Broken Toys Page 2

  He sure as hell hoped so.

  Doubt taunted as it always did when a voice from the past began to echo inside his head. The ring? Sure, she’ll love it. But you? No one wants you. You’re a broken toy.

  Panic bubbled in his chest, creeped its way into his throat, choking him. He squeezed his eyes closed. Images—memories—of a different ring, a different time, danced across the inside of his eyelids. He heard the muffled laughter of his older cousin’s taunts. Broken toy, thrown away, broken toy, go away. Nobody wants you; nobody loves you. Broken toy, broken toy, broken toy.

  Cursing, he inhaled as deep as possible and held the breath for a slow count of five before exhaling completely. Cat is not Maeve, and you are not…

  A sudden thump on the hood of his truck pulled his attention from the past. His eyes popped open. He tossed a casual salute to the uniformed patrol deputy crossing in front of his truck.

  Noah closed his eyes again. You were a different person back then. He repeated the deep-breathing exercise, mentally counting down from ten. When he reached the number one, he inhaled again and held the breath. He pictured himself on one knee. Smelled the rose petals scattered around him. Heard the words “Catalina Maria Ramos, will you marry me?” Envisioned her throwing her arms around his neck and saying, “Yes, yes, yes.”

  Slowly he blew out the held breath, emptying his lungs, and felt better immediately. Who knew this self-hypnosis crap actually worked?

  He felt a grin tug at the corners of his lips. A glowing warmth spread through his chest. Why wouldn’t she want to marry me? She already puts up with me on a daily basis.

  Snapping the box closed, he gently lobbed it into the glove compartment. He tugged his shirt cuffs down to cover his wristwatch and straightened his tie. Today’s silk tie boasted a vintage map of the Goodnight-Loving cattle trail. The ranger dress code called for a long-sleeved button-down shirt and a tie. It didn’t specify what kind of tie, so Noah searched for old-time vintage flash. Anything to irritate the big boss.

  After grabbing his summer straw cowboy hat off the passenger seat, he secured the glove box with his key before stepping out and locking the truck. Placing the hat firmly on his head, he strode across the steaming asphalt of the parking lot. He approached the double glass doors set in the limestone façade of the building that housed the Bennett County Sheriff’s Department, the county jail, dispatch center, and the Department of Public Safety offices. Years ago, someone above Noah’s pay grade convinced the county legislators to go in on the joint effort to save the taxpayers a bit of money. The way the oilfields worked these days, the county never knew if incoming taxes would provide a feast—or dry up like a year-long famine.

  Two young boys darted out from the automatic doors, ducking around him before racing toward the grassy stretch of land on the other side of the Life Flight helipad. Noah couldn’t help but grin at their youthful exuberance before turning back to enter the building.

  Pure chaos greeted him—and wiped the grin right off his face.

  The acrid smell of scared sweat and dirty diapers competed with overpowering orchid- and rose-based perfumes, a restless rustling mixed with whispering and whimpering. An older, silver-haired lady sat far away from everyone else—at least, as far away as she could get in the overcrowded room. She clutched a lace-trimmed handkerchief and a beaded crystal rosary between gnarled fingers. Tears shimmered on her cheeks. Her prayers, in Spanish, added to the pandemonium spilling through the public waiting room.

  Regret propelled him forward as he wove his way through yelling toddlers, children begging moms for coins to put in the vending machines, and crying young women holding squalling infants. He stopped beside the praying woman and rested his hand gently on her shoulder. How many times had Nana sat in a room like this? Waiting on me or my cousin?

  Squatting beside her, he whispered words of comfort in her ear. She patted his hand and crossed herself, smiling through her tears.

  Rising to his feet, Noah nodded to her and walked toward the locked door separating the secured, employees-only area of the law enforcement center from the public areas. A group of gangsta wannabes, covered in ink and dressed in baggy pants, gathered in front of the bulletproof reception window. The group broadcast hostility, muttering fiercely and flashing gang signs at the weary receptionist.

  The apparent leader of the pack stepped in front of Noah, crowding his personal space and blocking access to the door. The thug folded his arms across his chest, the sleeves of his blue plaid flannel shirt covering the worst of the sweat stains on the wife beater beneath it. Chin raised defiantly, he bobbed his head and eyeballed Noah as if daring him to pass.

  Noah rested his right hand loosely on the butt of his .45 caliber 1911. He raised his left eyebrow. “Do we have a problem here?”

  Short and stout, the thug resembled a fireplug. An inked dragon curled down his neck. The dragon’s tongue tickled his jaw while the tail disappeared beneath his dingy white tank top. The thug took another step into his personal space, throwing his arms down and chest out in a challenge. “What if we do?”

  Towering over the man, Noah flashed an arctic smile and stepped closer to the thug, causing the wannabe to stumble back. The muscles in his arms and hands tightened. A spike of adrenaline enhanced his senses. Every whisper, every movement around him was amplified. He leaned forward, deepened his scary smile, and drawled, “I imagine I could help you fix it.”

  A tense moment of silence passed. The thug swallowed hard and stepped back. His chest deflated. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No, boss, no problem here.”

  He slunk back to his buddies who laughed and rattled off something in rapid-fire Spanish too quickly for the ranger to translate it. Shrugging off his buddies, he raked Noah with a glare of pure hatred.

  With a shake of his head, Noah tapped lightly on the bulletproof glass in front of the reception desk. A buzzer sounded, and the door next to the desk unlocked with a subtle click. He shoved through and waited near the door until it closed and locked behind him.

  Sylvia Castillo, the law enforcement receptionist, grinned at him. “Hey, Easy Money, whatcha’ up to?”

  “Living the dream.” A bouquet of brightly colored posies perched next to the nameplate on her desk. He snagged one from the vase and presented it to her with a flourish and a grin. “Just living the dream.”

  Swatting his arm, she giggled. “Get on with yourself, rotten boy, before I tell that pretty girl of yours, you’re misbehaving again.”

  “What the heck happened out there?” He gestured toward the crowd in the waiting room. “This place was a ghost town when I stepped out for lunch.”

  “You know about last night’s gang fight out on the east end of the county?”

  “Yeah, the commotion came across the radio, but it sounded like your patrol deputies had everything under control. What does the fight have to do with this afternoon’s crowd? I could have sworn visiting day was Tuesday, not Thursday.”

  “And you would be right. Judge Karnes came in today to magistrate last night’s detainees. One of the wise-ass bangers mouthed off at the beginning of the court session and seriously pissed her off. She set everyone’s bail at the maximum—like three times higher than normal.”

  “Oh, crap. That’s going to stir up the locals.”

  “Yep. She decided to treat them all like felonies.” Sylvia shrugged. “It’s well within her rights, but hell, they didn’t even hospitalize anyone last night. Anyway, they”—she gestured toward the people overflowing the waiting area—“are all here to talk to the sheriff, not that he can do anything about it.”

  “Lucky man.” Noah grabbed the mail from his box. “Let me guess. No one’s sons, husbands, baby-daddies, boyfriends, brothers, buddies or whatever did anything wrong. They weren’t even there, right?”

  Sylvia’s laugh was a silver peal of delight. “You got it in one. Guess we now know why they pay you the big bucks. Even the ones arrested on scene claimed they weren’t
there.”

  “Good luck sticking to that story.” As he headed down the hallway toward his office, the click of his boot heels echoed against the tile floor. He called back over his shoulder, “Holler if you need any help.”

  ****

  Holding an ice-cold can of soda in each hand, Noah leaned against the wall across from the office door of his fellow ranger and best friend. He watched Rhyden Trammell tuck a cell phone between his ear and shoulder while struggling to dig a set of keys from the front pocket of his starched jeans.

  Rhyden’s eyes widened at something said on the other end of the telephone conversation. He fumbled the keys as he tried to unlock his door. “Really?” Sarcasm dripped from the single word. “And whose brilliant idea was it to take a group of high school seniors to a bluff overhanging their favorite swimming hole to take class pictures?”

  Cell phone still clamped to his ear, he bent to scoop the keys from the floor, straightened and managed to unlock his office door in one long, smooth move. “Did you really believe no one would jump? It’s a hundred and two in the shade. When I was in high school, I would have jumped. Hell, I'd probably do it today.”

  Noah leaned against the doorjamb as Rhyden flipped on the stark fluorescent lights and tossed his bundle of keys onto the messy desk. They landed with a solid thud between two empty coffee-stained Styrofoam cups and a stack of unfinished reports.

  After hanging his silver belly beaver cowboy hat on the antler of the trophy twelve-point whitetail buck mounted on the wall, he waved Noah into the office. “No, I understand,” he continued into the phone. “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Okay. Got it.”

  He stepped around the desk and plopped down into his office chair. Scrubbing a hand through his coal black hair, he sighed. “YouTube, huh?” He wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer. Quickly he entered his username and password. Still on the phone, he said, “No, no, you are right. Disrespectful and insubordinate. Yes, ma’am. You do what you need to do, and I will handle it on my end when I get home from work. Thank you for calling.” He disconnected the call. The cell phone dropped to the top of the desk, landing next to the keys.

  “What did she do now?” Noah asked as he sauntered through the open doorway and handed his buddy the can of soda. “Steal a bus? Burn down the school?”

  Rhyden cracked the tab on the can. “Thanks.” He gestured toward the computer monitor. “Give this a minute to warm up. Apparently, my darlin’ daughter is a star. She’s already gone viral.” He sighed. “Twelve years of school—and nothing but straight As. Never been to the principal’s office. Never been in trouble once. And now? Three weeks left until graduation—three measly weeks—and she’s in trouble. I really don’t know what to do.”

  Noah perched on a corner of the desk for a better view of the computer monitor and took a sip of the frosty cherry-amaretto-flavored cola so popular in this part of Texas. Now and then he found himself craving the spicy ginger ale he grew up with in South Carolina. Within seconds, a shaky cell phone video filled the screen. High-pitched shrieks and giggles, lower octave whoops and hollering echoed from the speakers. On the screen a petite redhead in a lacy green tank top and jeans took a running leap off the bluff.

  The video followed her over the edge and recorded her landing with a giant splash in the murky green river water below. When she surfaced, she shook her wet hair out of her face before thrusting her arms in the air, her fingers hooked in the familiar Texas Longhorn victory sign. The kids on the bluff erupted in cheers.

  Soda squirted from Noah’s nose. “Wait a minute.” Flabbergasted, he glanced at his best bud. “Senior insanity? You mean our precious Little Miss Goody Two Shoes Bree is in trouble? I just assumed we were talking about another Wild-Child Samantha stunt.” He wiped soda from his chin and laughed. “Way to go, Aubree. It’s about time she acted her age instead of like a middle-aged matron.”

  “Go ahead and laugh, ‘Uncle’ Noah. I ought to make you go to the principal’s office where I’m expected to drop off a written apology from her to Principal Harkness and the teacher who chaperoned the photo shoot. And don’t let Bree hear you call her goody two shoes. She’ll have your butt for breakfast.”

  “Hard Ass Harkness is principal now? Who let that happen?” Noah shuddered. “That woman hates me. You’ll be much better off without me in tow, partner.”

  “Why would Harkness hate you? You don’t even have kids.”

  “Thank God. Can you see me as a father?” Noah held up a hand to ward off the response. “Never mind. It’s a long story. Way before Cat. Let’s just say Harkness and highballs don’t mix. Don’t ask.”

  He sank into one of the cushy, brown leather visitor chairs in front of Rhyden’s desk, leaned back in the chair, and propped his boots on the corner of the messy, mahogany desk. “I’m still having a tough time wrapping my mind around the idea of Bree thwarting authority. I’m more used to seeing rebellious behavior from Sam, not her responsible big sister.”

  “Wanna see the video again?” Rhyden knocked Noah’s boots off his desk. “Get your feet down. Nice boots, by the way. Fancy-schmancy. You auditioning to be a sheriff’s office investigator?”

  Noah straightened up in the chair and grinned. “Aren’t they, though? Cat had them custom made for me at that place in Weslaco.” He raised his foot, tugged up his pants leg, and turned it from side to side to show off the boots. “She even had them put my badge on them.”

  “You must have done something right.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she said.” Noah waggled his eyebrows, and his grin lit up the room before he sobered. “So what’s going on with Bree?”

  “It’s this new boy she’s seeing.”

  “Do we need to go have a talk with him?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. She is extremely secretive about this one, very un-Bree like.” Dropping his head into his hands, Rhyden massaged his temples before dragging his hands down his face. “At times like these, I almost wish her mother was still around.”

  Noah crossed himself. “Heaven forbid.”

  “I said almost. But seriously, I don’t know what to do. Bree won’t even tell me the boy’s real name. She just calls him Prince Charming. She doesn’t want me to scare this one off. She’s afraid I will go all Ranger Dad, run a criminal background check on him, and interrogate him.” Rhyden made eye contact with Noah and smirked. “You know. Like we did the last one.”

  They shared a look before bursting out in laughter. “Anyway,” Rhyden continued when the laughter subsided, “all she will tell me is he’s new to town, works for his dad, and apparently has to-die-for biceps gagging noise. “Actually, she didn’t tell me the last part. I overheard her talking to her friend, Jenn.”

  “And you’re letting her get away with not telling you who he is? Seriously?”

  “Just wait. Your day’s coming, and I hope you have twin girls—better yet—triplets. Yeah triplets, blonde like you but gorgeous like Cat. And I hope they act just like you.” Rhyden paused, took a swallow of his soda. “You know, when you have a boy, you only have to worry about one prick. When you have a girl, you have to worry about all the pricks.”

  Noah choked; more soda spewed. After putting down the can, he wiped his face on the back of his hand. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” Rhyden let both shoulders sag. He leaned back in his office chair. “What am I supposed to do? As Bree continually points out, she will be eighteen in a few weeks. She’s always been a straight arrow. Responsible as all get out and has never given me one reason not to trust her.”

  “Keep telling yourself that. You want me to ask Cat to talk to her? See what she can find out?”

  “No offense to your girlfriend, but what’s she going to do? Hell, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”

  A sharp knock on the door interrupted Noah before he could respond.

  “Ranger Trammell?” Brook from dispatch, with a voice like cool silk and legs that went on forever, s
tood in the doorway.

  At the sound of her voice, Noah saw his partner straighten in his chair, tug at his collar, and smooth down his tie before waving her into the office. “What’s up, Brooke?”

  The curvaceous blonde nodded a greeting to Noah before turning her attention back to Rhyden. “I really hate to bother you, sir, but would you mind taking a nuisance call for me?” She bit her lower lip. “I know you don’t normally respond to calls like these, and I wouldn’t ask, but this poor man has called at least a half dozen times now. Most of my patrol guys are tied up on the north end of the county, working an eighteen-wheeler rollover. The rest are on the east end with a motorcycle versus school bus accident. And the peacocks, um—I, uh—I mean the investigators—” A blush spread across her face.

  Rhyden waved it away. “We know what you mean. Where are the illustrious investigators?”

  Face still flushed, she said, “At the courthouse, discussing what color shirts to wear to the press conference this afternoon.” Appearing to have overcome embarrassment, Brooke popped both hands onto her shapely hips. “I swear they’re worse than a bunch of high school girls planning for prom.”

  Noah smothered a laugh that ended up sounding like a hog’s snort.

  Rhyden only raised one eyebrow. “Press conference? Hadn’t heard about that.”

  “Channels Five and Twelve called about the gang fight last night. Someone told the press the fight was a turf battle between rival cartels.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “As if. Anyway, the investigators caught wind of it and plan on taking credit for breaking up the ‘vicious and highly dangerous’ fight.”

  Noah rubbed his jaw. “Funny. I don’t remember hearing any of their unit numbers communicating on the radio last night during the altercation.”

  Brooke smirked. “No, you didn’t, did you?”

  “Ah, business as usual, I see,” Rhyden said. “Sure. I can help you out. Whatcha’ got?”