Murder in Texas
Autor:in
Barb Han
Gelesen
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Kapitel
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Chapter One
A December cold front arrived in Cider Creek at almost exactly the same moment as Liz Hayes. Mother Nature had decided to punctuate the sentence with sleet. Liz turned down her music so she could see better. Clouds covered the sun, making it dark outside for four o’clock in the afternoon. Pea-size hail pelted her windshield as the temperature gauge on the dashboard dropped before her eyes while she sat at the first red light past town.
Liz tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Being in her hometown was hard enough without the weather reminding her that she should have stayed home instead of taking this trip. Houston wasn’t far, but she rarely came back to her old stomping grounds to visit. Her jerk of a grandfather was to blame, but she didn’t want to think about him right now as she impatiently tapped her thumb on the wheel.
Traffic lights in small towns could last forever. This one felt like it had been red for an eternity. Under normal circumstances, she would appreciate being as delayed as possible. Driving in bad weather had her nerves on edge. The conditions were getting worse by the minute. In fact, she rolled her window down to get a feel for how cold it had become.
A sudden glow from the construction site to her left caught her attention. The lights must have been automatic, turning on now that it was almost pitch black. There was a noise coming from the area, too. She strained to listen. It wasn’t a noise so much as what sounded like a call for help—one that got louder and more desperate sounding the second time she heard it.
Liz tapped the button to turn on her hazard lights before pulling to the side of the road, opening her door and exiting her five-year-old Honda Accord. As she bolted toward what sounded like a male voice, a rogue thought that this could be some kind of setup struck. Setup for what, though? Crime in this small town was almost nonexistent. Her mind was probably playing tricks on her.
Either way, someone was in trouble.
As she neared the voice, she heard the fragility. A twinge of recognition dawned. This person was familiar even though she couldn’t quite place him as rain came down like needles against her skin. Wind gusted. She put up an arm to block against flying debris in case it came at her, too.
“Hello?” she shouted against the storm.
Liz reached the open lot. A structure that looked a lot like a small strip mall was in the early stages of development. Strange how she expected everything to stay the same since the last time she’d been here. Towns, like life, moved on.
Scanning the area, she didn’t see anyone. No one responded to her, either. She called out again and then listened. A half dozen thoughts fought for center stage in her mind. Was the person unconscious? Were they gone? Was the cry for help an echo that had traveled across the mostly bare lot? She didn’t want to question whether or not the person was dead. Were they? Alive yet buried?
A knot twisted in her stomach so tight she could scarcely breathe. Adrenaline coursed through her, causing her hands to shake. Liz reminded herself not to let her imagination run wild.
“Is anyone out here?” she asked. Sheetrock was stacked several feet high in spots near the metal beams that were beginning to look like what the structure would end up being. The person could be lying behind one of those.
There was a hunter-green porta potty in the middle of what looked to be a future parking lot. Wood was staked into the ground, marking something. Liz had no idea what. And there were piles of rocks, big and small, pretty much everywhere.
Maybe she was hearing things, losing her mind. The stress of having her small accessory company’s sales take off in the past year was clearly doing her in. Sales had gone through the roof, and she felt like she was paddling against a hurricane to keep up. She’d been handling the business well. Or so she believed. Orders were going out on time. The major retailer who’d picked up her line of Just Totin’ bags seemed happy so far. She’d had to ramp up production on what had felt like a moment’s notice.
Liz and her controlling grandfather might have been opposites in almost every way, but she credited him with passing down incredible business sense. She was building her company from the ground up with no outside help, much in the same way he’d done for his successful cattle-ranching business. Duncan Hayes might have been a jerk, but he’d been shrewd. A twinge of guilt struck at calling him a jerk now that he was gone.
Liz sighed. She assumed the family meeting she’d been called home to take had to do with figuring out what to do with the cattle ranch and inheritances—money she didn’t want or need because she hadn’t earned it. Her mile-long stubborn streak had probably come from her grandfather as well.
Gravel crunched underneath her boots as she circled the construction site. This wasn’t the time to regret wearing heels. At least her feet were dry and warm as another gust of wind snapped around her, whipping hair so dark it almost faded into the night around her. Strands stuck in her eyelashes as Mother Nature’s wrath sent larger chunks of hail crashing into Liz.
Turning toward the sedan she’d abandoned, she decided to retreat while she still had a hint of pride left and before her vehicle ended up on the back of a tow truck.
“He-e-e-lp me.” The weak voice came from behind her. Liz whirled around to a spot she’d missed when she’d been circling the area. A cold shiver raced through her as she bolted toward the sound.
As she rounded a stack of sheet metal that was backed up to a pile of gravel, a bolt of lightning cut sideways across the sky. There it was, plain as day...a human hand sticking out of the gravel. Was he stuck underneath heavy Sheetrock? Wedged in somehow?
Another wind gust caused wood to come flying from seemingly out of nowhere. Visibility in this area was next to nothing since there was no light in this part of the construction zone. The last thing she wanted to do was step on the hand. She instinctively checked her pockets for her phone, then remembered it was still inside her car.
“I’m here,” she said, hearing the panic in her own voice. “Hold on. Okay?” Please don’t die.
Staying rooted to her spot, she bent down and searched for the hand where she’d last seen it. The second she found it, fingers closed around her. A moment of pure panic struck at the thought she might not be in time to save this person. Pushing through her anxiety, she offered reassurances as she started digging him out.
A pair of headlights illuminated her vehicle on the road. She shouted and waved, but the truck went around her car and kept going. No one wanted to be out in this mess for longer than they had to.
Resolve replaced fear as she let go of the hand so she could use both of hers to move the gravel. A person was wedged underneath the Sheetrock.
“Hold on, okay?” Liz asked, but it was more statement than question. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
In the dark, it was impossible to get a good look at the man’s face. Based on the feel of the skin on his hands, he wasn’t young. Not old, either. Middle aged? His hand was like ice. She was already shivering from the cold. At least the hail had let up. Bad storms in Texas had a way of blowing right through faster than a roller coaster at Six Flags.
The reprieve from being hit in the face every few seconds was welcomed.
The man mumbled something unintelligible.
The likelihood she was going to get him out at her slow rate of progress was slim.
What else could she find to dig him out? There had to be something around here to work with. This was, after all, a construction site. Wouldn’t there be tools? She scanned over by the well-lit areas. Saw nothing.
Since she was in a praying mood, she went ahead and sent up a request for an ambulance and maybe a forklift operator. Trying to lift the heavy construction materials off the man by hand would be impossible. The most she could do was make it budge the tiniest bit.
There was no choice but to run back to her car and call for help, no matter how much she hated leaving him here alone. Would he understand her if she told him the new plan?
“I have to call for help. I’ll be right back,” she said, finding the hand again. There wasn’t much life to it, but a small squeeze of reassurance gave her hope that he was still fighting. “Hold tight.”
Liz stood up and then turned around, ready to make the run back to her sedan. Lightning flashed. She gasped as she stared at the chest of a man.
“Oh, hell no,” he said as she fisted her hands at her sides, ready to fight back.
Another voice came up behind her. She felt a blow to the side of her head. And then everything went dark.
DILLEN “PIT BULL” BULLARD paid the cab driver, exited the vehicle and then shouldered his rucksack. On a sharp sigh, he tucked his chin to his chest and headed toward the double glass doors at Cider Creek General Hospital.
Five days had passed since his father’s accident. It had taken two days to get word to him where he’d been deployed and three to get back home. Home? He almost laughed out loud. Cider Creek, Texas, was the furthest thing from being his real home. He’d grown up here. Hated every minute of a childhood where he hadn’t fit in. And couldn’t get out fast enough.
There was no reason to feel sorry for himself. He’d found his calling with the United States military as an army ranger. Rangers Lead the Way. Considering his father had been fighting for his life for five days with Dillen almost as far away as a person could be, he couldn’t help but think he’d failed.
Dillen was here now. He’d convinced his supervising officer to let him skip the normally requisite visit to the alpaca farm in east Texas where he could cool off so he wouldn’t reach for a weapon on instinct if someone tapped him on the shoulder in a grocery store line. Coming in hot meant he’d have to manage his emotions. Living in a hot zone for months on end had a way of making a solider prepared for any kind of fight, even when diplomacy was the best course of action.
A receptionist sat behind a bar-height circular counter. A twelve-foot Christmas tree twinkled to his left. Signs of yesterday’s holiday were everywhere. To say he wasn’t in the yuletide spirit was the understatement of the year.
The attendant’s back was to him, and she was playing a game on her cell. He’d been to this place many times in as a kid, always as a patient and mostly because of fighting. Going into the military had given him a positive outlet for his anger. Ranger school had exhausted him and taught him how to channel his rage at something productive—a real enemy and not some kid who’d made a smart remark about how poor Dillen and his father had been. Or how his dad couldn’t keep a woman around. Jerks. The grown-up version of him realized that now.
He cleared his throat to get the lady’s attention. She swatted like there was a fly buzzing beside her.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, clearly irritated by the interruption.
Did she just disrespect him?
A coil tightened in Dillen’s chest. He smacked his flat palm down onto the counter. The receptionist jumped. She spun around in her chair, phone still in hand. The go straight to hell look he shot her got attention. It probably didn’t hurt that he was still wearing full operational camouflage. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at him.
“May I help you?” she asked, her voice cracking enough for him to realize she was afraid.
He didn’t know how to turn down the level of intensity, so he stood there practically glaring at her. “My father is here. William Bullard. I’m told he isn’t doing well.”
“Oh, right,” she said, like that explained his intense mood. People not doing their jobs while they were on the clock sent white-hot anger roaring through him.
Dillen took in a couple of deep breaths while he watched her roll up to the computer and tap keys on the keyboard.
“The waiting room is on the fifth floor,” she said without looking up at him. “You can’t miss it.” She pointed toward an elevator bank. “Those will take you where you want to go. Just don’t forget he’s on five, and you’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. His Southern manners were ingrained in him now. Ma’am and sir were instilled in his vocabulary from his time in the military. He would have thought growing up in a small Texas town would have done the trick. It hadn’t hurt. He’d been rebellious enough to fight using any sign of respect.
Dillen walked over to the elevators and then pushed the button to go up. At ten o’clock at night, it didn’t take long. The hallways on the ground floor were almost empty, too. The ding sounded, and doors opened. Dillen walking inside and pushed the number 5. The ride was short. He could use a cup of coffee. But first he needed to see his father. Too many years had gone by without Dillen keeping in touch in the way he should have. In the way a good son would have.
So many could haves and should haves.
Dillen bit back a curse, clenching his teeth to keep from saying something he shouldn’t and adding to the list of regrets.
The last thing he remembered about being home was how much he couldn’t stand the Hayes family and their holier-than-thou attitude. They were everything he wasn’t. The boys had been athletes and made good grades in school. The girls had been picture perfect and way out of his league. Then again, he hadn’t had a league back in high school. He’d had raging hormones compounded by the fact he’d lived in a town where he never belonged. His father hadn’t belonged. Dillen had been picked on, made fun of and generally tortured until he’d filled out his six-feet-three-inch frame. Then, he’d signed up for the military before he could take out his revenge on the jerks who’d made his life miserable and wind up in jail.
There was one Hayes in particular he couldn’t stand more than the others. Liz Hayes had been in his grade and was everything he despised about the small town. She was privilege times ten and knew it. All she’d had to do was bat an eyelash for one of the jocks to rush over to pick up her pencil if it had dropped on the floor. It had been disgusting the way his classmates had been ready to jump if she’d snapped her fingers.
The elevator dinged, jolting him back to reality and out of his quick trip down memory lane. He realized his hands were fisted, and he clenched his back teeth so hard he thought they might crack if he didn’t ease up.
So, yeah, he was ready for battle.
Dillen forced a couple of slow breaths as the doors opened. There was a nurses’ station immediately in front of him. He assumed the waiting room would be off to the side. Maybe he could swing by his father’s room rather than sit in a blue-and-white room with burnt coffee sitting on warmers.
There were two nurses at their station. As soon as he stepped out of the elevator bank, they studied him as though a warning call had been made from downstairs.
“The waiting room is right over there,” one of the nurses said. “We’ve alerted Dr. Lawrence that you’ve arrived. He’s on his way.”
Dillen nodded and thanked them. It might’ve been best to be briefed by the doctor before he saw his father in person. Although part of him wanted to explain to the nurses there wasn’t much that could shock him considering what he did for a living.
He stopped halfway across the hallway and turned. “Coffee?”
“There should be some already brewed in there,” the nurse said. The somber tone had him concerned. “If not, let me know and I’ll put on a pot.”
After thanking them again, he walked into the sterile, white-tiled room with blue chairs. The room was empty save for one woman with a large bandage on her head. She looked up, and his hands fisted.
What the hell was Liz Hayes doing here?
