“Nothing to suggest she’s the doc. Why do you ask?”

Hayden ignored the question and dialed Faith’s number. She picked up on the second ring, and her voice was remarkably clear.

“Faith McIntyre.”

“Doc, this is Mitchell Hayden. Sounds like you’re up.”

“Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”

He heard the curiosity in her tone, but she was too careful to make any kind of innuendo until she understood the true nature of the call. “I’m at a crime scene, and there was some confusion. But it looks like it’s been cleared up.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “If you need a body examined, I can come in.”

Hayden glanced down at the blood and discarded bandage packets. “So far the victim is still alive. I’ll touch base in the morning. Sorry to trouble you.”

“Okay. Hopefully the victim won’t be coming my way.”

“Did you speak to Jack Crow’s daughter?”

“We traded voicemail messages. We’ve not spoken directly. She was headed to Austin. Why?”

“I’ve got to run. I’ll call you in the morning.” One way or the other, Faith would have to be told about Macy Crow.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Something’s off.”

“I’ll explain all in the morning. Trust me on this.”

“Sure. But I want the full story tomorrow,” Faith said.

“Understood.” He hung up, realizing he was deeply relieved Faith had picked up the phone.

Brogan held up a bagged cell phone and handed it to Hayden. “Her last search on her phone was for the Texas Rangers.”

“Did she place a call?”

“No. I also called Quantico, and the ASAC confirmed she’s an agent, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t say what she was working on. Thought maybe you could give your sister a call and find out what she knows about Macy Crow.”

He texted his sister, Special Agent Kate Hayden. She traveled with an FBI profiling team and had made it a standing policy that Hayden and his mother text rather than call. She promised to respond as quickly as she could and had always kept her word. In his text, he supplied the victim’s name, description, and a request for information on her latest case. Moments later he received a curt Roger that.

Kate was brilliant, and though her specialty was forensic linguistics, she was a woman of few words. Some saw her silence as arrogance, but he knew Kate was always thinking and processing and often forgot about social niceties. They were two peas in a pod according to their mother.

“She’ll get back to us.” Hayden slid the phone back in his breast pocket.

“Where’s your sister these days?” Brogan asked.

“No idea.”

“A few buddies of mine in San Antonio say she’s as charming as you.”

Kate had solved a complex case in San Antonio recently but had ruffled a few feathers in the process. “I’m still the nice one.”

“Shit.” Brogan adjusted his hat, shaking his head. “Remind me to stay clear of your sister.”

“Macy Crow is in town because her old man was murdered. Since she’s FBI, I’m guessing she wanted to know more about what happened.”

Brogan nodded. “Takes matters into her own hands. Something we both would have done. So what the hell was she doing in this part of town?”

“I don’t know.”

Despite what was portrayed on television, the FBI didn’t just roll into town and take over investigations. They worked in conjunction with local law enforcement, and when they had an operation, they kept the Texas Rangers apprised.

“Did the responding officer say anything else?” Hayden asked.

“Said the victim tried to speak but was incoherent. She then lost consciousness.”

“Is an Austin PD detective on scene?” Hayden asked.

“Detective Lana Franklin is en route. She’s juggling two other homicides tonight.”

“Where is Crow’s backpack?”

“Over there in the shadows where it fell. No one other than me has touched it yet,” Brogan said.

“Let’s have a look at it.” Hayden signaled to the forensic technician what he was doing and waited for her to follow with her camera.

As the technician snapped pictures, he moved around the bloodstain on the road and through the grass to the red backpack now lying up against the chain-link fence of the park. The backpack was marked with a yellow evidence tag. He knelt and unzipped it and found a wallet, a hotel room key, and several fast-food receipts.

“Where’s the officer who responded?” Hayden asked.

“Officer Beth Holcombe is over by her vehicle,” Brogan said.

He rose, asked the technician for pictures and an inventory of the bag, and then found Officer Holcombe. She was talking to an older man wearing disheveled clothes and carrying a large grocery bag crammed full of clothes and food.

Holcombe, midsized with an athletic build, had pulled back her black hair into a neat bun at the base of her neck.

Hayden extended his hand and introduced himself and Brogan. “Officer.”

She shook his hand and then laid her hand on the forearm of the man beside her. “Rangers, this is Sammy Kent. He lives in the doorways up and down this street, which is my beat. Sammy and I cross paths a lot. Not much happens here without him seeing it.”

Sammy hovered close to Officer Holcombe as his dark eyes shifted from Hayden to Brogan, sizing both men up. His green jacket looked to be army issue, as did his boots.

“Mr. Kent, my name is Mitchell Hayden.”

Sammy locked eyes with him. “You a Texas Ranger?”

“Yes, sir, I am. Did you serve?”

Sammy gripped his bag closer to him. “I did. Operation Desert Storm.”

“Thank you for your service, Mr. Kent. How long were you in?”

“Three years.”

Three years meant he’d not finished his first enlistment, which ran four years plus. “Were you injured?”

“Medical discharge. But I wasn’t injured.”

Many of the homeless had mental health issues, which meant whatever Sammy told him could be suspect. “What can you tell me about what happened?”

“Lady was walking down the street, and she stopped and gave me a twenty. Told me to get something to eat.”

“She say anything else?”

“Asked me about a missing girl. Showed me a picture.”

“Who was the girl?”

“Paige.”

“Were you able to tell her anything?” Hayden asked.

“Nope. The earth swallowed up Paige. It’s done it before, and it’ll do it again.”

Hayden checked his rising frustration. It wouldn’t help Ms. Crow. “Where was she going?”

“That way.” Sammy shrugged, sniffed, and nervously rattled the change in his pockets. “Toward the park.”

“How did the woman seem? Was she upset or worried?”

“Sad, maybe. But she wasn’t worried or nothing. She passed me and wasn’t more than fifty feet ahead when a dark pickup came out of nowhere. When the truck hit her, she flew through the air like a rag doll. She hit the ground so hard I thought she was dead. Freaked me out, and I went running toward her screaming. Officer Holcombe came to the rescue right away.”

“You’ve met the woman before?” Hayden asked.

The old man shook his head. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“And she just came up to you?” Hayden asked.

“Yep. Came out of nowhere.”

“Did she say why she was here?” Brogan asked.

“No.”

“We got more black pickups in Texas than I can shake a stick at,” Hayden said. “Did you happen to recognize the driver?”

“No. Never saw the face. But I think it was a guy. Driver had on a baseball hat,” Sammy said. “It all happened in seconds.”

“Thank you, Sammy,” Hayden said.

“Is she still alive?”

“So far,” Hayden said.

“I saw a guy fly like that once,” Sammy said. “After an IED blew up. He lost his legs. And he was screaming something terrible. But this woman that was hit tonight . . .” He paused to steady his voice and press fingertips to his tearing eyes. “She didn’t scream.”

Hayden patted the man on the shoulder, waiting for him to steady himself before he turned to the policewoman. “Officer Holcombe, are there security cameras posted along the street?”

Holcombe nodded. “Several of the businesses around here have them. And there’s my body camera and dashcam footage.”

“I’ll want to see that right away.” Hayden fished out a twenty from his pocket. “Officer, can you buy Sammy a meal?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Keep me posted on how she’s doing?” Holcombe said. “She’s one of us.”

“I will.” Hayden’s phone rang, and he saw his sister’s name on the display. He walked away from Sammy, Brogan, and Holcombe. “Kate.”

“I made calls regarding Macy Crow.” Her tone was clipped and sounded slightly annoyed.

It was always directly to the point with Kate. No “How are you doing?” or “How’s the weather?” Small talk was foreign to his sister. However, when Sierra died and Kate had been in northern Maine leading an investigation, she’d driven three hours to the nearest airport and taken a red-eye so she could be present at the funeral. He’d not spoken to her or anyone that day. He’d been so broken and angry. After the visitation at their mother’s house, Kate had left Austin. These days, he and his sister shared a mutual respect and had each other’s backs, but no one would ever describe them as warm and sensitive.

“Give me what you have,” he said.

“Macy Sunday Crow, age thirty, was attached to Quantico, Virginia. She’s also spent time in the Denver, Seattle, and Kansas City field offices.”