Rawhide Ranger

Cabe stowed the bagged bullets he’d recovered in his evidence kit, then started the engine, hit the gas and sped toward the road leading into town.

A few minutes later, he dropped the evidence at the sheriff’s office, signed the chain of custody form for the courier, then phoned Mayor Sadler to request a town meeting. Sadler agreed to call the Town Council as well as the leaders of the Native American faction.

Cabe grabbed a quick bite at the diner, then headed back to the inn, showered and shaved. With an hour to kill before the meeting, he jotted down notes on the case and his discoveries.

At seven o’clock, he strode over to the town hall, his senses honed for trouble as he watched several people entering the building. Voices drifted to him from the meeting room, and when he went inside, the room was packed with a mixture of Native Americans, Hispanics and Caucasians.

A rugged-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair lumbered up to him and extended his hand. “I’m Mayor Woody Sadler.”

So this was the man who’d raised Sheriff Reed Hardin. He’d also been spotted at the cabin where Marcie had been murdered, making him a suspect as well. Although Sheriff Hardin staunchly defended the man’s innocence.

Cabe shook Sadler’s hand. “Sergeant Navarro.”

“Glad you’re here,” the mayor said. “Maybe you can calm these Indians down.”

Anger churned in Cabe’s gut. “There are two sides to every argument, Sadler, and I’m not here to play favorites, just to uncover the truth.”

Sadler’s bushy eyebrows rose with distress, sweat beading on his forehead. “Don’t forget, Sergeant. This is my town, and if you make things worse, then you won’t last long.”

Cabe shot him a challenging look. “Is that a threat, Mayor?”

A smile suddenly stretched the man’s weathered face. “Of course not, Sergeant. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

“I’ll do the honest thing,” Cabe said in a calm but firm voice. “I’ll find the killer and the truth about who that land belongs to.” He took an intimidating step closer. “And no one will stop me or interfere.”

The voices in the room grew heated, cutting into the tension vibrating between Cabe and the mayor. Anger from opposing sides charged the room as hushed mumbles and complaints echoed along the rows of people seated in metal folding chairs.

Cabe frowned at the mayor. “I requested a small meeting with just the leaders. You know this could get out of hand.”

Mayor Sadler folded his beefy arms. “This matter concerns everyone in Comanche Creek. And I’m counting on you to keep the situation under control. That is why they sent a Native, isn’t it?”

A muscle ticked in Cabe’s jaw. “They sent me to bridge the gap.” And maybe balance out the underdogs, the Comanches.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cabe spotted the sheriff scrutinizing him. Yes, Hardin definitely was protective of the mayor.

But Wyatt had assured him that Hardin was a professional and had done everything by the book.

Hardin stalked over to him. “I hope you’re not going to stir up the town, Navarro.”

Cabe’s jaw tightened as he repeated his comment to the mayor. “I’m on the side of the law.” He tapped the badge on his chest for emphasis.

Hardin gave a clipped nod. “Good. Then let’s keep it orderly.”

“I’ll do my part, and you do yours,” Cabe muttered.

The mayor loped over to the podium, and Cabe studied the room. Deputy Shane Tolbert stood leaning against the doorjamb in the back, his arms crossed, his posture antagonistic.

Tolbert had been cleared of Marcie’s murder, but he still appeared on the defensive. That fact alone raised Cabe’s suspicions. Evidence could be tampered with, doctored, especially by someone with the right knowledge. And Tolbert had taken classes in crime scene investigation.

Plastering on his stony face, he walked to the front to join the mayor, still skimming the crowd. Ellie Penateka waved two fingers at him from the front row. As always, she was dressed to seek attention in tight jeans and a bright red, hand-beaded he was sure, shirt that hugged her big breasts. Her long black hair gleamed beneath the fluorescent light, her brown eyes just as cunning as always. Ellie would use any asset she had to achieve her goal.

At one time, the two of them had been lovers, but she’d wanted, no demanded, more—a commitment. That and for him to join her as an activist for the Native American faction.

He’d said no to both and Ellie hadn’t liked it.

Another young woman, this one with black hair tied in a scarf, sat in the second row, fidgeting with the scarf as if to hide her face. She looked nervous, frightened like a skittish colt. Senses alert for trouble, he studied her for a moment, wondering why she refused to make eye contact, and where she stood on the issues in town.

His old friend Rafe Running Horse gave him a friendly nod from a side row, but glares of contempt and distrust followed him as he stepped behind the podium. Jessie Becker’s flaming red hair caught in the overhead light, and his gaze locked with hers for a moment, her body language defensive. But he also sensed that she wanted the truth and a peaceful resolution. Or could he be wrong?

Had her family solicited her to wield her feminine seductive powers on him to sidetrack him from arresting them? Hell, if that was the case, it wouldn’t work.

Besides, he doubted Jonah Becker would encourage any kind of relationship between him and Jessie. Judging from everything he’d heard, Becker had made no bones about the fact that he believed the Native Americans were a class beneath him.

Defying Becker would be half the fun in proving him wrong. So much fun that for a brief moment, a fantasy flashed in his wicked head. Jessie Becker beneath him. But not in social class. Hell, race and class didn’t matter to him.

But he would like the feel of her curves against him, her breasts in his hands, her naked body writhing as he thrust his hard length into her welcoming body.

He blinked, scrubbed his hand over his eyes, forcing the images away. He was at a damn town meeting, couldn’t allow himself to be swayed by a pretty girl. Especially Jessie Becker.

When he focused again, Jessie’s brother, Trace, stood with arms crossed beside her, his look filled with rage. Trace Becker was short and squatty and made up for his size with his pissy attitude. Cabe read him like a book. Trace wanted an end to this mess, too, and he didn’t care if it was peaceful, as long as his family came out unscathed.

Cabe had expected animosity from the group, and it simmered in the air like a brush fire that had been lit and was ready to flame out of control.

Clenching the sides of the podium, he introduced himself, asked for everyone to listen. Intentionally using a calm voice to soothe the noise, he relayed the latest discoveries in the case.

Before he even finished, Ellie shot up from her seat with a clatter. “So that land definitely is a Native American burial ground?”

He slanted her a warning look not to stir trouble. “It appears that way. We’ll release further information when our investigation is complete. Please bear with us though, that will take time. And for purposes of finding the truth, we can’t reveal all the details until the investigation is concluded. That also means that the property is off-limits, so please don’t show up to protest or gawk. If you do, you will be arrested for interfering with a criminal investigation and sent to jail.”

Noises of protest rumbled through the room, but he held up a hand and explained about the injunction. “I need everyone to remain calm and trust us to do our jobs.” He gestured toward the sheriff. “Sheriff Hardin, the Texas Rangers and our task force are doing everything possible to settle this matter in a speedy manner and to ensure your safety.”

“What about our leader, Daniel Taabe?” a dark-skinned elderly woman with twin braids cried. “You’re letting them cover up his murder.”

“There is no cover-up,” Cabe said staunchly. “We will find out who killed Daniel as well as the other victims in the town and see that they are punished. But we need your cooperation. If anyone has information regarding any of the murders, please inform the sheriff or me.”

“I thought Billy Whitley killed Marcie, Daniel and those others,” a middle-aged man in overalls shouted.

“The evidence is not supporting Billy’s confession,” Cabe explained.

“You mean Billy might have been framed?” someone else asked.

“Was he murdered?” a little old woman cried.

A teenage Comanche boy vaulted up from his seat, waving his fist. “He should have died if he faked those documents. That land belongs to us.”

Cabe threw up his hands to calm the crowd. “As I stated before, everyone needs to be patient, and let us get to the truth.”

Trace lurched toward him, shaking his finger. “Just whose side are you on, Ranger?”