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“Divide and conquer,” she said resolutely. “I’ll go to one address while you check out the other. We can cover more ground that way.”
“I mean… you sure?”
Rachel nodded resolutely. It would be like old times. Tracking a predator through rough terrain, isolated and with only her wits for guidance.
She tried not to smile at the thought.
***
The first address led Rachel to a quaint suburban home, its exterior bathed in the warm glow of soft exterior lights. She parked her car a short distance away and cautiously approached the residence, her heart pounding in her ears. The scent of freshly cut grass hung heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle aroma of burning shrubs drifting from a neighbor’s backyard as they attempted to bypass city ordinance by disposing of refuse under the cover of night and ash.
She approached the small house, moving slowly, a frown creasing her features.
The homes were both owned by the same landlord. A man named Deacon Miles. This, she supposed, might explain the phone records from the two homes.
But Deacon’s number was unlisted, and she felt a faint tremor, wondering what awaited her within those walls.
She approached up the driveway, stray gravel crunching underfoot.
As she peered through the living room window, Rachel spotted only darkness. The lights in the house were off.
She paused, her mind flitting back to a happier time in her own family’s life.
She tried not to dwell too much on all that had been lost.
But she found a knot forming in her stomach, and forced the thoughts aside with a faint harumph.
She knocked on the door, steeling herself for what might lie beyond it.
It was nearly midnight now.
No one responded to the knock.
She tried again, more insistently.
She rang the bell.
And could hear the faint bell ringing within. Another few seconds, and she heard movement within; muffled voices and shuffling footsteps.
Rachel drew her gun, her instincts telling her to be cautious. She pressed herself against the wall beside the door, waiting for whoever was inside to make their move.
After a few tense moments, the door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged man with a balding head and a thick beard. He seemed surprised to see her, and was blinking sleep from his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He hadn’t spotted the gun concealed by her hip yet.
“I’m with the Texas Rangers,” Rachel said, her gaze flickering over the man’s features. “Who are you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, suspicion etched into the lines of his face. “Got some ID?”
She was already in the middle of raising it before the question had completely left his lips.
He nodded once after scrutinizing the badge. “So what’s up?” he said.
She stepped away from the door, her gun holstered now, but her hand still lingering on it. She looked the man up and down.
“Are you Deacon Miles?”
He scowled. “No. That’s my landlord. He do something?”
“We’re investigating a homicide case. Your address came up.”
