CHAPTER EIGHT

The Texas moon glared down at her, casting elongated shadows across the barren expanse of the parking lot where Rachel Blackwood stood alone. The blue moonlight glinted off her badge.

She hadn’t been able to sleep.

For an hour, she'd tried.

And now, for an hour, she'd paced the parking lot.

A couple of vehicles had pulled in as she’d marched back and forth, but she was too distracted to trace the comings and goings of late night, motel clientele.

She pressed her aunt's number on the phone and raised it to her ear.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Her boot on the dry ground. Each tap a drumbeat counting down the seconds as she waited. Impatience twisted inside her, a tight coil ready to spring. Eyes darting around, she scanned the area. Always on alert. The screen of the phone glowed in the encroaching dusk.

"Come on, Sarah," she murmured, more to herself than anyone who could hear.

The line clicked. A breath. Then, a voice, distant like an echo in a cavernous space. "Rachel?"

"Aunt Sarah." Relief was a weight lifted, but the burden of concern was a heavier load to carry. Rachel's voice cut through the distance. Crisp. Clear. "Are you safe?"

A pause. Then, the sound of Aunt Sarah's detached tone brushed Rachel's ear. "Yes, Rae. I'm safe."

The answer hung between them, the words too sparse to fill the silence that stretched out, taut like a wire pulled to its limit. Rachel's fingers gripped the phone tighter, knuckles whitening.

Rachel's thumb hovered over the disconnect button. She didn't press it. Instead, she steadied her voice, a Ranger's voice—firm, demanding presence.

"Who was it, Aunt Sarah? Who came after you? I need a name." Her gaze fixed on a cracked patch of earth by her boot—dry, barren, unyielding.

"Name? What are you talking about, Rae?"

"Joseph White Cloud. Was it him?" The name cut through the line like a bullet, aimed and potent.

"Joseph who?" Confusion laced Aunt Sarah's words.

"White Cloud," Rachel repeated, slower, pressing each syllable as if they could carve understanding into this conversation. "Is he the one?"

Silence stretched. A dog barked somewhere in the distance—a sharp sound.

"Never heard of him." Aunt Sarah's voice was flat, a closed door in the face of Rachel's probing.

"Damn it." The curse slipped out—a rare crack in Rachel's disciplined facade. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Frustration seared her thoughts, leaving behind a smoky trail of more questions, less answers.

“How’s that possible?” Rachel said suddenly. “Dawes gave me their names… You and him are always sharing information.”

“It must never have come up.”

“What do you mean?”

Rachel frowned even more deeply now.

“I don’t remember everything Dawes tells me. Let it go.”

“Who took a shot at you?”

“I told you…”

"Tell me again. From the top. What exactly happened? Exactly. Everything you remember."

"We were drinking, right here at home, when someone shot through the window." Aunt Sarah paused, inhaling sharply. Then went on. "I flung my grease into the face of one of the hoodlums. Dawes tried to see who it was, but the shooter was too fast. They took off before he could get a look."

Rachel's fingers tightened around the phone, her grip a vice that echoed the tight knot in her chest. "Is Dawes okay?"

"He's fine, Rae," Aunt Sarah assured her, voice steady and sure as granite. "Just angry."

Those words should've brought relief. They should've untied the knot in Rachel's chest. But they didn't.

"Stay safe," she insisted into the silence. The words were firm, command-like.

Aunt Sarah chuckled at that, a soft ripple of laughter that eased some of Rachel's tension. "I can take care of myself, dear."

"You have to promise me." Rachel's voice was sober now, the teasing tone replaced by something raw and real.

"And what about you?" Aunt Sarah shot back. "You're tangling with dangerous men every day."

Rachel sighed. A wordless agreement. An argument they’d had so many times before.

Aunt Sarah had always been hard on Rachel.

"Rae?"

"Nothing, Aunt Sarah." Rachel shifted her stance, gravel crunching underfoot. "Forget I mentioned him. Just tell me what the hell happened from the top. Before the gunshot. I mean… dammit, this is my job. Give me something to work with here."

“Language!”

“Tell me what happened.”

"Two men in masks showed up at the cabin. I saw them coming from a mile away." There was a note of scorn in her voice. "They tried to shoot, but I dumped the oil pan on them and ran."

“And Sheriff Dawes?”

"He was running interference, trying to get a good look at them, but they were too quick." Aunt Sarah's tone was flat, as emotionless as the West Texas landscape. "We didn't recognize them."

Rachel bit back her frustration. She felt like she was digging in dry soil with a blunt shovel. No progress. No answers. Only more questions, and time was a luxury they couldn't afford.

Still, she pressed on, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of irritation. "Anyone new in town recently? Anyone who might have a reason to come after you?"

A heavy silence followed her question. Then finally, Aunt Sarah sighed, a tired noise that crackled over the phone line. "It could’ve been anyone… I have enemies. I always have.”

The cryptic response left Rachel frowning into the setting sun. The orange blaze of the horizon cast long shadows across her face, deepening the creases of worry etched onto her forehead.

"What do you mean?" she pushed, looking for something solid to grasp onto in the shadowy landscape of half-truths and secrets.

But Aunt Sarah had retreated back into her shell of stoicism. "I have to go.”

“Look… I might’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest. Just… just stay safe, alright?”

“I will.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. They won’t be. I scalded one of them something good.”

Rachel felt a jolt of satisfaction. “Are you with Dawes right now?”

“The sheriff is keeping me safe…” she said cryptically.

“Any idea why they came after you?”

“None.”

“Are you sure?”

“None.”

The answer came quickly. Too quickly?

Rachel frowned.

"Alright then." Another pause, another gulf widening between them.

A gust of wind kicked up dust, swirling around Rachel's boots as she shifted her weight. The sun bore down.

"Listen," Rachel started, her voice losing its edge, "just... stay safe, okay? I can't—"

A pause. She steadied her breath against the sudden tightness gripping her chest. This was not just about duty; it was blood calling to blood.

"Promise me, Aunt Sarah."

The miles between them seemed to shrink with that plea, the connection more than just a digital thread. For a heartbeat or two, the only sound was the distant buzz of cicadas, their chorus rising and falling with the breeze.

Then, laughter. Soft at first, like the rustle of leaves, then growing clearer. Aunt Sarah's chuckle broke through the tension, a balm to the sting of helplessness.

"Rachel, when did you become such a mother hen?" Aunt Sarah's voice carried warmth now, a rare note of affection that threaded through her usual stoicism. "I'll be fine. You're the one out there chasing shadows and stirring up trouble."

"Trouble seems to find me, doesn't it?" Rachel managed a half-smile, though she knew it couldn't be seen.

"Like moth to flame." Aunt Sarah's words were a gentle tease.

"Take care, Aunt Sarah. Please."

“I will. Dawes won’t let me out of his sight… Just like old times.” A faint cackle, suggesting Dawes’ ears were reddening now somewhere in the background.

“What are you working on?” her aunt said.

“M-me? Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Come now. You sound tense.”

Rachel sighed. “Really, Aunt Sarah, it’s nothing.”

"Rachel Blackwood, don't you dare try to fool me." Aunt Sarah's voice had a sharp edge to it, a clear warning that her evasive behavior was not going to pass unnoticed.

Rachel sighed audibly, her breath crackling through the phone. "We got ourselves a killer," she admitted at last. "Someone’s targeting people connected to oil tycoons."

The silence that followed was heavy with unsaid words. The burning sun lent an eerie glow to the deserted landscape around Rachel as she waited for her aunt's response. The weight of the badge on her chest felt heavier than ever.

"Any idea who it could be?" Rachel prompted, casting her gaze across the silent parking lot.

A sigh. "Rachel," Aunt Sarah began tentatively, "you should know better than anyone that money and power aren't just twin brothers; they're Siamese twins. They stick together, always hungering for more."

Rachel frowned at the cryptic response. "What does that mean, Aunt Sarah?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Simply this," came Aunt Sarah's voice again, quieter now. "The more you have, the more you want. Power breeds power; money breeds money. Greed is a voracious monster that feasts on the weak."

"But who would..." Rachel's voice trailed off as the implications of her aunt's words sank in.

Again, there was silence on the phone line before Aunt Sarah finally spoke up again.

"Money," Aunt Sarah finally said, each syllable a stone dropped into still water. "It always comes down to money. And power. People kill for less."

Rachel bit back a sigh. Clues were what she needed, not riddles. Yet, a part of her prickled with curiosity. Money and power. The pillars of motive since time immemorial. But how did they connect to the blood spilled across the oil fields?

"Alright, Aunt Sarah," Rachel yielded, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dipped low, bleeding red into the sky. "If you think of anything—"

"I'll let you know." The line went dead.

Rachel pocketed her phone, the weight of it like lead against her thigh.

She stood alone on the dust-pocked road, the tranquility of the Texas landscape a stark contrast to the storm churning inside her. Aunt Sarah’s words echoed in her mind. Power and money. Greed. Was there a pattern she was missing?

Rachel knew this killer had a motive. They always did. But what if it wasn't just about oil money? What if there was more to it, a larger game at play? Years of experience told her that things were rarely as simple as they seemed.

Something pulled at her, like an instinct honed over years of ranger duty. A whisper of suspicion that told her the truth was buried beneath layers of deceit. Dust swirled in restless eddies around her boots. Her hand instinctively went to her gun at her side, comfort in its familiar weight.

“Rachel!” a voice called sharply from near the motel.

She turned. Ethan was standing there, frowning in her direction, pointing.

She hesitated, then approached the motel. She’d been pacing the motel parking lot and making calls for nearly an hour now. She hadn’t spotted the large SUVs that had slowly pulled into the lot.

Five of them, by the look of it.

Dark clouds were slowly creeping across the sky as she approached the motel.

Ethan was standing by the door, grim-faced. He opened it slowly, nodding cryptically towards the opening.

“What is it?” she began.

But she went quiet.

As she stepped foot onto the sidewalk facing the entrance of the motel, she went still.

Six men in black suits were standing within the room.

They belonged to the SUVs, she surmised.

And there, standing amidst the towering, muscle-bound suited men, was an elderly woman.

The woman had a distinct air of authority despite her petite stature. Her sharp eyes cut through the imposing figures surrounding her, a touch of defiance in every line of her body. She was dressed formally, a black dress contrasting against her silver hair that was pulled back into a tight bun. Her weathered face spoke of years spent under the Texan sun, of hardships endured and battles fought. She met Rachel's gaze as the Texas Ranger stepped inside, her expression unreadable.

"Rae," Ethan murmured from behind, but Rachel held up a hand to stop him.

With measured steps, the older woman made her way towards Rachel. Each step echoed in the silence of the motel lobby until she finally stopped a few feet away from Rachel and Ethan.

"Rachel Blackwood," she said in a voice that carried weight, "Alice Danvers."

Despite the simmering anger boiling beneath the surface, Rachel inclined her head in acknowledgment. Studying the older woman's face, she registered the lines etched deeply around her eyes and mouth – marks of time's passage but also an undeniable testament to the woman’s resilience.

She extended a hand - frail-looking but with a grip like iron when it clasped onto Rachel's own. "I’ve been expecting you,” Alice said, her words clipped and precise.

The look in Alice Danvers' eyes was intense and calculating, making Rachel feel like she was under meticulous examination. Suddenly, however, Alice broke their silent stare-off with a sharp laugh, tilting her head and causing her tightly pulled-back bun to bob and her steel-rimmed glasses perched on her nose to shift in the light above. She was maybe five feet tall, dwarfed by the men surrounding her. But there was power in her small frame, the kind that came from years of authority.

The CEO of Danvers Corporation stood in a hotel lobby at midnight, surrounded by bodyguards. Surely, it was no coincidence. The timing was too perfect. An answer right at Rachel's doorstep, an answer she hadn't expected until morning.

Alice's gaze pierced through the dimly lit room straight into Rachel's eyes. There was a calm confidence about her that Rachel found irksome.

"Ms. Danvers", Rachel greeted curtly.

Alice's gaze shifted to Ethan for a brief second before she responded. "I hear you’re looking to speak with me.”

Her voice had a worn quality about it, like well-tread leather.

Rachel’s phone vibrated. She glanced down, frowning. A message from Dawes.

It simply read, safe. Don’t follow.

She typed back, keep her protected.

No response.

She huffed in frustration, but looked up again.

She maintained eye contact with Alice Danvers, facing her across the midnight lobby.

“Are they necessary?” Rachel asked, glancing at the suited thugs.

Danvers flashed a smile, her lips pulling back like a wolf’s revealing its canines.

“I wouldn’t have thought so until last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“Someone tried to shoot me,” she said simply.

Rachel frowned.

“Ms. Danvers,” Ethan said, stepping in. “We’re very sorry for your loss. We know you were close with Cheryl.”

Alice pursed her lips, and her eyes flashed suddenly. She went rigid, like stone. “My daughter… was close. But recently… recently, we’d drifted apart.”

“How apart?” Rachel leapt in.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m implying you don’t sound like a grieving mother.”

“My daughter is dead, Ranger Blackwood. Allow me to grieve as I see fit.”

Ethan winced sympathetically, but Rachel wasn’t in a sympathetic mood.

She stepped forward, peering down her nose at the wizened matriarch of the Danvers Corp.

“Did you kill her? Did you kill Cheryl?”

Alice Danvers’ eyes narrowed like a crocodiles, and a cold note crept into her frigid voice.

"Watch your tone, Ranger," she hissed, her frailty giving way to a dangerous edge. "Lest you forget who I am."

Rachel wasn't fazed by the icy warning. Instead, she squared her shoulders and challenged Alice with a stare of her own. "I'm fully aware of who you are. That's why I'm here," she said.

The lobby was silent save for the low hum of the motel's old air conditioning unit. The tension was palpable, vastly out of place in the otherwise quaint accommodations. Ethan shifted subtly behind Rachel, but she didn't break her focus from Alice.

She could feel the woman's gaze on her as if it were a physical weight. Her anger simmered just beneath the surface, fueled by thoughts of her aunt hiding somewhere in Texas while Alice stood unscathed.

Alice gave a dismissive wave to one of her bodyguards, who had swiftly stepped forward.

“I’ll take care of this,” Alice instructed her bodyguard, without removing her piercing gaze from Rachel’s. Then she turned back to face Rachel. “No, Ranger Blackwood,” she replied curtly. “I didn’t kill my daughter. But whoever did just tried to kill me, and I think I know who it was.”

“And who’s that?”

"Why don’t you come with me,” she said, instead of answering. "I’ll tell you exactly who’s behind this. And if I know them, this is just the tip of the iceberg.”

But as she spoke, there was a sudden squealing sound from the parking lot. Rachel and Ethan turned sharply, and Rachel’s gun leapt into her hand.

She aimed towards the window, watching a single, angry red brake light as a motorcycle sped away.

A split second passed… and then a loud boom as one of the SUVs parked in the handicapped spot burst upward, carried by a ball of fire. Glass shattered, alarms screamed. And then, a second explosion as another one of the five SUVs exploded, shattering the motel's front window. The SUV had gone up in flames. The force blew them all back, and Rachel tucked her head down, using her body to shield Ethan. Debris scattered like a swarm of bees, clattering against the motel's exterior facade, and shattered glass rained down on them. Flames licked at the sky, illuminating the parking lot with an eerie spotlight.

Rachel shot up instantly, scanning the area for any immediate threats. Ethan was on his feet too, his gun drawn and ready. Alice's bodyguards were closing in around their charge when Rachel saw it: a faint glint of metal from the corner of the motel's neighboring building.

"Sniper!" she yelled over the roaring flames and screaming alarms. She grabbed Ethan's arm, pulling him towards a safer spot behind one of the still-intact SUVs. They crouched low as Rachel tried to get a bead on where the sniper might be positioned.

"Are you sure?" Ethan asked, his voice shaking from adrenaline.

"Yes," Rachel answered tersely, her own heart pounding in her chest.

As she peeked around the vehicle, she saw Alice Danvers being ushered towards another SUV while her bodyguards returned fire towards where Rachel had pointed out. She couldn't make out if they were hitting anything or anyone.

"We need to get over there," Rachel instructed Ethan. "On three."

One...two...three...

They sprinted across the open space between them and Danvers, bullets whizzing past their ears. A bullet hit the asphalt near Rachel's foot, sending chunks of debris flying up against her legs, but she didn't flinch.

Another round of bullets flew past.

A chatter of machine guns.

She cursed. Where had the assailants gotten machine guns? She supposed they were in Texas after all.

She sprinted towards the building, taking cover behind one of the burning vehicles. She noticed that their own small sedan had also been set on fire. The flames licked the

air and sent a thick smell of burning rubber into the clear night. Ethan followed suit, sliding in next to her. Both of them were panting heavily now.

"They're armed to the teeth," he managed to gasp out between breaths.

"I noticed," Rachel snapped back, her eyes scanning the scene.

The bodyguards had gotten Alice Danvers into the last remaining SUV. One of them was returning fire while the other one was frantically trying to start the vehicle. But it sputtered and died, failing to start.

"Shit," Rachel muttered under her breath. She could see that they were sitting ducks out here.

"We need to move," she said decisively. "We need to provide some cover for Alice."

Ethan looked at her like she had grown two heads. "You're not serious..."

"I'm deadly serious," she retorted, meeting his gaze with steely determination. "If Alice dies tonight, then our lead goes with her.

With that, she stood up from behind the burning vehicle, leveled her gun toward the building where she had spotted the glint of metal and started firing.

Ethan joined in after a moment's hesitation, covering their flank as Rachel provided suppressing fire for the bodyguards and Alice.

As expected, this drew return fire from their adversaries. Bullets whizzed past them like angry hornets, kicking up dust and debris around them. But it also drew their fire away from Alice and the bodyguards – which was exactly what Rachel had intended.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

A bullet grazed Ethan's shoulder, making him cry out in pain, and he wheeled like a top.

“Ethan!” she shouted.

“Fine, fine!” he said through gritted teeth. “Just hot. Is fine.”

She glanced at the graze along his ripped shirt sleeve. His shoulder boasted an angry burn. But he wasn’t shot.

She released a slow breath of relief. But it was short-lived.

She had to reach the sniper’s perch, but they were pinned down. She cursed, glancing one way, then the other.

Her own rifle. In the back of their burning car. It was in the trunk. The flames were thickest on the driver’s side.

Maybe she could reach it.

“Ethan, cover me!” she shouted.

And she broke into a sprint.