Page 56 of Not This Night

So what had happened?

Had he not intended to start the murder spree? Had he snapped?

What had happened back at Miguel Ortiz and Lucy Thompson’s spacious home? Why had their corpses been found upstairs, mutilated beyond belief?

She paused, phone pulled. She sent a quick text message to the coroner. “Need a rush on that report. Asap.” And Rachel shook her head, lowering her phone as she glanced around the room a final time.

Turning towards the door, intent on confronting the giant Native man again, Rachel stepped away from the bed. The man’s silent vigilance nagged at her; he knew something. She was sure of it.

"Big Joe," she started as she approached the doorway.

He shifted, a wall of muscle and sinew. No words, just the clear message—stay back.

"Listen," Rachel tried, steadying her voice, "I need to—"

His eyes flared in dark pools of warning as Big Joe let out a blast of air through his nose like a bull’s snort. And like a bull, Rachel got the distinct impression it was the man’s way of warning her: stop, or there’s going to be trouble.

"What's your problem?" Rachel shot back, her tone biting and defiant. "I'm just looking for Charlie."

The tall man’s eyes narrowed and in a thick, rumbling voice he murmured, "He's gone." It was the first complete sentence he'd uttered since they'd arrived, but it didn’t feel like progress to Rachel.

"Where did he go?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

"He was making money," the giant replied cryptically, looking away.

"How so?" Rachel probed, her patience thinning.

Big Joe's gaze met hers again, filled with defiance and a smoky hue of resentment. His lips tightened into a grim line, but he didn't reply. This sudden silence stretched out between them.

“Don’t like cops,” he muttered.

“I’m a Ranger.”

"Don't like them, either."

"Nobody asked you to like me," she fired back, her tone icy.

Big Joe's glare intensified, his frown deepening into a scowl.

Rachel stood her ground, answering the silent challenge. “I’m not leaving. Not until I know what happened to Charlie."

Big Joe's nostrils flared, a low growl emanating from his chest. "Making money," he repeated, his voice a rumbling echo in the hallway.

"And how was he making it?" She persisted. "Legal or illegal?"

The giant didn't answer, but something flickered across his face—anger, defiance, maybe fear. His gaze fell on the badge pinned to her belt. "Doesn't matter." He said, words barked out like they tasted sour.

"Oh, but it does." She retorted sharply.

Rachel squared her shoulders, facing the silent monolith of a man. "Charlie," she demanded, her voice sharp as flint. "Where is he?"

"Making money," Big Joe repeated, his arms crossing over his chest like iron bars. "Angry."

"Angry at who? Why?" Rachel leaned in, trying to pierce the veil of his stoic facade.

He met her probing gaze with a stone-faced glare, the lines around his eyes deepening, but offered no further explanation.

He took a few steps back into the hall towards a wooden railing by the stairs. He peered down into the room below as if looking for backup.

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