Lone Star Christmas Witness. Margaret Daley

have information that could help this investigation. “I especially want to talk to the office manager. This could have been done by a disgruntled employee—past or present. Knowing why will help us find this guy. Where are the other two dead victims?”

      “There.” Nash pointed to the counter in the middle of the building where the nurses probably worked.

      Taylor walked around a large booth to find two women on the tiled floor—one shot in the back, the other in the chest. From what he had seen so far, the shooter was swift and accurate—possibly methodical in his execution of the crime, as though he’d planned it for a while.

      Nash received a call. His frown deepened the longer he listened to the caller. When it ended, he took a few seconds to gather himself, then said, “The sixth victim died on the way to the hospital. She never regained consciousness. Mindy Carson worked the front desk where she was found alive.” He started to walk away, then turned back to Taylor. “Look around. I’ll be in the lobby.”

      As Taylor walked toward the female doctor’s office, he couldn’t shake his bad feeling, a growing hollowness in his gut. If this wasn’t a current or former disgruntled employee, then what drove a person to kill all these people who were healers trying to help others get well? The shooter hadn’t come in while patients were here. He’d done this before they opened the clinic. This wasn’t a random choice. The shooter wanted one or all of these people dead.

      He stepped into Dr. Markham’s office, noting the lock on the door had been shot out, and paused a few feet inside, scanning the medium-sized room. A woman in her thirties, wearing a white coat, lay on the floor near a bank of windows that didn’t open. Trapped in her office with no way out. He covered the distance to the doctor, who lay faceup, an entry wound to her heart. She hadn’t suffered at least.

      As he gazed at a face caught in a look of terror, he whispered, “Who wanted you dead?” He wished the victim could tell him.

      The sound of faint whimpers wafted to Taylor. He stiffened and whirled around, every part of him on alert. But the room was empty. His gaze swept more carefully over the office, stopping at a framed picture on Dr. Markham’s desk of her and a little boy.

      Did he imagine the noise?

      Again, he surveyed the area, looking for any place to hide. The only furniture was a desk with two chairs in front and one behind, as well as a sideboard along the opposite wall with more photos of the doctor and the boy with a few including another woman. He strode over to the piece of furniture for a closer look. The sideboard had drawers down the middle, and cabinets on the sides with louvered doors. He opened the nearest cupboard. Files, books and magazines were crammed inside. He moved to the other one on the left and swung the door wide.

      A child was curled into a tight ball, his head buried against his knees. Another whimper escaped the kid’s mouth as he tried to crouch even more into a protective cocoon.

      Taylor squatted in front of the child. “You’re safe. I’m Texas Ranger Blackburn, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” A lance pierced his heart as he waited for the boy to trust him. Finally, the child looked up, and Taylor recognized him as the boy from the photographs. Dr. Markham’s son probably. He could only imagine the horror this young child went through when the killer came into the office. Did he see or hear anything through the slats in the cabinet door?

      Taylor wondered who the other woman in a couple of the photographs was. She looked like Dr. Markham. She looked too old to be her child. A sister maybe?

      “No one is going to hurt you. I promise. You’re safe.” Taylor held out his hand.

      The brown-haired child didn’t move.

      Taylor withdrew his cell phone and called Nash rather than leave the child alone to find the lieutenant. “Will you send a police officer to find Kathleen Markham’s residence and see if there’s a family member there?”

      “Why?”

      “I found Dr. Markham’s son in her office.”

      “Alive?”

      “Yes.” As Taylor disconnected, he held out his hand again toward the child. “Come on out. You’re safe.”

      But the kid quickly turned his face away from Taylor.

      He settled himself on the floor by the child. He didn’t want him to feel he was alone nor did he want to force him out of the cabinet. Taylor glanced up at the photo of Dr. Markham, the boy and a young woman who had long blond hair and a smile that lit her whole face. She had her arm around the kid, looking down at him. Suddenly a thought struck him. What if the boy was this lady’s son, not Dr. Markham’s?

      Sierra Walker left the Premier Medical Clinic’s accountant’s office, relieved to get the necessary paperwork to him for the end of the year. She hurried toward her car, the cold wind whipping her long blond hair about her face and sending a shiver down her spine. Reaching her Mustang, she opened the driver’s side door and slipped behind the steering wheel.

      She hoped Kat could figure out what was wrong with Ben. Probably a cold or possibly the flu. After her nephew had spent yesterday at the clinic, sleeping most of the time in one of the exam rooms, Sierra had told her sister that she’d take Ben with her today and work at home when she finished meeting with the accountant.

      When she turned onto the street that led to work, the sight of police cruisers parked along the street in front of the clinic with lights flashing sent terror snaking down her spine. A small crowd stood behind a makeshift barricade.

      She parked along the street, then dug her cell phone out of her purse. Her hands shook as she called her sister, her full attention glued to the police going in and out of the building. When Kat didn’t answer, she stuffed her phone back into her handbag and scrambled from her car.

      Her pace, matching her pounding heartbeat, quickened with each step she took toward the barricade. She fought her way through the throng, praying everyone was all right, especially Kat and Ben. They were her only family. Her sister was the one who rescued her when she started down the wrong path. She owed her so much.

      She reached the cordoned-off area and ducked under the barrier. A police officer immediately confronted her. “Ma’am, you aren’t supposed to be here. Please stay behind the barricade.”

      “I work here. What happened? Is everyone all right?”

      “Who are you?”

      “Sierra Walker. I’m the office manager, and my sister, Dr. Markham, works here, too.”

      “Can I see some identification?”

      With trembling hands Sierra dug into her purse and presented her wallet with her driver’s license.

      “Come this way.”

      As she walked beside the officer, she scanned the scene and realized that something really bad had happened for this kind of all-out response and interest from bystanders. The nearer she came to the entrance, the more distress wrapped around her and squeezed the breath from her lungs, making her chest hurt.

      The officer stopped while a gurney with a closed body bag was wheeled from the building.

      “Please tell me if my sister and her son are okay.” She didn’t know how the words passed her tight throat.

      He didn’t answer but continued to make his way into the clinic as the gurney was rolled toward a waiting vehicle. Sweat popped out on Sierra’s forehead in spite of the cold weather. The stench assailed her senses as she moved farther inside. Her stomach roiled.

      When the sight of a body’s shape taped on the bloodstained floor by the Christmas tree across from the receptionist’s desk transfixed Sierra, she stopped as though frozen in place. Who was dead? Mindy, the receptionist? Mindy was one of her best friends. They often shared lunch here at the clinic or the café across the street. Then Sierra thought of all the other people she worked with who could be on that gurney, and her heart broke into pieces.

      The officer glanced back.