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Dalton was no longer a kid. And he didn’t give up so easily.
* * *
HOURS PASSED BEFORE Dalton deemed it safe to revisit the crime scene. The sheriff had said that he wanted it cleaned up as fast as possible before copycats got any more ideas and reporters fed them with notions. His remarks were further evidence that Sawmill was considering this a suicide.
The sun was beginning to rise in the eastern sky, allowing enough light to see clearly since the trees were barren of leaves.
It was the dead of winter, close to Christmas but Dalton wasn’t in a festive mood. There were two killers on the loose, his father’s and a teenage girl’s. Plus, no matter how complicated Dalton’s relationship might’ve been with the Mav, he couldn’t imagine the holiday without his father’s strong physical presence.
A foreboding overcame Dalton every time he came near the spot where Alexandria had died and this morning was no exception.
Between law enforcement and emergency personnel, there were too many footprints leading up to the tree. Dalton took out his phone and started snapping pics of everything. The unforgiving earth leading up to the tree. The oak from every angle. The perimeter of the crime scene.
He didn’t know when he’d get the chance to return and evidence was still fresh even if it had been trampled all over. He had no idea what could be significant, so he figured he’d capture everything and study the photos later.
The tree was mature, coming in at a height of forty-plus feet. It was majestic and had been around for as long as Dalton could remember. He’d seen it more times than he could count going back and forth to town from the ranch as a kid.
This location was between Dalton’s family ranch and Alexandria’s house in town. He could almost still see her silky blond hair flirting with the breeze on a warm summer night. Her nervous smile. The way she tugged at his arm when she wanted him to put it around her. When Sawmill couldn’t prove that Dalton had anything to do with her death, he’d ruled suicide. Did Alexandria have a difficult relationship with her parents? Yes. There was no question about it. That didn’t mean she took her own life.
Tires crunching on gravel caused him to spin around. The detective parked her sedan and exited the vehicle. The sun was to her back, rising, creating a halo effect.
“What are you doing here?” he bit out sharply.
“Looking for you.” There was so much hurt in her voice, even though her set jaw said she was trying to put up a brave front. He knew exactly how difficult it was for her to be there, in this location, facing down that tree.
“How’d you know where to find me?”
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her blazer and shivered against a burst of cold air. Dalton hadn’t really noticed before but his hands were like icy claws. He put them together and blew to warm them.
She shrugged. “This is the first place I would come if I were in your shoes.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” he stated. He had no intention of discussing Alexandria with her. Since there was nothing else to say, he stalked toward her because she was in the way of getting to his sport utility.
“Hold on,” she said as he passed her.
He paused as he heard the hum of a car engine on the farm road. The noise was growing louder, which meant the vehicle was moving toward them. It was probably nothing but he didn’t like it. He should’ve heard her approach as well, but he’d been too lost in thought and the winds had blasted, muffling other sounds.
Dalton watched as it turned toward them into the empty lot where all kinds of summer fruit stands had been set up over the years. There was only one time that growers had moved to a different location, because this one had had bouquets of flowers all around the tree’s massive trunk and the ground had seemed sacred.
Or maybe they were afraid. Afraid the place was cursed. Afraid a murderer was still out there, watching, searching for his next victim.
This sedan seemed out of place at this time of morning. There were no signs of law enforcement and that got all of Dalton’s radars flashing on full tilt.
Had news of Clara’s murder leaked? The sheriff had intended to keep details as quiet as possible, but then it seemed like reporters were everywhere since the Mav’s murder and especially since the will would be read on Christmas Eve.
Would the media play to Dalton’s advantage? Surely, reporters would be just as suspicious as he was about two suicides playing out in the same spot and on the same day fourteen years apart.
On the other hand, media coverage this early could work against them. There’d been a reporting frenzy after his father’s murder and the sheer amount of false leads that had been generated as a result had bogged down the sheriff’s office.
Dalton didn’t want to risk the same thing happening to this case.
The detective muttered the same curse he did, seeming to realize how little the sheriff might appreciate the two of them being photographed at the scene of his investigation.
Dalton needed to create a distraction. But what?
One thing came to mind. Plan A might get him punched in the face, but there was no plan B and he was running out of time.
He hauled the detective against his chest—ignoring the feel of her soft skin and the way her breasts pressed harder into his chest with her sharp intake of air—and then dipped his head to kiss her.
Every muscle in her body chorded as he pulled hers flush with his in an embrace. He half expected the feisty detective to bite him but then she seemed to catch on. This maneuver would keep her face away from whoever was behind the wheel.
Dalton Butler was well-known, but she wasn’t. As long as he shielded her, it would be next to impossible to figure out who she was. That would most likely keep her name out of the headlines. It was a risky move, though. There were a dozen ways this could come back to haunt them, but time was the enemy.
Out of Dalton’s peripheral, he watched a young man pop out of his small sedan. He stood in between the opened door and his vehicle, causing Dalton to brace for the possibility that the young man had a gun, but stopped short of closing his car door. His body remained wedged in between the car and door with one hand on the wheel and the other on the door casing.
“Excuse me,” the young man said.
Dalton’s hands tunneled into the detective’s hair as her palms pressed firmly against his chest. She repositioned, wrapping her arms around his neck and a sensual current coursed through him when her firm breasts pressed further against him as they deepened the kiss. Heat penetrated layers of clothing and caused his skin to sizzle.
He was going to need a minute when this was over to regain his bearings, because in that moment, this stranger felt a little too right in his arms.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m lost,” the young man said.
Dalton took in a sharp breath before pulling back. As he looked at the man, he saw a camera being aimed at him.
“Don’t turn around,” he said under his breath to the detective before looking straight at the guy who had to be a reporter. “What the hell do you want?”
“Nothing,” the startled voice said in reaction to Dalton’s tone. “I already got what I came for.”
Chapter Four (#u01a94f79-530d-52fa-9732-ae0cb5779ad9)
“Dammit,” Dalton said, cursing again under his breath. “Keep your face covered in case he tries to shoot another picture.”
The reporter hopped into his sedan and then tore out of the parking lot, spewing gravel. Before the small gray car could disappear, Dalton palmed his own phone and snapped a pic of the back of the vehicle. He’d open his own investigation on the man and see what he could find.
“This isn’t good,” the detective said. “I could lose my job if this thing plays out wrong.”
“We need to go.” Dalton started toward his sport utility, feeling a cold blast of morning air penetrate his thin jacket.
“Where?” Detective West asked.
“You can go wherever you want,” he shot back. Other than engaging in a kiss that did a little too much damage to his senses, nothing had changed. She still didn’t trust him, a sentiment that went both ways.
“The sheriff said there was only one set of footprints leading up to the base of the tree before she was taken down. Now there are many,” she said and her words stopped Dalton in his tracks.
“How much did your niece weigh?” he asked.
Leanne must’ve known the question was coming because she answered without hesitation. “Around a hundred pounds or so.”
“He could’ve carried her,” he countered, keeping his back to her. He stomped on the ground. The earth was cold, hard, unforgiving. “I’m a big guy and I’m barely leaving a footprint.”
“I’m trying to talk the sheriff into treating this as a murder investigation,” she said. “Maybe if you come with me, I’ll have a chance.”
“Being with me will only hurt your cause in case you haven’t noticed.” Dalton needed to get back to the ranch where he could be productive. Besides, he wanted to examine the pictures he’d taken in detail. “Good luck.”
There were no sounds of footprints behind him, which meant the detective was standing her ground. “If Sawmill treats this as a suicide, we both lose.”
“He won’t change his mind and especially not with me around,” Dalton said. “It’s a matter of pride at this point.”
“Then we have to think of a way to change it for him.” The despair in her voice nearly cracked the casing that locked down his emotions. He’d buried them so deep in order to survive all these years he was caught off guard that anyone could come close enough to touching that place inside him.
“You’ve never met the guy. He’ll stay the course,” he said.
She shot him a curious glance and he decided not to go into detail about how he knew Sawmill so well. “We need him. I can’t call in favors in Dallas to investigate leads. Not without putting people’s jobs in jeopardy and I won’t do that to my friends. If you and I put our heads together, we might just get somewhere.”
“I have to go to work,” Dalton said, figuring he’d given enough of his time to this lost cause. If she thought he could make an impact with Sawmill, she’d have a better chance without his involvement. That part was true enough.
“My niece is dead because of me. It’s my fault. I should’ve been here. We were supposed to meet and I was late.” Damn, the sound of anguish in her words tugged at him. It was a pull he couldn’t afford. He should walk away right now and not look back.
Instead, he turned around, wishing there was something he could say to ease her pain. “Blaming yourself won’t bring her back. Believe me.”
“Who did that tree take from you?” she asked, and her eyes here wide bright brown orbs.
Dalton started to answer but held back.
“I’ll find out either way. I’m sure there’s been coverage, and I still have resources at the department who can check into a cold case. Why not just tell me and make this easier on both of us?” she asked.
Trying to force his hand was as productive as trying to drink milk from a snake.
“Because it’s none of your damn business.” A surprising explosion of anger rattled against his chest. His blood pressure spiked and adrenaline-heated blood coursed through him.
A grunt-like noise issued from the detective. “This whole situation stinks for both of us, but this could go easier if we work together. And you might just get the answers you need as desperately as I do.”
“Good luck, Detective.” He walked away.
She stalked behind him and poked him on the shoulder.
Dalton stopped but didn’t turn.
“Name your price. I’ll do whatever it takes to get your help.”
Damn that he was about to agree to help her.
* * *
LEANNE WALKED INTO Sawmill’s office ahead of the tall cowboy. She didn’t like the way she could feel his masculine presence behind her without needing to see him. She chalked it up to his intensity and did her level best to move on.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us again, Sheriff.” Leanne held her hand out.
Sawmill politely shook it and greeted them but stopped short of inviting them to sit this time. He stood near the door, making it all too clear that he had nothing else to add and expected this meeting to last a minute or two at best. From the grooves around his eyes, she sensed that his patience was running thin.
“I appreciate how much you have on your plate right now...” she started but was met with a get-on-with-it response in the form of the sheriff leaning back on his heels.
Okay, she could work with his emotions. See if she could get his agreement to move forward with a murder investigation instead of wrapping this case as a suicide.
“We just came from the scene,” Leanne said, figuring the sheriff needed to be aware since the guy who was most likely a reporter had taken a picture of them. “Someone showed up and had his phone out. I’m sure he took a picture but we did what we could to hide my face. The story could leak.”
The news didn’t seem to sit well with the sheriff. He folded his arms in a defensive tactic. He was shoring up his reserves when she was trying to lower his guard by sharing and being honest. All she needed was his word that he would open an investigation.
“I’m sorry about that. It’s not good if my name is linked to the scene and I know it,” she quickly added.
“What were you doing at my scene? What’s the real reason you requested this meeting?” Sawmill asked.
When Leanne hesitated, he added, “I don’t have the resources to follow every bunny trail, including professional courtesy cases. If I did, I’d be more than happy...”
“This isn’t a case of departmental cooperation or respect. I have no intention of wasting your resources or time.” Leanne shouldn’t allow herself to become so heated, but this was Clara. Her sweet niece was never coming back and she knew in her heart Clara hadn’t committed suicide. Leanne suppressed a sob. “I know for a fact that my niece never would’ve done this to herself.”
“I’m listening,” the sheriff said. His posture had improved; she had his ear and she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth by overanalyzing it.
“Gary didn’t like her,” she added, fighting the personal disdain she had for her brother-in-law.
“That’s nothing new in my business,” Sawmill responded flatly. Any hope she had that he could be taking her seriously fizzled.
“Of course it isn’t, but how often do you have a detective telling you there are holes in your case?” she said a little indignant. Damn, why’d she say that? Putting Sawmill on the defensive would only move him further away from her goal.
Dalton touched her arm and heat crackled at the point of contact. “We’re done here. He won’t take you seriously.”
“Whatever’s between us happened in the past, Mr. Butler. This has nothing to do with it.” Sawmill was really on the defensive now. Dalton had struck a chord. She hadn’t thought bringing him into the equation would actually hurt her case, even though he’d insisted that it would.
“We don’t need him to find out what happened,” Dalton said, and his commanding voice sent another jolt rocketing through her, a jolt that couldn’t be more inappropriate under the circumstances.
“I do. I have no intention of working outside the law or putting my career on the line no matter how personal this case is,” she shot back. That was mostly true. She was willing to stretch boundaries when the time was right, but she wasn’t anywhere near there yet.
“There’s no incentive for him to open another murder investigation he can’t solve.” Now the cowboy had stepped on the sheriff’s toes.
But then her rational appeals were netting zero.
“All the resources I have are invested in keeping this town safe while I track down a killer,” Sawmill defended. “A suicide—” he flashed his eyes at Leanne “—no matter how upsetting or personal the case might be, has no place sitting in a murder jacket.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Leanne was taken aback.
“I’m saying that your judgment is compromised and I don’t blame you. There’s a reason it’s against department policy to work on a conflict-of-interest case in every law enforcement agency in the country,” he said, again with that even tone.
It infuriated Leanne, but Dalton touched her arm once more and the spark distracted her for a split second.
“Who knows, you just might solve two cases at once. Forensics has come a long way,” Dalton continued and she was pretty sure the sheriff’s ruddy complexion became even rosier, another sign this meeting was going south. He was right about one thing. Keeping her emotions in check was going to be more difficult than she’d estimated.
“It has.” The sheriff’s tone was steadfast.
