Dangerous (2 page)

Kilraven’s silver eyes flashed. “What use is talk? I want the perp.”

He wanted vengeance. It was in his eyes, in the hard set of his jaw, in his very posture. “I know how that feels,” Cash began.

“The hell you do,” Kilraven bit off. “The hell you do!” He got up and walked off without another word.

Cash, who’d seen the autopsy photos, didn’t take offense. He was sorry for the other man. But there was nothing anybody could do for him.

K
ILRAVEN DID GO TO
the party. He stood next to Cash without looking at him. “Sorry I lost my temper like that,” he said gruffly.

Cash only smiled. “Oh, I don’t get ruffled by bad temper anymore.” He chuckled. “I’ve mellowed.”

Kilraven turned to face him with wide eyes. “You have?”

Cash glared at him. “It was an accident.”

“What was, the pail of soapy water, or the sponge in his mouth?”

Cash grimaced. “He shouldn’t have called me a bad name when I was washing my car. I wasn’t even the arresting officer, it was one of the new patrol officers.”

“He figured you were the top of the food chain, and he didn’t like people seeing him carried off from the dentist’s office in a squad car,” Kilraven said gleefully.

“Obviously, since he was the dentist. He put one of his prettier patients under with laughing gas and was having a good time with her when the nurse walked in and caught him.”

“It does explain why he moved here in the first place, and settled into a small-town practice, when he’d been working in a major city,” Cash mused. “He’d only been in practice here for a month when it happened, back in the summer.”

“Big mistake, to start raging at you in your own yard.”

“I’m sure he noticed,” Cash replied.

“Didn’t you have to replace his suit…?”

“I bought him a very nice replacement,” Cash argued. “The judge said I had to make it equal in price to the one I ruined with soap and water.” He smiled angelically. “She never said it had to be the same color.”

Kilraven grimaced. “Where in hell did you even find a yellow and green plaid suit?”

Cash leaned closer. “I have connections in the clothing industry.”

Kilraven chuckled. “The dentist left town the same day. Think it was the suit?”

“I very much doubt it. I think it was the priors I pulled up on him,” Cash replied. “I did just mention that I’d contacted two of his former victims.”

“And gave them the name of a very determined detective out of Houston, I heard.”

“Detectives are useful.”

Kilraven was still staring at him.

He shrugged.

“Well, I’m never talking to you when you’re washing your car, and you can bet money on that,” Kilraven concluded.

Cash just grinned.

The 911 operations center was full. The nine-foot-tall Christmas tree had lights that were courtesy of the operations staff. The LED bulbs glittered prettily in all colors. Underneath, there was a treasure trove of wrapped packages. They were all anonymous. Kilraven glared at them, already anticipating the unwanted tie.

“It’s a tie,” Kilraven muttered.

“Excuse me?” Cash asked.

“My present. Whoever got me something, it will be a tie. It’s always a tie. I’ve got a closet full of the damned things.”

“You never know,” Cash said philosophically. “You might be surprised.”

Amid the festive Christmas music, the staff of the operations center welcomed their visitors with a brief speech about the hard work they put in all year and listed some of their accomplishments. They thanked all the emergency services personnel, including EMTs, fire and police, sheriff’s department and state police, Texas Rangers and state and federal law enforcement for their assistance. The long refreshment tables were indicated, and guests were invited to help themselves. Then the presents were handed out.

Kilraven was briefly stunned at the size of his. Unless it was a very large tie, or camouflaged, he wasn’t sure what he’d snagged here. He turned the large square over in his hands with evident curiosity.

Little blonde Winnie Sinclair watched him out of the corner of her dark eyes. She’d worn her blond, wavy hair long, around her shoulders, because someone had said Kilraven didn’t like ponytails or buns. She wore a pretty red dress, very conservative, with a high neckline. She wished she could find out more about their enigmatic officer. Sheriff Carson Hayes had said some of Kilraven’s family had died in a murder years before, but she hadn’t been able to worm any more information out of him. Now they had a real, messy murder victim—actually their second one—killed in Jacobs County, and there was a rumor around law enforcement circles that a woman in San Antonio had known the victim and died for it. There were even more insistent rumors that the cold case was about to be reopened.

Whatever happened, Kilraven was supposed to leave and go back to his federal job in San Antonio after Christmas. Winnie had been morose and quiet for days. She’d actually drawn Kilraven’s name for that secret present, although she had a hunch her coworkers had arranged it. They knew how she felt about him.

She’d spent hours trying to decide what to give him. Not a tie, she thought. Everybody gave ties or handkerchiefs or shaving kits. No, her gift had to be something distinctive, something that he wouldn’t find on any store shelf. In the end, she put her art talent to work and painted him a very realistic portrait of a raven, surrounded by colorful beads as a border. She didn’t know why. It seemed the perfect subject. Ravens were loners, highly intelligent, mysterious. Just like Kilraven. She had it matted at the local frame shop. It didn’t look bad, she thought. She hoped he might like it. Of course, she couldn’t admit that she’d given it to him. The gifts were supposed to remain anonymous. But he wouldn’t know anyway because she’d never told him that she painted as a hobby.

Her life was magic just because Kilraven had come into it. Winnie came from great wealth, but she and her brothers rarely let it show. She enjoyed working for a living, making her own money. She had a little red VW that she washed and polished by hand, bought out of her weekly salary. It was her pride and joy. She’d worried at first that Kilraven might be intimidated by her monied background. But he didn’t seem to feel resentment, or even envy. In fact, she’d seen him dressed up once for a conference he was going to. His sophistication was evident. He seemed at home anywhere.

She was going to be miserable when he was gone. But it might be the best thing. She was crazy about him. Cash Grier said that Kilraven had never faced his demons, and that he wasn’t fit for any sort of relationship until he had. That had depressed Winnie and affected her attitude toward Kilraven. Not that it squelched her feelings for him.

While she was watching him with helpless delight, he opened the present. He stood apart from the other officers in his department, his dark head bent over the wrapping paper, his silver eyes intent on what he was doing. At last, the ribbon and paper came away. He picked up the painting and looked at it, narrow-eyed, so still that he seemed to have stopped breathing. All at once, his silver eyes shot up and pierced right into Winnie’s dark ones. Her heart stopped in her chest. He knew! But he couldn’t!

He gave her a glare that might have stopped traffic, turned around and walked right out of the party with the painting held by its edge in one big hand. He didn’t come back.

Winnie was sick at heart. She’d offended him. She knew she had. He’d been furious. She fought tears as she sipped punch and nibbled cookies and pretended to be having a great time.

K
ILRAVEN WENT THROUGH
the motions of doing his job until his shift ended. Then he got into his own car and drove straight up to San Antonio, to the apartment of his half brother, Jon Blackhawk.

Jon was watching a replay of a soccer match. He got up to answer the door, dressed in sweatpants and nothing else, with his loosened black, thick hair hanging down to his waist.

Kilraven gave him a hard stare. “Practicing your Indian look?”

Jon made a face. “Getting comfortable. Come in. Isn’t this a little late for a brotherly visit?”

Kilraven lifted the bag he was carrying, put it on the coffee table and pulled out the painting. His eyes were glittering. “You told Winnie Sinclair about the raven pictures.”

Jon caught his breath when he saw the painting. Not only was it of a raven, Melly’s favorite bird, but it even had the beadwork in the same colors framing it against a background of swirling oranges and reds.

He realized, belatedly, that he was being accused. He lifted his dark eyes to his brother’s light ones. “I haven’t spoken to Winnie Sinclair. Ever, unless I’m mistaken. How did she know?”

The older man’s eyes were still flashing. “Somebody had to tell her. When I find out who, I’ll strangle him.”

“Just a thought,” Jon pondered, “but didn’t you tell me that she called for backup on a domestic dispute when you didn’t call and ask for it?”

Kilraven calmed down a little. “She did,” he recalled. “Saved my butt, too. The guy had a shotgun and he was holding his wife and daughter hostage with it because the wife was trying to get a divorce. Backup arrived with sirens and lights blaring. Diverted him just long enough for me to subdue him.”

“How did she know?” Jon asked.

Kilraven frowned. “I asked. She said she had a feeling. The caller hadn’t told her about the shotgun, just that her estranged husband had walked in and made threats.”

“Our father used to have those flashes of insight,” Jon reminded him. “It saved his life on more than one occasion. Restless feelings, he called them.”

“Like on the night my family died,” Kilraven said, sitting down heavily in an easy chair in front of the muted television. “He went to get gas in his car for the next day when he had a trip out of town for the Bureau. He could have gone anytime, but he went then. When he came back…”

“You and half the city police force were inside.” Jon winced. “I wish they could have spared you that.”

Kilraven’s eyes were terrible. “I can’t get it out of my mind. I live with it, night and day.”

“So did Dad. He drank himself to death. He thought maybe if he hadn’t gone to get gas, they’d have lived.”

“Or he’d have died.” He was recalling Alice Mayfield Jones’s lecture of the week before. “Alice Jones read me the riot act about that word
if.
” He smiled sadly. “I guess she’s right. We can’t change what happened.” He looked at Jon. “But I’d give ten years of my life to catch the guys who did it.”

“We’ll get them,” Jon said. “I promise you, we will. Had supper yet?” he added.

Kilraven shook his head. “No appetite.” He looked at the painting Winnie had done. “You remember how Melly used her crayons?” he asked softly. “Even at the age of three, she had great talent…” He stopped abruptly.

Jon’s dark eyes softened. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say her name in seven years, Mac,” he said gently.

Kilraven grimaced. “Don’t call me…!”

“Mac is a perfectly nice nickname for McKuen,” he said stubbornly. “You’re named for one of the most famous poets of the seventies, Rod McKuen. I’ve got a book of his poems around here somewhere. A lot of them were made into songs.”

Kilraven looked at the bulging bookcases. There were plastic bins of books stacked in the corner. “How do you ever read all those?” he asked, aghast.

Jon glared at him. “I could ask you the same question. You’ve got even more books than I have. The only things you have more of are gaming discs.”

“It makes up for a social life, I guess,” he confessed with a sheepish grin.

“I know.” Jon grimaced. “It affected us both. I got gun-shy about getting involved with women after it happened.”

“So did I,” Kilraven confessed. He studied the painting. “I was furious about that,” he said, indicating it. “The beadwork is just like what Melly drew.”

“She was a sweet, beautiful child,” Jon said quietly. “It isn’t fair to put her so far back in your memories that she’s lost forever.”

Kilraven drew a long breath. “I guess so. The guilt has eaten me alive. Maybe Alice is right. Maybe we only think we have control over life and death.”

“Maybe so.” Jon smiled. “I’ve got leftover pizza in the fridge, and soda. There’s a killer soccer match on. The World Cup comes around next summer.”

“Well, whoever I root for will lose, like always,” he replied. He sat down on the sofa. “So, who’s playing?” he asked, nodding toward the television.

W
INNIE WAS SICK AT
heart when she left after the party to go home. She’d made Kilraven furious, and just before he was due to leave Jacobsville. She probably wouldn’t ever see him again, especially now.

“What in the world happened to you?” her sister-in-law, Keely, asked when she came into the kitchen where the younger woman was making popcorn.

“What do you mean?” Winnie asked, trying to bluff it out.

“Don’t give me that.” Keely put her arms around her and hugged her. “Come on. Tell Keely all about it.”

Winnie burst into tears. “I gave Kilraven a painting. He wasn’t supposed to know it was me. But he did! He looked straight at me, like he hated me.” She sniffed. “I’ve ruined everything!”

“The painting of the raven?” Keely recalled. “It was gorgeous.”

“I thought it looked pretty good,” Winnie replied. “But he glared at me as if he wanted to tear a hole in me, and then he just walked out of the party and never came back.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like ravens,” the other woman suggested gently. “Some people are afraid of birds.”

Winnie laughed, nodding thankfully as Keely put a paper towel in her hands. She dried her eyes. “Kilraven’s not afraid of anything.”

“I suppose not. He does take chances, though.” She frowned. “Didn’t you send backup for him after some attempted shooting lately? They were talking about it at work. One of our girls is related to Shirley, who works with you at the 911 operations center,” she reminded her.

Winnie grimaced. She took her purse off her shoulder, tossed it onto the bar and sat down at the table. “Yes, I did. I don’t know why. I just had a terrible feeling that something bad was going to happen if I didn’t. The caller didn’t say anything about the perp having a gun. But he had a loaded shotgun and he was so drunk, he didn’t care if he killed his estranged wife and their little girl. Kilraven walked right into it.”