Free Pursuit of Justice by DiAnn Mills Page B

venture into the business of offering a home to at-risk boys.
    The beauty of the perfectly landscaped surroundings, including the flowers and shrubbery on a timed sprinkler system, reminded her of one of her aunt’s Southern Living magazines—even though she lived in Pennsylvania. Everything at the High Butte had been planned, right down to the Mexican heather with its tiny purple flowers, the rosebushes kissing the sun, and the bunches of pink and white impatiens within the shade of centuries-old oaks. In the rear, she’d noted a pool butted up against a rock waterfall. The rushing water pouring into deep blue depths gave the feeling of peacefulness—even if peace had exploded into turmoil two days earlier.
    Oh, to have grown up in an architectural masterpiece such as this. Her thoughts turned to where she’d been reared amid the dirt and weeds. At least that had been home until she was fifteen. Her father had been in her thoughts since she’d flown into Abilene. And finding the size-twelve footprints had added layers of regret. When she was much younger, he’d slapped a huge photo of the Spider Rock map on his bedroom wall. Blown up in huge proportions like a shrine—the altar that ruled his every decision, even his heart.
    A different shift of deputies arrived at three, and around four, Sheriff Adams returned and continued to work. Shortly after seven, she and Vic decided to call it a day. Bella wiped the perspiration trickling down her face and tossed her gloves in the trash. There were plenty more where those came from.
    After informing Darren that she and Vic were ready to head to Ballinger for her car, he introduced them to Deputy Roano, who’d be their transportation to town. Bella made a point of telling Lydia, Jasper, and Carr good night, if for no other reason than to have closure for the unpleasantness of the day. Sliding into the air-conditioned comfort of the deputy’s car, Bella allowed her mind to dwell on what had happened during the last nine hours. The various pieces of paper found in the trash appeared meaningless, but she and Vic would follow up on those tomorrow. The thought of asking for assistance from the field office either in Houston or Dallas crossed her mind, but she refused to call for additional resources on the first day.
    Perhaps tomorrow she’d have a report on the bullets lodged in her tire. The candy wrapper had led to the boot prints, which seemed to be the only substantial find. The print size affected her more than she cared to admit. Brandt Richardson and Stanton Warick were the two men who had caused her to run from this area in the first place.
    Brandt Richardson. Her nemesis had frightened her long enough, and she would not stop until he was behind bars.
    “Are you planning to return to the ranch tomorrow?” Deputy Roano said. The young man looked like he’d just graduated from the police academy.
    “Yes.” She smiled. “I hope a shooter doesn’t decide to use me for target practice again.”
    “Ma’am, I know you’re FBI and all that, but you and Special Agent Anderson need to be careful. The long stretches of road out here can be dangerous, especially if someone’s after you.”
    Conscientious man to offer them a warning. “We’ll be careful. Right, Vic?”
    “After twenty-two years, I’ve learned a thing or two. But thanks for the warning. You have the advantage of knowing the area.”
    Roano nodded and they passed pleasantries between them. He didn’t ask about the case, which she found odd. Neither did he inquire about the FBI—refreshing, because she didn’t have enough words floating around in her mind to respond intelligently. Neither did she want to burden Vic by having him answer all of the questions. Food and crawling into bed zoomed to the top of her priority list.
    After picking up her car, her confidence resumed, mostly because she had her own wheels again and didn’t have to depend on a deputy or Carr Sullivan.
    “What do you think?” she