approached Deputy Carson, a member of his church. “Mark, is the new sheriff here?”
The young man gestured toward a closed door off the main room. “I know you don’t work this county, but I was expecting you last week.”
“I was working a big case that rapidly blew up. The good thing is we have the main perpetrators safely in jail now. My life will get back to normal.”
Mark chuckled. “But for how long?”
“Please don’t say that. I want only positive thoughts.” Dallas strolled to the closed door and knocked.
“Come in,” a female voice said.
He entered the office and found a woman dressed in a brown uniform with her head bent over a paper she was writing on. His gaze latched onto her shoulder-length auburn hair, which fell forward, framing her face as she looked up at him. Crystal-clear green eyes locked on his face for a few seconds before she noticed the Texas Ranger star pinned to his white shirt over his heart.
She rose, came around her desk and extended her hand. “I’m Sheriff Rachel Young. Since you aren’t the Texas Ranger who covers my county—because he’s on vacation—I’m assuming you’re here on one of your cases. How can I help you?”
He shook her hand. “I’m Dallas Sanders, and no, I’m not here on a case. I live right outside of Cimarron Trail and wanted to welcome you to the area as well as let you know if you ever need extra help, I live at the Five Star Ranch. I understand you were a sergeant for the Austin Police Department before becoming sheriff.”
Her smile lit up her whole face and made him feel at ease. “When my father retired, I jumped at the chance to fill his position and run for sheriff. I grew up in Cimarron Trail.”
“I dealt with your dad a couple of times when a case I was on involved this county, too. I didn’t think he would retire for years.”
“He finally decided to become a rancher. It was a childhood dream besides being a police officer. His place is northeast of Cimarron Trail. The Safe Haven Ranch, which is really a refuge for abandoned animals, is three hundred acres, small by Texas standards.” She gestured toward a chair in front of her desk. “If you have time, take a seat. I’d like your view of what’s happening in the area. I want to be proactive rather than reactive. My first ten days have been quiet. Too quiet. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Dallas sat while the sheriff took another chair nearby. “I assume your father filled you in.”
“About the county, yes. But what I mean by the area is the other counties nearby, including Bexar County.”
“I just wrapped up a case involving a turf war between two gangs. At least for the moment it’s quiet between them, although I’m not naive enough to think that will last. There has also been smuggling activities up and down I-35.”
His cell phone sounded, and he slipped it from his pocket to see who was calling. Michelle. Again? Maybe her plans watching Brady had changed. She usually texted him while he was working, but a call twice in fifteen minutes was most unusual. “I need to answer this.”
He tapped the on button. “Michelle—”
“Help! They’re taking Brady!”
Her frantic words, followed by a scream, urged Dallas to his feet. “Michelle, what’s going on?”
Then it sounded like she dropped the phone, sending chills down his spine. “No! Don’t,” she cried out.
“Michelle!” Everything went silent.
He rushed out into the main room, aware the sheriff had followed him. He glanced back. “Something’s happened at my sister’s house. Can you follow me?”
With her keys in her hand, the sheriff nodded and said to a deputy, “Follow, too.”
As Dallas hurried toward his SUV, he kept repeating his daughter’s name into his cell phone, but there was only silence. The phone was dead. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he started his car. His sister’s house wasn’t far from the sheriff’s station, but every scenario involving kids that he’d encountered as a law enforcement officer raced through his thoughts. He recalled the semi truck full of human beings smuggled into the United States—children included—discovered just this month in a parking lot during the heat of summer in a suburb of San Antonio.
After he slammed to a stop in his sister’s driveway, he ran toward the front door, trying not to think about the smuggling rings bringing people in and out of this country. He couldn’t rid his mind of it. Fear spurred him to go faster.
When he spied the front door wide open he drew his gun, and his professional facade fell into place. Whatever had gone down, the perpetrator could still be inside—with his daughter.
Sheriff Young and her deputy entered the house right behind him. Dallas motioned for them to go right while he went left toward the bedrooms. His heartbeat drowned out other sounds as he moved down the hall, checking the rooms. When he stepped into Brady’s, its emptiness mocked him. Brady is gone. Where is Michelle?
* * *
As Rachel moved into the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was that the back door—just like the front door—was wide open. She gestured for her deputy to circle the room while she headed to the exit, leading to a screened-in porch.
Lying on a blanket on the wood floor was a young teenage girl, her arm stretched out toward a smashed cell phone, blood pooling onto the coverlet. “Call 911,” Rachel yelled to her deputy as she rushed to the child and knelt next to her.
The girl’s eyes fluttered, opened for a few seconds, then closed.
“Michelle. I’m here to help. Your dad is, too.” Rachel felt the teenager’s pulse on the side of her neck. Her fast heart rate might indicate a concussion. She examined the injury on the side of the girl’s head, blood still flowing from it, but she couldn’t tell how deep the wound was. “Michelle.”
The young teen moaned and lifted her eyelids as she tried to sit up.
Rachel gently restrained her. “Don’t get up yet.” She spied a white hand towel on the blanket and snatched it up, then pressed it against the girl’s wound to try and stop the bleeding.
The child’s brown eyes grew wide as she stared over Rachel’s shoulder. “Dad.”
Rachel had been so absorbed in the teenager she hadn’t heard Dallas coming out onto the porch. She looked over her shoulder at Texas Ranger Dallas Sanders, over six feet tall. His stiff posture and clenched jaw warred with the smile flirting at the edges of his mouth as he looked at his daughter.
A half grin won out. “I’m here, honey. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Rachel was amazed at the calmness in his voice. Now she understood why her father had mentioned Dallas when discussing potential allies for her in the area. He kept his composure in a situation that would throw most into a panic.
Dallas squatted on the other side of Michelle and took over putting pressure on the injury to stem the blood flow. “What happened?” he asked in a soft, soothing voice.
