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It was a tangled web that reached all the way back to the first murder.
According to Sarah’s collection of papers and notes, sixteen years ago Donna Hendricks was planning to pay Lou Ann big bucks to go to the police with the information and evidence that Leland was plotting to fake his own toddler son’s kidnapping and murder so he could collect on the massive insurance policy. Donna hated her ex, Leland, because she’d lost custody of their son to him. So if Lou Ann had threatened to tell all about Donna’s bribe, it would no doubt have ended what little visitation rights Donna had left with her little boy. To keep Lou Ann silent, Donna could have killed her and then done the same to Sarah.
Of course, Sarah’s allegations implicated Leland Hendricks, as well, because he could have killed Lou Ann when and if she wouldn’t go along with his fake kidnapping/murder plan. It didn’t help, either, when Zane was able to shatter Leland’s alibi for the night of Lou Ann’s murder. The wealthy oil baron doctored the surveillance video of his estate that night so that it would appear he was home.
And that brought Carley back to her own surveillance disk.
To the best of her knowledge, hers hadn’t been altered or faked, and it was entirely possible she could see who had vandalized city property. She might even discover if it was related to the murders. And the two attempted murders: Anna Wallace’s and hers.
She hit the Play button and got up so she could retrieve the rest of her breakfast that she’d left on top of a filing cabinet.
Sloan stood, too, and looked at the honey-filled donut on the paper plate and her cup of still-warm cinnamon cappuccino. “Hey, where’d you get that?”
Sloan’s apparent envy made Carley smile. “Main Street Diner.”
He moved closer, staring at it. “They make donuts that look that good?”
“They do now that Donna Hendricks bought the place. She brought in a real honest-to-goodness chef.”
He flexed his eyebrows. “Donna is one of the prime suspects in these murders.”
“Yessss,” Carley enunciated in a way that made him seem mentally deficient. “And your point would be?”
This time he lifted his eyebrow. “Doesn’t it seem a little reckless buying donuts from a person who might have murdered two women and then taken a shot at you? How do you know she didn’t poison it?”
“I don’t,” Carley said smugly. “But since I’ve already had one this morning and I haven’t keeled over, I think it’s safe for me to eat that one. Besides, the killer has no reason to come after me again because I didn’t see his or her face, and everyone in town knows that.”
She went back to her seat. Or, rather, that’s what she tried to do. Unfortunately Sloan was in her way. Carley didn’t let that deter her. She moved past him.
His hip brushed against hers.
She noticed.
Judging from the slight unevenness of his breath, so did he.
Both of them ignored it.
“You’re going to eat all of that donut?” he asked.
Was it her imagination or did Carley hear his stomach rumble?
She fought a smile. “What can I say—I’m a clichе. A cop with a donut addiction.”
She glanced at the monitor when there was some movement so she could see what the camera had recorded. There was some light coming from her office window, and it gave enough illumination for her to see that it was merely two cats that seemed to have amorous intentions. A moment later they disappeared into the thick woods and out of camera range.
Sloan sat down again, volleying glances between her breakfast and the monitor. “You’re not going to offer me any of that donut?”
“Didn’t plan on it.”
He grinned. Sheez, it was that all-star, billon-dollar grin. “That smile won’t work on me,” she grumbled.
“What smile?” Oh, butter would not melt in his mouth.
“That one you’re flashing right now. I suspect it’s coaxed many women into lots of things, including clothing removal. But I’m immune to it. And it won’t work on parting me from my donut.”
The grin morphed. Just a tad. But instead of evoking sultry thoughts, it had a sad puppy-dog look to it.
“Besides,” he drawled. “You should be eating something more nutritious since you’re recovering from your injuries. When we’re done looking at this disk, we can head to the diner and get you some real breakfast. While we’re there, I’ll have a donut.”
Carley didn’t like the sound of that. Her goal was to finish this situation report, review the surveillance disk and then get him the heck out of her office so she could continue her own investigation.
Maybe sharing the donut would speed things up.
Figuring this would cause them to skip the trip to the diner, she ripped the donut in half, plopped his half back on the paper plate and shoved it across the desk toward him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, diving right into it. “See? We do have some common ground. Our shared love of sugary, high fat pastries that have no nutritional value.”
“You call that common ground?”
Sloan used that smile again. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get.”
She could have added something snarky—like, he had already gotten everything he could possibly get—but the sugary donut was making her fingers sticky, so she began to eat it.
“I’ve arranged to meet with both Donna and Leland this afternoon.” Sloan tossed that out there in between bites.
Carley didn’t know if that was an invitation for her to join him or if he was merely continuing with his briefing. She decided to go with the option that suited her. “Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“At two this afternoon. Here at the police station.” He tipped his head to the filing cabinet. “Just how strong are those pain pills?”
Mercy. She’d forgotten all about those. They’d blended in amid the stacks of files and other clutter. “Not strong enough to keep me off this case,” she insisted. “Besides, I haven’t even taken any of them.” She would have added more, would have probably even started a fresh argument, if there hadn’t been more movement on the screen.
“It’s motion-activated,” Sloan commented, his attention now fully on the monitor. He set the rest of the donut aside.
Carley followed suit. Because what she saw captured her complete attention, as well.
No amorous cats this time. It was a shadowy figure. She turned the monitor, hoping for a better angle. Sloan walked around the desk and stood behind her.
“I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman,” he mumbled.
“I can’t tell if it’s even human. It looks a little like a scarecrow in a Halloween costume.”
“Definitely human. The person’s wearing a mask and a cloak.”
She studied the image and had to agree. But the person didn’t have just a cloak and mask. There was something in his or her hand. The light from her office danced off that something. It was a glint of metal.
And on the screen Carley saw the gun rigged with a silencer.
That barely had time to register in her mind when there was the first shot.
And it wasn’t aimed at the camera.
The gunman saved the second bullet for that.
Sloan reached over and pressed a button to rewind the disk. He stopped it just as the first shot was in progress. Carley saw then what she hadn’t wanted to see.
Mercy.
A chill went through her.
“This person wasn’t just gunning for your surveillance camera, Carley,” Sloan confirmed. “He or she was gunning for you.”
Chapter Three
“Are you okay?” Sloan asked when he saw the expression on Carley’s face.
What little color she’d had drained from her cheeks. Not without reason. She’d just witnessed a recording of someone attempting to kill her.
“The shots were fired at 1:13 this morning,” Carley mumbled, obviously noting the time displayed on the bottom of the monitor.
“You weren’t here when it happened?”
“No. I finished up work about a half hour before that, but I’d left on the light. I didn’t notice it until after I’d locked up and made my way back to the inn.” She looked up at him. “I can see my office window from my attic apartment. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to leave the light on all night and I knew I’d be back in the office early.”
Sloan played around with that a moment and took it to its logical conclusion. “So, because of the light, someone might have thought you were inside here working at 1:13 this morning.”
Carley nodded. “It’s not unusual for me to be here at that hour.”
He didn’t doubt it.
From all accounts, Carley was driven to be the best sheriff ever. That included plenty of seventy-hour work weeks, even though technically the sheriff’s office was only supposed to open from eight to five, with all calls before and after hours going through dispatch. He figured with Carley around, dispatch wasn’t taking many of the calls, because she made sure she was readily available for the citizens of Justice.
Sloan glanced around the room. “The window’s intact, no broken glass. I don’t see any point of entry for that first bullet.”
He watched the steel and resolution return to Carley’s eyes, and she got up at the exact second that he headed for the door.
The race was afoot.
She rushed around her desk and then came to a complete stop. That stopped Sloan, especially when Carley caught onto her side.
“It’s nothing,” she said, no doubt as a preemptive strike against what he was about to say.
Sloan gave her a flat look. “If it’s nothing, then why are you holding your side?”
She immediately lowered her hands.
That was the last straw. Sloan stormed toward her, and before she could stop him—or slap him into the middle of next week—he went after her shirt buttons.
“What in Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” Carley snarled.
Sloan ignored her, and probably because she was in too much pain, she didn’t even attempt to fight him off. He undid the lower buttons at her midsection and had a look at the bandage. No blood. No raw, red areas on the skin. That was a good sign. But the edge of the adhesive tape was caught on one of the tender areas where her stitches had recently been removed. So that might be the cause.
“Hold still,” he instructed.
And, much to his surprise, she did.
Sloan slathered his hands with some liquid sanitizer that she had on top of the filing cabinet next to her pain meds. Taking a deep breath, he pulled over the chair and sat down so that he’d be at eye level with the bandage. It also put him at eye level with her stomach. And the bottom edge of her bra.
Purple lace.
Sloan couldn’t help it. He looked up at her, and when she followed his gaze, Carley narrowed her eyes to little bitty slits. “I haven’t had time to do laundry. It was one of the few wearable things that I had left in my lingerie drawer—and why I’m telling you this, I don’t have a clue. Because it certainly isn’t any of your business.”
To punctuate that, she snapped the upper sides of her top together so there was no visible purple lace.
But Sloan didn’t need to see it to remember that it was there. Nope. It was branded in his memory.
“I never took you for the purple-lace type,” he commented. Partly because it was true and partly because he wanted her mind on something else when he lifted that tape.
She’d already opened her mouth, probably to return verbal fire, but that tape pull had her sucking in her breath and wincing.
“Sorry,” Sloan apologized. “It’ll only hurt for a second.” He worked quickly, before she changed her mind, and he gave the bandage a slight adjustment. “There. Now it won’t pull at the skin that’s healing.”
She eyed him with skepticism and then tested it by rotating her arm. No wincing. No sucking in her breath. Just a relieved expression. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But you know, if you were at your apartment resting, that bandage wouldn’t have shifted.”
“And you wouldn’t have gotten a cheap thrill of learning that I own a purple bra.” She buttoned her shirt as if she’d declared war on it. “By the way, you tell anyone about my choice of underwear and you’re a dead man.”
Puzzled, he stared up at her. “Why wouldn’t you want anyone to know that?”
She dodged his gaze and stepped back. “I don’t want to draw any attention to the fact that I’m female. I already have enough strikes against me without letting people know that I occasionally wear girlie stuff.”
Still puzzled, Sloan shook his head. “Why?”
“Because I’m not male. Because I’m the first woman in Justice to wear this badge. Because I don’t have the full support of this town.” She aimed her index finger at him. “Because I’m not you. And despite the fact you’ve been gone for years, most people still and always will think of you as the sheriff.”
Sloan wanted to deny it, but he knew it was true. Despite the advances in Justice, Carley was probably battling a gender bias. He’d been one of the guys. A good ole boy. Many people in town had no doubt thought that badge was made for him. His for a lifetime.
That acceptance hadn’t been extended to Carley.
“Just for the record,” he let her know, “you don’t have to prove anything to me.”
She frowned and then mumbled some profanity. After some posturing and a huff or two, the aimed index finger returned. “Let’s get something straight, Sloan McKinney. I want no camaraderie with you. None. And you don’t want that with me. Remember, you accused me of lying about your father. I accused you of being blind to the truth. I also accused you of being a jerk and an—”
“I get the point,” Sloan interrupted. Man, she made it easy to remember the anger. “So here’s the deal. I’ll work my butt off to solve this case as quickly as possible so we won’t have time to develop any camaraderie. Agreed?”
She agreed with a grunt and headed toward the back exit, where they’d entered earlier. Sloan was right behind her. Neither wasted any time once they were outside. They both started scouring the building for that first bullet.
Thanks to the blazing sunlight striking the brown brick exterior, it didn’t take Sloan long to spot it. He went to the window and there it was. A bullet lodged in one of the bricks that framed the window directly outside Carley’s office. This was obviously the first shot that the gunman had fired in the wee hours of the morning. The shot meant for Carley.
