supposed to make dinner?”
“Why do you always ask that when it’s your turn?”
Lisa grinned. “Just in case you forgot.”
“O’Brien. This isn’t a day at the spa.” Rick Thomas, Lisa’s partner, motioned impatiently.
Lisa motioned back. It wasn’t nice. Then she turned once more to Annie. “I’ll probably bring home takeout tonight.”
“Not cheeseburgers again, please.”
“Fine.”
Annie watched Lisa go, looking trim and sharp in her crisp blue uniform. Lisa was one of those disgusting women who ate anything yet never gained an ounce. And it was tough being her roommate because she tended to bring home junk food that was hard to resist.
Annie got up for more coffee, weaving between the desks that crowded the room, and trying not to yawn as she passed Captain Hansen’s office. After working nights for almost five years, it was hard to get used to the day shift. But she needed the switch in order to take a couple of night classes she’d been lusting after. Sadly, continuing education was the highlight of her social life.
Annie cursed under her breath when she saw that someone had drained the coffee but hadn’t started another pot. She measured out the grounds and filled the carafe with water. While she waited for the coffee to brew, she stared at the calendar that hung nearby on the wall.
Monday’s date was circled, marking the deadline for the detectives exam. As if she needed the reminder. Besides Lisa jumping down her throat, Mr. O’Brien had mentioned it, and her own captain had pointed out that she’d be foolish to pass up any more career opportunities.
So she’d missed the first sergeant’s exam. Not on purpose. She’d been finishing her master’s degree and had to study for a final. And why was everyone so worried about her career anyway? It was none of their business. If she wanted to stay where she was, that was her decision.
“Corrigan!”
She stuck her head out of the coffee room and saw Lieutenant Potter standing at her desk, Annie’s phone in his hand.
“Call for you,” he said, and set the receiver down on her desk.
Annoyed, she grabbed her empty mug and headed for the phone. She hoped it wasn’t another personal call, particularly from her father, even though everyone in the precinct already knew about her deadbeat dad. They knew about Steve Witherspoon, too, about how the scumbag attorney had used her. That stung more than anything else.
Hell, her colleagues seemed to know everything about everybody. The precinct was like a soap opera. That’s why she mostly kept to herself or hung out with Lisa.
She picked up the receiver and barked her last name.
“Annie?” The voice was shaky, but unmistakable.
“Aunt Marjorie?”
“Good heavens, girl. I hope you don’t always answer the phone that way.”
Annie sank into her chair, dread clawing at her chest as she glanced at the clock. Six-ten in the morning, Texas time. “Is everything okay?”
“Right as rain.” Her aunt hesitated. “Except for one small thing…Honey, you got any vacation time saved up?”
“What is it, Aunt Marjorie?”
“You know I wouldn’t ask you unless it was important.”
“Please tell me.”
Aunt Marjorie paused, her faint breath as weak as a fall leaf. “My doctor insists on me having some silly tests. Can’t be done locally, of course, so I gotta go all the way to Houston.”
Annie immediately picked up a pen and turned over a piece of used paper. “What kind of tests?”
“For my heart and lungs. Which are both obviously working fine or else I wouldn’t be here talking to you, would I?”
Annie smiled. Aunt Marjorie had always been feisty. She was close to eighty-five, a widow for fifty-one years and as stubborn as a woman who’d lived alone so long could be. Annie adored her. “The doctor had to have a reason, Aunt Marjorie. Would you mind if I spoke to him?”
“The thing is, honey, what I really need is for you to watch my ranch. Only for a week or so, until I get out of this place. I’m worried about the chickens mostly.”
“The hospital? You’re there? Now?”
“Just got here,” Aunt Marjorie said sheepishly. “But don’t go jumping to any conclusions—you get your exercise some other way, young lady. I’m fine. It’s the ranch I’m worried about. I don’t want the animals starving.”
“You don’t have that many left, do you?”
“A few milk cows. About two dozen hens that are still laying.”
“What about Chester?” Annie asked, who was already planning to go straight to the hospital and not the ranch. Chester had been an extra pair of hands and a good friend to Marjorie as far back as Annie could remember. He could take care of the few animals that remained.
“Honey, his arthritis is bad and he’s no spring chicken anymore.”
Annie sighed. From what she could recall, the man was at least a good eight to ten years younger than Aunt Marjorie. “Look, I’m coming to the hospital and then I’ll—”
“Annie, listen. I need you at the ranch. Not here. Dang it.” The beeping of medical machinery in the background made Annie’s heart race. “I have to go now.”
“No, wait. What hospital are you—”
She heard a click and then a dial tone. Cursing under her breath, she reached for a phone book. First, she’d book a flight, then tell the captain she needed time off. Chester would know what hospital Aunt Marjorie was in. If not, she could ask Lisa to find out, even if she had to use official channels.
Annie’s gaze caught on the piece of paper she held. An application for the detectives exam. Potter had apparently brought it over when he answered her phone. She exhaled slowly as she crumpled it in her fist and tossed it in the wastebasket. Aunt Marjorie was far more important.
L UKE M CC ALL HAD had a lot of practice sneaking in and out of places and he was damn good at it. He coasted his pickup into the empty parking lot to a space right in front of the Quick Trip, turned off the engine and glanced around as he flexed his stiff shoulder. Frowning at the pain, he slowly climbed out of the truck.
At eleven o’clock, the convenience store was dead, just as he’d hoped. Instead of going straight to Hasting’s Corner, he was here for supplies forty miles outside of town. Once he got to his granddad’s ranch, he’d be able to hole up for a while without anyone knowing he was back. Not that anyone cared about him, except out of pure nosiness—aside from Sally Jo, who’d bring over her chicken and dumplings and an open invitation to wash more than his jeans.
And
