Page 61 of The Texas Murders

As we talk, I’m able to imagine a future with Megan. And maybe that future doesn’t need to involve law enforcement.Maybe I should turn in my badge, hang up my gun. I’ve done some good with my career. I should be able to quit and be proud of what I’ve accomplished.

I’ve had these kinds of thoughts before. This time feels different. Like maybe it really is time to call it quits.

But I’m afraid I would always feel a nagging guilt that I could have done more.

How much do I have to give?I wonder.

As evening approaches, the sky darkens with clouds, and we head back inside and eat dinner. After the sun sets, we move to the couch, trading tea for wine, and our conversation turns to Megan’s dissertation, an archival study of diary entries from early Mexican American immigrants. The project sounds fascinating—and difficult—and I’m reminded how smart Megan is and how different our worlds are. I wonder again how compatible we might be.

“What’s the deal with your professor?” I ask. “Neil.” Then I correct myself. “Dr. Stephenson. Is it weird for a professor to hang out in a bar with one of his students?”

She explains that he’s a widower and she’s encouraged him to come to the Outpost instead of drinking alone at home.

“I’m a PhD student, not some naïve undergrad,” she says. “I know Neil’s got an ego the size of Texas and sometimes you can’t get him to shut up, but he’s a good mentor. I’ve learned a lot from him.”

“Do you think he’s got the hots for you?”

“He’s old enough to be my father.”

“So?”

“No,” she says. “With me, once he’s had a few drinks, allhe talks about is his wife. He’s lonely, but he’s not looking to shack up with any of his students.”

I nod, seeing Neil in a new light, with a new level of sympathy.

My ex-wife and I were divorced when she died, but still it wrecked me. I can’t imagine what it must be like to spend twenty or thirty years with someone and then lose them.

As Megan and I have talked, we’ve slowly slid closer together on the couch. When I showed up at sunrise, it didn’t feel like the time or place to start making out, but we’ve spent the day together, getting to know one another, and now, with just a little bit of alcohol in our veins, it feels like we’re both ready to make things more physical.

“God,” I say, staring into her shimmering blue eyes, “I hope you get that job in Waco.”

“Let’s not think about that right now,” she says. “Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

She leans forward and her warm lips brush against mine. I kiss her softly at first, then with more firmness. My tongue reaches out and finds hers. We shift on the couch cushions and press our bodies together. I hold her close to me with my palm on the small of her back. She untucks my T-shirt and runs her hands up the ridges of my stomach. I lower my mouth to the crook of her neck and kiss her warm skin. She throws her head back and lets out a soft, erotic moan, her thick chestnut hair cascading down the arch of her back. She runs her fingertips up the inside of my thigh, shooting electricity into my bloodstream, and now it’s my turn to let out an involuntary moan.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers in my ear.

I don’t argue.

Megan throws her legs around my waist, and I lift her into the air. I hold her up, her arms around my neck, and we don’t stop kissing as I shuffle toward the door to her bedroom. I lay her down on the sheets and we kiss. I raise myself onto my knees and strip off my T-shirt. She reaches to my belt and tugs the strap free from the buckle.

A loud knock comes from the front door. She and I freeze, like high school kids caught by their parents. Her expression tells me she’s wondering the same thing I am: who is it and—more importantly—can we ignore them?

“Open up!” a familiar voice shouts. “We got a report that a Texas Ranger is being held hostage here by a beautiful teacher-slash-bartender.”

“Shit,” I say, giving Megan an I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening smile. “It’s Carlos.”

She lets out a good-humored groan.

“Worst timing ever,” she says with a laugh.

CHAPTER 52

“HEY, PARTNER,” CARLOS says when I open the door. “Ride with me over to the airport, and I’ll rent a car there. You can have your truck back and be on your way.”

Carlos looks like a Texas Ranger should, Stetson atop his head, shirt pressed, pants unwrinkled, star on his chest polished to glint in the porch light. Seeing him makes me feel like I’ve let the whole state of Texas down.

“So you heard from Ava?” I say, feeling ashamed that I didn’t call him today.

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