CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Dust swirled outside the car window, crimson like the blood that had dried on Rachel's knuckles. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, her body aching from the tussle with Big Joe. Each bump in the road sent a jolt of pain coursing through her bruised ribs. Ethan's hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in concentration.

"Joe," Rachel's voice cut through the hum of the engine, sharp as a knife. "Charlie. Where is he?"

Big Joe shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, his cuffed hands resting futilely in his lap. "I don't know nothing about Charlie," he grumbled, but the unease in his voice betrayed him.

"Cut the crap, Joe." Rachel didn't miss a beat. "You're knee-deep in this, and you know it."

Ethan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes flickering with concern for a moment before returning to the road. The silence stretched thin, filled only by the gravel crunching under tires.

"Charlie's got a lot of places he could be," Big Joe finally said, reluctant.

"Start talking, or it's going to be a very long ride," she pressed, ignoring the throb in her side.

Big Joe grunted, his massive form crammed in the backseat of their unmarked car. He wore a sullen glare, and the blue feather in his hair lifted and fell with each deep exhale.

"No."

"No, what?"

"No," he said simply.

Rachel reached down and pulled on the lever to lean her seat back. It slammed into Big Joe's belly.

He grunted, air whooshing from his lungs.

"Whoops," she muttered. "Sorry. Not cramped are you?"

He just scowled at her in the rearview mirror.

She turned fully now, fixing her gaze on him. "Tell me more," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Nothing. Don't know Charlie. Let me go."

"You want me to let you go?"

He frowned at her tone.

But her mind was working overtime. Charlie was small potatoes. She wasn't here for a violent man who used his fists. She was here for a murderer.

"Tell me," she said, "about Charlie, and I'll let you out of the car. Right now."

He stared at her.

She didn't break eye contact, hoping to communicate her seriousness.

"Rachel?" Ethan muttered.

But she ignored her partner. She couldn't lose focus. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

Charlie stared at her, as if he couldn't quite believe what she'd said. She didn't look away.

"You let me go?"

"Yes."

"Swear it."

"I swear it."

"On your badge," Big Joe snapped, shifting uncomfortably from where her seat still leaned against his legs.

"I swear it on my badge."

He harumphed, bit his lip, then released a small sigh.

"She's kidding, right?" Big Joe finally muttered to Ethan.

Ethan didn't reply. His gaze was locked on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel from tension.

Rachel didn't take her eyes off Big Joe. Her piercing stare dared him, challenged him to weigh his options and make a choice. Finally, he grumbled, "Fine."

"Start talking," Rachel ordered.

"Charlie had a plan," Big Joe started slowly, licking his lips nervously.

"And what exactly was this plan?" Rachel asked, her voice as cold as ice.

"Charlie... Charlie's a little guy with big ideas," Big Joe finally said, his voice barely more than a growl.

Rachel reclined her seat, relieving some pressure off his hulking physique. "Ideas about what?" Her question echoed in the tense silence of the car.

"Money," Big Joe grumbled.

Rachel leaned forward again, the tension back in full force. "What kind of money-making scheme was Charlie involved in?"

Big Joe shifted uncomfortably, blowing at the blue feather in his hair like a distracted child.

"You're lying," Rachel shot back instantly, her gaze never wavering from the rearview mirror.

"No." He retorted sullenly.

"I'll let you out if you tell us the truth," She reiterated, her tone icy and unyielding.

Ethan glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, an unspoken question lingering in the air. But she was not here for Big Joe or his petty assaults; she was here for murder.

Resigned, Big Joe muttered something under his breath before saying, "Charlie... he always talked about blackmailing someone."

"Who?" Rachel demanded, her pulse quickening.

The silence stretched out between them like an endless tunnel before he murmured, "Lucy Thompson."

Rachel drew back involuntarily as if struck, her bruised knuckles white against the dashboard. "Spill it, Joe. What was Charlie holding over her head?" Her voice cut through the tension like a serrated blade.

Big Joe's lips twisted into an uneasy smirk, his eyes shifty and calculating. "Blackmail? Nah, you've got it all wrong—"

"Cut the crap, Joe!" Rachel barked, slamming her palm against the dash for emphasis. Her mind raced to connect the dots—Lucy's cold, lifeless body sprawled beside Miguel's in the opulence of their mansion, a scene she couldn't shake from her memory.

"Think, Joe! What did he have on her?" Rachel drilled down harder, her piercing gaze fixed unblinkingly on the man cuffed in the backseat.

"Dammit, I don't know!" Big Joe shouted, rattling his restraints against the car door. "Just that it'd break her heart or something sappy like that."

Heartbreak. Murder. The words echoed hollowly in Rachel's thoughts. She pressed her lips into a thin line, the wheels turning behind her steely gaze. Lucy Thompson's death was no coincidence, and neither was her connection to Charlie. The puzzle pieces were falling into place, but the picture was far from complete.

The red truck. It came to Rachel in flashes, the crimson blur at the scene, the stench of spilled blood mixing with Texas dust.

"What color is Charlie's truck?" she demanded.

"Red," Big Joe said.

Rachel hissed in frustration. She was hoping for something else. Something they could act out. The APB was out, but Charlie was on the run.

"Never could've done it," Big Joe said, his tone laced with a conviction that didn't reach his eyes.

"What's that?" Rachel asked.

He said it again, more firmly, "Never could have done it."

"Done what?"

"Kill."

"What do you know about killing?"

He scowled. "You rangers come here, because those dead rich folks?"

"You know about that?"

"News."

Rachel stared at him, and he stared back just as sullenly.

"Right." The linchpin was the blackmail, but she didn't have enough yet. Big Joe needed to talk.

"Lucy and Miguel... Think. What did Charlie have on them?"

"Beats me." Big Joe's shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug, a silent admission of ignorance—or deceit.

"Beats you," Rachel echoed, her frown etching deeper lines across her brow. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, the taste of iron filling her mouth as she bit down too hard. Lucy Thompson hadn't just been killed; she'd been silenced. But for what?

"Dammit."

"Let me out," Big Joe said.

"You tell me everything?" she asked.

"Yes. Now keep your word. Let me out."

Rachel hesitated only a moment.

She sucked in a harsh breath, her nails digging into the padded dashboard. "Ethan," she barked suddenly, causing him to startle at the sharpness in her voice. "Pull over."

He shot her an incredulous look. "You sure, Rae?"

"I'm sure," she snapped, her gaze fixated on the disappearing horizon, the encroaching twilight casting long shadows over her taut features.

The patrol car skidded across the dirt road, dust clouds erupting around them, the crunch of gravel echoing in the stillness of the night. Big Joe's grunt of relief was barely audible over the rustle of sand and pebbles.

"Lift your feet." Rachel's voice sounded distant as she leaned over the console to unlock his cuffs.

"Don't make me regret this," she warned as he stretched his massive frame out of the cramped back seat, a sigh of relief seeping through his gritted teeth.

Rachel's gaze remained locked onto Big Joe's retreating figure.

Rachel's mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and unanswered questions. If Charlie had gone to blackmail Lucy Thompson and Miguel Ortiz, what had gone so awfully wrong? Why were they dead instead?

Her fingers curled and uncurled restlessly as she stared blankly out at the desolate Texas landscape. She felt like she was missing something – a crucial piece of information that lurked just beyond her mental grasp.

She tugged out her phone and checked her email again. No reply yet from the coroner.

"I can't wait," she said suddenly.

"What's that?"

"Coroner's report," she muttered. "I can't wait. We need to go see."

"What? The coroner's office?"

"Yes. I want to see Miguel and Lucy."

"O-okay… We calling ahead?"

"Don't care. I just want to see them. If Charlie was there to blackmail Lucy… how come she's dead?"

"Maybe it went south?"

"Then why kill the others? If his was a money play… why turn serial?"

"He snapped? Lucy rejects him, maybe she even threatens to reveal whatever secret he had herself—you know, take away his leverage. He can't deal with that big of an upset, all his plans coming unraveled. And he goes on a rampage."

"Maybe."

"I mean… it fits, doesn't it?"

Rachel bit her lower lip. It didn't sit right. And Big Joe's conviction… Charlie wasn't a killer. It wasn't a stellar character witness, but it wasn't something to ignore either.

"Then we've got to figure out what's going on," Rachel said, determination flashing in her eyes. "Cause right now, all we have are loose ends and dead bodies."

Ethan gave a grim nod, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He pulled the car back onto the road, the engine's growl echoing as they raced towards the morgue.