LITMIR.BIZ

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You don’t understand. It isn’t mine.”

      “Then I especially need to look inside.”

      “Just who do you think you are? A hotshot waiter with a fast motorcycle has no right—”

      “Lieutenant Garrison Travis, Company F, Texas Rangers. Temporarily on assignment in Austin.” He wanted to pop whatever lock was on that case, but he didn’t have anything with him. “I’m sorry that you can’t go home. They’ll be waiting there. They know who you are.”

      “But I didn’t do anything.” She grabbed his upper arm. Her hand shook a bit. She was either shivering in her short sleeves or from the shock of everything that had happened.

      “They don’t know that. Plus, you saw the killer.” He shrugged out of his split jacket and flipped it around her shoulders, holding it until she slipped her arms through the sleeves. “You’re coming home with me. It’s your only option.”

      “Are you crazy? I don’t know you. Where’s your ID? Just take me to the nearest police station, and we can tell them what we saw.” She swung her leg over the back of the bike and took off. “They’ll protect me if I need it.”

      “I can help you,” he called after her. “And that’s smart, asking for my ID. But I don’t carry it while I’m undercover.”

      “You did help, and I thank you. But the police need to know what I witnessed. I’m sure I broke a law or something leaving the scene of a crime.” She backed up across the run-down parking lot in a short fancy skirt and his torn tux jacket. She might trip in her heels. “Why are you shaking your head at me?”

      “Come on, get back on the bike.” He threw one of his best smiles at her, attempting to make his witness feel more comfortable. But she wasn’t reacting like the rest of the women in his life.

      Maybe because she’d just seen two of her friends executed, and someone was trying to kill her. Maybe he should change tactics.

      “No.”

      “Well, I’ll need my jacket. It’s a rental.” Fortunately, he’d dropped the murder weapon in the cycle’s saddlebags, so it was safe. He dug his cell from his front pants pocket. “I’m going to dial a number, and you can confirm my identity. Then I’m taking you to my place.”

      Garrison was afraid she’d break her neck running away from him if he got off the bike and chased her. He stayed put, got the number and pressed dial. He heard his captain answer, pressed speaker and told him, “Hang on.” Then he extended the phone to his witness.

      For some crazy reason, she walked back to him and took the phone. “Hello?”

      “This is Captain Aiden Oaks, Texas Rangers. Who is this? Why do you have Travis’s phone?”

      She shrugged, searching him for answers. Garrison pointed to it and made a talk symbol with his hand.

      “Someone handed it to me. Are you really a Texas Ranger? Is he?”

      Garrison took the keys, opened the saddlebag, dropped the case inside and locked it. What was coming next would be pleasant for Kenderly, but not so much when Garrison confronted the captain.

      “Is the smart-ass who handed you the cell riding a motorcycle, wearing a tuxedo and got a smart-alecky grin on his face?”

      “I think so.”

      “Lieutenant Garrison Travis didn’t have identification with him, miss. Did he call to assure you of something?”

      She hung up and walked the phone back to him. “He says you have a smart-alecky smile. He’s right.”

      “Ouch. I’ve been told this smile was reassuring. Ready to come home with me now?”

      Kenderly had been through a sick ordeal and needed a lot more help than he could provide. The first step was getting her under the protection of the Rangers. And for that to happen, he had to find out exactly what she’d seen and what was in that case.

      He braced the bike while she hopped on the back again. He moved his hand to bring her closer, then thought better of it, speaking over his shoulder. “You can trust me, Kenderly.”

      “No more running red lights.”

      “Not a prob.”

      “And you promise that I’ll be safer with you than with the police?”

      “You’ve got my word as a Texas Ranger. Nothing’ll happen to you while you’re with me.” He started the bike and rejoined traffic before she realized he was a complete stranger and decided to yell for help. She didn’t yell. She only cooperated.

      Kenderly was too trusting. Or playing him.

      Witness or perpetrator? He had a lightbulb moment of his own. He hadn’t seen the actual shooting. He couldn’t swear who pulled that trigger. The makeup artist could have unlocked the balcony doors and let the monkey-suit guy inside.

      Maybe he was protecting an accomplice?

      Not a chance. There was no blood spatter on her clothes. She couldn’t have been near the fatal shots. He’d find out all the details when they got to his house. Just a couple of minutes and they’d be safe.

      The small jewelry box would have to wait until he was at his place. He needed to ask her about everything, but was certain Captain Oaks would want to be there for the questioning.

      Turning down Forty-first, he replayed the scene in his head, searching through his memory for what the murderer looked like. Approximately the same height as him, so the guy had to be six-one, maybe more. Brown eyes, huge nose that protruded under the hood. He didn’t have much to go on, but the man’s shoes weren’t from a rental company like the tux.

      Garrison had rented enough times to know how unforgiving a new pair of rental dress shoes were. Or how the older ones looked scuffed no matter how hard you shined. This guy was wearing his own.

      He pulled to a stop in his driveway. Then he mentally brought up the image of the man in black. He’d turned to him—surprised someone had entered Mrs. Tenoreno’s bedroom—guilty.

      Blood. Bright dark spots that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else shone all over the black tux. He was confident he’d interrupted the gunman before he pulled the trigger on a third victim. Kenderly was a state’s witness.

      Kenderly was off the back of the bike before he’d cut the engine. He popped the kickstand, tugging her to him. He might be confident she wasn’t the murderer, but he wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t run down the street hollering for help.

      “Mind if I take the jacket back?”

      Delicately, treating the ripped tux like an expensive designer jacket, she folded it in half and handed it to him. He tossed open the saddlebag and removed the gun, wrapping it protectively in the jacket’s folds, then setting it on the bike seat along with the case. The evidence couldn’t be out of his line of sight, and this was the best he could do. He unlocked the detached garage and lifted the heavy door, then rolled his bike inside and reversed the procedure.

      “I think I have a couple of sodas inside and maybe a frozen pizza.”

      “I can’t possibly eat.” Her hand covered her lips.

      “How about some soup, then? I got a cabinet of the stuff.”

      “Really, I’m fine.” She shook her head and preceded him up the steps. “What I really need is a toothbrush.”

      “Got you covered. My aunt has extras from visits with her dentist. She’s visiting my mom.” If he could remember where she’d put them.

      “Oh.” She tugged at her hair, trying to smooth tangle upon wind-massacred tangle.

      His Aunt Brenda’s house was on the small side. What most people might call cozy. Just right for one bachelor ranger who wasn’t home half the time. That

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