But not yet.
There was still work to do. Avery was a worthy opponent, but she hadn’t figured out why they were playing the game. That moron Victor had interfered, causing confusion with his bumbling actions. He should’ve killed him. He still might.
The Chessmaster opened his eyes and scanned the photographs under each of the chess pieces. Victor’s arrest would simplify things. Avery could focus on the right information, and that would help. But he couldn’t risk any more delay. He wanted her to know. To understand.
To see him.
The Chessmaster’s lips curved into a smile as he pulled a photograph down. There were basic rules and strategy, but each game of chess had its own unique signature. Avery had made her move by bringing on more Texas Rangers.
Now it was time to make his.
Thirteen
Late afternoon sunshine crept across Calvin Miller’s ramshackle cabin. Firewood was piled on the corner of the porch, and a squirrel danced through the clearing to a collection of pine trees. Avery’s breath created puffs in the cold air. She knocked on the wooden front door and shifted her feet to keep warm. It’d taken three hours to drive to this remote corner of Texas wilderness. She prayed it was time well spent.
Beside her, Weston shoved his hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket. “When you said Calvin Miller lived off the grid, you weren’t kidding. Does his house even have electricity?”
“Nope. He has a generator. Calvin never discussed it much but working as an FBI agent for four decades took its toll. This cabin was his escape from the world. When he retired, he moved here full-time. No landline. No cell phone. He goes into the nearest town for supplies and church on Sunday but otherwise stays here.”
“How often did your dad visit?”
“Quite a bit. And I know they discussed work from time to time. I came fishing with my dad once or twice and overheard them.” She knocked again before glancing in the smudged window. The inside of the cabin was dark. “I don’t think he’s here. Let’s try the lake.”
They stepped off the porch and she led Weston to a small dirt path. The scent of pine embraced them. Avery huddled deeper into her coat, even as her mind raced to fill the silence. The very awkward silence. Most of the car ride to Calvin’s land had been spent discussing the case, but Avery kept replaying the moments from earlier in the break room. Even now, her fingers brushed against her chin. The sensation of Weston’s touch seemed embedded in the skin.
She dropped her hand. Anything romantic between them was out of the question. Union County was Luke’s area, but there could be occasions when Weston would assist on cases. Avery had vowed to keep her professional and personal life separate. She intended to keep that promise.
While Weston would never treat her the way Jeffrey had, that didn’t eliminate potential complications between them. What if they dated but things didn’t work out? Avery had enough sense to know a man like Weston wouldn’t be easy to get over.
She needed to safeguard her heart. It was the only way.
A sudden break in the trees revealed a clearing with a small lake in the center. Calvin stood next to a nearby shack, holding a fishing pole in one hand and a pistol in the other. No doubt he’d heard them coming down the trail. Calvin was closing in on ninety, but his back was still ramrod straight and his mind as sharp as the hook on the end of his fishing line. He was dressed in a winter coat and waders. A thick beard covered the lower half of his face.
His eyes crinkled as a broad smile broke across his face. Calvin holstered the pistol. “Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t Avery Madison.”
She grinned and waved a hand at his waders. “I’d hug you, Calvin, but the car ride home won’t be pleasant if I smell like fish.”
He chuckled, but it ended in a harsh cough. Avery took in his flushed cheeks and surmised he was fighting off a cold. “It’s not a great day for fishing.”
“Gotta catch my dinner, Avery.”
“Catfish?” Weston asked.
“Yep.” Calvin’s gaze swept over the Texas Ranger and narrowed. “You know anything about fishing, son?”
“More than a bit.” Weston extended his hand and introduced himself. “Got another pole? I can lend a hand in catching your dinner.”
Calvin hmphed but did as Weston asked. The group went to the lake’s edge, and Avery waited until the bait was settled in the water before shifting the conversation to the case. She went through the facts they’d gathered and the connection to her father. “Do you know why someone might target me because of Dad?”
Calvin’s jaw tightened. “Avery, is Mike Steel still working for the Union County Sheriff’s Department?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
“Then if I were you, I’d start looking at him.”
Avery reared back. She would’ve been less surprised if Calvin had slapped her. “What are you talking about? Mike would never hurt anyone.”
Calvin met her gaze before a tug on his line drew his attention back to the lake. “I never said anything before now because there was no need, but Mike Steel isn’t the man you think he is.”
“Stop talking in riddles, Calvin. Just say it.”
He nodded and reeled in his line. A catfish plopped on the bank. “It started with an attempted murder. Beverly Wilson was in her home when a man broke in through the back door, assaulted her, and attempted to strangle her with a rope. The perpetrator was interrupted when Beverly’s husband arrived home unexpectedly. Your father and Mike were assigned to work the case.”
Avery’s heart skittered. The basic facts—breaking in through the back door and strangulation with a rope—matched the cases they were working. Emilia had been right. They’d needed to expand their search of the sheriff’s files to strangulations.
“Back in those days, the sheriff’s
