Chapter Five

Ruston sat in one of the chairs in the guest room and, well, multitasked. He was watching the sleeping baby while Gracelyn showered in the adjoining bath. But he was also working on a laptop while drinking coffee and hoping for a miracle.

One miracle was that the caffeine would perform some magic and make him feel as if he’d gotten a decent night’s sleep and now had a clear head. He’d slept some in this very chair, but that nowhere near qualified as anything decent, and so far, his head was nowhere near being clear.

Judging from the glimpse of Gracelyn’s bleary eyes as she’d headed for the shower, she was in the same boat. No surprise about that. Like him, not only had she been dealing with the aftermath of the attack on them but also the flood of information they’d gotten since arriving at the ranch.

Three murders.

And all of them people who’d had a connection to either Gracelyn or him. People who could have ultimately given them the identity of the person responsible for this nightmare.

Someone was clearly cleaning up after themselves. Tying up loose ends. And Ruston needed to find something, any thing , that would give them a break so he could learn who wanted them dead.

Unfortunately, scouring the steady stream of reports coming in and going over Devin’s old interview wasn’t giving him anything he could use. He figured Duncan was no doubt going through those same reports in his home office, along with coordinating this end of the investigation. That included the CSI search of the gunmen’s truck and the search of the grounds of the rental where Gracelyn had been staying.

Detective Noah Ryland was keeping both Duncan and him updated about the active cases there: the three murders and the break-in at Ruston’s apartment. Noah had also managed not only to get himself assigned as one of the detectives on the murders, but also to secure Marty’s laptop since there hadn’t been any actual paperwork in the dead man’s office. The laptop was now in the hands of the IT specialist that Noah trusted.

So far, the updates from Duncan, Slater and Noah had been disappointing. And outright frustrating. Someone, somewhere, had to know something that would help make sense of all this, but for now, there were still a whole lot of questions and very few answers.

He hoped some of those questions were about to be answered when his phone dinged with a text. But it wasn’t from Duncan, Slater or Noah. It was from Charla.

Where are you? Charla texted. Tony wants you at headquarters right away.

Ruston frowned and then mentally cursed. Eventually, he was going to have to meet with Tony, but he didn’t want that to happen until he learned who was trying to kill Gracelyn and him.

Tony wants Gracelyn in as well , Charla added a few seconds later. You’ll both need to give a statement about the attack last night.

I emailed Tony a statement , Ruston quickly pointed out, knowing what he’d given wouldn’t be nearly enough. It had been the bare-bones details.

You know how this works , Charla insisted. You need to be interviewed in person.

Ruston had a quick comeback for that, too. The attack wasn’t in SAPD’s jurisdiction. Technically, that would fall under the duties of the county sheriff, but Duncan had already spoken to him, and he’d relinquished authority to Duncan. Charla almost certainly knew that.

Again, he didn’t respond, and a few moments crawled by before Charla attempted to call him. So that the sound wouldn’t wake up the baby, he’d put his phone on vibrate, and it rattled in his hand. Shortly after the rattling had stopped, he got the ding for a voicemail and listened to it.

“Damn it, Ruston, talk to me. This is important.” In the voicemail, Charla huffed. “We got an anonymous tip that Marty was Green Eagle. We could finally be close to solving the case about the baby farm, and I know you want to be in on that. Call me,” she demanded.

“Anonymous tip,” he muttered, and, yeah, there was plenty of sarcasm in his voice.

If such a tip had indeed been phoned in, it had likely come from Marty’s killer. Or someone connected to the murder, anyway. Then again, if Charla was behind this, the tip could be a lie, a ruse to try to tie all of this up.

Ruston’s attention zoomed to the makeshift crib when the baby whimpered. Gracelyn had fed her less than thirty minutes earlier, before she’d gone in to take her shower, and the baby had fallen asleep during the burping process. That was when Ruston had gone down to the kitchen to get himself and Gracelyn some coffee.

The burping and so-called uptime, which Gracelyn had explained was to minimize baby reflux, had just been coming to an end by the time he’d returned, and Abigail hadn’t stirred when Gracelyn had placed her in the crib. However, she continued to squirm now, prompting Ruston to get up and move closer.

The baby still had her eyes closed but was smiling.

That made Ruston smile, too, even though he’d read somewhere that babies this age didn’t actually sport that particular expression. It certainly looked like the real deal to him.

The bathroom door opened, and before he could even glance in that direction, Gracelyn blurted out, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s fine,” Ruston assured her.

Or rather that was what he tried to do. It was obvious the reassurance hadn’t worked one bit. Gracelyn ran to the baby, practically pushing him aside.

“She was just moving around a little and smiling,” he added to his explanation. In fact, that smile was still on her tiny mouth.

Gracelyn released an audible breath of relief, and he could see she had to work to rein in whatever emotion had sent her running to the baby. Fear, no doubt, mixed with a whole boatload of worry.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Nerves on edge.”

“No apology needed.” He attempted more reassurance by giving her what he hoped would be a soothing look. This time, he was the one who failed when he saw the blood on her forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

She immediately pressed her fingers to a spot just inside her hairline. A spot he hadn’t noticed the night before since her hair hadn’t been swept away from her face the way it was now.

“It’s just a small cut that I must have gotten when the safety glass was shot out in the SUV. It’s okay,” she insisted, taking out a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and pressing it to the wound. “I must have aggravated it when I was trying to brush my hair.”

“Do you have any other cuts?” He immediately wanted to know.

“I think there’s one other,” she said, turning and lifting her hair so he could see the already scabbed spot on the back of her neck.

He wanted to curse. Wanted to beat those gunmen to a pulp. Yes, an extreme reaction to seeing two small cuts, but they were reminders that they could have easily been gunshot wounds.

She turned back to face him and muttered, “Yes.” Gracelyn knew exactly how close they had come to dying.

He was about to fill her in on the three texts and voicemail he’d gotten from Charla, but she continued before he could do that.

“If their plan was to kidnap Abigail,” she said, “those men took a huge risk shooting into the SUV.”

They had indeed, and thinking about that had been a big contributor to Ruston’s lack of sleep. “Maybe they did that because they panicked?” He threw the idea out there. That was one of his theories, anyway. “Or maybe because their orders were to eliminate you and me at all costs?”

It sickened him to think that the “cost” could have been the precious baby.

“The men had the infant seat in their truck,” he reminded her. “And if the plan wasn’t to take Abigail, then they could have just blown up the house or set it on fire with us inside.”

She made a sound of agreement. “How long had you known my address before you showed up?”

“About five hours.” He’d already given this plenty of thought as well. “So, maybe those men learned when I did. Perhaps Marty told them, or they found out through a mole or some kind of listening device. Either way, they would have had those five hours to figure out how to come after you.” He paused. “Did you do your own security or hire someone else to set it up?”

“I did it,” she answered, “with items I bought with cash the day I decided to disappear nearly a year ago. In fact, I’ve lived mainly off cash since then. Both Allie and I got a share of our parents’ life insurance money after they died in a car crash. Allie blew through hers, but I saved mine and have been living off it since my resignation.” She shook her head. “Those thugs didn’t locate me through the security system, and that takes us back to Marty or someone connected to him.”

Gracelyn seemed to settle a little. Ironic, since they were talking about the attack. But they were doing more than that. They were looking at this like cops and not intended victims.

“Did you get any calls or new reports when I was in the shower?” she asked.

“A few,” he verified, “and basically all said the same thing. Everything is still being processed and looked at. Including Simon’s and Archie’s murders. Times of death for those two are about an hour apart, so the same person could have killed them both and then gone after Marty.” He stopped and went through the mental checklist. “I also got three texts and a call from Charla.”

The worry returned to her eyes. “She’s demanding you come in?”

He nodded. “And you.”

“Me? How did she know about...?” Gracelyn stopped. “Duncan would have had to do a report, and she could have accessed it. Of course, she wouldn’t have needed to access it if she already knew I was an intended target.”

“Bingo.” It still didn’t sit well with him to think of a fellow cop as being responsible for this, but there were bad apples in every career field, and she might be one of them. “Charla says they got an anonymous tip, claiming that Marty was Green Eagle.”

Gracelyn’s eyes narrowed. “That’s convenient.”

“Isn’t it, though?” he quickly agreed. “It works both ways in the killer’s favor. If Marty was indeed Green Eagle, then he can’t spill about anyone else who was involved in the baby-farm operation. If Marty wasn’t Green Eagle, then someone wanted to set him up, probably with the hopes that setting him up would end any further investigation.”

“That’s one neat little package,” Gracelyn muttered. “Too neat for my liking.”

Ruston couldn’t agree fast enough. “Let’s see how this neat little package plays out. Charla will likely say that because Marty was Green Eagle, he wanted the baby for his still-ongoing business.”

Gracelyn picked up on that scenario. “And that Marty wanted to get back at us for infiltrating the baby farm and causing him to have to move locations. Probably costing him a lot of money because of that. So, Marty hired you, somehow already knowing who you were. You and I were supposed to die, with you being set up for my murder.”

He nodded. “But it’s equally possible that Marty didn’t actually orchestrate the attack against us. He could have been merely a middleman who had no connection to the baby farm or to us before someone used or hired him to set up yours and Abigail’s kidnappings. He might not have had a clue how someone else was intending for this to play out. In the meantime, the cops will focus on Marty, and the real killer could just fade into the background.”

“Or come after us again,” Gracelyn muttered, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He saw the punch of emotion hit her, but then she quickly shook it off. “And that brings us back to Charla and Tony. Maybe,” she amended. “And maybe they’re clean. If so, that leaves Allie and Abigail’s bio-father, Devin Blackburn.”

Yes, because those two were the only other known players in this potentially lethal puzzle. Ruston had to ask, though he knew it was going to give Gracelyn another of those emotional jabs. “Could Allie have been in on the attack? Does she have a motive?”

“Trust me, I’ve been giving this a lot of thought,” she muttered.

Of course she had. Gracelyn was still a cop at the core, and motherhood was an obvious connection they couldn’t overlook.

“There’d be no obvious reason for Allie to kidnap the baby and kill us,” Gracelyn said. “Obvious,” she repeated. “If she wanted Abigail back, Allie knows how to get in touch with me. She could have called or texted the burner phone in my go bag. I check it often, and there was no contact from her.”

Ruston figured Gracelyn had already thought of one possibility, so he voiced it. “What if Allie believed that you wouldn’t give Abigail back to her? What if she thought, or someone convinced her, that kidnapping the baby was the only way she’d get her child back?”

Gracelyn’s groan was soft, but it seemed to rumble through her entire body. “I wouldn’t have just handed Abigail over to Allie. Not until I was certain she wouldn’t do anything else reckless. And not as long as she was involved with a man like Devin Blackburn. So, yes, Allie might have known that, and Devin might have convinced her to go along with the kidnapping.”

“And our murders?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Allie wouldn’t have agreed to that. And, no, I’m not saying that because I’m her sister. I’m saying it because Allie isn’t violent. She’s, uh, more of a doormat. A very pliable, easily swayed one who Devin could have used to help him set up the kidnapping. Allie would have known what kind of security I was using, and there’s a slim chance she might have even had an idea of where I was.”

Ruston jumped right on that. “How?”

“I had notes on my tablet,” she admitted, her forehead bunching up. That in turn caused her to wince a little, and she dabbed at the cut again. “Notes about possible rentals that I could use to make quick moves. My tablet is password protected, but there’s a chance that Allie could have seen me typing and then accessed the notes without me knowing.”

“Why would she have done that?” he pressed.

“Not specifically to find the notes,” Gracelyn assured him. “But maybe to try to contact Devin. Or to check his social media posts.” She stopped and sighed in frustration. “One minute Allie would be cursing Devin for the way he treated her, and the next, she’d be going on about forgiving him. Right before she left, she had convinced herself that she was responsible for him hitting her.”

That was classic battered woman syndrome, and apparently the urge to forgive him and reunite had won out. Or maybe it had.

“You’re sure Allie voluntarily left to go to Devin?” he asked.

Gracelyn opened her mouth and then immediately closed it, obviously rethinking what she’d been about to say. “You’re thinking he somehow lured Allie away?” She paused, then groaned again. “It’s possible. That could go back to Allie using my tablet to get in touch with him. If she did, though, she didn’t leave a trace of that contact. No copies of emails in the Sent folder or trash.”

“Allie could have deleted them. Or Devin could have instructed her to delete them. You said he had an arrest for computer hacking, so he’d certainly know how to do something that simple.”

“Yes,” she muttered, and a moment later she repeated it while she was obviously working through this theory.

Because he was watching her, he saw the exact second she followed the theory to one possible conclusion. A bad one.

She nodded, swallowed hard. “Devin has a violent temper, and he could have lured Allie to him in order to punish her for leaving him. He could have already killed her.”

Yeah. That was a bad possible conclusion, all right. Abusers could escalate. Hits and slaps could turn into something deadly.

“Oh, mercy,” Gracelyn whispered, and the emotion took over.

Ruston went to her, pulling her into his arms, and she didn’t resist. Gracelyn just let him hold her. Let herself lean on him while she dealt with the sickening realization that her sister could be dead. Unfortunately, that might not be the end of this scenario.

He gave Gracelyn a minute. Then two. And he just kept holding her. Definitely not a chore. In fact, it felt good to have her close like this. It stirred memories, of course. Of the heat. Of the one time they’d been together when a hug of comfort had turned into a kiss.

And then so much more.

Obviously, Gracelyn hadn’t been able to deal with that more since she’d left the following day. That was the reason Ruston couldn’t do what his body was urging him to do and push this contact further. He darn sure couldn’t kiss her. That would risk her going on the run again, and he didn’t want to lose her.

“If Allie is dead, if Devin killed her, then he might want to get Abigail,” Ruston said. He was whispering now, too, because even though Abigail was way too young to understand, he didn’t want her to hear any of this. “He might not want any DNA evidence to link him to Allie, and the baby would do that.”

He felt Gracelyn’s muscles tighten. “I could link him,” she muttered.

Ruston eased back enough to meet her gaze. “And that leaves me. Until you told me about Allie and Devin, I had no idea about that connection.”

She made a sound of agreement. “It’s possible Devin contacted Marty to arrange the kidnapping, and Marty hired you.” She stopped. “So, if Marty was indeed Green Eagle and knew your real identity, he could have used this opportunity to get rid of both of us and get payment from Devin for the baby.”

Ruston was about to continue that line of thought, but his phone vibrated again, and he saw Noah’s name on the screen. He showed it to Gracelyn, and he answered the call.

“Noah,” he said, “I have Gracelyn here with me, and I’m putting you on speaker.” That would save Ruston from repeating any info Noah was about to give them. And hopefully, that info would be useful and not simply more bad news. They’d filled their bad-news quota for a while.

“Good,” Noah replied, “because I had a question for her. Do you recall when you contacted retired sergeant Archie Ingram?”

“About two weeks ago,” she quickly provided. “If you need the exact date, I can get it.”

“Probably not necessary,” Noah assured her, “but you should know that thirteen days ago, Archie called SAPD headquarters and asked to speak to Lieutenant Tony Franklin. Tony wasn’t available, so Archie left a message, saying it was important, that some reporter was asking about the baby-farm investigation.”

Gracelyn and Ruston exchanged glances, and she was probably thinking what he was. That this could indeed be important. If Tony had gotten concerned about a reporter, then he could have attempted to nip it in the bud. But for that to fit meant that Archie, or Tony, had figured out that Gracelyn was the bogus reporter.

“Did Tony call him back?” Ruston wanted to know.

“I’m not sure, but it’s something you might want to ask him. He’s on his way to Saddle Ridge, Ruston. I suspect he’ll find his way to wherever you’re staying.”

Ruston wasn’t sure whose groan was louder, his or Gracelyn’s, but he thought he was the winner. “Any idea when he’ll be here?”

“My guess is soon. I saw him hurrying out of his office about twenty minutes ago. Emphasis on hurrying .”

That would have been about the time Ruston had ended his call with Charla, and he wondered if Charla had said something to Tony to make him rush out to Saddle Ridge.

Probably.

Even if Tony didn’t know where the family ranch was, he’d soon find out, and that could mean he’d be here in as soon as ten minutes. Too bad his other sister, Bree, wasn’t home. Bree was a high-profile lawyer for the Texas Rangers and could create legal walls in a blink to stop Tony from getting near the ranch.

But Ruston immediately rethought that.

He didn’t want to hide behind Bree and legal walls anyway. He’d talk to Tony, give whatever statement was necessary, all the while watching for any signs that the lieutenant could be a cold-blooded killer.

There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, Ruston thought that meeting with Tony would be even sooner than he’d thought. But it was Slater.

“It’s me,” Slater said, keeping his voice low, no doubt because of the baby.

“Thanks for the info,” Ruston told Noah, and he ended the call before he opened the door.

His brother was indeed there and not alone. Joelle was with him, and she had a tray of breakfast items. Fruit bowls, pastries and some juice. “You’re probably not hungry,” she immediately said. “But I decided to bring it up anyway.”

Ruston checked the time. Just past nine, so not late, but he realized he should have already gotten Gracelyn and himself something to eat since neither of them had had dinner the night before. And, yeah, they wouldn’t be hungry, but they should still try to eat.

He thanked his sister, who had already set down the tray and was making her way to look at the baby. “How did she sleep?” Joelle asked.

“Pretty good,” Gracelyn supplied. “She had a four-hour stretch before she woke up for a bottle. And now she’s about an hour into a nap. She might nap for another three hours before I have to feed her again.”

“Speaking of feeding,” Slater said, handing Ruston a large canvas shopping bag. “Extra diapers and formula,” he explained. “Joelle arranged to have it delivered.”

“But I made a point of telling the store clerk I was having some serious nesting urges and that I wanted the items for the nursery,” Joelle added. “That way, no one is blabbing about a baby being here at the ranch.”

Gracelyn added her own thanks to Joelle. It was possible the ranch hands were aware that Abigail was here, but the fewer people who knew, the better.

They shifted their attention to Slater. Everything about Slater’s expression conveyed that he didn’t have good news.

“Did you find the gunmen?” Ruston came out and asked. He set the canvas bag in the chair where he’d slept.

“No, but we think we know who one of them is. The blood is at the lab, and that might take a while to process, but there was a single partial fingerprint on the passenger’s-side door handle. The handle had been wiped down, but he must have missed this one. Probably because he was in a hurry to get out of there. Anyway, the CSIs ran the partial, and they got an immediate hit for a man named Terry Zimmer.”

Ruston tested out the name by repeating it a couple of times, but it wasn’t familiar. “Zimmer has a record? Is that why his prints were on file?”

Slater shook his head. “He was a cop in Austin and resigned after some complaints about excessive force. That was three years ago, and afterward he supposedly worked for a company that provides security for large parties, weddings and corporate events.”

Ruston latched on to one word. “Supposedly?”

“He did work there, part-time,” Slater confirmed, “but he quit a little over a year ago, and no one at the company has heard from or seen him since.” He paused a moment. “The CSIs found something when they ran facial recognition on him.”

Slater took out his phone, and Gracelyn and Ruston stepped closer to look at the picture. It was a grainy shot but still clear enough for Ruston to realize what he was seeing. The sprawling Victorian house that had once been a small hotel. That’d been its purpose fifty years ago, anyway. But it had been converted into something else.

The baby farm.

This had been the place Gracelyn and he had infiltrated. The place where they’d nearly died.

Gracelyn had no trouble recognizing it either, it seemed, because Ruston heard her quick intake of breath. Despite the god-awful memories it held, though, she didn’t back away. Neither did Ruston. That was because the house wasn’t the only thing in the picture. There was a man dressed in dark camo, and he was armed. His stance suggested he was standing guard.

Slater zoomed in on the man’s face. “This was a picture taken shortly before Gracelyn and you arrived there undercover. And that’s Terry Zimmer.”

Ruston’s mind began to whirl with thoughts of what this might mean. One immediate question came to mind. Was this Green Eagle? Ruston’s guess was no. The boss of an operation that made millions of dollars probably wouldn’t have been doing guard duty.

“Why wasn’t this match made after the attack?” Gracelyn wanted to know. “Why did it take so long to identify him in this picture?”

“Apparently, because there are hundreds of photos that were taken over a monthlong period when the San Antonio cops had the place under surveillance,” Slater explained. “Or that’s what the CSIs told me, anyway. Hundreds that are still in queues waiting to be processed. This picture was one of them, and it popped because it’d been scanned into the system, but that’s about all that had been done with it.”

Ruston knew it wasn’t that unusual for evidence to take months to process. He only hoped that someone, like a dirty cop, hadn’t purposely delayed the examination of this photo.

“Does Duncan know all of this?” Ruston asked.

Slater nodded. “I filled him in before I came up to tell you.” He paused. “While I had the CSI on the phone, I asked for a quick background on Zimmer, and I got his employment history. As a rookie cop in Austin, he worked with your lieutenant.”

“Tony knows him,” Gracelyn muttered, sounding just as rocked by that tidbit as Ruston was.

Of course, just because Tony knew Zimmer, it didn’t mean they’d stayed in contact with each other. Still, it was a connection that made Ruston very uneasy.

“Now that we have a name and a face,” Slater went on, “we can put out an APB. The more lawmen looking for Zimmer, the sooner he’ll be found.” He locked gazes with Ruston. “Of course, the person who hired Zimmer could be sheltering him. Or trying to silence him.”

Yeah, and either one of those wasn’t good. Ruston didn’t want Zimmer to disappear or die. He wanted answers, and after that, he wanted him in a cage for the rest of his miserable life.

“Text me a copy of that picture,” Ruston said.

Slater did that before he continued. “The CSIs will continue to process the other prints they retrieved from the truck,” Slater went on. But he stopped. All of them did. They froze.

Outside, Ruston heard something that tightened every muscle in his body.

A gunshot.