Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(72)

—Bullock Texas State History Museum, “The Story of Texas”





69

BALCONES CANYONLANDS, TEXAS

“Is there anyone you ever listen to, Ranger? ’Cause if there is, I’d like to meet them.”

Caitlin squeezed her cell phone tighter. “Maybe you didn’t hear what I just said, Jones.”

“Oh, I heard you just fine, especially the part about you disobeying a direct order from me.”

“I don’t work for you. I work for the state of Texas.”

“Well, last time I checked anyway, Texas was still part of the United States. Maybe you haven’t heard of Homeland Security?”

Caitlin spoke with her eyes on Cort Wesley, while rain from a fresh storm dappled the windshield of his truck, where he’d left it, just off the Comanche reservation. “Why don’t I just let you know when I’ve got a better idea of what we’re facing here?”

“Hold on, I want to hear more about what you found in that cave.”

“Sorry, Jones. I never listen to anybody, remember?”

*

After dropping off the bat carcass with Doc Whatley at the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s office, Caitlin and Cort Wesley continued back to Cort Wesley’s home in Shavano Park. They sat on the front porch swing, the night quiet and still around them. Nothing seemed to be moving at all, not even the air.

“Something I didn’t tell you about Daniel Cross, Cort Wesley,” Caitlin said suddenly. “Ten years ago, he didn’t go to court or jail, because of my intervention. Hell, I even made sure the arrest report went away, all on my say-so.”

“Let it go, Ranger.”

“I really did believe I could save him. I believed he was worth saving.”

“A bullied kid—you felt bad for him. Don’t make it more than it really was.”

“But it was more. It was me ten years ago, thinking I had the world right and nobody could tell me different.”

“You weren’t much more than a kid yourself, then, not much older than Daniel Cross is right now. Stop beating yourself up.”

“I want to think I’m different now,” Caitlin said, without looking at him. “You want to know why I’m beating myself up? Because I’m afraid I’m not different. I’m afraid maybe the nickname ‘Hurricane’ suits me too well and that the phrase ‘strong cold dead’ isn’t a joke so much as a warning I’ve been missing for too long.”

Cort Wesley said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He felt her nod off against him, and was being careful not to disturb her, when the scent of fresh talcum powder drew his gaze to the side, where the ghost of Leroy Epps was leaning against the porch railing.

“Wouldn’t happen to have another of those root beers in the fridge, would you, bubba?”

“Sh-h-h,” Cort Wesley cautioned, gesturing toward Caitlin.

“She can’t hear me none anyway, so I got no call to lower my voice,” Leroy told him. “Man, you got yourself in a real pickle this time, don’t you? One boy kidnapped, the other … well, let’s just say he’s seen better days.”

“What is it you’re not telling me, champ?”

“Don’t fret on that for the present, and stop your stewing.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me. You done got yourself in save-the-world mode, as like you’re the only one who can.”

“Sometimes, that seems accurate enough.”

“And sometimes it makes you do dumb-ass things, like driving a Caterpillar through a car showroom.”

“It was a John Deere, champ.”

“I ever tell you about my Vietnam experience, bubba?”

“I didn’t know you went.”

“I didn’t, ’cause the army wouldn’t have me. There they are, hard up as hell for soldiers, and they wouldn’t even consider my enlistment. Guess I had a touch of the sugar already messing with my eyes, and there was something they didn’t like about my feet, which didn’t stop me from squeezing them into my boxing shoes enough to fight for the middleweight title. Army must’ve gotten a kick out of that.”

Cort Wesley glanced down at Caitlin, still nuzzled against his shoulder. “There a point I’m missing somewhere?”

“Nope, ’cause I haven’t gotten to it yet,” Leroy told him, picking at his teeth with a branch stem. “Thing about the ring is, it’s you, the other guy, and nobody else—’cept the referee, who doesn’t count, even when he’s fixing the odds against you. You got nobody to rely on but yourself once that bell rings. But for you, bubba, the rounds never stopped. You just keep coming out to answer the bell all by your lonesome, no matter who’s in the opposite corner. And the problem is your thinking’s always the same. Doesn’t matter who you’re up against, how big, strong, or quick they might be, you’re going in the same way you did with that car showroom.”

“These people crossed a line.”

“That an explanation or an excuse?” Old Leroy shot him a disparaging glance from the railing, his mottled flesh creasing like the folds in an origami design. “I’d say I know you pretty damn well—better than anyone, save for that Ranger there—and I’ve seen you playing this game for too long without the mere consideration you might lose. That’s another thing about the ring. It should be clear cut, a winner and a loser, but I had the title swiped from me twice, and the only thing that kept my wits together was understanding there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”