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He hadn’t been. That was the problem. When Claire placed her hand in his…all reasonable thought had escaped him. Which sounded simply ridiculous. He wasn’t some teenager with his first crush, but a grown man in his thirties with life experience. Claire wasn’t the first woman he’d found attractive. Nor was she the first beautiful woman he’d ever worked with. But everything about her broke down the carefully constructed walls around his heart.
A strand of golden hair fluttered across Claire’s forehead. Gavin resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. She made him want things. Love. A family. But he wasn’t good at either. Willow’s words replayed in his head like a broken record.
You always put your job first. You’d be a terrible husband and an even worse father.
Her accusations had cut to the bone, mostly because they were true. He put his career first. Being a Texas Ranger was a part of him. Since his failed engagement, Gavin hadn’t considered pursuing anything romantic.
Until he met Claire.
Being around her was easy and natural. Like connecting with an old friend he’d known for decades. She was funny and smart. Dedicated to her job, her son, and her family. There was a lot to admire about her, but these wayward feelings needed to stop. Gavin wouldn’t add to Claire’s troubles. She obviously didn’t want to pursue this constant humming attraction between them. It was for the better. Gavin had a job to do, a killer to catch. And that’s where his attention—all of his attention—would go.
He assessed the fishing boat, tied to a pole by a rope. His boots tapped against the concrete as he circled the vessel. Gavin frowned. “The intruder breaks in, pries open the storage cabinets, and trashes the place. He even writes a message in spray paint. But doesn’t touch the boat. Why?”
Claire shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t have enough time. A patrol unit could’ve scared him off.”
That was a possibility. Truth was, this entire case wasn’t making a lot of sense. Faye’s murder, the shooting at the bakery, and the rigged gun in Claire’s house were well-planned. This…this looked like a random act of uncontrolled rage.
Ryker was still staring at the message scrawled on the wall. He consulted something on his phone, brows drawn down in concentration.
“What is it?” Gavin asked.
Ryker pointed to a curly swirl located under the word town. “See that? The upside-down question mark. It looks like a symbol used by the Chosen. It’s part of the logo on their website.”
He tilted the phone so Gavin could see the screen. Sure enough, his friend was right. The symbols appeared almost identical. A memory needled the back of his mind. “I was doing some research on the Chosen last night. They tattoo this symbol somewhere on their body, usually in a visible place, so members can identify each other.
“Xavier has one.” She pointed to her neck right above her jacket collar. “It’s here. You can’t see it all the time, but I noticed it once while questioning him about cooking methamphetamine on his property last summer.”
“I take it you didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him?”
“Unfortunately not. His southern neighbor complained of a funny smell and there were rumors around town. I investigated, but Xavier refused to answer my questions or allow me onto the property. A judge wouldn’t give me a search warrant without stronger evidence. The case petered out.”
“That mirrors some of law enforcement’s concern with the Chosen. Xavier could be behind this. He was quick to tell us he had nothing to do with Faye’s murder, but I don’t trust him further than I can throw him.”
Claire’s brow crinkled. “Isn’t it strange for Xavier to trash my boathouse and then leave a calling card? I don’t trust him any more than you do, Gavin, and I believe there’s something criminal going on with the Chosen, but they haven’t avoided law enforcement scrutiny by being brazen.”
She had a point. Gavin tilted his head. “We need to be careful. So far, there’s no evidence linking these crimes together. We could be dealing with two separate things. You made Xavier mad with your questions yesterday.” He waved a hand at the destruction. “This could be his answer.”
“Again, that would only draw attention to him. It’d be easier for me to believe someone purposefully put that symbol on the wall, hoping we would focus on Xavier. The same way Faye’s killer tried to make the murder look like a robbery by stealing the bakery’s money.”
Ryker rocked back on his heels. “What we need is more evidence. I’m going to call the lab and get them to rush through what we have. I’ll also get forensics down here. If we’re fortunate, the intruder left a fingerprint or two.”
Gavin wasn’t holding his breath, but it was worth a shot. “We also have the postcard Stephanie supposedly sent her mother. A handwriting analysis could determine if it’s legitimate. But we need something Stephanie wrote for comparison.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Claire said. “Mary Ellen may have something since Stephanie worked for them. I’ll call her and ask.”
Ryker tucked his phone back inside his jacket pocket. “It might be prudent to pay Xavier another visit. I’d like to know where he was last night. I can do that after the forensic techs finish here.”
Gavin nodded and then turned to Claire. “I think we’re still on the right track. Investigating Stephanie’s disappearance will lead us to Faye’s murderer. With that in mind, I want to visit Sheriff King. I’ve read through Stephanie’s file a few times and have some questions for him.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He may not tell you the truth. Especially if he messed up. Sheriff King is protective of his reputation. He won’t be happy that we’re making it look like he messed up another investigation.”
Gavin had little patience with individuals who took the oath of a law enforcement officer and then broke it. Sheriff King’s reputation wasn’t his concern. “I don’t care whether he’s happy or not. Hedidscrew up Stephanie’s case. And the sooner we figure out what happened to her, the better.”
Randy King lived on several acres and maintained a working ranch. Cattle dotted the fields on either side of the long driveway leading to a house with a wraparound porch and white clapboard shutters. Giant pecan trees shaded the barn. Claire zipped up her jacket after exiting her vehicle. The sun was shining, but it did little to take the edge off the cold.
She joined Gavin on the walkway. “Don’t be surprised if Sheriff King knows everything about the case. He keeps his fingers on the town’s pulse.”
The front door to the house swung open and Sheriff King stepped on to the stoop. Deep wrinkles crisscrossed his forehead and trailed a path down his cheeks. He was dressed for the weather in a flannel jacket. The belt buckle holding up his pants was the size of a salad plate, and there was a holstered weapon at his hip. His hands trembled as he reached up to settle a cowboy hat on his head, a physical symptom of the Parkinson’s diagnosis that’d forced his retirement.
