Page 13 of A Ranger for Christmas
Chapter 5
Saturday, December 20, 8A.M.
Lucas sat at his desk, coffee in hand and phone cradled under his chin. He’d arrived home about 5A.M.and had fallen into bed, hoping for a few hours of sleep. But thoughts of Marisa raced through his head. She had spunk and fire. And if she was right about breaking that code, well, it would be one hell of a break in the case.
But he’d not dreamed about the code. He’d dreamed about sliding his hand up under a white lace dress and along sun-kissed legs. He’d dreamed of stroking her and watching her climax.
A knock on his door had him sitting straighter and raising his gaze to Ranger Brody Winchester. He’d known Winchester from their days working the border area. “So did you find Dr. Thompson?”
Lucas sat back in his chair. “I did. And she thinks she’s close to cracking the code.”
Winchester shook his head as if he’d just heard a tall tale. “Is that so?”
“Smart as a whip.”
“Jo said she was the best in her field.”
“She had some trouble at her home last night. A couple of odd texts, and someone tried to break into her house.”
Brody folded his arms over his chest, his good humor vanishing. “Think this has to do with the code?”
“I do. She doesn’t. Suggested it could be a guy she dated a couple of years ago.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“Trouble really started after I passed off the documents to her. That’s just too much of a coincidence for my taste. I’ve stepped up police patrols in her neighborhood, and she has promised to call today with her findings. She has a family party tonight and can’t put it aside.”
“Does she have theories about the meaning behind the coded messages?”
“Says she’ll know once she’s cracked the key.” He drew in a breath. “We’re close.”
“Damn.” Brody shook his head. “If we can read these messages we’ll be able to break this drug smuggling ring before it gets a foothold. We’ll put this new dealer out of business for good.”
Lucas drew in a breath, trying to break the stranglehold of tension banding his chest. “Lot riding on the good doctor.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
After Brody left, Lucas traced the number that had sent the texts to Marisa. Took less than a few minutes to discover the phone was a burner. Untraceable. Whoever was trying to get to Marisa wasn’t a complete novice, though he doubted the person was aligned with the cartels. If the cartels saw her as a threat, she’d be dead. A car explosion. A stray bullet. They didn’t waste time with cryptic messages. They acted. So why the need to rattle her cage?
He thought about the man she’d dated a couple of years ago. A background check was already in the works. One way or another, he’d get to the bottom of this mess.
The wrapped presents piled haphazardly in the backseat of Marisa’s car wouldn’t win any beauty contests. She’d gone backto the office early and meant to stop work by midday to wrap the gifts. But just as she’d pushed away from her desk, she’d had a major breakthrough. Much like finding the key piece of a puzzle that joined large but separate sections, she’d found the component that had broken the text. She hastily translated meaningless symbols into words and sentences. Before long, she’d had two messages completely translated.
She’d been ready to dial Lucas’s number when she’d glanced at the clock and realized it was past five. As much as work called, the pull of family jerked at her. She’d quickly locked her papers in her desk drawer and scurried home.
After a quick shower, and hair still damp, she’d put on minimal makeup and shimmied into her go-to simple black dress. The gifts for her father and stepmother had been easy enough to wrap—nice square boxes. But the trucks, well, she’d been forced to wind wrapping paper around them and slap tape on each crease and corner. The red and green Santa paper was at least festive.
Hair drying, Marisa gripped the steering wheel of her sedan as she took the exit off I-35 into the Texas Hill Country. The closer she drove to her father’s country house, the tighter her stomach became. Her mind tripped back to the night her father had argued with her mother and declared he could no longer live with a woman who only cared about her work.
Her mother had been a history professor and her father a professor of psychology. They’d met at the University of California Berkeley, but it had been her mother’s career that had brought them to Texas. Her father had eventually landed a job at the university, but he’d felt as if he wallowed in his wife’s shadow. She was a rising star in Mayan archaeology. By the time Marisa had turned seven, her father’s resentment and anger no longer simmered but boiled.
Too much wine on Christmas Eve had fueled the last and final argument. He’d been annoyed because her mother had half-decorated the tree and had failed to make the tamales that had become a holiday tradition since their move to Texas. She’d been working as always, lost in her dusty papers, when he’d confronted her. She’d not understood his outburst and quickly had become annoyed because it had taken her away from her work.
He’d moved out and it would be almost a month before Marisa saw him again. When he came to see her the first time, it had been a chilly January day. He’d driven her to his new apartment, a barren and sterile place. He’d made a room for her, and though he’d decorated it with pinks and yellows, it wasn’t her room. He’d pulled out a brightly wrapped gift and told her he was sorry her Christmas present was late. Marisa could still remember peeling back the neatly wrapped paper and finding a carbon copy of the doll she kept at home. “You can keep her here,” he’d said.
She’d stared at the doll, marveling and hating its perfection at the same time. Her real doll had smudges on her arms andherdoll’s dress was stained and dirtied from so much holding. That doll she loved. This doll was as strange and scary as the apartment.
