style="font-size:15px;"> “I asked first.”
“Couldn’t be better, Grandpa.” Toying with the long silver chain she always wore around her neck, Paige gave silent thanks that the rough-hewn retired Texas Ranger couldn’t see her bruised cheek. Not only would Tate Carmichael grill her like a rack of ribs about every aspect of the mugging, he would strap on a revolver and hightail it to Oklahoma City to act as her personal bodyguard. “What are you and Mom up to?”
“Sara Sue’s off doing her volunteer work at the legal aid clinic tonight. We’ve been thinking a lot about you today.”
Because it’s February tenth, Paige thought. If it hadn’t been for her grandfather and mother, she wasn’t certain she’d have gotten back on her feet after her life upended. Even now, whenever she found time to visit her grandfather’s small cattle ranch outside of Dallas, she occasionally caught one or both of them watching her with narrow-eyed concern.
Thunder crashed; Paige glanced up as rain frozen to sleet began pelting the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I could tell you and Mom to stop worrying, but I’d be wasting my breath.”
“You always were as sharp as barbed wire.” Her grandfather waited a beat before continuing. “I’ve been checking with my law enforcement contacts, Paige. No one’s caught sight of Isaac.”
“If he’s smart, and we both know he is, he’s out of the country by now. Sitting on some beach, drinking rum.”
“And thinking about you, like he said he’d do on that voice mail he left.”
Closing her eyes, she replayed Isaac’s clipped, cultured voice. A shiver ran down her back.
“As long as all he does is think about me, that’s fine.” She half hoped her grandfather would agree with her about the high probability of Isaac’s leaving the country, if for no other reason than to ease the edgy tension that seemed to prickle across the phone line. But she knew he wouldn’t—her grandfather wasn’t that type of man. The facts were the facts, he would see no purpose in padding the truth to soften the blows.
“Consider the man, Paige. You tracked him down. He blames you for destroying his life. He’s still thinking about what he’d like to do to you. Isaac wants a second act. We both know it.”
“I refuse to go into hiding,” Paige said, trying to waylay what she knew was coming next.
“I’m not asking you to tuck your tail between your legs, girl. I’m just saying it’d be smart for you to pack up and come on home. Stay on the ranch with your mom and me until the law finds that murdering bastard.”
If Isaac was planning to exact revenge, Paige knew staying on the ranch would put her family in danger. No way would she chance that.
“I can take care of myself, Grandpa. You know that. Just because Isaac’s on the lam isn’t reason for me to change my schedule.”
“How about to keep an old man from worrying himself into the grave?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not old. And you’d worry about me whether I was sitting in your living room, or a thousand miles away.”
“Can’t argue that. You wearing your lucky necklace?”
She glanced down at the handcuff key and miniature Texas Rangers badge that hung on the silver chain. Her grandfather had given her the necklace the day she graduated the police academy. “I even sleep in it.”
“What about the asp?”
“It’s on the nightstand. Consider me armed and dangerous. Now, enough about me. How many head of cattle did you buy on last week’s trip to Fort Worth?”
After Paige said good-night to her grandfather, she called her former partner in Dallas PD Homicide. His answering machine picked up so she left a message. Not only did she need replacement copies of the reports that had been in her briefcase, she also wanted to talk to him about a vague theory they’d developed during their investigation into Isaac.
Too unsettled to go back to the workshop assignments, she slid off the bed, wandered to the sitting area and plucked a banana out of the silver bowl. Tapping it against her palm, she moved to the wall of windows. Ice hazed the glass and marred her view of what she’d learned was the priciest real estate in Oklahoma City. Frowning, she conjured up the mugger’s voice.
Give it up, bitch. The voice, the words didn’t fit Isaac. From all witnesses’ accounts, “Gentleman Jim” had conducted himself in a mild, meek manner when he approached each intended victim who worked the dimly lit streets of Dallas’s red-light district. His demeanor had stayed the same after his arrest—in all her dealings with Isaac, Paige had never heard him utter a curse or say anything crude. Even his promises to exact revenge against her had been delivered in formal, polite tones.
One thing about it, she thought, getting mugged had put a cap on the day.
She was just about to peel the banana when the phone on the nightstand rang. Halfway expecting it to be someone from the hotel’s laundry calling to tell her they couldn’t remove all the stains from her cashmere coat, she walked over to the phone by the bed and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
“You said you were going to give me a break.”
Nate McCall. “That’s correct, Sergeant.”
“Then why drop my name to the patrol cop who took your mugging report?”
Paige, caught off guard by the question, blinked. “He asked me if I’d gotten on anyone’s bad side. Your name popped into my head.”
Silence.
She tucked the phone between her shoulder and cheek and began peeling the banana. “What’s the deal, McCall? It’s not like I told Sergeant Vawter I thought you were the creep who mugged me.”
“Yeah, he made that clear.” Paige heard the rattle of dishes and hum of conversation in the background. “Do you think the mugger is the escaped shrink you mentioned this morning?”
Surprised by McCall’s concerned tone, she furrowed her forehead. This was more than a polite inquiry, he seemed worried about her. “My instincts say no.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a quirk on my part, Carmichael. Let’s say I have this thing about escaped serial killers showing up in my city. And even though you’ve got a nasty streak, I don’t like the idea of you getting roughed up on my turf.”
My city. My turf. Paige had felt the same when she carried a badge—she didn’t like bad things happening in her territory. Cops were innately possessive about that. And although she knew McCall’s concern wasn’t personal, she felt another tug of guilt over how she’d targeted him during the workshop.
“I appreciate you taking the time to do a follow-up, Sergeant. That’s beyond the call of duty.”
“Shows that even weasels are dedicated.”
“Good point.” Paige couldn’t help but smile. “So maybe I’ll concede you’re not a total weasel,” she added, then took a bite of the banana.
Before she even swallowed,
