CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts) (40 page)

             
"Has he killed someone you know?" Marilyn looked from one to the other.

             
"Not yet." The driver spoke in a crisp Boston accent. "Not if we have anything to say about it. And we do."

             
The second new message: Kate's voice spoke in Teague's ear. Teague gave Marilyn a thumbs-up. He relaxed a little, until he heard, "Teague, it's Ka—"—her voice cut out, then in—". . . in Hobart."

             
Teague shuddered. "Hobart?" he said out loud.

             
Both women started. Together they exclaimed, "Hobart!"

             
The guy in the front whipped his head around. "What about Hobart?"

             
Teague emphatically waved them to silence.

             
"I'm doing my . . . fine . . . be back in Austin tonight. I know what you . . . Brad."

             
That son of a bitch, Brad. He must have squealed on Teague.

             
"Don't ever try to . . . I swear to . . . leave . . . never look back."

             
Teague didn't care about the ladies' delicate sensibility. "Goddamn it to hell!"

             
"Hobart? What about Hobart?" Dan demanded.

             
"Sh!" Teague glared.

             
The third new message . . . Kate's voice again: "Call me . . . right . . . me . . . okay . . worried about you."

             
"Well . . . good. That's good. That's really good." Teague slid over to rest his back against a bench. Except why was she worried about him? Teague made a circling motion with his hand, trying to get the voice mail system to hurry up.

             
Then the fourth new message: "I found . . . family. I . . . my family. Come . . . Teague . . . think he killed . . . all."

             
Teague's heart leaped into his throat. Kate had done her damned investigation and come up with trouble. He hung up. In curt tones he said, "I have to get to Hobart. Now."

             
Dan gripped his shoulder. "Why Hobart?"

             
"Where's Hobart?" Marilyn asked.

             
"Northwest of San Antonio," Teague said. "Three hours away.

             
Everyone in the van shouted at him: "
Why Hobart?"

             
What was wrong with these people? He was the one with the problem. "Kate's in Hobart. She says she found her family. She says he killed them all."

             
Marilyn took a horrified breath.

"Kate?" The brunette, Hope, stared at him. "Are you saying Kate is my sister Caitlin?"

              Teague marveled at how quickly every difficulty could be surmounted when money was no object.

             
The helicopter ride from Austin to Hobart took a half hour. The exchange of information between Teague and Marilyn and Hope, Zack, Pepper, Dan, and Gabriel, died with the noise of the rotor blades, but as they landed Dan handed out weapons. Hope and Pepper each took one, as did Gabriel.

             
Of course. They would be Oberlin's main targets.

             
Zack waved Dan's offer of a Beretta 9mm toward Teague, and Teague grimly accepted.

             
When he saw Kate, he planned to tell her that this kind of incident was
exactly
the reason why he hadn't wanted her to go to Hobart. Ruthlessly and without ceasing he would say, "I told you so." As the helicopter powered down and the coil of tension in his gut grew tighter, he planned some pithy replies to her defiance.

             
She had damned well better stay alive to listen to them.

             
Again he tried to call her. The call went straight to her voice mail; either her phone was off or she was out of the service area.

             
A luxury van met them. Zack drove, Dan rode shotgun . . . the plan was for the Prescott children to stay behind the tinted windows until they knew they were safe. Gabriel and Teague rode in the second row of seats. Hope, Pepper, and Marilyn rode in the back, and when Teague glanced behind him, he saw Marilyn wiping away tears while Hope and Pepper hugged her.

             
Kate had really nice sisters. She needed to meet them.

             
Again, he called her. This time it rang, then the signal cut out.

             
Wrapped in edgy silence, they drove into Hobart. Tension rose with each turn of the wheels.

             
Hope and Pepper looked around, but they didn't exclaim as people often did when returning to their hometown. Their pensive silence made Teague think that, for them, everything was familiar—and painful.

             
Zack turned onto Main Street and slowed. Dozens of people stood in the road, arms folded across their chests, talking, craning their necks to see through the crowd. More were running up. Teague could see flashing lights in front of the RoeAnn Diner. A police car and an ambulance. Behind them, they could hear the wail of sirens.

             
The blood pounded in Teague's brain.

             
Dan rolled down the window and hailed an onlooker, an upright older man with a white fringe of hair and a well-worn cowboy hat. "Excuse me! What's going on?"

             
"A woman was shot!"

             
Before the van came to a complete halt, Teague leaped out and pushed his way through the crowd. He heard murmurs as he went:

             
"Never happens here."

             
"What's the world coming to?"

             
And, in tones of disbelief, "Senator Oberlin? Are you sure it was Senator Oberlin?"

             
Teague got to the police line—a sparce line consisting of two officers in blue uniforms, shouting, "Stay back. Give her some air!"

             
"She's not dead." Dan stood at Teague's side.

             
But the ambulance crew was frantically working on the prone form on the sidewalk. Teague saw blood spatters on the concrete. He tried to lunge past the policeman, but the officer caught his arm.

             
In a flurry, Teague pulled out his Texas Capitol security identification. He flashed it. "Let me through."

             
At Teague's tone and the sight of the badge, the officer gave way.

             
"This is Teague Ramos, in charge of security at the Texas Capitol," Dan said. "We heard one of our senators did this."

             
"That's what they say." Worry lines marked the officer's broad forehead.

             
Vaguely, Teague heard Dan ask, "Do you know who the victim is?"

             
But Teague had already caught a glimpse of the still body.

             
It wasn't Kate. Through the immediate relief and the ongoing worry, he barely heard the policeman's answer.

             
"Her name's Melissa Cunningham. It seems Senator Oberlin drove into town. She had words with him. He shot her in the belly." Hastily, the officer added, "Or so some witnesses say."

             
Teague turned on him. "Where's Oberlin now? You have to send people after him." Teague supposed he had that look in his eyes, the one that had scared Kate, the one that had sent grown men fleeing, and he was glad. He wanted that information.

             
The officer stammered, "We haven't sent . . . we don't have the resources . . . Melissa's life is our first priority. . . ."

             
"More important than a crazy senator with a pistol?" Teague shouted.

             
"Young man! Don't shout at the officer. It isn't polite."

             
Teague wanted to shout at the stooped old woman with the walker, too. "I need to know where Oberlin went."

             
"He went to the cemetery. Take the old highway; it's five miles out of town." The black woman spoke precisely, and her brown eyes looked sharp and alive. "He's after the young lady who looks like Lana, and if someone doesn't do something, he's going to kill her, too."

             
"Mrs. Parker, that's speculation, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop!" the officer said.

             
"John Jeremy Wringle, I taught you to show respect for your elders. I'd suggest you do so," Mrs. Parker replied.

             
Gently Teague took her arm. "How long ago?"

             
"Thirty minutes." She turned to the woman next to her, probably her daughter. "I taught George Oberlin in second grade, and I knew something was wrong with him then."

             
Teague strode toward the van. Dan walked with him. The crowd parted before them, taking no chances with these tough, stern warriors.

             
Teague fixed his gaze on the flashing lights now parked behind their van at the outer limits of the crowd. "I'm taking the police car. I need a diversion."

             
"We can give you that." Dan smiled a very unpleasant smile.

             
The officer stood in the open door of his car. The motor was running. He spoke into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. He looked hassled by the questions shouted at him by the still-gathering mob—and he made no attempt to go after the guilty party.

             
So this was Hobart. This was Oberlin's town, and the police didn't know whether to go after him and risk their jobs, or risk another public shooting.

             
Teague moved into place off to the side and behind the officer.

             
Dan spoke to Zack in the van.

             
The doors opened. Hope, Pepper, and Gabriel stepped out.

             
"Excuse me," Hope said in a clear voice.

             
Heads turned.

             
Teague saw second glances and stunned double-takes. He moved closer to the police car.

             
She continued, "I understand George Oberlin committed this crime. This is not the first time he's done violence. Do you all remember the Prescott family? Do you remember what happened to us?"

             
"Hope!" A woman cried out. "I remember you. I remember . . . Pepper and . . . Gabriel?"

             
"They said Caitlin was back, but I didn't believe it." A middle-aged cowboy shook his head in wonder. "That I should live to see this day!"

             
Teague was in position.

             
"Believe." Hope turned to the officer. "I remember you, Bill Browning. You helped take my family away."

             
Browning gobbled like a turkey.

             
"Are you going to let George Oberlin kill my sister, too?" Pepper asked fiercely.               Browning started to slam the police car door and make for Hope. Teague caught the door before it closed and slipped inside.

             
The officer turned.

             
Teague rammed the shift into reverse. He put his foot all the way to the floor. With a squeal of tires, he backed up the street. He saw Officer Browning reach for his gun. He saw Dan tackle him.

             
Then Teague flipped on the siren, turned the car around, and sped toward the cemetery.

             
Toward Kate. Toward the woman he loved.

TWENTY-THREE

              The peace of Hobart's cemetery should have been soothing.

             
The cool breeze touched Kate's face. Birds chirped in the ancient, bent branches of the live oak trees. The grass had been cut but not trimmed, and long tufts clung to the corners of the headstones.

             
Yet she stared in turmoil at the simple iron markers:

             
Bennett Prescott.

             
Lana Prescott.

             
Her parents.

             
Her birth parents.

             
She had been lucky. All the time she was growing up, she'd had a father and mother who loved her, who supported her. But the knowledge had haunted her; she'd been left on a church step. Daddy and Mom had put a good spin on it; Kate's birth mother hadn't been able to keep her, so she'd placed Kate someplace where she'd known she'd be safe. As Kate grew, she realized that adoption was the right way to get rid of an inconvenient child. It seemed likely her mother was a desperate teenager—or an unlucky prostitute.