Daughter of Texas (8 page)

All were properly solemn. No inkling that any had wished Captain Pike ill. Not that Ben had expected to see ill will among the prominent attendees. The murder was related to whatever case Greg had been working.

His gaze sought Corinna. She stood sandwiched between the senator and the governor, teary-eyed, sad and heartbreakingly beautiful. Her sleeveless black knee-length dress almost dwarfed her. The wound on her arm was covered with a flesh-colored bandage. His stomach muscles contracted every time he saw the reminder of how close she'd come to death.

A little black hat with a mesh veil covered her slicked-back hair. Her oval-shaped, pale face stood out in stark
contrast. But it was her eyes, so bleak, so full of pain each time she glanced around her, that grabbed Ben by the gut and squeezed tight.

For days he'd ached for her loss and the pain she was trying to control. Even knowing she was well-guarded hadn't eased the tightness in his chest. Nor had helping her plan the funeral. Seeing her distress had only cut him deeper.

Knowing she was so full of anger at God hurt him to the core. He'd prayed long and hard for God to comfort her and give her peace. And he prayed God would answer the question. Not the one asking why God had allowed this to happen, but rather who had killed Greg, and why.

Frustratingly, the Rangers' investigation seemed to be at a dead end. The DA hadn't found a link between Greg's death and any old cases he'd worked. Forensics hadn't revealed anything useful; the facial recognition software had yet to give names to their unconscious victim or the intruder whom Corinna had seen. Ben wasn't any closer to knowing what Greg had been working on.

Aggravation and anger revved through him every time he realized that if they didn't get a break soon, the person who'd killed Greg was going to get away with it.

Ben clenched his jaw and vowed never to stop investigating Greg's death. No matter how long the search for the killer took.

The melancholy sound of a flute playing “Amazing Grace” pulled Ben from his thoughts. He and Daniel stepped forward to carefully remove the American flag
from the coffin and fold it into a triangle. Ben presented the folded flag to Corinna. Her delicate hands closed over his for a moment. Her skin was icy and sent a shiver of awareness up Ben's arm. Their gazes met. Ben felt her grief down to the marrow of his bones.

He inclined his head, acknowledging their shared pain, and released his hold. Corinna clutched the flag to her chest and closed her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Ben positioned himself at her side and encircled her waist with his arm. She stiffened but didn't move away. One by one the mourners paraded in front of her, offering murmured condolences before leaving the grave site.

When only the Rangers of Company D remained, Ben led Corinna toward the waiting limousine that would take them back to the Pike house, where Corinna had insisted the mourners gather for a memorial service.

Once inside the roomy car, Corinna settled on the leather seat with a sigh. “I hate this.”

Sitting across from her, Ben leaned forward to take her cold hands in his and rubbed them in an effort to warm her up. “You're doing great.”

She gave him a wan smile that didn't reach her eyes. “It was nice to see so many people had cared for my father.”

“He was well-loved and respected.”

One side of her mouth lifted in a cynical smile. “So it would seem. But someone out there didn't love him. Someone killed him. I searched every face in the crowd for someone who looked guilty, who seemed satisfied to see my father in the grave. I came up empty. The guy in the sketch wasn't there, either.” She pinned him with
an intense look. “Do you think the guy that broke in is the same person who killed my father?”

“I won't know until we catch him.”

She turned to stare out the window. “What if he's not? What if there's someone else behind Dad's murder?”

“Then we keep pushing for the truth.”

“But maybe at the house someone will slip up and we can nail the person responsible for my father's death.”

Her words slammed into his gut. Now he understood why she'd wanted the service to be at her house. She hoped to trap a killer. Concern pounded in his veins.

His own disappointment that he hadn't brought the murderer down yet coiled inside of him. Rage smoldered like a burning coal left in the grate. He could only do so much with the little bit of evidence they had. And it wasn't enough. His jaw tightened. Failure wasn't an option. Not on this.

And Corinna's safety was paramount.

“You need to leave the investigation to me.”

“I'm my father's daughter,” she said, her dark eyes hard in a way he'd never seen. “I will do my part to help bring this murderer to justice.”

“And put yourself in danger again? No way!”

She narrowed her gaze. “I'll do what I have to.”

Extracting her hands, she faced toward the side window, creating a chasm of grief and anger between them as wide as the Rio Grande.

Taken aback by the stubborn streak he'd never noticed before, a knot of dread formed in his chest. He wished he could do something, say anything to ease her pain and make her see that what she was suggesting was foolhardy. But he came up empty. He understood the
desire to bring down whoever did this, but it was his job, not hers.

His duty was to protect her, as well as find a murderer. But the truth was, he had nothing to go on. And no way to bridge the distance between them.

Why did that bother him so much?

 

The limo halted in the driveway. Corinna needed to get out of the suffocating car. Without waiting for anyone to open the door, she grabbed the handle, pushed the door wide and climbed out. For a moment, memories of the awful night when she'd found her father dead threatened to swamp her, but she forced her feet to move toward the front door of her home.

She entered the house and paused. A strange sense of unease slithered across her flesh. Soon guests would be arriving and one of them just might be the killer.

Noises coming from the kitchen sent her heart pounding. Oh, how she wished it was her father cooking one of his special meals. Melancholy enveloped her with the same weight as a heavy blanket. He would never be in the kitchen again. A reality she hated, but had to face.

Knowing she had to keep busy if she was going to make it through the next few hours as her house filled with people, she hurried toward the kitchen in search of something to do. Gisella and Marissa were helping the caterer put out a huge spread of food ranging from triangle sandwiches to stuffed mushrooms and shrimp cocktails.

“What can I do?” Corinna asked as she stepped
up to the counter separating the kitchen from the dining area.

“Nothing,” Marissa said. “You relax. We've got everything under control.”

“There must be something,” Corinna insisted, her gaze meeting Gisella's.

Gisella wiped her hands on a towel and then came around the counter to give Corinna a quick hug. In the short span of time that Corinna had come to know Gisella, they'd become tentative friends. Gisella seemed to understand Corinna in a way few others did.

When Gisella stepped back, she gestured toward the dining table where several trays of hors d'oeuvres were laid out. “You can take a plate of appetizers to the living room.”

Grateful for the task, Corinna grabbed a tray of pastry puffs filled with crab and headed into the living area. The room rapidly filled. There were a few of her fellow dancers who'd come to pay their respects. Madame Martin, the director of the San Antonio Ballet Company pulled her close for a quick hug of sympathy. Annie Nelson, the founder of Miriam's Shelter also offered her condolences.

But the Rangers of Company D, many of whom had been here the night her father died, gave her a measure of comfort. She knew they would work tirelessly to find their captain's killer.

She swallowed hard and tried to put on a good face as people offered their sympathies. She couldn't even look at the picture board set up in the living room on an easel. Bringing out the photos had been difficult enough.

When the conversation turned to stories of her father, Corinna's chest constricted until she could hardly breathe. These people knew a different side of her father. A side that he'd kept from her.

At home when they were alone, he'd been like a big teddy bear, catering to his only child's needs. She cherished those times together, just her and her father. But he was different when Ben was around, more rough and gruff. More guyish. Excluding her from their activities, making her feel displaced and alone.

And on the job, from the stories the Rangers told, there was yet another side to him. Captain Pike was an intimidating man who got the job done regardless of the risk.

She wished she'd known that Greg Pike, too. She would have liked to see her father in action. But he'd kept her far away from his job, always saying his work was no place for his ballerina. The ghost of the need to impress her father with her tomboy shenanigans cast a shadow over her heart as it passed through her.

Her gaze strayed to Ben. A man cut from the same cloth as her father? Of course he was. Her father had handpicked him to be the surrogate son he'd always wanted. Trained him to be a Ranger. A captain. Groomed him to be his replacement. The knot in her chest tightened more. Her breathing grew labored, as if she couldn't quite take in enough oxygen.

Corinna quietly slipped out of the room and retreated to the back patio. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky. The wind had died down, leaving the air heavy and damp. In the distance, Corinna heard the whinny of the horses in the pasture. They missed her father, too.

A swift, unrelenting misery pelted her, the ache so acute she doubled over, wrapping one arm around her middle while her other hand groped for something to hold on to.

Then Ben was there. A solid wall of muscular chest and gentle hands descending on her shoulders.

“Corinna, honey. Oh, man,” he said in a emotion-laden voice. “Come here.”

He pulled her tightly against him, his familiar scent of spice and masculinity filling her head.

Everything inside of her wanted to lash out, to beat her fists against him, to rail at him for being the son her father wanted.

Instead she clung to him, needing him to anchor her, to keep her from spiraling down a rabbit hole of despair and anguish. A sob escaped from that weak place in her.

“I know. I know. I miss him, too.” He made soft murmuring, comforting noises that stirred her senses. One big, strong hand smoothed over her back. The rhythmic motion caused a maelstrom of sensation to burst through her, taking her by surprise.

For the past few days she'd felt only the sorrow and loss of her father. She'd become numb to anything else. But now…

She titled her head to gaze up into Ben's handsome face. His jaw was so strong and stubborn. He'd removed his hat, giving her a better view of his eyes; warm hazel eyes reflecting her pain. His gaze was as tender as a caress, touching on her face, her lips. His mouth was so close, beckoning her.

Without giving herself time to think, to hold back,
she rose on tiptoe and placed her lips against his. He jerked in surprise before his firm mouth yielded. He took what she offered and gave what she needed. He pressed her closer as she dragged her hands through his hair, concentrating on the feel of the short strands gliding over her palms.

A deep sense of peace, of rightness, seeped into her, chasing away the searing pain. She savored the connection, needing to feel, something, anything besides sorrow.

Abruptly, Ben wrenched his mouth from her. His breathing came in ragged puffs. He blinked as horror chased the tenderness from his eyes. He set her away from him.

“This is wrong. I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice full of self-recrimination. “I shouldn't have done that. You're grieving and vulnerable right now. This… I can't… Please, forgive me.”

Confusion and humiliation burned her cheeks. Why had she crossed such a critical line? No good had come from giving in to her need for connection.

She turned and fled back into the house.

 

With the memorial over and the Rangers no closer to knowing who had killed her father, Corinna sat curled on her bed at Gisella's staring at the shadows playing across her wall. The house was too still, too lonely. Even with Gisella just down the hall.

Corinna's heart hurt.

It was awful enough her dad was gone, but on top of everything she'd made a fool of herself with Ben.

After the embarrassing encounter on the patio, she'd
felt his gaze following her the rest of the afternoon, but she couldn't meet his eyes.

What she'd done, reaching out for comfort—and that's all she'd been doing—had been a mistake. She had to find a way to deal with her crumbling world without looking to Ben for help.

It didn't matter that they shared the bond of grief.

Ben was not the man for her.

And she'd do best to remember that.

F
lipping open the top file of the stack he had brought from the Pike house, Ben stared unseeingly for several long moments, his mind running back over the events from the memorial service. Or rather the one event out on the patio with Corinna.

His mind flashed to the kiss they'd shared. She'd surprised him when she'd initiated the contact. And he'd surprised himself by giving himself over to her touch and being swamped by a yearning for connection.

Self-recriminations jabbed at him. How could he dishonor his friend and mentor by taking advantage of his grieving daughter?

The sooner he found the murderer and eliminated the threat to Corinna, the better for them all. Because he wasn't sure he could continue to protect her so closely and resist the need to kiss her again.

He forced himself to scan the pages of the file looking for some hint of what Greg had been working on before he died. He reached the end of the file. Nothing.

Three files later, Ben finally found something odd. A random sticky note with the words
Lions of Texas
written across the top in Greg's bold handwriting.

Ben had never heard the term before and he couldn't connect the reference to anything even after carefully perusing the file's contents. The file was an old murder case long solved with the criminal in jail. Why would Greg write this note and leave it in the folder?

Ben called the San Antonio prison and talked with the warden. The criminal convicted of murder and serving three life sentences had died the year before. He'd been rumored to be part of a Mexican Mafia prison gang by the name of La Eme. The warden had never heard of the Lions of Texas.

Frustrated, Ben hung up. An Internet search also came up empty. His phone rang. The administrative assistant, Marissa, put through a call from Senior Captain Parker.

“Fritz here,” Ben said into the receiver.

“Good morning, Captain.” Senior Captain Parker's voice filled the line. “I trust you're settling into your new role?”

Ben's gaze drifted to the filing cabinet. Sitting in prominent view on top was a group photo of Company D taken the year before. Greg stood in the center, flanked by the Rangers. Sorrow weighed heavy on his shoulders. He missed Greg. “Trying, sir.”

“Are you any closer to finding Greg's killer?” Captain Parker asked.

As if his own expectations weren't already knotted in his gut, pressure from everyone else's expectations built in his chest. He related the events of the last few days. He could still feel the surge of fear that had hit
him when he'd first received Corinna's call. If something had happened to her…

“And you think this man who broke into the Pike house and later tried to break into Ranger Hernandez's house is the same man who shot Greg?”

Ben wasn't sure of anything. “I can only assume so until I have proof otherwise.”

“Keep me informed.”

“I will, sir.” He fingered the sticky note. “Have you heard of the Lions of Texas?”

“Hmm. Can't say that I have.” Curiosity echoed in his tone. “What are they?”

Ben stared at the boldly written words. “Not sure. I found a reference in a closed-case file.”

“That's interesting. I'll ask around.”

“I'd appreciate it, sir.”

Parker cleared his throat. “The reason I called…as you know this coming March marks the 175th anniversary of the Battle of the Alamo. The governor himself requested that the Texas Rangers of Company D take a more active role in this year's special celebration.”

For a shocked moment, Ben couldn't speak as the request sank in. Shaking his head, he said, “Sir, with all due respect, we have more pressing matters at hand.”

“Yes, you do. Finding Pike's killer is of the utmost importance. But so is the anniversary of the most significant event in Texas history. Company D is the San Antonio branch of the Rangers, and as such, the Alamo is your territory.” The deep timbre of his voice dared Ben to challenge his mandate.

Ben couldn't refute that claim. The Battle of the Alamo symbolized courage and sacrifice for the cause
of liberty. The liberty the Rangers worked tirelessly to uphold. Ben's gaze again looked to the picture of Greg.

He would want them to honor their state with their service in the celebration. Greg had been big on keeping traditions alive. “What exactly will be required?”

“For now, the time involved should be minimal. I'm sure the planning committee will have all the details laid out.”

That was something at least. “Very well, sir.”

“Connect me back to Marissa, and I'll leave the celebration committee's contact info with her,” Parker said.

Ben transferred the call to his administrative assistant, wondering how his team would react to this new assignment.

Twenty minutes later, after Marissa gave him the meeting information with the Alamo committee, Ben had the Rangers gathered together in the conference room. He told them about the Alamo celebration and the request for their presence.

“You've got to be kidding me.” Marvel said. “I, for one, am not in the mood for any sort of celebrating. Not until we bring Captain Pike's murderer to justice.”

There were murmured agreements around the room.

Ben held up a hand. “I understand, believe me, but we will do this in honor of our fallen captain. Greg would have relished this kind of opportunity to show the public who and what we are. This won't take place for six months. We'll have found Greg's killer by then,” he said, hoping his optimism wasn't misplaced.

“Do we know what this ‘presence' will entail?” Cade asked.

“At this point, no. Anderson and Daniel, I want you to meet with the committee. Once we have a better idea of what's involved, I'll let the rest of you know.”

“When is this meeting?” Daniel asked.

“Tomorrow morning.”

Trevor shifted in his seat. “Why them?”

Ben didn't really feel the need to explain himself, but in the name of keeping the peace, he bit back a sharp retort and said, “Daniel's late father moved in the same circle as many of the committee members so they already know and trust him and Anderson's good with people. I think they are the best choice to be the intermediaries between the Rangers and the committee. Is there a problem?”

Trevor's lip curled but he didn't respond.

Ben held up the square notepaper. “I found something unusual. Anyone heard of the Lions of Texas?”

No one had.

“What are they?” Gisella asked.

“I don't know. The file I found this tucked inside was a closed murder case from about six years ago. The perp went to prison, where he died. The warden said he'd been part of La Eme.”

“Nasty business, that,” Evan Chen said. “Mexican Mafia. They're a prison gang that started in the '50s in California. They've grown and spread across the country. Rival gangs have sprouted up over the years in response, as well.”

Ben appreciated Evan's input. The Ranger had been a narcotics officer with the Dallas police force before
coming to the Rangers. “So this Lions of Texas could be a new prison gang?”

Evan shrugged. “If so, the Feds would have info on them.”

“Good idea,” Ben said. “Can you contact our local Feds to see what you can find out about the Lions of Texas and if there is a connection to La Eme?”

“I can.”

“Anderson, where are we on getting coma guy's picture to the media?”

He pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning. “Should be on the eleven o'clock news again tonight, along with a sketch of the intruder.”

Ben nodded with approval. “Perfect. Hopefully, someone will come forward with an ID. Oliver, you got that sketch sent out?”

Oliver stretched back in his seat. “Yep. Every police and Ranger station in the state has a copy. It's only a matter of waiting until we get a hit.”

Ben tried not to give any ground to the impatience hovering at the periphery of his consciousness. Waiting was part of the game. But patience wasn't one of his stronger virtues.

Instead, he sent up a silent plea for God to allow someone to recognize both of the mystery men so he could find Greg's murderer, remove any danger to Corinna and put this case to rest.

Then Ben could stop thinking—make that
worrying
—about Corinna.

 

The next day, Ben found Corinna surrounded by a dozen little girls all dressed in pink frills at Miriam's
Shelter, an old, ranch-style house on the outskirts of San Antonio.

He'd heard music and had followed the sound to the open side door of the garage where he now stood in the shadows. A makeshift dance studio had been set up in the tandem garage. Wood flooring had been put down across the cement and two free-standing ballet bars ran lengthwise. Mirrors covered the back of the garage from floor to ceiling. A soft, trilling melody played from a stereo system in the corner.

He watched fascinated as Corinna patiently taught her little charges, helping to position a foot here, straightening an arm there. Her smile was tender, transforming her face from beautiful to exquisite.

He swallowed hard, reining in the attraction as affection blossomed inside. He was here to check on her, not gawk at her like some lovestruck teen.

One of the little girls, a blue-eyed, blonde cherub with riotous curls framing her dimpled face, met his gaze. For a moment, the child froze, then terror flashed in those sweet eyes. She let out a shrill screech that could have torn paint off the walls.

Corinna acted swiftly, swooping the child up and gathering the rest close. A door leading to the main part of the shelter jerked open and a husky woman of about fifty burst out, a shotgun in hand. In two blinks she had the gun aimed at his chest. Several other women rushed out and moved to shield the children.

Stepping into the light, Ben raised his hands, hoping the woman didn't have twitchy fingers. “Whoa, there. Ranger Fritz here.” He gestured to his badge pinned to the breast pocket of his button-down shirt.

“Ben!” Corinna's voice carried over the crying girls.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I came to check on you. Can you please ask your friend to lower the gun?”

“It's okay, Annie. He's a friend.” Corinna disengaged herself from the children.

Annie's gaze held suspicion. “Are you sure?”

Corinna put her hand on the older woman's arm. “I'm sure. He and my father were very close.”

The gun lowered. “Oh, well, in that case.”

Ben let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry to have upset everyone.” His gaze held Corinna's. “I didn't intend to interrupt.”

She came forward and took his hand. Tugging him closer to the huddled group, she said, “Everyone, this is Captain Ben Fritz, a Texas Ranger. He's a good guy. Like the police officer outside.” She touched the badge on his chest. “If you ever see a man wearing one of these, you can be assured he's a good guy.”

Though there was still suspicion in the eyes of the adult women, the children relaxed. A few even seemed curious.

The tiny angel with the big lungs came forward. “What ya doing here?”

Ben knelt down at her eye level. “I came to see my friend Corinna. What's your name?”

“Gretchen.”

He held out his hand. “Hello, Miss Gretchen.”

The child hesitated before slipping her small hand into his. “Hello.”

Ben released her hand and gestured with his head toward Corinna. “She's a good teacher, isn't she?”

The blond head bobbed. “She sure is. And she bought us all our tutus.” The girl proudly displayed her pink outfit.

“You look just like a fairy princess. All you need are some glittery wings.”

She giggled. “And a tiara.”

He slapped his hand against his forehead. “How could I forget the tiara?”

“Look, I can peer-row-wet,” Gretchen said and pivoted on her tiny slippered foot.

Ben gave a low whistle. “That's pretty special.”

His gaze sought Corinna's. The gentle look in her eyes hit him square in the chest and made his heart speed up.

Corinna broke the eye contact and clapped her hands. “Okay, students. We'll end our lesson for today.”

There were groans and protests from the children as the women ushered them inside the house.

Annie shot him one last appraising glare before saying to Corinna, “You need me, you just holler.”

“I will,” Corinna said with an amused lilt in her tone.

When they were alone, Ben said, “I'm sorry to have caused such a ruckus.”

Corinna walked to the stereo, removed a CD and tucked it in her bag. “Usually, if a man shows up here, it doesn't go well. Some of the husbands or boyfriends of these women can get pretty mean.”

“I can imagine.” He frowned. “I'm not sure you being here is a good idea. Even with Officer Hagerty outside.”

“I have to keep living, Ben.” She picked up her dance
bag and walked toward him. “Now, I'm off to the studio. Was there something you needed? Did someone recognize the guy in the sketch?”

“Not yet, but it's only been a couple of days.” There was a reason he'd come to see her—one that had to do with the investigation. But he couldn't tell her the other reason—that he missed her. “Had you ever heard your father mention the Lions of Texas?”

She shook her head as she preceded him out the side door into the side yard. “Doesn't sound familiar. What is it?”

He blew out an exasperated breath. “I wish I knew. I found those words written on a sticky note in a random file. Can't seem to find the significance. Maybe there isn't one.”

When they reached the front driveway, she paused to look up at him. “If it has something to do with my father's death, I trust you'll figure it out.”

Her confidence made him feel like he could leap buildings in a single bound. Hmm. He'd never compared himself to a comic-book hero before. He sure didn't want to disappoint her. Or the others counting on him to get the job done. Pressure tensed his shoulders.