “Are ya taking me home?” Putting her hand in Liliana’s, the child started to rise.

  “Down to the police station first.”

  Maria yanked away and sank back into her hole in the couch. “I want my mama and papa.”

  Liliana smiled. “I know and they’ll meet us down at the station. You’ll see them real soon.”