Lone Star Christmas Witness. Margaret Daley

       TWO

      Taylor pulled in behind Sierra’s car that she’d driven into the garage, while Dr. Yates parked along the curb. On his trip here, Taylor had checked Sierra’s alibi and the accounting firm had confirmed her presence and the time she left that morning. He hadn’t thought she was the killer, but he’d learned to check every lead out.

      In fact, the interviews with both of them had been difficult for him, especially Ben’s. The little boy with brown hair and eyes reminded him of his deceased son. TJ had died from cancer at the age of six over three years ago. He’d left a hole in Taylor’s heart that he’d never been able to fill. Months after his son’s death, Taylor had been accepted as a Texas Ranger after serving as a Texas State Trooper. He’d thrown himself into the job as though that would cover the pain of his loss. It hadn’t. That was why he preferred working from behind a computer rather than in the field. At least until a few months ago. Working a case with Texas Ranger Dallas Sanders involving kidnapped babies had made him realize he couldn’t hide forever.

      When he realized he was gripping the steering wheel so hard pain shot up his arms, he pried his fingers loose and slid from his vehicle. He bridged the distance to Sierra, holding her car door open while Ben slowly crawled from the back seat. As he straightened, Ben glanced up at Taylor. The look of terror in the child’s eyes reminded him of when TJ had gone for his first chemo treatment. Taylor hadn’t been able to protect his son then. He intended to protect Ben now. He wasn’t helpless in this situation. He’d find the murderer.

      When John Yates joined them, Sierra put the garage door down and walked with her hand on Ben’s shoulder to the porch of the two-story, adobe-styled home. Taylor hung back and surveyed the surroundings. No one had followed them to the house, but it wouldn’t have been hard for the killer to figure out where Dr. Markham lived with her sister and son. There was still a possibility the shooting was random, but more likely it wasn’t. So, what motivated the person to kill six people? If he could answer that, it would be a lot easier to find the shooter.

      Taylor was the last one to enter the Markham home. He locked the door behind him and faced Sierra across the foyer. Her long, curly strawberry blond hair reminded him of a setting sun striking the mountains in Big Bend National Park. But what really drew his attention were her big brown eyes with long, dark eyelashes, filled with pain from losing a loved one. That look drew him. In the past nine years, he’d gone through the same kind of sorrow twice. He felt a connection with her, which surprised him because he worked hard to keep himself walled off. He couldn’t deal with that kind of pain for a third time.

      Sierra tore her gaze away from his. “We should go into the kitchen.” She led the way down a hall, and when she entered the room, she gestured toward the table in a nook with a bay window overlooking the fenced backyard. While they were all settled except her, she asked, “What would you like to drink? We have sweet tea, water and milk, but if you would like coffee, I can make some.”

      “Sweet tea is fine for me,” Taylor said while John nodded. He rose and strolled to the counter next to the refrigerator as Sierra opened the door. “Here, let me help you. Where are the glasses?”

      “The cabinet in front of you.” Her hand shaking, she immediately set the pitcher on the ceramic tiles.

      Taylor leaned close to her. “You have enough to do. The least I can do is take care of this. Go sit down.”

      “Thanks.”

      He quickly filled the glasses, set them on the table and returned the pitcher to the refrigerator. When he took his seat between Ben and John, he looked up into Sierra’s brown eyes across the table, glimpsing a sadness he was all too familiar with.

      After John finished chewing a bite of his hamburger, he said, “Ben, this is fantastic. Now I see why this is your favorite place to get a burger.”

      The boy kept his head down while eating his food.

      Taylor fixed his attention on Ben. “Dr. Yates, I agree with you. This is great.”

      The child slid his glance to Taylor for a fleeting few seconds.

      John nodded at Taylor, a signal they had talked about earlier. If Ben wasn’t responding to John, his friend wanted Taylor to ask a few questions and see what response he could get from the traumatized boy.

      Over the years Taylor had interviewed a lot of victims and witnesses, but in this case, he felt the weight of what he was doing. He wasn’t a child psychologist, but at least John was here to guide him.

      “Ben, sometimes when I’m upset, I can’t explain things well. That’s normal. I noticed some pictures on the refrigerator. Are those yours? Do you like to draw?”

      The young boy turned his head slightly toward Taylor, then went back to eating.

      “Ben draws a lot, as you can see.” Sierra pointed toward the fridge. “He has an area in his room where he has paper, pencils, markers and other items for a budding artist.”

      “That’s great, Ben. Maybe after lunch, you can show me your room.”

      He nodded but didn’t look at Taylor.

      Ten minutes later Ben and Sierra headed upstairs with Taylor behind them. John was waiting a moment before following. When Taylor entered the bedroom, the sight of a large corkboard with a ton of drawings pinned to it sent relief through him. According to John, some kids expressed their emotions through their artwork. He remembered in the baby kidnapping case how Michelle Sanders, the daughter of Dallas Sanders, a fellow Texas Ranger and friend, and the thirteen-year-old babysitter of the first child abducted, had helped their case and had been pivotal in solving the crime.

      “You’re quite an artist, Ben. I’d love for you to draw a picture for me,” Taylor said.

      Ben sat down at his table but didn’t do anything except stare at a blank sheet. Taylor and Sierra hovered over the child, not sure what else to do. When John appeared in the doorway, Ben finally picked up a black marker and scribbled all over the paper. Then he snapped up the picture and wadded it into a tight ball. Tears ran down his face as he threw it at the wall. Hanging his head, he hunched his shoulders.

      Sierra squatted next to her nephew, putting her arm around him. “Sweetie, I’m here for you.” She gave him a hug, tears glistening in her eyes. “Can you tell us anything about this morning?”

      Silence.

      Taylor knelt on the other side of the boy. “You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Remember, I promised.”

      After five long minutes, when Ben didn’t say anything or make any kind of movement to indicate he’d even heard him, Taylor glanced over his shoulder at John, who motioned for Taylor to come into the hallway. He rose and took a step away. Suddenly Ben shot up, his chair tumbling backward, and threw his arms around Taylor as though to stop him from leaving.

      Still he spoke not a word.

      Taylor clasped the boy, not sure what he should do.

      Sierra came to Ben’s side. “Hon, it’s okay if you don’t want to draw. Texas Ranger Blackburn was only going out into the hallway to talk with Dr. Yates. You need to let him do that.”

      “Ben, I’ll be right back.”

      The child let go and immediately clung to his aunt.

      As Taylor left the bedroom, he heard Sierra say, “You won’t be alone. You’re safe now.”

      He hoped so for the child’s sake.

      Taylor joined John in the hall, and they moved away from the doorway. “What do we do?”

      “Ben needs to feel safe. After the kind of trauma he went through, he’s frightened, possibly wondering when the person will come back and get him. He took his anger and fear out on the paper.”

      Taylor frowned,