“I’m Dottie Sanders. You must be Bill’s daughter. I voted for you.”
“Thanks for the vote, Mrs. Sanders. I have Deputy Ellis coming to stand guard outside the door. If you need anything, let him know.”
“I will. But we’ll be perfectly fine. Just find my grandson,” she pleaded.
As Rachel nodded, a light knock at the door sounded. “That’s probably him. I’ll be out in the hall when you’re ready, Dallas.”
In the corridor, Rachel filled Deputy Ellis in on what she wanted him to do. “The teen who was hurt is our only witness to the two people who stole the baby. Keep her safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dallas joined them in the hallway, shaking hands with Deputy Ellis. “I appreciate you guarding my daughter. My mom—Dottie Sanders—is in there with her.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Rachel made her way to the stairs with Dallas right next to her. Her head still hurt, but the ringing in her ears and the dizziness had faded. “I have a favor to ask. Deputy Jones brought me to the hospital, but I had him go back to your sister’s house after taking the evidence to headquarters. I told him I’d call him when I needed a ride, and I wondered if you—”
He chuckled. “If this is your roundabout way of asking for a ride, then yes, I can give you one to my sister’s. Is that where your car is?”
She nodded. “My ears were ringing after I was punched. Deputy Jones didn’t think I should drive myself, and I can’t argue with one of my dad’s friends.”
“I have a lot of respect for your father. I worked a case with him about eight months ago that extended over several counties.” Dallas held the door open for Rachel.
“I was surprised he retired. He’d been sheriff for twenty-five years, and it was his life. Now he and my mom watch my daughter. Actually, she has to fight him to get her chance to take care of Katie. He’s always busy around the property, and Katie, who is nearly one, is getting a good lesson in how to run a ranch. Or, at least, Dad’s trying to teach her.”
“How does your husband feel about you being the sheriff?” Again Dallas opened a door for her.
“I’m a widow. My husband died over fifteen months ago.” She slid into the front passenger seat.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She had no words to reply, so she nodded.
As Dallas rounded the front of his SUV, memories inundated Rachel. How could she forgive Justin for having an affair that she didn’t even know about until after he had died in a motorcycle race? The man she married wasn’t who she’d thought he was. He’d said he wanted a child, and yet, in a text to his mistress that she discovered on his phone, he had said otherwise. And there she’d been, nearly two months pregnant with no husband. Never again. She wouldn’t let herself be fooled like that again.
When Dallas climbed behind the steering wheel and started the car, a heavy silence fell between them, which was fine with Rachel because she didn’t want to talk about her deceased husband. All her focus needed to be on the case.
“Tell me a little about your sister. Even though Paul assured me otherwise, could someone be after your sister or her husband—someone who would kidnap their baby to get back at them?”
“Lenora volunteers at church and through a woman’s club. Paul is a CPA who works for Remington Industries in San Antonio. I don’t think so.”
“An accountant with possible access to financial records?”
Dallas stopped at the red light. “The work he does is routine. He’s only been working for the company for two years. He says he’s low on the totem pole. They’ve never indicated having a problem with anyone. They get along with their neighbors, but I don’t know about everything they do during the day. My gut tells me it isn’t that.”
“You go by your gut a lot?”
“I never dismiss hunches. I understand you were a police sergeant for the Austin Police Department. Did you ever go on a hunch?”
“Sure.”
“It’s the same thing. The more we can read people, the better we are about figuring out a clue, motive or case. Take the fact a guy in a hoodie fled from the crime scene and punched you out. What was he doing there? Was he tied to the kidnappers or my sister and Paul?” The light turned green, and Dallas drove across the intersection.
“I caught him looking in the window.”
“Yes, I know, but why was he doing that? Was he a reporter? Talk about fast on the scene and bold.” Dallas shrugged.
“Why would a reporter punch me? Maybe he’s a snooping neighbor checking out what was going on?”
“Why take the risk when he would find out soon enough on the news?”
Her first instinct was that the Peeping Tom was tied to the kidnappers, and that was still the best possibility. “He may have risked coming back if there was something left behind at the crime scene that could connect him to the kidnapping.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been thinking because he punched you. A neighbor or reporter wouldn’t have gone to that extreme and risk being arrested.”
“Deputy Jones handled the crime scene. As far as I know, nothing was found other than the footprints and tire tracks, and the pacifier I discovered in the backyard.”
Dallas parked behind her sheriff’s car in his sister’s driveway. “It wouldn’t hurt to look around again while we’re here. Which window was the guy looking in?”
“I think the dining room. Everything happened so fast.” Rachel scanned the crowd of people hanging around. There were two camera crews from different television stations in San Antonio as well as local folks she recognized.
“We need to recheck for anything out of the ordinary, especially with Lenora and Paul here now.”
“I agree.” Rachel stepped down from the SUV and headed toward the Howards’ house. Working with Dallas seemed to come so naturally. She was glad he was here to help because this would be her first big test as the county sheriff.
One of her deputies stood on the front porch and another one should be at the back door. She’d hated taking time away from the investigation to go to the hospital, but at least she’d had a chance to see what else Michelle could remember and make sure she would recover. “Did Michelle say anything about the kidnappers having a gun?”
“No. She was drowsy. I was happy to get what I could out of her. But I wouldn’t be surprised if one or both had a gun. Did the guy that hit you have one?”
“I didn’t see one, but when I was trying to stem the flow of blood from her wound, it looked like the kind of damage a handle of a revolver could have done.”
His tanned complexion whitened. “Not that I’m complaining, but if he had a gun, why didn’t he shoot her rather than hit her?”
“The
