a lightbulb moment of his own. He hadn’t seen the actual shooting. He couldn’t swear who pulled that trigger. The makeup artist could have unlocked the balcony doors and let the monkey-suit guy inside.
Maybe he was protecting an accomplice?
Not a chance. There was no blood spatter on her clothes. She couldn’t have been near the fatal shots. He’d find out all the details when they got to his house. Just a couple of minutes and they’d be safe.
The small jewelry box would have to wait until he was at his place. He needed to ask her about everything, but was certain Captain Oaks would want to be there for the questioning.
Turning down Forty-first, he replayed the scene in his head, searching through his memory for what the murderer looked like. Approximately the same height as him, so the guy had to be six-one, maybe more. Brown eyes, huge nose that protruded under the hood. He didn’t have much to go on, but the man’s shoes weren’t from a rental company like the tux.
Garrison had rented enough times to know how unforgiving a new pair of rental dress shoes were. Or how the older ones looked scuffed no matter how hard you shined. This guy was wearing his own.
He pulled to a stop in his driveway. Then he mentally brought up the image of the man in black. He’d turned to him—surprised someone had entered Mrs. Tenoreno’s bedroom—guilty.
Blood. Bright dark spots that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else shone all over the black tux. He was confident he’d interrupted the gunman before he pulled the trigger on a third victim. Kenderly was a state’s witness.
Kenderly was off the back of the bike before he’d cut the engine. He popped the kickstand, tugging her to him. He might be confident she wasn’t the murderer, but he wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t run down the street hollering for help.
“Mind if I take the jacket back?”
Delicately, treating the ripped tux like an expensive designer jacket, she folded it in half and handed it to him. He tossed open the saddlebag and removed the gun, wrapping it protectively in the jacket’s folds, then setting it on the bike seat along with the case. The evidence couldn’t be out of his line of sight, and this was the best he could do. He unlocked the detached garage and lifted the heavy door, then rolled his bike inside and reversed the procedure.
“I think I have a couple of sodas inside and maybe a frozen pizza.”
“I can’t possibly eat.” Her hand covered her lips.
“How about some soup, then? I got a cabinet of the stuff.”
“Really, I’m fine.” She shook her head and preceded him up the steps. “What I really need is a toothbrush.”
“Got you covered. My aunt has extras from visits with her dentist. She’s visiting my mom.” If he could remember where she’d put them.
“Oh.” She tugged at her hair, trying to smooth tangle upon wind-massacred tangle.
His Aunt Brenda’s house was on the small side. What most people might call cozy. Just right for one bachelor ranger who wasn’t home half the time. That is, if he really lived in Austin. He was on temporary assignment and shared a place in Waco. He opened the door and prepared for the assault.
“Hey, I forgot to ask. Do you like dogs?”
Both his monsters slid across the old linoleum, tongues out, ready to jump on their visitor, expecting a treat. Before he could yell at them to get down, Garrison set the coat-wrapped gun on the counter. He knelt at the pups’ level, taking one dog under either arm.
“I adore dogs. Are they Labs? What are their names? They’re so sweet.” Kenderly brightened and dropped to her knees with him.
“Diabolical is more like it. Don’t turn your back on them for a minute. This big black boy is Bear. The chocolate pup is his half sister, Clementine.” He reached up and pulled treats from a jar, handing them to his guest. “They’ll do tricks for these.”
She sat at the kitchen table, patiently petting the panting Labradors. “Clementine isn’t exactly what I’d call a puppy.”
“Sit, Clem. Bear, you know better than that.” He used hand signals to get them to sit, wanting to show them off. “She’s barely a year old. Already seventy pounds of love. I didn’t know how long I’d be here, and these two sort of go berserk if I don’t check in every day. Excuse me while I make a phone call.”
He dialed, then retrieved a new Ziploc from the cabinet while he waited for the captain to answer. “Travis? I guess the party blew to hell?”
“Yes, sir. So you’ve heard. The beautician, Kenderly Tyler, witnessed the whole thing. I stopped the murderer from blowing—” He darted a look at the woman he’d rescued to see if she’d heard his slip. “I stopped him from having a third victim. We came straight here. I didn’t think you’d want anyone to know we have her in custody.”
Kenderly got the dogs another treat and repeated his hand commands to them.
“You think she’s reliable?”
“As far as I can tell. I also have the murder weapon.” He placed the gun inside the bag. “It should take you about forty minutes to get here, sir. See you then.” He dropped his phone on the counter, and Clementine nudged the back of his knee. “Oh no, you don’t. Christy fed you an hour ago.”
“Where’s the bath, and do you have a first-aid kit?”
“You okay?” During the call, she’d taken a paper towel from the roll he left on the table and started dabbing at her legs. “Obviously not. Those from the trees we brushed through?”
“Yes. My legs started stinging on the golfing green.”
“Let me get something.”
The house really was super small. Keeping the medicine cabinet mirror open, he could still see the kitchen table. Bear was spread-eagle on the floor waiting for some more attention. Kenderly was staring at the gun and not moving. He dug through the antibiotic creams, looking for something without an expired date. No luck.
“I found some cotton, alcohol and peroxide. Best I can do.” He knelt and took a look at the long scratch at the top of her thigh.
“It’ll be fine.” Kenderly’s soft voice matched her dainty frame and manner.
“Need a belt to bite down on?”
She looked a bit confused. Instead of explaining, he poured the bottles over the scratches. Her tanned thigh used to be completely smooth, not even a freckle.
The deep scratches would cause the peroxide to sting—a lot. Garrison fanned at her leg, and she shut her eyes. He leaned in close and blew across the peroxide bubbles, hoping to ease the pain.
“How could I have gotten into this mess?” She fanned her cheeks in a motion his sister used years ago when trying not to cry. “When I woke up this morning, I never imagined I’d have two dogs at my feet, be sitting in a funny little kitchen with peroxide dripping down my thigh and have a complete stranger blowing up my skirt.”
“I don’t really know what to say after that.”
