CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dawn crept over the Texas horizon, its light a pale intruder into the darkened motel room. Rachel Blackwood’s eyes snapped open, her internal clock wired for early starts. She lay still for a moment, letting the silence settle around her like dust. The sheets felt stiff against her skin, the pillow bearing the faint scent of industrial detergent. No luxury found here – just the essentials for transient souls passing through.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, muscles tensing in preparation for the day ahead. Her boots stood at attention on the worn carpet, laces curled like sleeping serpents. With practiced motions, Rachel dressed, holstering her weapon with the familiarity of routine. The mirror reflected a woman shaped by duty, her dark hair pulled back to reveal a face marked with purpose.

Joseph hadn’t talked.

He blamed her for his brother’s death. She’d pulled the trigger. But he was keeping his lips sealed. For half the night, she’d tried to get him to talk. But paramedics had provided obstacles. Doctors. Then lawyers.

She was champing at the bit, but it would take time before she was cleared to speak with the man who’d tried to kill her.

Even as she realized this, she felt her frustration mounting.

She felt as if her soul was being torn in two separate directions. She shook her head, marching out of the room, pushing open the door and allowing it to swing shut.

Ethan was already waiting there, leaning against the rail facing the parking lot of the empty motel.

He glanced over from under his baseball cap, his eyes fixated on hers. He scratched at the stubble forming on his usually smooth jaw. She was surprised to see his eyes ringed red.

“Ethan,” she said. “You good to go?”

Alice Danvers was waiting for them to interview her down at the station.

Ethan turned, his eyes finding hers with an intensity that bordered on desperation. "Rae," he said, his voice low and rough with concern.

"Morning," she replied, her own tone clipped.

Ethan looked like a man on the verge of a choice. He looked troubled. He opened his mouth, closed it. He released a slow, leaking breath, closed his eyes. “I…”

He swallowed.

"Ethan? Are you okay?"

And then he moved. Fast on the draw. Faster than her.

He closed the distance between them in two strides, his embrace enveloping her in a sudden rush of warmth. Surprised, Rachel's breath hitched, her hands hovering before resting tentatively on his back. Ethan’s lips found hers in an unexpected kiss, a silent plea etched into the gesture.

The moment stretched, time and the rest of the world seeming to stand still. Then he was pulling away, a brief flash of vulnerability in his eyes before he ducked his head. "I... I..." He swallowed again, struggling for words. Rachel watched him, her heart pounding against her ribs. This was Ethan, her steadfast partner, always quick with a quip or a reassuring word. Seeing him like this was disconcerting.

"Last night," he finally said, his voice raspy as though choked by emotion. "I was scared." His gaze flickered towards the bandage on his shoulder then back to her face, something raw and earnest in his expression.

Rachel took a step back, needing the space to process. He was scared because of his injury? But it had been minor, barely more than a scrape. And Ethan had always been stoic about pain.

Then it clicked. He wasn't talking about himself.

"You were scared...for me?" The words felt strange on her lips. She'd always been the one looking out for others' safety; being on the receiving end of such concern was unfamiliar ground.

Ethan nodded, a ghost of his usual smile crossing his face. "You're too important to lose, Rae."

Silence fell between them again as Rachel studied him.

Rachel's heart thumped against her ribcage, a rare flutter in a chest usually bound by control. She stepped back, the space between them crackling with the echo of their shared moment. It was a vulnerability neither of them could afford, yet it lingered there, as tangible as the cool metal of her badge against her chest.

They’d flirted. Gone on dates. Grown closer…

But this was different. There was more behind that kiss than any interaction they’d had before.

Rachel touched her lips, the warmth of Ethan's kiss still lingering as a stark contrast to the chill in the air. She studied him for a moment, recognizing the genuine fear that had prompted his bold move. There was no room for softness in the harsh light of dawn, yet it found a way to sneak past the barriers she meticulously built.

"Okay," she started, her voice betraying none of the emotions swirling within. "Alice Danvers. We need to figure out what she knows."

Ethan just watched her.

Rachel sighed. She could see the scorned puppy dog look return to Ethan’s face. She hated that.

“You know I think you’re hot, right?” she blurted out.

He smirked. “How hot?”

She hesitated, then leaned in, giving him a quick kiss back. “Now don’t make a thing out of it. Focus, okay? I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re both fine.”

He sniffed, nodding. “Sorry… sorry, I don’t mean to be a wimp.”

"Yeah, well. Stop it then," she said. Then she winked, so he knew she was half-kidding.

Ethan was always more comfortable with emotions.

He was more emotionally oriented than she was, coming from a large family and all. Yet Rachel had spent her life learning how to stow away those feelings in favor of tangible facts and concrete actions. She knew emotions could be messy, unpredictable.

But with Ethan?

She found she didn’t mind so much.

She walked past him and slapped him on the backside as she did.

“How hot?” he repeated.

"Let's go then." Rachel approached the unmarked car, the black paint job absorbing the early sunrays. They drove in a strangely contented, after-glow silence, each lost in thoughts, the quiet hum of the engine blending with the distant calls of waking birds.

The station loomed ahead, its brick facade an unyielding fortress against the sprawling Texas landscape. They parked and walked through the doors, badges visible, purpose clear. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as they made their way down the sterile hallway to the interrogation room.

The closer they drew to the interrogation room, the more Rachel’s thoughts focused on the task at hand.

Ethan at her side was source of warmth, of support.

She shot him a glance, quirking an eyebrow. “You ready?”

He nodded and pushed open the door.

Alice Danvers sat at the table, a bright red dress enveloping her form like a warning sign. It was a bold choice, and Rachel noted the calculated effect it had on the room. Alice looked up, her gaze sharp and assessing, a coy smile playing on her lips as if she were at a social event rather than an interrogation.

"Mrs. Danvers," Ethan greeted, pulling out a chair across from her.

"Agent Morgan," Alice replied, her voice smooth. "And Ranger Blackwood. Good to see you again."

Rachel gave a curt nod, taking her place beside Ethan. The game was set. Now it was time to play.

Ethan leaned forward, his elbows bracing against the cold metal table. His fingers interlocked, creating a steeple that pointed straight at Alice Danvers. "Let's talk about the night your daughter died."

Rachel moved away from the table, restless. She stood in the shadowed corner of the room, her boots planted firmly on the linoleum floor. The air hung heavy with tension, each breath seeming to draw it tighter around her. She watched Alice's every movement—the tilt of her head, the flicker of her eyelids, the way her hands rested too casually on the tabletop.

"Cheryl," Alice began, her voice steady, "was my world. You think I had anything to do with what happened to her?"

"Your relationship with the Hargreaves family is well-documented," Ethan pressed on, his tone even, relentless. "Your affiliations are... problematic."

Alice's lips curved into something that could've been a smile, but her eyes remained glassy, unreadable. Rachel noticed a slight tremor in Alice's fingers as they brushed over the fabric of her dress—a flash of red amidst the starkness of the interrogation room.

"Affiliations don't equate guilt, Detective Morgan," Alice retorted. "Are we guilty by association now?"

She no longer looked frightened as she had last night. She looked in control, steady.

Rachel's pulse thrummed in her ears. She catalogued every shift in Alice's body language, the subtle cues that could betray lies or truths.

"Guilty? That's for a jury to decide," Ethan said. "But hiding something? That's what we're here to uncover."

"Hide?" Alice's laugh was devoid of humor, a sharp exhalation that echoed off the walls. "I've lost my daughter, Detective. What else is there to hide?"

Rachel edged closer, her gaze locked onto Alice. The woman sat like a coiled spring, her red dress a splash of defiance in the sterile room. Rachel's thoughts churned with questions, doubts, theories. She felt the itch to jump in, to take control of the questioning, yet she held back, allowing Ethan to navigate the waters.

"Loss doesn't absolve involvement," Ethan continued. "We need to understand where you fit into all this." Ethan leaned forward, his hands flat on the table. His eyes never left Alice's as he spoke. "We know about Cheryl's plan," he said. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Alice stiffened. Her gaze flickered, a brief moment of vulnerability betraying her composed exterior. She clasped her hands together, knuckles whitening. "Cheryl had many plans," she replied, her voice steady but strained.

"Plans that involved betraying you," Ethan pressed, voice unyielding. "Collaborating with the Hargreaves against you."

A muscle twitched in Alice's jaw. She swallowed hard, the bob in her throat visible. The fabric of her dress seemed to pulse with her quickened heartbeat.

"Cheryl was my daughter," Alice said, a crack surfacing in her armor. "Her death..." She paused, the effort to maintain control evident in the tightening of her features.

"Still hurts," Ethan finished for her, softening his tone just slightly.

"Yes." The admission escaped Alice like a sigh, the word barely above a whisper. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath, an attempt to compose herself.

Rachel watched from her vantage point, a silent sentinel. She noted the way Alice's hands tremored before settling into stillness again. She saw the glisten in Alice's eyes, the defiance battling with grief. Rachel's own heart thudded, empathy a dull ache in her chest. But her focus stayed sharp. Every detail mattered.

Alice seemed genuine… glimpses of sadness. But she could easily have been acting.

The clock on the wall ticked, each second a drumbeat in the quiet room. Alice lifted her chin, reclaiming some semblance of her prior steeliness.

The silence stretched. Rachel shifted, the leather of her boots scraping faintly against the linoleum floor. Her movement was deliberate, a signal that cut through the stillness like a knife. Alice's head turned, eyes locking onto Rachel with an alertness that betrayed her cool exterior.

"Who shot at you last night?" Rachel asked, her voice low and steady.

Alice's fingers tightened around the armrests of the chair. She didn't flinch, but the question had landed. "Someone in a large RV," she replied, her tone almost casual. "At a gas station."

"Bodyguards?" Ethan's brow furrowed slightly, his gaze never leaving Alice's face.

"Retaliated," Alice confirmed with a nod. The corners of her mouth twitched as if the memory brought some dark amusement. "They were prepared. I have good people."

"Seems like you've made quite the enemy," Ethan added, folding his arms across his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, watchful.

"Or enemies," Rachel corrected, her focus unwavering. Every word mattered. Every detail they could glean from Alice was another piece of the puzzle.

Alice leaned back. "It's not a small list," she admitted, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "But I'm still here."

"Where were you the night Cheryl died?" Rachel's voice cut through the silence of the interrogation room like a blade.

“This again? I told you.”

“I’m asking location, not involvement.”

Alice's fingers drummed on the table. "Home," she said with a measured calmness. "With company. They can vouch."

"Names," Rachel demanded, her notebook ready.

"Marcus Trenton. Linda Bale." Alice's lips barely moved as she spoke the names. "Dinner party. Ask them."

Rachel scribbled, her handwriting tight and controlled. The pen paused, hovered. "We will."

The room's stillness was oppressive. Every click of the clock was a hammer against Rachel's temples. She waited, letting the pause stretch, watching Alice's composure.

The woman looked calm. Sad, but calm. She was a master at hiding her emotions. Did Rachel believe her? They’d check the alibi, no doubt. But again, with this sort of money, plans could be executed from a distance.

Still… had this woman really killed her own daughter? Posing her so horrifically?

She seemed genuine… And if someone had actually taken a shot at her…

Too many unknowns. They’d have to check the alibi.

Ethan stood silent by the door, his presence a steady pressure. His eyes never left Alice, reading her responses, anticipating the lies or truths that might spill forth.

Suddenly, Rachel's phone vibrated. The sound was jarring, intrusive. She glanced at the caller ID: Dispatch. Her finger pressed accept, and she brought the device to her ear.

"Blackwood."

"Ranger Blackwood, we've got a situation." The dispatcher's voice was terse, urgent. "New body found on Hargreaves' property. Jake Shields."

Rachel's pulse quickened. Shields. Cheryl's boyfriend. Another link in the chain. She ended the call without a goodbye.

"New development," Rachel said, her words clipped. She locked eyes with Alice, searching for a tremor, a sign. Nothing.

"Something wrong?" Alice asked, her tone innocent.

Rachel ignored her.

"Let's go," she said to Ethan, her voice low but edged with urgency.

Ethan pushed off from the table, his movements deliberate. He stepped forward, his eyes barely flickering in Alice's direction as he passed by her. A silent signal that they were done here. For now.

The interrogation room door swung open with a creak, and the two of them crossed the threshold into the sterile hallway of the station. The overhead lights hummed faintly, casting stark shadows on the linoleum floor. Rachel’s boots clicked in a steady cadence as she led the way.

"Shields," Ethan muttered, suggesting he'd overheard the call, catching up to her stride. "That's no coincidence."

"No," Rachel agreed, her voice a thread of sound. She kept walking, passing closed doors and the occasional officer who glanced at them with curiosity. They didn't slow down.

They reached the exit, and the air outside hit Rachel with a sudden chill. The early morning sun cast a pale light over the parking lot. Their new cruiser was a solitary figure in the expanse of asphalt, waiting.

"Keys," Rachel said, extending her hand without looking at Ethan. He placed them in her palm, the metal cool and solid. She gripped them like a lifeline.

They climbed into the vehicle, the doors shutting with a definitive thud. Rachel ignited the engine, the growl of the cruiser's V8 cutting through the silence. She steered them onto the road, the police station receding in the rearview mirror.

Ethan had specifically requested a more powerful vehicle now that their last one was torched.

It drove faster, moved quicker.

"Jasper Hargreaves' land," Ethan said.

“Yeah.”

“Coincidence?”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

She pressed harder on the gas, the needle on the speedometer climbing. The landscape blurred past, an endless stretch of Texas terrain unfolding before them.

"Think Hargreaves is our man?" Ethan asked, watching the horizon.

"Too soon to tell," Rachel replied, her focus unyielding. "But we're about to find out. But… no… I don’t think so."

“Someone planted it?”

“Jasper was a careful man. A cautious one. Think he’d make a mistake like this?”

A pause. “No.”

“I don’t think so either.”

“Someone wants us to look at Hargreaves?”

“We need to confirm… but yeah. That’s my gut instinct.”

"I agree. And someone took a shot at Alice?"

“If she’s telling the truth.”

“I think she is.”

“Yeah. At least some of the truth.”

‘So someone’s going after these two tycoons.”

Rachel nodded, a scowl on her face. “So who is bold enough to take on two billionaires, and think they can get away with it?”

She floored the pedal, and their newly loaned vehicle screamed through the desert, racing towards the newest crime scene.