Комбат. Олимпийский характер. Андрей Воронин

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      “I’ll have you know, Esperanza had a boom of new houses in the early ’90s. Surrounding towns did, too. The guy made a mint building small, affordable homes for the families who wanted the rural life and to be within easy driving distance of San Antonio.”

      Eric raised a hand. “Okay, so more than five houses with this carpet?”

      “Way more. Try ninety to a hundred, if you count the surrounding towns and do-it-yourselfers.” Tamara turned back to the computer and clicked a few keys. “I also found nothing on the red hair from the passenger seat. DNA breakdown for it and the blood from the driver’s door won’t be ready for a while yet. A batch of samples from the Walters case got in before us.”

      Tamara frowned. “I can’t help but think we missed something. I was careful, and I double-checked everything, but…where’s all the evidence? The scene was just too clean.”

      “You can always go back out to Esperanza and take another look. Head down to impound and check the car again. Maybe without your ex-husband watching your every move, you’ll find something you didn’t notice before.”

      Tamara snapped her gaze up to Eric’s. “Clay didn’t—I wasn’t—”

      “Save your breath. I saw how you looked at each other.” Eric headed for the laboratory door. “Just don’t let your feelings for your ex get in the way of this case.”

      She squared her shoulders, pricked by the implication that she still cared for Clay, that she was less than professional in her approach to her job.

      Her boss turned when he reached the door. “Go back to Esperanza tomorrow and widen the search grid. I’ll sweep the Taurus again and take Pete with me, so be sure to have one of the department cameras with you when you go.”

      “Right.” Tamara swallowed hard. Being close to Clay and her old home had been hard enough the first time.

      Maybe she could do her search without alerting Sheriff Yates or Clay. If she found anything significant, she’d call Jericho. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t have to face Clay at all. She hoped not anyway. Her heart stung badly enough from their unexpected encounter today.

      The next morning, Tamara drove across the drought-parched pasture at the far end of the Bar None and headed for the mesquite trees near the Black Creek ravine. After parking her Accord, Tamara climbed out and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. She swept her gaze around the field. What had she missed? The department’s camera in hand, she headed toward the stand of trees where the Taurus had been found. From there she could fan out, searching in a methodical way, dividing the land with a grid and going section by section.

      After two hours of the tedious work, with little to show for her efforts, Tamara had reached the edge of the Black Creek ravine. She thought of Clay, striding up from the ravine yesterday when she’d sought him out for questioning. With his dark good looks, cool control and muscled body, he personified the rugged, larger-than-life attitude that made Texas famous.

      The trill of her cell phone roused her from her wandering thoughts.

      She checked her caller ID and pressed the answer button. “Hi, Eric. What’s up?”

      “You still in Esperanza?”

      “Yeah. Why?” She nudged a rock with her toe then moved on, her gaze sweeping slowly left to right and back again.

      “Just wondering how much longer you think you’ll be.”

      “Well, it stays daylight until almost 9:00 p.m., so I’d say I have eight or nine more workable hours.” She lifted a corner of her mouth, picturing her boss’s face.

      “The scary thing is, I’m not so sure you’re kidding.” Eric groaned. “Don’t get me wrong. I love your work ethic. But I don’t need you running yourself down, wearing yourself out. I need you mentally and physically sharp.”

      “I just don’t want to leave until I’m sure I’ve covered everything this time. I should be finished in a couple hours.”

      “Well, you got anything yet?”

      She sighed. “Nothing that looks promising.”

      When she finished the call with Eric, Tamara snapped her phone closed and cast an encompassing gaze around the area. Had she made the search grid large enough this time? Was she overlooking something?

      As she walked the grid, she flipped her phone open again, and using her thumb, she punched in Pete’s number in the photo lab. 5-5-5-3-0—

      Suddenly the earth gave way beneath her.

      Tamara gasped. Her phone flew from her hand as her arms windmilled and she scrambled to catch herself. The cave-in sucked her down, and she landed with a jarring thud. Terror welled in her throat as gritty dust filled her lungs and scratched her eyes. Raising an arm to protect her head, she winced as dirt and rock pelted her.

      When the world stopped shifting, Tamara lifted her head, shook the loose dirt from her. She coughed out dust, and her chest spasmed. Searing pain arced through her torso, stealing her breath. She lay still for a moment, letting the fire in her ribs subside and collecting her wits.

      Grit abraded her watering eyes. Blinking hard to clear her vision, she moved slowly, checking herself one limb at a time for broken bones. Every movement made her chest throb. She grimaced. Cracked ribs. Maybe worse.

      Adrenaline pulsed through her. Hands shaking, she tried to calm herself without breathing deeply, which would only fill her lungs with more grit. As the dust settled and she could draw clearer air, the putrid smell of rotting flesh assailed her. She wrinkled her nose and squinted in the dim light. How far had she fallen? The sinkhole she’d landed in seemed to be six or seven feet deep. Like a grave.

      She shuddered and quickly shoved aside the chilling thought.

      Stay calm. Think. Clay and his ranch hands were too far away to hear her call for help. Her cell phone was—

      She groped in the darkness, digging with her fingers through the soil and rock.

      Fresh streaks of hot pain sliced through her when she moved. Tamara bit down on her lip and rode out the throbbing waves and ensuing nausea. Climbing out of this hole and driving to Clay’s house was going to hurt like hell, but what choice did she have?

      Holding her ribs, she shifted to her knees. A moan rumbled from her throat, and she gritted her teeth in agony. Before she tried pushing to her feet, she ran her hand over the dirt one more time, searching for her cell phone. She stretched as far as she could and found nothing but hot, crumbled earth. She crawled forward a bit, deeper into the shadows, and again shifted her fingers through the dusty debris.

      Her hand bumped up against something large and heavy. When she tentatively brushed her hand along the object, she found it soft, like fabric. Or clothing.

      Foreboding rippled through her.

      She fished in her pocket for her keys, where she kept a small light on the fob to help her find the ignition switch at night. The bright LED light illuminated a tiny portion of the sinkhole. Holding her breath, she held the light toward the object.

      And screamed.

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