The Cabin. Carla Neggers

these lousy sandwiches.” He glanced back at Jack, grimacing. “What was that, parsley?”

      “Watercress.”

      “Jesus.” Sam took out a pitcher of tea, poured himself a glass without ice and took a long drink. Then he settled back against the counter and looked seriously at Jack. “Alice Parker got out of prison yesterday.”

      “Happy New Year.”

      “She’s renting a room in town.”

      “Job lined up?”

      “Not yet.”

      Jack stared out at his shaded patio, remembering how petite, blond Alice Parker had pleaded with him to look the other way when he’d come to arrest her just over a year ago. She was convinced Beau McGarrity had killed his wife—she just couldn’t prove it. McGarrity was a prominent south Texas real estate developer with political aspirations. Alice was the small-town police officer who answered the anonymous call to check out the McGarrity ranch and found Rachel McGarrity dead in her own driveway, shot in the back after she got out of her car, presumably to open the garage door. The automatic opener was broken.

      She and Beau had been married for seventy-nine days. They’d known each other less than five months.

      Jack could understand how Alice Parker might have panicked coming upon her first homicide. It was late at night, she was alone, and she was young and inexperienced. But she didn’t just make ordinary mistakes that night—she completely mucked up everything. Instead of immediately securing the crime scene and calling in an investigative team, she took matters into her own hands and contaminated evidence to the point that virtually nothing was of any use to investigators, never mind being able to stand up in court. The classic overzealous, incompetent loose cannon.

      But before anyone fully realized the damage she’d done, Alice Parker tried to make up for her mistakes by committing a crime herself. She produced an eyewitness, a drifter who did odd jobs and claimed he’d seen Beau McGarrity crouch in the azaleas and shoot his wife.

      That was when her chief of police got suspicious and asked the Texas Rangers to investigate. Jack unraveled Alice’s story within a week. She’d found her drifter, paid him, then coached, threatened and cajoled him into lying.

      Jack refused to look the other way. Alice reluctantly admitted to fabricating a witness and plea-bargained herself from a third-degree felony to a Class A misdemeanor, then settled into state prison to serve her full one-year sentence.

      As a result of her official misconduct—and incompetence—the murder of Rachel McGarrity remained an open, if cold, case. Jack was convinced there was more to Alice Parker’s story, but she’d kept silent all these months. And now she’d served her time and was a free woman.

      A week after he’d finished the Alice Parker investigation, Susanna had headed for Boston. Jack didn’t believe it was a coincidence.

      “She’s not on parole,” Sam reminded him. “She can go anywhere, do anything, so long as she doesn’t break the law.”

      Jack nodded. “Let’s hope she puts her life back together.”

      “She wanted to be a Ranger. That won’t happen now.”

      But they both knew it wouldn’t have happened anyway. The Texas Rangers were an elite investigative unit within the state’s Department of Public Safety. There were just over a hundred in the entire state, generally drawn from other DPS divisions, not small-town police departments.

      Jack turned away from the patio doors, hearing the closing music to Sense and Sensibility coming from the family room. “Alice Parker was in over her head as a patrol officer.”

      “Maybe not as much as we think. Maybe little Alice wanted us to believe she’s incompetent. Maybe she did it—maybe she killed Rachel McGarrity herself.” Sam drank more of his cold tea, obviously giving this idea serious thought. “A year in prison on a plea bargain beats the hell out of a lethal injection for premeditated murder. Admit to incompetence and produce a phony witness, draw attention away from what you really did—shoot a woman in the back in her own driveway.”

      Jack shook his head. “No motive, no evidence, and I don’t think it’s what happened. Alice knew the victim. She knew the husband. That’s one of the hazards of small-town police work. She had the whole case figured out in her own head and thought she could make it all come together, put Beau McGarrity in prison and maybe get a little recognition for herself.”

      “Didn’t work out that way, did it? Dreams die hard, Jack.” Sam set his tea glass in the sink. “Watch your back.”

      Jack knew this was the real reason Sam had come to his house on New Year’s Day, not to rehash the Alice Parker investigation, but to communicate his misgivings about what Alice Parker might do now that she was free. Sam Temple had good instincts. He’d graduated from the University of Texas and joined the Department of Public Safety, earning his master’s degree in criminal justice on the side. He was tough-minded, decisive and naturally suspicious, but also fair. People liked Sam—they’d probably make him governor of Texas one day, if he ever decided to leave law enforcement.

      He was frowning at the kitchen counter. “What the hell is that?”

      Jack followed his gaze. “An espresso machine. The girls gave it to me for Christmas.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “Come on, Sam, you know what an espresso machine is.”

      He grinned. “You start drinking lattes, Lieutenant Galway, and they’ll throw you right out of the Rangers.” But he turned serious again, calm. “If Alice Parker tries to stick her nose back into the McGarrity case or come after you—”

      “We’ll find out. She’s not stupid. She knows she has to put this behind her and move on.” Jack started back toward the family room, clapping one hand on the younger Ranger’s shoulder. “You’re just looking for things to think about so you won’t have to eat any more watercress sandwiches.”

      “Not me. You’re the one who needs distracting. Susanna was down here for New Year’s last year. Bet last night was a long one for you.” Sam laughed, then said out of the blue, “It’s cold in Boston, you know. High of twenty today. Wind chill’s below zero.”

      “Good.”

      “If that was my wife, I’d go fetch her.” Sam’s black eyes flashed. “I’d bring my cuffs.”

      “Sam—”

      He held up a hand. “I know. None of my business.” He sauntered into the family room and gave the girls more grief about the guy from Die Hard.

      “His name is Alan Rickman,” Maggie said coolly.

      Sam shook his head. “You and Ellen have been up north too long. You’re starting to sound like Teddy Kennedy.”

      Jack smiled from the doorway, listening to his daughters give as good as they got from a Texas Ranger more than fifteen years their senior. They weren’t shrinking violets. Neither was their mother, although sometimes Jack thought his life would be easier if Susanna would be a little more of a shrinking violet, at least once in a while.

      Not long after Alice Parker was arrested, it became apparent that Beau McGarrity wouldn’t be charged for his wife’s murder anytime soon. People were even starting to feel sympathy for him, believing he was innocent, the victim of police corruption and a rush to judgment.

      Jack felt the familiar mix of anger and frustration assault every muscle, every inch of him. His entire body stiffened. He was mad at Susanna, mad at himself—but he knew what he had to do. One of these days, he and his wife were going to have to have a talk about Beau McGarrity.

      * * *

      Maggie and Ellen joined him on his run the next morning. They all did five miles before Maggie pooped out, declared she was on vacation and flagged down a neighbor to drive her home. Ellen would have hung in for the full ten miles, but