Goode Over Evil

By Leslie Marshman

She left town to save a life. Now she’s back to avenge a death.

Years ago, Samantha Goode was driven away from love, her family, and her past. Now the Texas Ranger is back in Crystal Creek for her estranged grandmother’s funeral, even though it means coming face to face with everything, and everyone, she’d left behind. When a brutal murder shatters her world, Sam is determined to stay until she solves it. Soon she’s knee-deep in suspects, including the family of the man she once loved but was forced to betray.

Rancher Clayton Barnett will do anything to keep his autistic younger brother out of an institution, including sidelining his life to work for their powerful, manipulative father. When tragedy brings Sam back into his life, instead of rekindling their romance, Clay finds himself embroiled in a dangerous murder investigation.

Will old secrets pull Sam and Clay apart once more, or can they rise above their past? And with a ruthless killer on the loose, will Sam’s hard-earned Ranger skills be enough to ensure that Goode triumphs over evil?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tule Publishing
• Release date: Sep 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950510979

Leslie Marshman

Multi-award-winning suspense author Leslie Marshman uses her psychology degree to get inside the heads of her characters and figure out what makes them tick. She writes novels that feature strong heroines, the heroes who love 'em, and the bad guys who fear 'em. Leslie called Denver home until she married a Texan without reading the fine print. Visit her at www.lesliemarshman.com.

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Author

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Sinclair Sawhney, my amazing editor, for loving my story. And my gratitude to the entire Tule Publishing group for taking a chance on a debut author. I never dreamed publishing would be this much fun.

Thank you to my incredible agent, Cori Deyoe at 3 Seas Literary Agency, for believing in me. Our connection was instantaneous, and your continuing guidance (even in the wee hours of the morning) is everything. I’m glad I have you in my corner.

To Gerry Bartlett – You understood my grief, but forced me to keep pace with life. Your friendship, mentoring, and brainstorming are appreciated more than you know.

To the Lunch Bunch – I’m lucky to belong to a group of women who encourage and support each other through the good times and the bad.

To Scott Peterson – You’ll always be my favorite brother. Thank you for being proud of me.

And last, but definitely not least, all my gratitude to Sara L. Hudson – My critique partner extraordinaire, my best friend, my ride or die. You had me at tequila.

Chapter One

Near El Paso, Texas

Samantha Goode lay at the edge of a dry gully, watching. Waiting. The task force’s latest intel indicated the drugs would be moved soon. Tonight was the perfect night, billowing clouds hiding any hint of moonlight. She couldn’t detect anyone on the team—not her fellow Texas Rangers or the DEA agents or even the Border Patrol personnel. But they were there. Lying in wait.

She wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. The desert air cooled quickly once the sun went down, but the heavy gear and Kevlar vest didn’t help. At least she got to stay above ground, unlike Alvarez, the Border Patrol agent brought in from Nogales. His job as a tunnel rat meant he’d be following the drug scumbags into the bowels of the earth. A shiver ran down Sam’s spine at the very idea of scurrying through the tight underground drug passageways. But she’d even do that if it brought some of these bastards to justice.

Sam had a special hate in her heart for dealers and drug lords that extended far beyond her being a Texas Ranger. To her it was personal. She wore that hate like a second skin, never questioning its source or apologizing for its existence.

A voice whispered in Sam’s earpiece. One emerging. Repeat, one emerging. A quiet crackle of static. I’ve got another coming out. At least two gophers in this hole.

Her senses kicked into high gear.

Go! Go! Go! her partner, Mark, shouted.

She didn’t hesitate. Sam and the DEA agents charged at the command and Alvarez ran for the opening in the rocks they’d been watching for hours. He disappeared between sharp cacti and stunted yuccas. Sam held her position at their flank. Footsteps sounded near her and she swiveled her SIG P320. A black shape darker than the night flew past.

Runner! Mark yelled.

On it. Sam took off after the silhouette moving through the scrub brush. The runner’s footsteps pounded just ahead of her.

The shadow veered behind a rock and vanished from sight. Sam slid to a stop in the loose dirt. The cicadas had quieted their electric thrum, and the clouds thinned just enough to make out the sole of a shoe disappearing into a man-size hole in the ground.

Sam strode to the hole and shined her flashlight in, checking its depth. We’ve got another opening. Fifty yards northwest of my original position. Following him in, she whispered into her mic.

After holstering the tactical light, she sat with her legs dangling over the edge. The sweat accumulating on her brow now had nothing to do with the heat. Still holding her gun, she dropped, landing in a crouch on the hard-packed floor. The oppressive underground darkness encompassed her like a tomb. She grabbed her light and flipped it on and off quickly to get her bearings, lunging sideways to avoid being a clear target.

When she stood and extended both arms, her fingertips grazed solid dirt walls on either side. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to tamp down the rising panic of claustrophobia that constricted her air. Keeping tight to the left wall, she eased forward into the blackness, toward the curve she’d seen in the brief burst of light.

The splintered surface of a wooden support beam nicked her fingers. Sam put her back to the wall and inched around the bend, gun at the ready. He came at her like a cannonball, knocking her flat on her back. Hit hard, air whooshed from her lungs. With a curse, she scrambled to her feet and was after him before she’d inhaled a full breath. This asshole wasn’t escaping. No way. No how.

He darted to the entrance and clambered up the wall. Sam holstered her gun and grabbed his ankle with both hands. Kicking at her with his other foot, he connected with her shoulder. She grunted and lifted her feet off the ground, using her body weight to bring him down. Twisting, she landed on top of him as they fell to the tunnel floor. She cuffed his hands behind him, flipped on her light and searched him for weapons. Finding none, she hauled him to his feet.

He swiveled his head to look at her, eyes widening as he took in her female form. "Puta!" He spat the word.

Sam’s sharp laugh held no humor. Sorry. That one hasn’t offended me for a long time. She spoke into her mic. Runner’s restrained. Need assistance getting him out.

Roger that. We’re coming to you. Give me a signal.

Sam flashed her light up through the hole into the dark desert night. Dust particles from the scuffle floated in its beam. The confined area pressed in on her and sweat tickled her cheek.

She keyed the mic again. Sometime before the sun comes up, Mark. If you’re not too busy.

Her partner dropped through the entrance and landed next to her. He observed the bound runner Sam held at gunpoint. I thought you might just trip him with your dainty little foot as he ran past.

She allowed herself a wry smile. Screw you.

Being one of only a few female Texas Rangers, she’d quickly learned to get along better with the guys by holding her own with their bullshit. She and Mark had worked together often and he was the one person she trusted to have her back. While Sam kept her gun on the runner, Mark recuffed his hands in front to make it easier to move him above ground.

Her partner nodded toward the hole. Ladies first.

Sam started up, jamming the toes of her boots into rough footholds carved into the wall.

I sincerely apologize, Sam, Mark said as he stood beneath her. I was wrong. Your feet aren’t dainty. Or little.

Sam looked down, catching him staring at her size nine boots. Make fun of them all you want. I consider them a blessing.

Really. And why is that?

Sam turned her attention back to the opening above her. They’re good for kicking your butt.

Mark chuckled as a DEA agent grasped her arm and pulled her up over the edge of the hole. He handed her a bottle of water. Three other cartel members were cuffed and on the ground, an armed officer standing over them. Sam paced, swigging half the water while Alvarez helped haul the cuffed man out of the hole and threw him on his back.

You might want to recuff his hands behind him, Sam said. She transferred the water bottle to her left hand and eased her gun out of its holster.

Alvarez placed a boot on the drug dealer’s chest as he glowered at Sam. Between his overly-muscled arms and bowed legs, it was impossible not to compare him to a Neanderthal. I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. You couldn’t even control him down there without your partner coming to the rescue.

What’s wrong, Alvarez? Mark hoisted himself out of the tunnel. Pissed that she caught him after he outran you?

Alvarez sneered. I’m just glad I don’t have to depend on a woman to— His words ended in a yelp as the drug dealer grabbed the foot on his chest and flipped the short, stocky agent backward. The dealer lunged for the agent’s gun, struggling with his shackled hands to clear it from its holster. The barrel swung toward Alvarez’s head.

A blast thundered into the darkness. The perp spun and fell, dropping the agent’s weapon. Holstering her pistol, Sam walked over to the wounded man. She knelt on his bleeding arm while unlocking one cuff, then twisted his arms behind his back to relock them. Moans and Spanish cuss words flowed from his mouth.

What were you saying? Sam squinted at Alvarez while he struggled to his feet.

Something about not wanting to depend on a woman. Mark walked over and looked down at the perp’s shoulder wound. Nice shot, Sam.

Not really. I was aiming for his balls. She winked at her partner, then picked up the stray gun and handed it to Alvarez. I think this is yours.

The agent grabbed the firearm from her. You bitch. If you hadn’t distracted me—

Sam’s phone vibrated in her pocket, but she ignored it. She stepped up to the Border Patrol agent, her face inches from his. You’ve been in the tunnels too long if my tits and ass distract you from your job. You’re a menace to yourself and anyone who has to work with you, Alvarez. Go home to Arizona. I doubt anyone will have your back around here again.

The other men chuckled at the agent’s impotent swearing. While they waited for the transport vehicle, Sam stepped away to check her phone. Voice mail from her uncle. She frowned. He usually waited for her weekly call.

Hi, Sammy. Uncle Joe here. It’s, uh, it’s your grandmother. She passed away yesterday. I know the last thing you want is to come home, but your gramps needs you. He won’t call you himself, but he’s not doing so good. And, Sammy… there’s something really strange going on at the marina. I’d like your professional opinion before I talk to the sheriff. Call me. And keep yourself safe.

Sam slid the phone back into her pocket and resealed the Velcro tab. She paused, waiting for the news of Gram’s death to elicit some sort of emotional response. Grief. Relief. Anything. But… nothing.

She sighed. She’d rather chase a drug dealer into a tight tunnel any day of the week than go back to Crystal Creek. But Uncle Joe’s reticent tone sent a twinge of anxiety through her. He’d never asked her for a favor before. And maybe she did owe it to Gramps to return for the old woman’s funeral. Although, if blood was thicker than water, her lineage was pretty damn diluted.

She was no longer the gullible teenager she had been when she’d allowed Quin Barnett to run her off. Maybe it was finally time to go back and face her demons. Still… there were plenty of people in that town who’d be happy to never set eyes on her again.

She could think of two in particular.

Chapter Two

Sam watched clods of dirt fall on her grandmother’s coffin. There had been a time when the old woman could make Sam cry and had seemed to enjoy doing it. That time was long gone, and today Sam’s eyes ached with nothing but fatigue.

Most of the town had attended the funeral. Now only she and her grandfather remained while soil filled the grave. She stayed because her grandfather stayed. She had no idea why he stayed. Maybe he really had loved his wife. Maybe he just wanted to make sure she was gone for good. He’d always been hard to read when it came to Gram.

She plucked at her silk blouse, plastered to her damp skin with Gulf Coast humidity. When she’d first become a Texas Ranger, her assignment to El Paso had been a major adjustment. Now, back in the small Texas town where she’d been raised, she missed the arid heat of the Chihuahuan desert.

Across the small cemetery, past live oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, a lone figure lingered in the parking lot. Uncle Joe, maybe? He’d been a conspicuous no-show today, which concerned her. Lifting one hand, Sam shaded her eyes against the bright glare reflecting off a vehicle. The distinctive silhouette of a short, ape-like man unnerved Sam. She couldn’t make out facial features, but she could have sworn the man staring back at her was Border Patrol Agent Alvarez.

A chill chased the summer heat from her body, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She closed her eyes to make what had to be a fatigue-induced hallucination disappear. When she reopened them, the vision was gone.

Time to head to the house for lunch. We don’t want to keep the church ladies waiting, Gramps said, settling his straw Stetson on his balding head.

Sam wished the burial brought today’s festivities to a close. The flight from El Paso to Houston, then the drive southwest to Crystal Creek, had left her weary. The idea of small talk with people who looked down their noses at her very existence overwhelmed her exhausted brain. But hunger pangs clawed at her stomach. If she kept her mouth full, maybe she’d avoid sticking her foot in it. Two birds. One stone.

Gramps wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Tensing, Sam waited for the awkwardness between them to surface, but it never came. Instead, she felt the urge to lean into him. It was the first fatherly moment she could remember with the man who’d helped raise her.

I’m glad you’ve come home, where you belong, Gramps said.

It was then the uneasiness fell over her like a well-worn blanket. She’d never belonged here. Sam tried, out of kindness, but the words me, too refused to pass her lips. Instead she simply nodded and looked down at the grave one final time. When they got to the parking lot, Gramps’s old, battered pickup was the only vehicle remaining. If Alvarez really had been there, he was gone.

*

The small farmhouse overflowed with mourners. People stood on the front lawn in small clusters, drinking iced tea and talking about whatever the hell it was people talked about after funerals. Gramps stopped to shake hands and accept hugs as Sam followed him through the front door.

They walked into a living room packed like a sardine tin with people she didn’t know or wished she didn’t remember. Gram had spent the majority of Sam’s childhood telling her what everyone in town thought of the drug addict’s bastard daughter. So other than hanging out with a few close friends, Sam had kept mostly to herself while growing up. A habit she continued to embrace as an adult.

I’m sorry for your loss. A woman captured her hand in passing.

Thank you. Sam tugged loose from the woman’s grasp, frowning. It was her grandfather’s loss, not hers.

Before she could move forward, another woman embraced her. You’re a good girl to come home and help Phil through this difficult time. The woman pulled back to look Sam in the eye. Will you be staying long? I know he’s missed you.

Sam forced a tight smile and shook her head. I’m due back at work in a few days.

She caught up with Gramps in a corner of the room, talking with a group of his cronies.

I know Joe didn’t get on well with Martha, but I can’t believe he didn’t show up for his own mother’s funeral, Gramps said. His shoulders sagged and dark circles beneath his eyes stood out against pallid skin.

I wouldn’t worry, Phil. Only reasons I can think why he wouldn’t show are he’s drunk or he’s dead, one of the men said.

Or dead drunk, another said with a laugh.

Sam bit her lip as she fumed at the comments. Yes, the bottle had grabbed hold of her uncle a long time ago, his drunken nights finally outnumbering his sober days. But hearing others laugh about it pissed her off. She stared daggers at the men until they looked away, silence replacing their chuckles. She wasn’t surprised that Gramps didn’t defend his own son. Her grandfather had never been known to stand up to anyone about anything.

Gramps, I think I’ll go check on Uncle Joe.

Her grandfather took her hand. Yes, if you— His fingers cramped into a claw, digging into Sam’s flesh.

Grabbing him as he teetered, Sam supported him into a nearby chair. She dropped to her knees, searching Gramps’s once sharp eyes, now rheumy and dull. She swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. Are you okay?

I’m fine, fine. Just need to sit a spell. He flicked his hand. Go on, girl. Don’t hover.

Despite his order, Sam lingered nearby, studying her grandfather. He’d aged much more than she would have expected since she’d last seen him. Grief had taken its toll.

Her grandfather’s friends gathered around him, so she finally escaped to the front porch, preferring the heat of the day to the press of bodies inside. But she’d stay close by for Gramps’s sake, just in case. Talking to Uncle Joe would have to wait until tomorrow.

*

The old oak tree in the side yard had always been her favorite place to hide from Gram. Sam headed there now, craving its shade and privacy. She leaned her back against the rough trunk and closed her eyes, letting all thoughts drift from her mind.

At the sound of boots tromping across the yard, Sam’s eyes flew open. Quinton Barnett, his face distorted with anger, was closing the distance between them. Sam’s chest tightened, but she fought the rush of apprehension.

She’d kept an eye out for Clayton Barnett and his father at the service earlier. It had been twelve long years and one broken heart since she’d seen Clay, and she’d halfway hoped, halfway dreaded running into him. She still wasn’t sure if she felt relief or disappointment at not seeing him there.

Quinton Barnett, on the other hand, she’d tried in vain to avoid. He’d made quite a show at the funeral, expressing delight at her return. But his malevolent glare and bone-crushing handshake had transmitted his true feelings. She hadn’t held up her end of their bargain.

What the fuck are you doing back in my town? Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth as he loomed over her.

She leaned toward him, taking away the advantage he wanted. Gram died. Figured you knew, since you were at the funeral.

You disappoint me, Samantha Goode. You took my money and swore you’d never come back to Crystal Creek. His gaze slowly traveled down the length of her body. And yet, here you are.

Well, we don’t always get what we want in life. Deal with it. I have.

He shifted back a step. Listen, missy, I want you gone or—

I’d think twice before threatening me, Quin. Sam narrowed her eyes. I’m not that easily bullied girl I once was.

Quin’s brows shot up at her tone, then settled back into their usual scowl as he eyed her badge. Oh, that’s right. You’re a big, bad Ranger-girl now.

And don’t you forget it. Sam pushed past him, feigning a confidence she didn’t quite feel. Instead, she was gripped by the uneasy suspicion that before she left town, Quin Barnett would make her life hell.

Again.

Chapter Three

Sam swung her legs out of her puke-green rental car and started across the crushed shell parking lot of Magruder’s Bait and Tackle. Although the property had been in her grandparents’ family for years, she only associated it with Uncle Joe. He’d worked there since long before Sam’s time, first alongside Gramps, then gradually moving into the driver’s seat. When Gramps finally retired, he’d deeded the marina to Uncle Joe and found other ways to occupy his time. Gram had always refused to set foot on the lakeside property. Something about a breeding ground for debauchery.

Despite being mother and son, Gram and Uncle Joe couldn’t have been more different. Martha Magruder had believed in spare the rod, spoil the child. Her uncle had been the one to slip Sam treats and small toys on the sly. His smile came easily and his jokes flowed freely. Gram’s did not. And while Gram believed alcohol was a tool of Satan himself, Uncle Joe danced with the devil when it came to drink.

The wood-framed screen door of the bait shop banged shut behind Sam when she entered. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim interior. Camping and fishing essentials filled wooden shelves. A coffee maker sat on a table against the wall. Coolers of bait hummed and the minnow tank gurgled softly. It was the soundtrack of her childhood.

Everything still looked the same, right down to the old codgers sitting at rickety tables in the center of the room. They stopped playing cards and dominoes just long enough to turn and stare. Uncle Joe wasn’t among them.

A middle-aged woman Sam would recognize anywhere perched on a stool behind the counter. Kathy had been a fixture at the marina for as long as Sam could remember, gradually picking up the slack as Uncle Joe’s drinking increased. Even before he’d taken ownership of the marina, Kathy had worked there for Gramps.

Kathy paused in flipping the pages of a gossip magazine to squint at Sam through an exhale of cigarette smoke. Apparently, Uncle Joe had found a way around Crystal Creek’s smoking restrictions.

Samantha Goode! As I live and breathe, the woman rasped with her four-pack-a-day voice. She slid off her stool, set the cigarette in an ashtray and came around the counter to give Sam a hug.

Hey, Kathy. How you been?

Still hanging in there. Kathy stepped back and looked Sam over. Damn, it’s good to see your face. Joe mentioned he’d called you, but I didn’t really expect you home for the funeral.

I’m kind of surprised to be here, myself. How’s Donnie doing these days? The son Kathy had raised by herself was several years younger than Sam.

Kathy rolled her eyes. Older, but no smarter. I swear, that boy couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

Sam laughed.

He’s really a good kid. Got himself a decent job at the Barnett Ranch, even chips in a few bucks at home now and then. The older woman returned to her seat behind the counter. By the way, I’m sorry about your grandmother. I would’ve come to the funeral, but someone had to stay here, keep these old coots from stealing us blind. She flicked a hand at the men playing cards. She leaned toward Sam and winked. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? We both know I wouldn’t be caught dead at that old battle-ax’s funeral. She laughed, and the laughter turned into hacking.

Are you okay? That cough doesn’t sound good.

Fit as a fiddle, Kathy said as soon as she caught her breath. You know I’m too mean to die. Now, I’m sure you didn’t just come here to pass the time of day with me. What can I get you, hon?

Just a small coffee. A caffeine junkie, Sam hoped the dark brew would fend off the headache forming behind her eyes like a storm cloud. She reached across the counter with a dollar bill. And I’m looking for Uncle Joe.

Just help yourself to the coffee. You know your money’s no good here. She pushed Sam’s hand away. Now, as for Joe—

Sam’s paracord bracelet caught on the display rack of candy

Reviews for Goode Over Evil

[cathygeha · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Goode Over Evil by Leslie MarshmanA Crystal Creek Mystery #1Excellent! I was hooked from page one and engaged till the very end. Samantha “Sam” Goode, Texas Ranger, was resilient, tough and smart. She was someone I could admire and would like to have as a friend. When her uncle calls her to ask for help and tell her to come back to bury her grandmother she is tempted to decline but back she goes anyway. I was easily able to get a feel for Crystal Creek and understand why she had stayed away for twelve years. When Sam left she did so without telling anyone. She had her reasons and they were good ones but even though she achieved an education and landed a good job she still regrets leaving Clay Barnett behind. It soon becomes evident that there might be a second chance for the couple...maybe. When Sam’s uncle is murdered she opts to assist in the investigation. Then she finds out that someone has it in for her. Surviving what happens won’t be easy and the second chance romance couple has to work to make it happen. What I liked: * Samantha: she is a great character and I can’t wait to read the next book in this series.* Clay: Great book boyfriend and wonderful brother to his autistic brother, Jordan* Sheriff Eddie Marshall: He is intriguing and truly deserves to find a woman of his own – do hope he gets a book in the series* Nicolette: Sam’s friend is a sniper but home temporarily to help her widowed mother.* Supporting characters...there were more than one that I found interesting and hope to see in future books in this seriesWhat I did not like: * Quinn Barnett: what a dirt bag he was….his treatment of family and others was despicable* The men that I was meant not to like...the bad guys that killed and tortured and were evil incarnate.Did I like this book? Definitely!Would I like to read more by this author? Without a doubt! Thank you to NetGalley and Tule Publishing for the ARC – This is my honest review. 5 Stars