Our First Christmas Read online

  Winchester answered on the first ring. “Yeah.”

  “It’s Lucas. I need to talk to Jo. I’m trying to locate Marisa’s father. She’s been in a car accident.”

  “How is she?

  Lucas supplied what little details he had and waited as Brody brought the phone to his wife.

  “Lucas?” Jo Granger’s voice was filled with concern.

  He explained the situation and soon had the name and number of Marisa’s father. The call had been tense and direct, and he’d tried to keep as much distance as he could from his emotions as he chronicled the facts, including where she was being taken.

  When he hung up the phone, he glanced toward the bend in the road where he’d last seen the ambulance. As much as he wanted to follow, he was better use to Marisa investigating the accident. Just the idea of finding the man who did this calmed his mind with renewed purpose and allowed him to box whatever feelings he had for Marisa.

  He grabbed his flashlight from his vehicle and made his way to the accident site. The county sheriff’s deputy was taking pictures, but the forensic team had yet to arrive.

  The deputy lowered his camera. “We usually don’t get a Texas Ranger at accident scenes. This case special?”

  Lucas hesitated as he studied the mangled vehicle. “Yeah. This one’s special.” Unwilling to elaborate, he circled the car, a panther pacing. “What do you have?”

  The officer glanced at his notebook. “Best I can figure, she was driving on the main road and was sideswiped. It was a blue car, judging by the paint on the wreckage. She skidded off the road and went over into the ravine. Seat belt and air bag saved her.”

  He fisted his fingers, and it took a moment before he could unfurl them. He moved closer to the car and spotted the brightly wrapped presents. Peeking from the torn edges of the paper was the wheel of the toy Range Rover Marisa had bought last night. Though the toy had been through an accident, he guessed the mangled wrapping job had more to do with Marisa’s distraction with his code yesterday.

  The work.

  She didn’t believe her late-night visitor was connected to her work with him, but he wasn’t so sure. His reputation for busting cartels was indeed well known, and he knew in his gut she’d been attacked because of her association with him.

  His work was dangerous, and he understood the burden it placed on a wife and children, so he’d stayed clear of any lasting relationships. “You come and go as you please. You’re like a cat.” How often had his sister said that? He’d been fine with that decision until he’d seen the petite woman dressed in white, sipping chocolate in the café six weeks ago.

  From his coat pocket, he retrieved one of his business cards. “When you finish with the scene, send me those gifts in the backseat. They belong to the driver’s younger brothers.”

  “Yeah, sure. Might not be before Christmas.”

  “Just get them to me.”

  “Sure.”

  “What else can you tell me about the accident?”

  “I found a chunk of tire on the road. Seeing as this car never made it that far, the rubber could have belonged to the second driver.”

  “What kind of tire?”

  “That will take me time to figure. I’ll check the database. I should have information for you in a day or two.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  The deputy accepted the order with a weary shrug. He’d likely gotten the short end of the stick and was pulling holiday duty. “Right.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No. Out here it’s so desolate. If she hadn’t been on her cell with you, she could have languished in that creek bed for a long time. And with temps getting so cold over the next few days, no telling if she’d have been found alive.”

  Lucas shoved aside a dark image. “If the second driver damaged his tire, he’s going to have to stop sooner or later.”

  “Stands to reason. And I can tell you, judging by the tire marks, the second driver was headed west.”

  Odd. If it had been the cartel, bad tire or no, her attacker would have doubled back to make sure the job was done . . . that Marisa was dead.

  “Assuming he kept heading west, where could he stop along the way?”

  “If it were me, I wouldn’t stop until I crossed the border or found a place to stash my car.”

  “Say this guy isn’t as savvy. Where would he stop?”

  “There’s a gas station up ahead about ten miles. He’d be getting closer to Fredericksburg and there would be plenty of places to stop.”

  Plenty of places meant more people to notice a banged-up car and disabled tire. “Thanks. Keep me posted on what you find.”

  “Will do.”

  With a weight bearing on his shoulders, he moved up the embankment to his car. He removed his hat and slid behind the wheel. Reason dictated that he not call the hospital and check on Marisa. Let the docs do their job. You focus on the mission.

  Firing up the engine, he allowed the heater to warm his skin, far more chilled than he realized. As he sat in the silence, his skin tightened with worry. Any other time he’d have listened to reason.

  But not tonight. Not with Marisa.

  He dialed the number of the hospital, and when he identified himself he was routed to the right person. He asked about Marisa.

  “No news yet,” the nurse said. “She’s pretty banged up and still unconscious. They’re running scans and X-rays now.”

  “How long before you know?”

  “Morning at the earliest.”

  He gave his contact information and placed his phone back in its belt holster. Fifteen minutes later he pulled into a gas station, now dark and quiet. It was past midnight, and it made sense that a garage owner out here wouldn’t be expecting much business.

  The headlights of his SUV shining on the station, he searched for signs that a driver would have come through this way. By the pumps he saw a chunk of tire. With the beams of his lights still shining, he got out of his car and studied the section of tire. This close, he could also see a depression in the dirt as if the driver was working on a rim. Moving ten paces away, he found more tire tracks, but these marks weren’t those of a damaged tire. Had the driver stopped here long enough to change his tire before moving on?

  In the dark, it was impossible to tell, and he spotted the small red light mounted on the top edge of the garage. A camera. He scribbled the name of the gas station and called Information. It took minutes before he heard a gruff and tired, “What?”

  “This Skip Donovan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Texas Ranger Lucas Cooper. I’m working a hit-and-run accident case, and I believe the second driver might have stopped at your station about an hour ago.”

  “I’ve been closed since six. Holidays. I’m on vacation in Mexico. Just landed about an hour ago.”

  Lucas tapped an impatient index finger on the phone. “What about your surveillance cameras? Do they work?”

  “Yeah, they work. And I can give you the tapes when I get back in three days.”

  “Is there a way to access them before then?”

  After a beat of silence and a sigh, “I can call my brother-in-law. His name is Rafe Jeffers. We both own the station. He’s in Austin visiting his girlfriend for a few days. I’ll have to track him down. Might take me a few hours.”

  “Do that. I need to see those tapes sooner rather than later.”

  “Sure. And Merry Christmas.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Lucas stared up at the surveillance camera. “I’m going to find you, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 7

  Sunday, December 21, 6:45 A.M.

  Lucas arrived at the hospital just before dawn. He’d contacted Rafe Jeffers, and the man had promised to get the tape as soon as he sobered up or found himself a designated driver.

  As he strode across the lot, his cell rang. He glanced at the number and, recognizing his sister’s name, hesitated an instant before he hit the ANSWE
R button. “Hey, Sherry, what are you doing up this early?”

  “I could ask you the same, but I know you probably can’t tell me.” Her voice was light, friendly with the excitement of the holidays.

  “Just following a lead on a hit and run. About to talk to the driver of the car.”

  “They hurt?”

  “Will know in a few minutes.”

  “I’m sorry. No one should have to spend the holidays in the hospital.” She sighed. “Are you going to make it up here for dinner tomorrow? I know you said you were working this week, but I thought I could practice a few recipes out on you. Bill’s working so we won’t have the official holiday celebration until next week.”

  He glanced up at the hospital and imagined Marisa in her bed. “I’d like to, Sherry, but I can’t promise.”

  “At least say you’ll try.”

  “I’ll give my all. I’d hate to miss your world-famous pork tamales.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say they’re world-famous, but they’ve won their fair share of blue ribbons.”

  Sherry had graduated from culinary school and worked as a chef before she’d married and quit her job to stay home with her boys, now six, eight, and ten. She was working on a cookbook but joked she was lucky to scratch out five hours a week of work time.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I can ask.” Since their folks died, Sherry had done her best to create occasions that included him. Birthdays, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas were all showstopper events. Family was important to her. It was important to him, as well.

  He rang off and headed into the hospital. Removing his hat, he entered through the hospital’s double doors, immediately greeted by the buzz of machines, the hum of conversations, and the controlled chaos of an emergency room. He found the nurses’ station, identified himself, and learned that Marisa had been moved to a room. She was conscious but still very confused.

  Hat in hand, he moved along the hallway, steeling himself as he pushed open the door. He’d hoped to find her alone but instead discovered a couple at her bedside. The man was tall and gray-haired and had Marisa’s eyes. The woman was in her early forties, blond with flawless makeup, clothes that sparkled a little, and big jewelry. Dad and stepmom.

  Lucas’s gaze barreled past them to Marisa, who lay in her bed. She was awake, but her skin was as pale as the sheets, and she sported a dark bruise on her left cheek. She looked small and fragile. Her gaze didn’t burn with the sharp curiosity he’d grown to like, but had a vacant dull look instead. Her eyes drifted closed.

  The man moved in front of Lucas. “I’m Daniel Thompson. And you are?”

  “Texas Ranger Lucas Cooper.”

  “Marisa said she was working on a project for the Rangers when we spoke last night. She said the project was why she was running late.” Anger rumbled under the man’s words like thunder before a storm.

  The blonde moved to stand beside her husband. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Marisa loves her work. Puzzles excite her, Daniel.”

  Daniel’s jaw clenched. “Until now, dead languages have held her interest. I don’t like her traipsing around in the jungle looking for ruins, but at least that’s territory she understands. She takes your job and the next day she ends up in the hospital.”

  Guilt banded his chest. “I’m investigating the accident.”

  “It was no accident. Marisa was mumbling about being run off the road before her MRI. Who would run her off the road?”

  Lucas would not allow this guilt to muddle his thoughts. Later, he’d second-guess and worry. For now, he had to remain on point. “I will find who did this to her, make no mistake about that.”

  Daniel shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re here.”

  Lucas hesitated, staring at Marisa as if willing her to see him. She blinked, studied him, but there was no recognition. “How’s she?”

  “She’s got a bad concussion. Her thoughts are rattled and confused.”

  “She’ll get better.” Not a question but a statement.

  “That’s the hope.” Daniel drew in a steadying breath. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. It’s too much stress on Marisa to have people here.”

  Lucas kept his gaze on Marisa, wanting to hold her hand and tell her it would be all right. But Daniel was right. His job was to track the man who did this. He didn’t belong here.

  An hour later, Lucas removed his hat as he passed through the arches of Garrison Hall on the campus of the University of Texas. The ninety-year-old building, in the shade of the Texas Tower, housed the history department as well as Marisa’s second-floor office. No doubt, if Marisa were at his side, she’d explain to him all the architectural nuances and give him a history lesson behind the names etched in the building’s stone façade. But Marisa wasn’t here. She was in a hospital.

  Pushing his anger back, he approached a campus policeman, who stood just a little straighter. “Dr. Thompson’s office.”

  “You here about the break-in?”

  He received the call a half hour ago. Marisa Thompson’s office had been ransacked. “Yes.”

  He took the stairs to the second floor and quickly noticed the collection of officers hovering outside a small side office. His stride was purposeful and direct as he approached the head of campus police.

  The man easily recognized the garb of a Texas Ranger, and his eyes sparked with some pride as if glad to be involved in a case that caught a Ranger’s attention.

  “I’m Officer Stewart,” the man said. “I wasn’t expecting a Texas Ranger.”

  “Ranger Lucas Cooper. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Received a call from the officer on duty. He saw a flashlight in the room. We know Professor Thompson works late hours, but, well, she doesn’t work by flashlight. He came up to investigate and found the place as you see it.”

  Lucas looked past the officer to the small ten-by-ten office. A few feet from a tall window stood a desk far too large for the office. It was made of bulky oak, and the heavy carvings on the legs and sides reminded him of another generation. The floor was littered with scattered papers and upended and open books as if someone had taken a hand and swiped it across the desk. A handblown glass lamp lay on the floor, its base shattered. Shelves on the walls, crammed full of books, had been pulled out randomly and also lay on the floor. “Do you know what was taken?”

  “Hard to say with these professors. They have so many papers and projects. I couldn’t tell you what was valuable or not. I’ve called Professor Bradley Rogers. He’s on his way. He’s more familiar with Dr. Thompson’s work.”

  He studied the mess again, thinking that this was the work of an amateur. If it had been a seasoned drug dealer, the office would have been swept clean and likely set on fire. They’d not have risked leaving behind evidence and would have destroyed the place as insurance.

  Donning gloves, he moved behind the desk and sat in her chair. He tried to imagine her sitting here and wondering how she could stand such a confined, overcrowded space.

  “What the devil?”

  He turned to find Bradley standing in the doorway. His neat hair, brushed off an angled face, accented dark blue eyes. What the hell had Marisa seen in this man?

  “Dr. Thompson’s office was vandalized,” the officer said.

  Bradley studied the room, shaking his head. “Was anything taken?”

  “You would know better than any of us,” Lucas said.

  Bradley didn’t take his eyes off the confusion, as if Lucas hadn’t spoken. “She kept her recent work in the bottom right drawer of her desk.”

  Lucas glanced at the drawer that was wide open and empty. “This drawer?”

  Bradley came around the desk. “Yes.”

  “What was she working on?”

  “It’s hard to explain to a layman.”

  “Try me.”

  “She was able to snap pictures of the interior walls of a temple. Inscribed on the walls are messages that p
redate the Mayans by one thousand years. If she’s correct, her find is huge and will make her a rock star in our world.”

  He found no traces of the work she’d been doing for him. The neatly annotated pages from the other night were gone. He touched his fingers to the wood damaged, clearly, by some metal device used to pry open the lock. “She didn’t keep important work in a more secure location?”

  “Her photos are stored on a secure server, but the notes she’d been taking since the discovery were in that drawer. I told her so many times to get a real safe. Finally, she ordered one. It will be here in a matter of days. She believed the locks on the desk, her office door, and the building would be enough.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “No.”

  Lucas studied the desk. “Did she use a laptop?”

  “She did.”

  “It isn’t here.”

  Bradley frowned as his gaze roamed the mess. “No.”

  “I need a list of people who have access to this building.”

  “Will take me an hour or so, but I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  He spotted an overturned picture and righted it. The image was of a much younger Marisa and a woman who clearly was her mother. They appeared to be in a jungle setting and her mother was holding up a stone carving.

  As if reading his thoughts, Bradley offered, “Her mother. Dr. Ellie Thompson. She was a professor of archaeology. Marisa inherited her brains and love of history. I never met her. But she was well-known in her field and, from what I’ve heard, liked by her students.”

  “Look around the desk. What’s missing?”

  Bradley frowned as he surveyed the scattered papers splashed with coffee from an overturned coffee cup, random sticky notes with filled with Marisa’s scrawled handwriting, and an upended pencil mug and her calendar. “If not for the books scattered on the floor, I’d say it looked like it normally does. Chaos. But she’s only been back a couple of days and hasn’t had time to really mess it up. I’m always telling her she should organize, but she’s never listened. Said she has a system.”