The Unseen. Heather Graham

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       Logan didn’t have anything more to say to Bentley. Except this, “I still have time,” he said as he rose from his chair.

       “Yes.”

       He exited the office, pausing at the door to turn around. “Thanks, Captain.”

       “Raintree, you’re a great officer. I’ll be sorry to lose you.”

       Logan didn’t deny that Bentley had lost him. But he wasn’t sure yet. He’d know in the morning.

      * * *

       Kelsey couldn’t decide where to go.

       Her mind was spinning. She should get back to the Longhorn, log on to her computer and look up everything she could find on Jackson Crow and Adam Harrison and the Krewe of Hunters. But she wasn’t ready to go back yet; she wasn’t ready for questions or even for Corey Simmons and the ghosts of a century gone.

       She needed to mull over the meeting.

       She parked her rental car by the Alamo. She’d taken the tour several days ago. But there was something special about the place, an aura of a certain time, the acts of men who’d changed history.

       And she couldn’t forget the recording she’d just heard. Chelsea Martin at the Alamo, laughing at first, happy as she talked to a friend. Then…gone.

       And now…

       Dead.

       She wandered aimlessly for a while, watching as a group worked with schoolchildren, reenacting what had occurred at the fort. She gathered that one man was playing the role of Davy Crockett, and another, that of twenty-six-year-old Lieutenant Colonel Travis, who’d run the battle—since his co-commander, Jim Bowie, was in bed, probably dying, and probably of tuberculosis. A few men were playing other defenders, those who hadn’t gone down in history with such giant names and reputations, but who had died there nonetheless.

       She listened to them, impressed. The actors were doing a brilliant job, bringing the situation to life. The men they portrayed were tired. They spoke of day-to-day things—their meals, scouting expeditions, their exhaustion, their desire for more comfortable beds.

       She was so busy watching them that she hardly noticed when a man sat next to her. Then she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, and became instantly aware. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.

       There was no mistaking Logan Raintree. The best of many cultures had mixed in his face, a face as cleanly sculpted as a marble bust, with high broad cheekbones and a determined chin. He wasn’t beautiful, but he was one of the most imposing men she’d ever met. The ever-simmering energy within him added a vitality and heat that made him even more intriguing, more attractive.

      Seductive. She immediately tried to wipe that thought from her mind.

       She didn’t speak but gazed at him solemnly. He’d known she was there. He hadn’t walked away when he saw her. Quite the opposite—he’d joined her.

       She was almost shocked when he smiled at her. “I’d like to apologize, Marshal O’Brien. I’ve been an ass.”

       She smiled in response. “Um, apology accepted. Except…you weren’t that bad,” she said with a laugh.

       “What made you come here?” he asked her.

       She shrugged. “It’s not that far from the Longhorn, where I’m staying. I wasn’t ready to go back and answer a bunch of questions about the meeting. I needed time.”

       He nodded, looking toward the chapel. “I wondered if you’d come here because this is where Chelsea Martin was last seen.”

       “It might’ve had something to do with that.”

       “You going to accept Jackson Crow’s offer?” he asked her.

       “I…don’t know. Maybe. You?”

       “This morning, I would’ve given him a definite no. Now…I’m not sure. Either way, I want to find out what there is to see at the morgue tomorrow.”

       She felt a tightening inside. Yes. The morgue.

       They were both silent for a minute. Then he began to speak, his tone relaxed.

       “The Alamo’s a shrine,” he said softly. “Of course, it’s different than it was at the time of the battle. The chapel and this area—including the long barracks—was just a small part of the original Alamo,” Logan explained. “The walls extended for a quarter of a mile. In fact, that was one of the problems for the defenders once Santa Anna’s men breeched the walls—the place was too big to protect easily. The men who fought here fought hard, and they fought knowing they were likely to die.” He glanced at her. “Courage is being afraid—and going ahead, anyway.”

       Kelsey nodded in agreement.

       “Santa Anna had his men raise a red flag in a nearby church tower, and that bloodred flag indicated there’d be no quarter given. But, of course, the Alamo was part of a bigger story, and like most history, it depends on who is doing the telling. The Spanish had been in control. They’d signed a treaty ceding Florida to the U.S. and creating a boundary between the United States and Spanish America. But before that, men called impresarios, Stephen Austin among them, had been luring Americans into Texas with land grants that required no down payment. Then the Mexicans fought the Spanish for independence and won. Santa Anna become president, or more accurately, dictator. Texians or Anglo-Americans, and Tejanos, Mexican-Texans, had been living under the Constitution of 1824 until Santa Anna rescinded it and pretty much pissed them all off.”

       “Which led to what happened here,” she said, absorbed in what he was telling her.

       “Right. But a lot of movies about the Alamo forgot to depict the Tejanos who were part of the effort—and part of the effort to create an independent Texas. Some of the early books and movies about the Alamo were downright racist. The good old Anglo-Americans were the heroes, while the Tejanos who fought just as hard were ignored. I’m glad to say we’re moving past that.” He smiled slightly. “But it’s also true that regardless of background, these men weren’t on some idealistic mission for freedom and honor. They were like most of us—looking for a way to make a better life for themselves.”

       “And there would’ve been no Texas without both groups,” Kelsey remarked.

       His smile deepened. “Santa Anna miscalculated. He thought that his ‘no quarter given’ policy would scare off the revolutionaries. Instead, ‘Remember the Alamo!’ became a battle cry. Soon after, the massacre at Goliad occurred. Santa Anna had everyone there executed, and the war became one of revenge as well as Texan independence. Of course, if they’d lost, the whole thing would’ve been described as the Mexicans putting down an uprising by a group of rebels.”

       “But Texas did gain its independence and then became part of the United States,” Kelsey said. “I appreciate what you’ve told me. I’m really interested in history.”

       “Me, too. I just want it to be history and not fiction.”

       “You’re a Ranger and obviously Native American,” she said. “What’s your history?”

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