Broken Toys Page 11

  With heat behind his eyelids and a lump in his throat, Noah swallowed defeat and waved wearily at the open door. “Yes, you may go. Sylvia has your keys at the front desk.”

  Scrambling for a business card and a pen, he scribbled his cell phone number on the back of the card before handing it to the battered teen. He did not release the card until she raised her eyes to his. “That’s my personal cell number. Please call me if you need anything—anything at all, any time at all.”

  With a sharp nod, Rochelle tucked the card in her bag. Ducking her head and raising both shoulders, she darted from the room.

  ****

  “Hey, beautiful.” Patrick waved across the gravel parking lot at Roc. He drew a battered, olive-colored duffle bag from the back of his great-uncle’s pickup. “You ready to go?”

  As the dust settled, she stepped out of her car, carrying safety glasses and hearing protectors. With a hesitant shrug, she said, “I think so.”

  He almost didn’t recognize her. Her freshly washed hair shone in the sun. A touch of awkwardly applied makeup graced her face, highlighting her eyes. He stepped closer to her and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. She raised her head, eyes closed, obviously waiting for a real kiss. He ran a finger lightly across her split and swollen lower lip. “Damn, girl, he really did a number on you.”

  Roc shivered. She ducked her head, a curtain of hair falling forward and hiding her injuries. She mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Tap, tap, tap, tap, her thumb bumped each fingertip.

  “O-ka-a-ay.” This will be even easier than I thought. “Are you sure you’re okay, princess? You know you can talk to me.”

  She raised her head. Her cheek was darkened with the purple shadow of a bruise that shone through her makeup. A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. Hands fisted, jaw clenched, she spit out the words. “The son of a bitch tried to have me arrested.”

  “Which son of a bitch? Your dad?”

  “Yeah, the sperm donor.” Forcibly, she uncurled her hands. She bared her teeth in a cold smile and said, “But it’s okay, isn’t it? We’re going to change the world, right? Maybe I’ll start at home. All change should start at home, shouldn’t it?”

  A flaming vision of ripping Roc’s father’s head from his body burned through Patrick’s mind. His body tensed before he purposefully relaxed it. Don’t let her emotions infect you. Not your problem. She’s just a tool you are using to get the job done. Still, the thought of inflicting severe pain on her father tantalized him.

  Refocusing his attention, he swung the duffle bag over one shoulder and wrapped his other arm around Roc’s waist. He dropped a tender kiss on top of her head. “That’s right, princess. We’ll change the world.”

  When they reached the shooting bench set up behind the dilapidated barn, he unzipped the bag and began pulling out boxes of ammunition in different calibers. Next, he grabbed two rifles, a shotgun, and an assortment of handguns. Roc’s eyes widened. She slid her finger down the glossy, wooden stock of a rifle.

  “Here,” he said. “Pick it up.” Patrick stepped behind her and positioned the long gun in her arms. “Hold it tight, like this, against your shoulder. Press your cheek against the stock like so.” He adjusted the gun, helping her hold it tight to her shoulder while bracing her back against his chest. “Now gently, gently squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it.”

  Roc stopped. “Don’t we need the earmuffs?”

  “Nah, not necessary. Just focus down range on the target and squeeze the trigger.”

  “If you’re sure?” she asked tentatively. She pressed the butt of the gun back against her shoulder. When Patrick let go, the barrel of the gun dipped.

  “Whoa. Here you go.” He slid his arms back around her, supporting the weight of the gun. “Focus on the picture I taped to the target.”

  “Is that your dad?” Roc sounded a bit shocked.

  “No way. It’s that teacher. The one I told you…well, you know.”

  “Oh. Oh! That teacher. He needs to die.”

  Patrick watched her tighten her grip on the gun. Helping her hold it firmly against her shoulder, he placed his finger over hers and together they applied pressure to the trigger. It slid back until it hit resistance.

  “There you go,” he said. “A little tighter. Keep squeezing.”

  Roc pulled the trigger. The kick from the rifle knocked her back into Patrick. She turned to him, a smile lighting up her face. “I did it. I fired the gun.”

  “Yes, you did. You even hit the paper.” Patrick laughed. “A little more practice and you’ll be a regular Annie Oakley. You’ve so got this.”

  Roc lifted the gun. She pointed it toward the photograph at the other end of the shooting lane. “I want to do it again. I want to blow his face away. Him and all the rest just like him.”

  Patrick took the rifle from her arms and handed her a pistol. “Why don’t we try this one next?”

  ****

  In a candlelit, red vinyl booth near the back of the restaurant, Patrick and Roc huddled over a steaming pepperoni pizza. “Are you sure you haven’t shot a gun before?”

  She stopped with a slice of pizza halfway to her mouth. A vibrant flash of red rushed up her neck to her face. She dropped the slice back to the plate. “I’ve been shooting with my father since I was six. Today, I pretended I had never held a gun before.” She wrapped her arms across her belly. “I’m so embarrassed. I acted like everything I hate in a female.”

  Curiosity swept through him. “Why did you do it?”

  She paused before answering, looking anywhere but at him. After a long silence, she met his gaze and blurted, “When you wrapped your arms around me, when I felt your warmth against my back, your strength surrounding me, for the first time in forever I felt safe. More to the point, I felt emotion. The hollow void inside filled me with, I don’t know, joy maybe? Anticipation? Comfort?”

  She removed the napkin from her lap and stepped out of the booth. She stood beside the table, digging in her purse. Pulling out her keys, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m just going to go.”

  Patrick’s skin tingled. His stomach flipped. What the hell? No one had ever been so open and honest with him. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “No, don’t go. I—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, a very pregnant woman carrying an infant and dragging four squalling toddlers knocked Roc into his lap. Without an apology or even a glance back at the couple, the woman and her bevy of brats swept from the restaurant.

  “See? That’s what I’ve been talking about.” He gestured at the departing family. “Look out the window. Five kids, one on the way. There’s no way she can hold down a job with that many kids, yet she’s driving a high-priced SUV. Really? People are trapped in a materialistic funk. We need to free them. It’s our duty to set them free. We can’t build a new world without sacrifice.”

  Patrick watched Roc closely. Was she buying it? He had studied the manifestos of several mass shooters to come up with this line of rhetoric. Line of bullshit is more like it.

  “Are you sure I’m ready for this? The whole idea scares me.”

  “Come here.” He moved over on the bench and patted it. “Sit beside me.”

  She scooted in close to him, pressed her thigh tight against his. He noticed the chill bumps that danced on her skin. Wrapping an arm around her, he ran his hands up and down her arms. “Don’t you want a free world? One with no pain, no hate, no anger—just love? I know a lot of people won’t understand. They will say what we are going to do is wrong, evil. But we are going to be saving these people. Saving them from the government. Saving them from themselves. It will be a day of great deliverance. A day of freedom. All those empty shells pretending to live, we’ll fill them with real life. With real love. They’ll understand…afterward.”

  Where the hell do these whackos come up with this shit? Deliverance? Empty shells? Puh-lease!

  He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but as he watched Roc eat up e
very last syllable, he was glad he had done his homework.

  “We’re going to do it together, right? Starting on opposite ends of the campus?”

  Damn, this is easy. Patrick shoved a piece of pizza into his mouth to hide his smirk. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “Of course. I’ll send you a signal. Any day now.”

  She smiled and tucked her head against his shoulder. “And then we’ll be together, forever and ever in paradise until the end of all time. Do you think it will hurt?” She shook her head, touched her split lip. “Never mind. The pain will be worth the reward. Besides, it can’t be any worse than daily life in this gray prison.”

  ****

  Aubree danced into the kitchen and grabbed a can of soda out of the fridge before skipping over to drop a kiss on Rhyden’s brow. “Hi, Dad.”

  “You sure are in a good mood for someone who has a calculus final today.” He placed the case folder he was reviewing down on the granite countertop.

  “Calculus final?” Shit. She scrambled to cover up last night’s lie. “Uh, yeah, um—I got a text from the school this morning saying the teacher called in sick, so they are rescheduling it for next week.”

  Damn, this lying stuff was harder than I thought it would be. How does Sam do this all the time?

  He flipped the folder back open and started turning pages. “That would definitely improve my mood. If you don’t have school, why are you up so early?” He flipped the folder back open and started turning pages.

  “Dad, don’t freak out, but my boyfriend’s on his way here to pick me up. We’re gonna hang out.”

  “What boyfriend?” He looked up at Bree. “Never mind. I’m sorry, kiddo, but I need you here. If you don’t have school, I don’t have to pay a babysitter to keep an eye on your sisters.”

  “You know what boyfriend. PC.”

  Pushing his stool away from the counter, Rhyden faced his daughter. “When are you going to stop with all this PC stuff and just tell me the boy’s real name? I thought you had dumped him after the stunt with Sam.”

  “That was a mistake. Everyone is entitled to make one now and again. Isn’t that what you always tell us? Besides, he didn’t really like Sam. He likes me, just me.”

  “Uh-huh. Fine. I still need you here.” He closed the folder and gathered his keys and badge from the catch-all basket at the end of the counter.

  “But, Dad, it’s Saturday. Sam’s old enough. She can watch Maddie. Or if you don’t trust her, why don’t you go ahead and pay the sitter? It’s not like we are broke or anything.”

  “Why don’t y’all just hang out here?” He tucked the folder under one arm, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll spring for pizza.”

  “Right. Like I want to flaunt Sam the gorgeous in front of PC.”

  “Wait. Didn’t you just tell me he doesn’t like her, but he likes you?”

  “But Dad…”

  “But nothing. Listen, Aubree, I’m in the middle of a big case here. People are depending on me. I have to work. You have to stay here with your sisters. End of discussion.”

  Bree stomped her foot. “But that’s not fair.”

  Tucking his wallet back in his pocket, he said, “Honey, life and fair are both four-letter words, and that’s about all they have in common. Get used to it.”

  “Oooh!” Bree threw her soda can in the sink. Brown, fizzy liquid splashed everywhere. “You always say that. Why does your job always come first? When do we get to come first? When do I get to come first?”

  Running a hand through his hair, he said, “Aubree, I know it’s hard on you, but you’re the oldest, and as the oldest, you have responsibilities. One of those—”

  “I didn’t ask to be the oldest. I didn’t even ask to be born. They’re your children, not mine. I shouldn’t have to raise them. I’m supposed to be a kid, too, you know. I have no life because of your job.”

  Rhyden’s cell phone rang.

  She glared at him. “Go ahead. Answer it.” I dare you. Bitterness coated her next words. “I hate your job. And I hate you, too. No wonder Mom left.”

  ****

  Noah walked down the hallway to his office, humming to himself as he thought back on last night’s dinner and his plans for the upcoming evening. I can’t wait to see the smile on her face when she sees the ring.

  Chatter from the CID squad room caught his attention. He popped his head through the door and counted seven sheriff’s investigators kicked back and relaxed. Several reclined in desk chairs with their boots propped up on top of their desks. A heated discussion appeared to be taking place at the front of the room between the chief investigator and the three most senior investigators.

  “What’s up, guys?” Noah asked. “New case?”

  “Nah, just talking about the Renner trial over in Atascosa County.”

  “Renner? The guy who shot the SAPD officer?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. The officer pursued him from San Antonio into Atascosa County and was shot through the windshield. Witness testimony starts tomorrow. A bunch of us are going over to the courthouse and lend moral support to the family.”

  Noah nodded. “So what’s the argument about?”

  The CI rolled his eyes. “I think we should wear blue and these yahoos want to go with yellow. Really? I go out in that color, I'll look jaundiced.”

  “As if that’s all you need to worry about,” one of the investigators called out. “The hat you’re wearing looks like you fell in a pointed hole. Of course, it could be you needed it to cover up your cone head.” The room erupted in laughter.

  “Seriously?” Noah rubbed at the stress headache threatening to blossom behind both his brows. “A capital murder trial and y’all are arguing about what to wear? You going to court or prom? I thought they were joking when they called you peacocks, but I guess they were serious.”

  “Peacocks?” Several voices popped up in protest. “Who called us peacocks?”

  “At least we’re not rabbit rangers,” another added.

  “Smooth, dude, real smooth. Neither am I. I’m a Texas Ranger, not a game warden.” Noah backed out of the room. “Sorry, guys, some of us have real investigating to do. Talk to you later.” He paused in the doorway, tipped his hat to the investigators, and said, “Have fun at the prom.”

  Wads of paper and hoots of laughter followed him into the hallway.

  Noah continued through the building to Rhyden’s office, reaching the door just in time to hear a telephone handset slammed into its cradle followed by a stream of curse words that would turn a sailor blue.

  He peered around the corner of the doorjamb. “Is it safe to come in? What’s up?”

  Rhyden ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. Shaking it back down into place, he glowered at Noah. “Today has been a total shit show. Everything I touch falls apart.”

  “Take a breath. It’s only nine; it can’t be that bad.”

  Waves of tension rolled off Rhyden. Popping his knuckles, he asked, “Want to bet on that?”

  “What’s going on, bud?” Noah dropped into his favorite chair and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”

  The muscle in Rhyden’s cheek jumped as he ground his back teeth. Nostrils flaring, he slammed his hands on his desk. “Am I a bad father?”

  Didn’t see that one coming. Noah sat up straight. “Not that I can tell. Of course, I don’t exactly have the best role model to compare to. What the hell are you talking about?”

  Rhyden looked like he had been sucker punched. “I’m losing them, Noah. The girls. They’re growing up, and I’m missing it all.”

  “Wait a minute, bud. What brought this on? Your daughters love you.”

  Rhyden snorted. “You might ask Aubree about that. This morning, before she ran away with that punk loser, she informed me she hates me. She blames me for Cara leaving.”

  “Aw, man.” A sour taste flooded Noah’s mouth. “Where is Bree? What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know
where she is.” He fished a piece of a torn envelope from his shirt pocket. “But I do know how to find out. My patience is shot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The license plate of the vehicle she and the loser drove off in.” Rhyden picked up the handset of the telephone on his desk and punched in the extension for the sheriff’s office dispatchers. “Hey, Michelle, can you run a plate for me? Yeah, Texas plate. Boy-Robert-Nora-six-eight-two. Should come back to a red Mustang. Can you print a copy and leave it in my box, please? Thanks.”

  “One problem down,” Noah said. “Why were you trying to kill your phone when I walked in?”

  Rhyden’s nostrils flared. “You will not believe the complete and total line of bullshit the paving company just tried to hand me. Utter lack of concern for the murdered girl. Un-freakin-believable.”

  Noah rubbed his hands together. “Do you have a physical address for the place?”

  “I do now.”

  “What are we waiting for? Grab it and your hat, and let’s go. I’ll drive. I brought my Ruby Lee today.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A swirl of red dirt from the county road chased Noah’s octane red Challenger Hellcat into the parking lot of the green metal building. He remained behind the steering wheel, keeping his head on a constant swivel while scanning the location. The first thing he noticed, even through the closed window, was the odor of hot asphalt. An eighteen-wheeler tractor trailer hooked up to a flatbed trailer sat at the edge of the parking lot. Paving equipment, roofing tools, and supplies covered the top of the trailer. A large machine shed huddled between two dump trucks. The sheet metal gaped open on the far side, rendering the padlock on the front door useless.

  Random patches of weeds pushed up through cracked and patched asphalt that led to a gravel-covered parking area in front of the metal office building. The glare from the midday sun bouncing off the double glass doors temporarily blinded him. A white vinyl banner with blue lettering proclaiming “Paving and Roofing” dangled beneath the corrugated, charcoal-gray tin roof of the office. No company name. No telephone number.

  Knee-high dried grasses and stunted mesquite trees filled the lot behind the parking lot. A thin trail of trampled weeds and brush led from the back of the office building to a dilapidated wooden barn that peeked out from the trees at the far end of the property. Everything on the half-acre lot, apart from the ramshackle barn, could be loaded up and hauled away in a heartbeat. The easy “pick up and go” vibe of the yard brought back memories of doing just that—loading up and moving away before an angry crowd caught up to him—many times while growing up.