Page 4 of Not This Time

"The Clark family won't take kindly to us poking around their ranch," Graywolf continued. "They have a history of driving off unwanted visitors with rifles and threats."

Rachel leaned forward, her voice low but firm. "Tell me about the Clarks. I want to know who we're dealing with."

Graywolf rubbed his chin, calloused fingers scraping against gray stubble. "The patriarch is Silas Clark. He's lived on that ranch his whole life, inherited it from his father. Now in his 60s but still runs the place with an iron fist."

Rachel pictured a weathered rancher with cold, flinty eyes. The kind of man who demanded unquestioning obedience.

"Got three boys and a mess of grandkids all living on the property," Graywolf continued. "The whole clan keeps to themselves, don't come to town much. Outsiders aren't welcome."

Rachel's jaw tightened. She knew about closed communities and their unwritten rules. Her own upbringing had taught her self-reliance.

"Shit," Ethan said. "I know folk like that. They generational?" He spoke in his usual soft, southern accent, and despite herself, Rachel found the quality somewhat charming.

"Ten generations, apparently," said Graywolf, nodding.

Rachel met the gaze of her old mentor, Thomas Graywolf. The only other person of Native descent in her field office with the Texas Rangers. He was watchful, and his hair was pulled back in two braids, draped down his back. His weathered, leathery features were creased with worry as he glanced at her.

An exchange passed between them. A silent communication that only they were privy to.

He was worried about her.

But Rachel had handled hostility from suspects before.

"And both bodies were found on the Clark property?" Rachel said. "Were they Clarks?"

"No. Not members of the family."

"So possibly the Clarks were the killers?"

"Possible."

Rachel leaned back. "Who found the bodies?"

"A couple of young girls. Found it in a field. They ended up telling their father. One of Silas Clark's younger sons."

Rachel crossed her arms. "And they're the ones who called the cops?"

"No," Graywolf said. "An anonymous tip came in, later. When the police arrived, the Clarks were in the middle of moving the body."

Rachel stared at him.

Ethen let out a long breath. "Shit? Really? Tampering with evidence?"

"They said they were just trying to help," Graywolf replied, his face impassive, wearing no expression. Rachel gave a small shake of her head.

Rachel knew that this case was going to be a difficult one. The Clarks would be a tough nut to crack, and their closed-off community made them even harder to investigate. She stood up, the worn leather chair creaking beneath her weight. "We need to go out there and talk to the Clarks," she said. "See what they know about these bodies."

Ethan stood up, his expression serious. "You're right," he said. "But we need to be careful. We don't want to start a war with these people."

She nodded. "You feel like you should take point?" she asked, glancing at him.

"I... what? I didn't say that."

"No, but you know these types, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Nah. Just... knowofthem." He glanced uncomfortably at Graywolf, who clearly seemed to intimidate the new hire. Ethan had only been with the rangers for a few days now. He said, "I was homeschooled, sure. But not... you know, part of some commune or whatever."

Rachel nodded, shrugged. Gave a quick farewell tip of her hat to Graywolf, then moved out the door.

---