The Unseen

Logan cleared his throat. “This killer understands how to corrupt evidence. Somewhere along the line, however, he’s going to leave something behind, something that doesn’t become tainted. A skin cell, strand of hair, whatever. But even when we’ve got that, we’ll need someone with whom to compare our samples. I think we should start looking at anyone who might be into costuming. We should investigate actors, interpreters, would-be actors and even historians,” he said. “We need suspects.”



“Why actors?” Sean asked.



“We found a witness who says he saw Chelsea Martin with someone dressed like Davy Crockett,” Kelsey said.



“Can we all speak with him?” Kat asked.



Kelsey glanced quickly at Logan, still a little uncomfortable about blurting out such strange information, even in this group.



“Maybe.” Logan shrugged. “His name is Zachary Chase and he hangs out at the Alamo.”



“Zachary Chase?” Sean frowned. “That’s the name of one of the couriers who rode out of the Alamo just before the final battle.”



“Yes.”



“A descendant?” Sean asked.



“No. Zachary himself,” Logan said with a rueful smile. “He’s a ghost. But he’s still at the Alamo.”



“Oh.” Sean exhaled. “Well, I’m working on a documentary about the Alamo. I can give you all kinds of information—and dozens of actors.”



* * *



Logan’s house was fascinating. It had the feel of a hunting lodge; it was built of stone and wood, and a large stone fireplace was the focal point of the sprawling living room, with an extraordinarily fine headdress on the wall over the mantel—an Apache war bonnet from the 1870s, Logan told her.



He was casual about the house. He’d only owned it a year, and he’d bought it when he’d sold his last house because the backyard was almost an acre, unusual in central San Antonio.



Besides having a number of authentic Apache and Comanche relics, he had a nice collection of art and seemed to be a fan of Mort Kunstler’s Civil War pieces. “Most of them are prints,” he explained. “The originals are pretty pricy, but I have a friend on Apache land who is a fan, too, and frames them so expertly they look like they could be originals.”



He’d just brought out two bottles of Lone Star beer and set them on coasters on the coffee table that stood in front of the soft leather sofa. He took a seat next to her, and for a moment she wondered why he’d asked her to come—and then wondered why she’d said yes.



She smiled and he looked back at her and laughed.



“We’re an odd pair,” he said.



“True, and yet a pair,” she murmured, gazing at the fire. She found it pleasant to sit there and watch the flames. The day had been warm while the sun was out, but the evening was cool, with a definite chill in the air.



He leaned back, propping his feet on the coffee table. “Tomorrow, the documentary.” He looked over at her again. “Thanks to Sean—and the fact that you’re his cousin—we’ll have nice, natural access.”



“I’ll find out tonight if they’ve negotiated space with the Longhorn,” she said.



He was studying her and smiling. “You look like Sean. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”



Kelsey laughed. “Great. I look like a linebacker.”



He lowered his head for a minute, the same smile on his lips. “You know you don’t. You always make sure you look professional—and not like a runway model.”



She felt a flush touch her cheeks. “Sean and I have similar features, I suppose. Grandpa Cameron. He had the red hair and green eyes.”



“Sean and I have been acquainted for a while,” Logan said. “He’s come in to work on digital recreations several times, and they’ve been really helpful in court.”



“I never realized he did that,” Kelsey said. “I guess it’s because we’re far away, and rarely see each other, even though we’re close.”



She sank back against the sofa. Sitting there felt good, as if the warmth of the fire was slipping into her bones, easing away the tension that had built up during the day. By the time they left the police station, she’d figured the kitchen at the Longhorn might have closed, and she’d thrown out a comment about heading back to dig through the fridge. Then Logan had said he had chili he only needed to heat up, and she’d found herself agreeing, even though Sean had assured her that he could find someplace to take them for a meal.



So now the chili was heating. She’d entered Logan’s domain and she was glad of it. She was weary, and it felt all right to be weary with him, her defenses down. She’d been furious with him earlier, but the more they worked together the more she understood that he could be relentless in pursuit, especially when he was frustrated. Yet he knew the law—and how to work around it when necessary.



After she’d agreed to come home with him, she’d panicked, afraid she’d be going to a shrine—the house he had shared with Alana.



But he had sold that house and changed his residence, and despite the guilt and bitterness he carried like a brick around his neck, he was trying to move into a new life.



“I would’ve thought you’d have a dog,” she told him, taking a long swallow of her beer. She glanced at him and grinned. “Like a pit bull or maybe a wolf.”



“I had a wolf mix once. Loved her. She was a great watchdog, and yet incredibly affectionate. She died a few years ago. I’ve also had a little mutt about so high.” He raised his hand a foot from the floor. “Lately…well, one day I’ll get another dog. I like dogs. I just want to know I’m going to be a good dog owner again.”



“I’d love to have a dog,” Kelsey said. “But I feel the same. My training was hard, proving myself was hard—I didn’t want to get a dog and ignore it. I’d like some big old mutt. Just a big lovable hound that wants to be loved and petted when I come home, and that I could take to a park or…well, we don’t even know if this whole team will work, or if it does, where we’ll be.”



“And I took you for the Yorkie-poo type,” Logan said.



“Oh, really!” she said, laughing, because he was obviously teasing her.



“I don’t have your experience,” she said a few minutes later. “In law enforcement or in life. But I’m good at what I do.”



“I’m sure you’re good at everything you do,” he told her. He’d spoken the words casually, but his voice had a rasp that they both heard, and it seemed to turn the words into a double entendre that she knew he hadn’t intended. He stood with a wry grin of apology. “Chili should be hot by now, and I’m starving.”



“Me, too.”



She rose to join him. In the kitchen, while he took the chili from the stove, he instructed her to grab the instant rice from the microwave, which she did. Then she chopped tomatoes while he washed and broke up a head of lettuce. They sat at the kitchen table and said very little for a while, except when Kelsey took the time between mouthfuls to compliment him on his chili.



“Ah, well, Rangers come from a long tradition of survival in the wild,” he reminded her. “Stephen Austin brought the first three hundred legal American colonists into Spanish Texas after his father died, soon after receiving an empresarial grant to colonize. They were known as the Old Three Hundred, and they were on dangerous frontier ground, so he created an informal group for protection—the Rangers. Poor Austin had barely gotten started when Mexico gained its independence from Spain and the land grant was rescinded. There was trouble ahead for sure. So, the original Rangers were out there…ranging. Watching for outlaws, Indian attacks and bad men, protecting Austin and the colonists. They had to learn to forage.” He grinned. “Any self-respecting Ranger has to know how to cook.”



“And I wouldn’t want you to be anything less than self-respecting,” Kelsey said with mock seriousness.



“What about you?”



“I can cook,” she assured him. “At least, I’m great with a microwave.”



He laughed softly, but set his fork down, having finished his meal. “How did you know which plywood cover to pick up today?” he asked unexpectedly.



She grimaced. “I wish I could say I’d heard something, that Vanessa Johnston was reaching out of the ground for me.” She raised one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Okay, I wish I could say that, but only to you. I noticed the birds. Is that crazy, or what?”



He shook his head. “Strange, when I was meeting Jackson Crow—and you—I had an incident with a bird. There were birds everywhere. Although I’m not a superstitious man and I’ve learned a lot of different beliefs, I thought it might be an omen at first, or a warning. Now…maybe it’s just because they’re drawn to carrion, but the birds seem to be helping us out. I don’t know… . Crazy or not, it was a bird that dropped Vanessa’s finger in front of us, telling us she was out there to be found.”



Kelsey didn’t speak for a minute.



“What are you thinking?” he asked her quietly.



She was surprised by the tone of his voice. She looked across at him and studied his face. It was such an attractive face—strong, with good bones, piercing eyes, the bronze texture of his skin. She liked everything about his appearance. But attractive men were numerous; with Logan, she realized, there was more. Even when he irritated or angered her, there was something about him that compelled her.



Dangerous, she told herself.



But she knew he was attracted to her, too, even if it was just physical. In their few days together, they’d formed a strange kind of bond.



Yes, there are times when we can both communicate with the dead. We’ve touched a corpse, and felt the voice of her soul calling out.



And we share a ghost at the Alamo now, a man who died more than a hundred years ago.



Logan was looking at her. She hadn’t answered his question.