“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I truly am. I wasn’t a good father to you or your sister. I regret that. I want to make it up to you. I’m coming to the funeral. I just need to know where and when.”
“They haven’t...they haven’t released Chrissy’s body yet.”
Seconds passed. “I assume you’re making the arrangements. You’re handling the funeral?”
God, she hadn’t even thought about it. She was too consumed with finding Chrissy’s killer.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll be taking care of it, yes.” And now that he’d asked, she realized she wanted Chrissy to be buried next to their mother. The plot had already been paid for, once meant to be for her dad—which was never going to happen now. “I’d like her to have the place next to Mom.”
“Yes, of course. I should have thought of that myself. Are you...are you going to be all right?”
“I’ve always been able to take care of myself, Dad. I’ll be fine.”
“All right, then. Just call and let me know what day the service is going to be held, and I’ll be there.”
“You don’t need to do that. Rockdale is a long way from New York.”
“I want to see you, sweetheart. It’s been far too long.”
“You’re married, Dad. You have a family. I’m all that’s left of your old life.” The lump returned to her throat. “I understand, I really do.”
“Katie, listen to me—”
“I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll email the date and time.” She hung up before he could say anything more. Fresh tears threatened. She told herself to compartmentalize. She had learned to do that over the years, separate the parts of life that needed to be dealt with now from the painful parts that could be dealt with later. At the moment, she needed to compartmentalize the loss of her sister, separate the Chrissy of the past from Tina Galen, the woman who had lived on the streets and been brutally murdered.
She could do it, she told herself. Just like with Maddox. She didn’t really have any choice.
Jase shoved open the door to the Mustang Bar and stepped into the darkened interior. He took a moment for his eyes to adjust before walking farther into the room. You never knew who might be waiting, and you never gave your enemy the advantage.
He spotted Tommy sitting at the bar, his carrot-red hair glowing in the neon beer sign in the mirror above a row of liquor bottles. Jase walked up to the bar beside him and ordered a Lone Star.
“Over there.” Jase pointed to an empty table at the back of the room. When the beer arrived, he left money on the counter for Tommy’s tab and his own, and they carried their beers over and sat down.
“What have you got?” Jase asked, tipping up his bottle and taking a long refreshing drink.
“Got wind Harding’s in Waco. Got Rosa with him. Word is he’s jacking cars and dealing drugs.” Tommy had his own information chain. In this case, someone connected to Ray’s Auto Body in Houston likely knew someone in Waco involved in a carjacking ring.
Ratting people out for a living was a dangerous racket, but so far, Tommy had managed to survive.
“I need a name,” Jase said. “Someone to talk to when I get down there.” Which might not be for at least a few more days, depending on what he came up with tonight. He’d meant what he’d said. Chrissy’s murder came first.
“There’s a guy named Pete Rodriquez. Hangs out at a joint called El Sombrero. That’s the best I can do.”
Jase slid a wad of greenbacks across the table. He liked to keep Tommy happy. An informant who trusted you with information was worth every dime.
Jase took another long swallow of beer and got up from the table. “Thanks, Tommy.” He headed for the door.
Unless the police caught up with Randy Harding in Waco, there was a good chance Jase would be able to bust him and collect the 15 percent fee from Harding’s million-and-a-half-dollar bond. Just depended on how good a carjacker Harding was—how long he managed to get away with it without getting caught. Either way, sooner or later, Randy Harding was going down.
From the Mustang, Jase headed for his office, hitting the McDonald’s drive-thru for a burger, fries and a Coke to quiet his growling stomach. It was late afternoon, but he still had plenty of time before his trip to Mean Jack’s tonight.
The Max was humming when he walked through the door, guys working on their laptops or checking their cells. Bran Garrett waved from behind his desk, his phone pressed up against his ear. The door to Chase’s office stood open. Harper, Chase’s pretty blond wife, perched on the edge of her husband’s desk, their heads together, the two of them laughing.
Jase had never expected to see his best friend happily married. For years, the Garrett brothers had been the most eligible bachelors in Dallas. In a way, Jase envied his friend. But the settled-down life wasn’t for him. He had never been in a serious relationship, never been in love. Until Chase and Harper, he’d been fairly sure there was no such thing.
He’d only been ten years old when his mother had run off with a pharmaceutical salesman, leaving him in the care of his drunken father. His dad had gone from a sloppy drunk to a mean one, until Jase got old enough to stand up to the big bastard. Fortunately, he’d never had to actually kick his old man’s drunken ass.
He’d toughed it out at home until he was sixteen, then moved into an apartment with a friend and got a job, finished high school, then put himself through junior college. He’d graduated early and joined the marines.
