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He stared at her, and even glanced past her, as if expecting to see someone standing there with a camera.
“This a joke?”
She just shook her head, her dark eyes boring into his, the thin trail of beads braided into her hair shifting under her hat.
“I don’t know anything about that,” he said, his tone defensive.
“Can I come inside?” Rachel asked, her gun still holstered.
He hesitated. “Can’t this wait?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Shit. Can I see that badge again?”
She complied, polite but persistent.
Finally, he sighed, shrugged, then stepped back, allowing Rachel to enter the house. She moved cautiously through the dark interior, her senses on high alert.
The man led her to a small living room, where a woman perched on a well-worn couch, her eyes darting nervously at the newcomer. She was wearing a nightgown, and had a phone clutched in one hand and a baseball bat in the other.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded, her voice trembling.
“Hello, ma’am. I apologize for bothering you so late at night.” Rachel brought out her professional tone and ID before it was requested this time. “I’m Texas Ranger Rachel Blackwood, and I have a few questions regarding your husband’s whereabouts earlier this evening,” she said, her voice steady and authoritative despite the uneasy feeling that gnawed at her gut.
The man’s face paled slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. “My whereabouts?”
His wife was staring at him, confusion crawling across her features.
He stuttered at first, like a plane with a wobbly takeoff, but then calmed enough to stammer out, “I’ve been here all evening—my wife can confirm that,” he insisted, glancing back at the woman, whose hands were twisting in her lap where she sat on the couch.
“Is this true?” Rachel said, watching the wife.
The woman nodded adamantly. “Yes. We’ve been watchingNCISreruns all night!”
Rachel frowned. “I need to ask you about a couple phone calls.”
The man shrugged. “Sure. I’m an open book.” He frowned at her, but then turned and fetched a phone from the end table.
“Is this your only phone?”
“Yes!” the wife called out. “I would know if he had another.”
The man just nodded.
Rachel quickly checked the device’s number.
Not a match.
She cursed under her breath, but then forced a more relaxed expression. She turned back toward the two figures by the couch. She said, “I need an accounting for your movements over the last two weeks, sir.”
He stared at her. “I mean… work mostly. I haven’t missed.”
“And where do you work?”
“In the city. It’s an hour commute. Took today off to spend it with my wife.” He frowned at her.
Rachel was beginning to grow uneasy. The man didn’t look like someone hiding guilt. He looked like an irritated citizen trying to get back to sleep.
