“Cole, this isn’t a good idea….” Bree murmured, closing her eyes against the seductive feel of his hands on her shoulders.

“I don’t know.” His breath warmed the nape of her neck. “I think it’s a great idea.”

She took a deep breath and moved away before she could give in to the hunger coursing through her veins.

Just then, the faintest of sounds reached her ears. She didn’t react in any way, but Cole still whispered, “What is it?”

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck had started to rise. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“It looks like your private little hideaway isn’t all that private after all,” she said under her breath. “There’s somebody out there.”

Somebody who could have a gun trained on them at this very moment…

Dear Reader,

Valentine’s Day is here, a time for sweet indulgences. RITA Award-winning author Merline Lovelace is happy to oblige as she revisits her popular CODE NAME: DANGER miniseries. In Hot as Ice, a frozen Cold War-era pilot is thawed out by beautiful scientist Diana Remington, who soon finds herself taking her work home with her.

ROMANCING THE CROWN continues with The Princess and the Mercenary, by RITA Award winner Marilyn Pappano. Mercenary Tyler Ramsey reluctantly agrees to guard Princess Anna Sebastiani as she searches for her missing brother, but who will protect Princess Anna’s heart from Tyler? In Linda Randall Wisdom’s Small-Town Secrets, a young widow—and detective—tries to solve a string of murders with the help of a handsome reporter. The long-awaited LONE STAR COUNTRY CLUB series gets its start with Marie Ferrarella’s Once a Father. A bomb has ripped apart the Club, and only a young boy rescued from the wreckage knows the identity of the bombers. The child’s savior, firefighter Adam Collins, and his doctor, Tracy Walker, have taken the child into protective custody—where they will fight danger from outside and attraction from within. RaeAnne Thayne begins her OUTLAW HARTES series with The Valentine Two-Step. Watch as two matchmaking little girls turn their schemes on their unsuspecting single parents. And in Nancy Morse’s Panther on the Prowl, a temporarily blinded woman seeks shelter—and finds much more—in the arms of a mysterious stranger.

Enjoy them all, and come back next month, because the excitement never ends in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Yours,

Leslie. J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Small-Town Secrets
Linda Randall Wisdom

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA RANDALL WISDOM

first sold to Silhouette Books on her wedding anniversary in 1979 and hasn’t stopped since! She loves looking for the unusual when she comes up with an idea, and only hopes her readers enjoy reading her stories as much as she enjoys writing them.

A native Californian, she is married and has two dogs, five parrots and a tortoise, so life is never boring—or quiet—in the Wisdom household. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys going to the movies, reading, making jewelry and fabric painting.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Prologue

“We are the Wildcats, mighty, mighty Wildcats!” The cheers sent a rumble throughout the bleachers and beyond. Trumpets sounded the charge.

“It’s been a hell of a game,” Scott Fitzpatrick remarked, keeping his arm tight around his wife’s waist. He nuzzled her neck. “Hey, sexy, wanna relive your teen years and go behind the bleachers and make out?”

Bree laughed throatily. She pushed him away, but the smile on her lips promised there would be no pushing away later that night. “And get caught like we did the last time? Remember how mortified Sara was when she heard about it? She went on and on, saying how dare we old folks do such things in public? Besides, you don’t want to miss seeing your son make the winning touchdown, do you?”

“Hell, no.” Fitz chuckled, keeping his hand tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

Bree gave him a bump with her hip as they walked past the concession stand. To look at him in his faded jeans and sweatshirt, no one would guess he was a highly respected FBI Special Agent in Charge. With her working as a homicide detective for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, it was said they were the rare pair who made it work in more ways than one.

Bree liked to tease him they were probably the rare instance of local law enforcement and the feds working together extremely well.

After eight years of marriage, the man still made her heart thump the way it had the first time she met him. He complained his hair was graying at a faster rate than he’d like, but she always reminded him that the fire in the furnace burned brightly no matter how much snow was on the roof.

With his son and daughter from a previous marriage, and their own shared son, they made a close-knit family that blended well.

Bree was celebrating the wrap-up of a tough case and was eager to watch her stepson help win the league championship. She’d turned to say something to Fitz when she noticed his gaze focused toward a dark corner. The curse that dropped from his lips would have cost him a five dollar bill in the family Cuss Jar.

“What?”

“Looks like a drug buy going down,” he murmured.

Bree kept a smile on her lips, but her expression had turned all-cop.

“Anyone we know?”

“That kid I said looks like a moron? The one who was hanging around Sara.”

“You’ve called every boy who’s even talked to her a moron.” Bree slid her gaze sideways, now seeing what he did. There was no doubt the boy was handing over a few plastic bags of pills to another boy, who gave him several bills. Damn, not one security officer around.

“Wanna be my backup?” he asked.

“Since this is more my jurisdiction than yours, it’s more like you’d be mine.” She thought of her weapon, nestled comfortably in the small of her back. Since she’d come directly from the station, she refused to leave her weapon in her SUV, even with it locked. “Nobody’s taken anything over state lines, bud.”

“He’s mine.” Fitz moved forward. “Sorry, guys, you’re busted. FBI,” he called out, just as he reached them. “Just stand easy and it will be painless for everyone.”

Bree saw the dark flash of metal before Fitz did. She instantly reached for her weapon.

“Gun!” she shouted, swinging her weapon up. “L.A. Sheriff! Put it down! Put it down now!” she screamed, infusing her voice with authority.

The boy swung around, saw her, and panic filled his face. He looked at Fitz and shot. Bree fired her gun just as the boy shot at her.

She felt the fire enter her chest the same moment she saw Fitz drop to his knees. The stunned look on his face told her he hadn’t fully realized what had just happened.

But she knew. There was too much blood flowing out of him. The bullet must have nicked an artery, because with every heartbeat, more blood gushed. She tried to get to him, but her body failed her. All she could reach was the tip of his finger.

As the world turned dark around her, she heard the screams and the roar of the crowd.

“Touchdown!”

Chapter 1

There was too much blood for one person. It covered her hands and clothing. No one could lose this much blood and survive. She looked down at the man lying lifeless in her arms.

“Fitz!” She sat upright in bed, positive her screams echoed off the walls.

There was no pounding on her door. No demands to know if she was all right. At least the scream remained in her head. This time.

Bree’s fingers trembled as she pushed a damp lock of hair away from her face.

She’d thought the dream had finally left her. It was bad enough, dreaming of Fitz’s death, but having each episode detail it differently only made it worse. In reality she hadn’t held his dying body in her arms. His blood hadn’t covered her hands. When she fell after being shot, only her fingertips had been able to touch him before she lost consciousness.

The dream was her punishment for not being able to save him. From the first time she’d had it, she saw it that way.

Fitz dying in her arms. Fitz never having a chance to say a word to her nor Bree given the chance to say anything to him. No goodbye. No “I love you.”

She pulled her pillow around, holding it tight against her chest as she rocked back and forth. She ignored the voices that screamed inside her head. After all this time, it was getting easier to overlook them.

“Dammit, Fitz, you weren’t supposed to die that night,” she whispered, feeling the anger build up as it had so many other nights. Anger that didn’t exactly override the pain but merely accompanied it. “You were supposed to be here when David graduated from high school. I need you to help keep the boys away from Sara and just watch…” she blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling “…just watch Cody grow up.”

She knew she had to be up in three hours, but didn’t bother trying to fall back to sleep. Past experience taught her it would only mean a return to her dream. Instead, she lay back with the pillow nestled in her arms. It was a poor substitute.

“I knew we shouldn’t have moved here. I couldn’t sleep all night because of all the horrible noises I heard,” Sara Fitzpatrick announced in the dramatic tone only a fifteen-year-old girl could adopt. “Either we have ghosts in this house or there’s rats in the wall.”

“Rats?” six-year-old Cody asked, wide-eyed with horror. He swiveled to face his mother. “Big rats like in that movie?”

Bree shot her stepdaughter a silent warning. “According to the inspector who went through the house for me before we moved in, there are no rats in this house,” she said. “You have to remember this is an old house. Old houses make noises.”

“Right,” David muttered, as he spooned raspberry jam onto a slice of toast. “The Addams family would love this wreck.”

“Enough,” Bree said firmly, noting her youngest son’s distress. She cut the omelette she’d made in two and slid half on another plate, placing it in front of Sara.

Sara recoiled as if the plate held a nest of vipers.

“That is loaded with cholesterol and fat!” She pushed the offending plate toward David. He shrugged and picked up his fork.

If time hadn’t been running against her, Bree would have confronted her daughter on her eating habits. Or lack of. She knew she would have to have a long, heartfelt talk with Sara that evening. But now she had to get them all out of the house and off to school. She also couldn’t afford to be late her first day on the job.

She still resented her superior for giving her the choice of either taking a desk job or finding a position in a smaller town. Bree knew the lieutenant had her best interests in mind. He’d told her that enough times. She’d fought it as long as she could, just as she fought the tension that took over anytime she approached the scene of a violent crime.

She felt she would have worked through it if it hadn’t been for that last crime scene. She’d walked into a living room that would have been warm and homey if it hadn’t been for the blood staining the walls and furniture. A man brutally murdered by a former business associate and a wife sitting in the kitchen, silent from the shock of coming home to find her husband dead.

The memories had flooded Bree’s mind so swiftly she’d almost shut down functioning. Lieutenant Carlson took one look at her when she returned to the station and knew what had happened. Twenty-four hours later, she was called into his office and given a choice: take a desk job, or better yet, take a post where she wouldn’t have so much pressure.

Bree hated him for forcing her to make the decision. He knew she wouldn’t like being chained to a desk. He knew her so well that he had already called in favors and found her a detective’s position in Warm Springs, a small inland town northeast of San Diego. His reason for choosing the community was the low crime rate in the area. San Diego was an hour’s drive away for times when the family wanted more sophisticated entertainment, he told her. And Bree should expect him and his wife down there in a few years when he retired.

She resented Lieutenant Carlson for pretty much accepting the position on her behalf.

And the kids resented her for going along with it.

From the day they moved out of their home in Woodland Hills, they’d made sure she knew they weren’t happy with her decision.

Bree bolted down her breakfast and set the plate in the dishwasher. “You don’t think you’ll have any problem finding the high school?” she asked David. “Or the grade school when you go to pick up Cody?”

Instead of the good humor he usually displayed, his expression was almost sullen. “Oh yeah, I’ll have a tough time finding two schools that are all of two blocks apart in a town that’s, what? Three blocks total?” he muttered, taking his own dishes over to the dishwasher. He may have been angry with his stepmother for the move, but he was responsible enough to not ignore his chores.

Bree took whatever small favors she could get. She looked at her stepson and saw her husband in the handsome features that she knew would one day be stamped with his sire’s character. All these months, they’d dealt with anger over Fitz’s death. Then they’d moved from a city they’d lived in all their lives. Abandoned friends, familiar places. She told herself the old cliché about time healing all wounds. She was learning about patience.

Although David never said a word, she knew he had to be hurt and angry that he left behind his football team during his all-important year. And he registered at his present school too late to try out for football. He’d muttered he’d try out for the baseball team and she hoped he would.

She handed Cody’s backpack to him, verified that all three children had lunch money, and herded Cody into her Expedition, with Jinx, her K-9, hopping into the back seat. The German shepherd sat down with his tongue lolling happily in anticipation of the ride.

“If I stayed in my old school I would have Mrs. Allen for my teacher,” Cody said with a sigh. “She lets her class do really neat things. And her class has a hamster and two guinea pigs.”

Bree hurt because she knew Cody hurt. She was aware this move was the hardest on her youngest, who was just beginning first grade. She’d hoped that moving here a couple weeks before the beginning of the school year would help. Instead she’d battled with three kids who constantly complained that their new house wasn’t like their old house and there was no one to hang out with. Since his older brother and sister weren’t interested in doing anything he wanted to do, Cody was on his own most of the time, and suffered the most.

Bree wasn’t worried about Sara and David getting along in school. The two siblings never had a problem making friends. They’d complain about the area, but in time she knew they’d easily fit into a group. It was Cody, quiet and shy, who had difficulty in new situations. Even more so since his father’s death.

“I understand that your teacher here, Miss Lancaster, is very nice,” she said. “I also heard that her class does a lot of neat things. They take a lot of field trips. Maybe she has a hamster in her room, too.”

“Not like Harry Hamster,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling.

He still didn’t look convinced things were great by the time Bree stopped the vehicle in front of the sprawling building that housed classrooms for kindergarten through the sixth grade.

“Do you remember where your classroom is? Would you like me to walk in with you?” she asked.

He looked out the window at the kids milling about. When he turned back to her, his small face was set in a determined look she wryly recalled seeing on her own at times. His rusty-colored hair had been combed before they left the house, but it was already unruly. She tamped down the urge to smooth it back with her hand.

“I’m not a little kid, Mom,” he replied with little-boy dignity. “I go to room 108.”

She didn’t dare sniff, much less cry, the way she had on Cody’s first day in kindergarten. It would mortify him.

“Don’t forget that David will pick you up after school,” Bree reminded him.

“Don’t talk to strangers. If anyone tries to talk to me, run to a teacher and tell ’em,” he recited. “Or yell really loud. And stand by the front door of the school until I see David.”

Bree swallowed the lump in her throat. And swallowed the need to hug him tightly and kiss him. Which he would only rebuff for fear that his classmates would see her display of affection.

She settled on a basic mom statement. “Be good.”

For all of Cody’s bravado, he was still exceedingly slow in opening the door and climbing out of the SUV. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he paused long enough to turn and offer a brave smile and wave.

Bree waited until Cody was safely inside the building. Then it was her turn, and she headed for the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.

“Hope you’re ready, fella,” she told her K-9 partner as she parked in the department’s parking lot. She paused long enough to loop his chain collar around his neck, complete with a deputy’s shield attached to it.

Since detectives weren’t required to wear a uniform, she had chosen coffee-colored linen pants and a matching vest, paired with a cream-colored, short-sleeved blouse. Her detective’s shield was clipped to her waistband, and her weapon, settled in a holster against the small of her back, was hidden by the three-quarter-length-sleeve, coffee-colored linen jacket. For easy care, she kept her bright auburn hair layered in short waves, tucked behind her ears. Jinx walked regally at her side.

“Good morning, Detective Fitzpatrick.” The office receptionist greeted her with a small smile. The nameplate pinned on her chest revealed her name to be Irene. Like the deputies in the station, she wore a navy polo shirt and khaki pants. “I’ll let Sheriff Holloway know you’re here.” She eyed Jinx warily, as if she wasn’t sure Bree’s four-footed partner was safe. “We’ve never had a dog here before.”

“Jinx is a full-fledged sheriff’s deputy,” Bree reminded her.

“Detective Fitzpatrick?”

Bree turned and faced her superior. He, too, was dressed in a navy polo shirt, and his khaki pants had a razor-sharp crease. His dark brown boots were so highly polished she imagined he could use the surface as a mirror. She’d say Roy Holloway was a man who valued his image. She’d even say he was good-looking, with his broad smile, his blue eyes holding a touch of humor. She doubted he was a pushover, though. He looked like he had what it took to keep his people in line. He held out his hand.

“Sheriff Holloway.” She smiled as she put her hand in his. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet the last time I was here. I understand you and your family were on vacation then.”

“Relaxing at my favorite fishing hole,” he admitted. His eyes dropped to the dog sitting by her side, and again he grinned. “I’m not used to seeing a deputy with four legs.”

She grinned back. “He would have been perfect if I could have trained him to drive.”

Roy chuckled. “Come on back to my office and we’ll talk.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the building.

Bree murmured a command to Jinx, who moved smoothly alongside her. As they walked toward the sheriff’s office, she noticed that the men seated at desks were watching her with undisguised interest.

“Have a chair,” Roy invited, as he settled behind his desk.

Bree took the one opposite, with Jinx sitting sedately on his haunches beside her.

“I’m going to be up front with you,” her boss said crisply, all-business now. “I didn’t think we needed another detective. This county is growing, but I wasn’t thinking of adding anyone to the force just yet.”

“Token female detective?” she said lightly.

“Probably. They’ve gotten on the politically correct bandwagon with a vengeance lately,” he admitted. “I’ll be honest with you, Fitzpatrick—I’m not one for surprises. I like to know what’s going on in my department. I like to do my own hiring.”

“I had no idea,” Bree said honestly.

“You’ve got some heavy hitters in your corner, however.” He glanced at the file folder lying open on his desk. “A kennel has been set up near the parking lot for the dog.” He fixed her with a piercing stare. “It’s your job to keep it clean.”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

Lieutenant Carlson had said she would be better off in a small town, where she wouldn’t be up against the kinds of violent cases she’d handled in L.A. He hadn’t said anything about her new boss not being entirely happy with her arrival there. Still, he was friendlier than most would be in this situation.

“Since you’ve already got the training, I’ll just throw you into the shark pool,” he told her. “Fine by you?”

“The only way to do it,” she replied.

Roy nodded. “But let me tell you. You screw up and I come down hard. I don’t care if you do have a dog that can eat me for breakfast.” He warily eyed the German shepherd. “Literally.”

“Jinx hasn’t bitten an officer in, oh, at least a month,” she said, matching his tone.

He chuckled. “How’d a deputy K-9 end up with a name like Jinx?”

“He comes from a distinguished line of police dogs,” she replied. “His sire is Ace, as in Ace of Spades. His dam is Allie, as in Poker Alice. The litter Jinx was in was born on Friday the thirteenth. Each puppy received a similar name. The breeder’s twisted logic.”

“And he left L.A. when you did.”

“It happens a lot. When you work with a dog as your partner, you develop as close a relationship as you do with a human partner. In many ways, closer.”

Roy’s eyes tracked her every feature. “Then you’ll understand that we’re a close unit here, Detective. We’ve all worked together a long time.”

“And new people have to prove their worth before they can hope to be accepted,” she stated, finishing his thought. “I understand that. I believe in pulling my weight.”

“Good.” He stood up. “I’ll show you your desk.”

Bree didn’t say a word when she was led to a battered desk stuck in a corner. Roy rattled off names as he passed each desk. She nodded and offered each deputy a brief smile. She wasn’t surprised to receive speculative looks in return.

It was a good thing she hadn’t expected an open-armed welcome.

Jinx lay down next to her desk and rested his chin on his paws. She idly scratched the top of his head.

“It’s only the first day, boy,” she murmured.

“Tell me, oh powerful one, do you plan to do anything useful today or just sit there and look cute?”

Tipped back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, Cole Becker looked up at his assistant. This was his favorite position when he needed to proofread the advertisements for that week.

When his uncle died, leaving him the newspaper, Cole took it over. He became not only the owner of the Warm Springs Bulletin, but reporter and staff photographer. He wore many hats in the office.

“I am doing something useful.” He gestured to the sheaf of papers he held in one hand. “I’m making sure Whitman’s name is spelled correctly. I don’t think he’d be so amiable if it happened again.”

Mamie Eichorn chuckled. “I don’t know. Substituting an S for the W told everyone what the mean old coot is really like.”

“Maybe so, but that mean old coot pays his bills on time,” Cole reminded her.

“And each time acts as if we’re bleeding him dry.” She rolled her eyes.

“I hear there’s a new cop in town,” he commented. “A story about her would make a good human interest piece. Nothing better than a mom with kids. And there’s even a dog. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it?”

“I heard the dog is her partner,” Mamie noted.

“Even better on the human interest angle.” Cole picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. He believed in doing his homework ahead of time. By talking to a couple of contacts in L.A., he’d been able to pick up a lot of information about the former Los Angeles Sheriff’s Detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. He’d even had a photograph faxed to him—of the widow standing tall at her husband’s funeral. Cole had heard an impressive listing of the woman’s accomplishments.

Unlike the proper widow, Cole was a complete contradiction. He looked like one of those guys who didn’t move a muscle unless it was absolutely necessary. Only those who knew him well understood that his body and mind could move swift as lightning when he needed to.

“I called over to the station, but the new detective is in with Roy.” He spoke in a low rumble that slid like warm lotion over a woman’s skin. “Think you could find out the new detective’s home telephone number for me?”

Even Mamie, who’d been happily married for the past fifty-six years, wasn’t immune to Cole’s lethal charm.

“The woman hasn’t even settled in and you’re already calling her up for a date? She has children, Cole. I thought you drew the line at women with families.”

He agreed. “I do. Too much trouble. This is business, Mamie.”

“Like I’ll believe that,” she retorted. “You’re not getting any younger, Cole. Finding someone with a ready-made family is a good way for you to go. Saves a lot of time.”

“You make it sound like my sperm’s in some retirement home. Herb Dickinson became a father last year, and he’s in his late seventies,” Cole pointed out in his defense.

Mamie shook her head. “Herb needs new glasses. That baby looks more like their pool man than he looks like Herb, even if the kid’s as bald as his alleged daddy.”

“There you go.” He grinned. “Herb doesn’t care who the baby looks like. He’s just happy everyone’s calling him a stud.”

“Some stud,” she snorted with disdain. “Herb has an artificial hip, a glass eye and high blood pressure.”

“And a twenty-eight-year-old wife. I’d say the man did something right.”

Mamie blithely ignored him as she continued. “If you don’t do something about your social life, you’ll be worse off than him.”

“That’s why I go out of town.”

Mamie shook her head. “So what’s next on your agenda?”

Cole flashed her a warm smile. “I guess I’ll just have to call over to the sheriff’s station again. See about setting up an interview with our new sheriff’s detective.”

His assistant shot him a knowing look. “And you say it’s business only.”

Cole played it cool. “You got it.”

Mamie started to leave the room, then paused. She stared at him for several moments. “What’s really going on, Cole?”

He gave her a bland look. “Working on next week’s edition.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but I have a feeling it might not be good.”

Cole flashed a smile that had warmed many a woman’s heart. “Just doin’ my job.”

This time she wasn’t fooled.

Bree hated first days. Cody’s first day of first grade. Sara’s first day as a high school sophomore. David’s first day as a high school senior. Her own first day with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department.

While Sheriff Roy Holloway was helpful, her peers weren’t. They didn’t make it difficult for her, but they didn’t make it easy, either.

She arrived home to find Cody almost in tears. He looked at her and declared he hated school.

“We only have a dumb parakeet,” he muttered, with a slight whine to his voice.

“I’ve heard of some smart parakeets,” she offered.

“Not this one.” His eyes plaintively beseeched her. “I want to go back to my old school, Mom.”

“Sweetie, it’s only your first day,” she murmured. “You have to give it time.”

He shook his head.

Bree looked at her stepson and stepdaughter. They didn’t look all that happy, either.

“Don’t tell me you only have parakeets in your class, too,” she said lightly. Her joke fell flat.

David was tight-lipped about his day. Sara announced she was going to her room.

“And how was your day, Bree?” she asked herself as she checked the casserole she’d popped in the oven as soon as she got home. “Just fine. Thank you for asking. The sheriff is an okay guy, but I can’t say much for everyone else. The deputies treat me as if I carry the dreaded plague, and the dispatcher informed me she’s allergic to dogs.” Bree pulled out makings for a salad and began tearing a head of lettuce into pieces. “Now I learn that Cody’s convinced everyone hates him. David hates his school and Sara is positive she won’t make any new friends. How do I know that’s how they’re feeling, when they haven’t said a word to me? Easy. I’m a detective. I read minds.” Her movements were almost violent as she tossed a variety of vegetables into the bowl.

When the phone rang, she snagged it before the first ring faded away.

She glanced at her caller ID and noticed it listed Warm Springs Bulletin as the caller.

“Fitzpatrick.”

“Detective Fitzpatrick? I’m Cole Becker with the Warm Springs Bulletin.” A man’s lazy drawl drifted across her mind the way a soft comforter covered her body. “Welcome to our fair town.”

Bree felt a tingle begin deep inside her body and move upward. She wasn’t sure if it was warm in the kitchen or just her. She feared it was all her.

“Thank you,” she said warily.

“I was wondering if there was any possibility we could get together?”

“Why?” she asked.

“I’d like to interview you for the newspaper. See how you feel being Warm Springs’s first female detective. What prompted you to move to Warm Springs. Human interest stuff,” he explained.

Stuff? He didn’t sound like any reporter she’d ever come across.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Becker.” She didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. “But right now, I’m in the midst of fixing dinner.”

“How about we talk over breakfast tomorrow?”

“I like to have breakfast with my kids.”

“Lunch? They’ll be in school then, right?”

She gave him points for figuring that one out.

“This isn’t a good time, Mr. Becker. I’m still settling in.” She wasn’t about to tell him she hated interviews. People usually spelled her name wrong or made her sound as if she was an avenging angel with PMS. “No free time at all.”

“I’m sure you are busy, Detective. But wouldn’t you want the people to know about the woman behind the badge? Show them that while you’re wearing that badge and carrying a gun, you’re still a mom and a human being?”

“Not my style,” she retorted.

“Then why don’t we talk about something that is your style,” he suggested. “Something I think you’d like to know.”

Bree felt a familiar tingle at the base of her neck. She’d never ignored the warning signal before, and a few times it had even saved her life.

How could something happen in this small town when she was barely unpacked? She could feel her jaw tightening. She didn’t know what was going on, but felt this was more than a request for an interview.

“Tomorrow. Lunch. One o’clock,” she rattled. “I’ll leave the choice of restaurant up to you. I haven’t learned which ones are better than others.”

“Then I’ll make it easy for you. Two doors down from you is The Eatery. I’ll see you there at one.” He hung up.

Bree stared at her phone before she set it back in the cradle. “It’s not as if you’re marrying the man, Bree. Just think of it as a free meal,” she murmured as she turned to the oven when the timer dinged. “Dinner!” she called out.

Instead of the clatter of three sets of feet that normally followed her announcement, three quiet souls marched into the kitchen. They started to take their seats, then instantly rose up in response to their mom’s telling stare.

Sara headed for the refrigerator and pulled out the bottles of salad dressing. Cody filled glasses with iced tea and milk, while David carried the casserole dish over to the table.

Bree pasted on a bright smile as she sat down. “So, tell me about your day,” she urged in her best June Cleaver voice.

They all looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“So Cole Becker’s going to interview you today?” Roy grinned at Bree’s look of astonishment. “No secrecy in this town, Fitzpatrick. Someone asked about you when I stopped for coffee. You’ll have to get used to everyone knowing your business.”

“I should have cleared it with you first,” she said uneasily, silently damning Cole Becker to hell. “He said it’s purely a human interest type story about the new arrival in town.”

“Don’t worry about it, Fitzpatrick,” the sheriff replied. “Becker’s like one of those bloodhounds who refuses to give up. Believe me, if you hadn’t agreed to the interview, he would have found another way. He’s one persistent son of a bitch,” he said without rancor.

“You don’t need to worry about my saying anything I shouldn’t. I’ve dealt with the press in the past without any dire consequences,” she assured him. Her stomach was already roiling at the thought of sharing a meal with a man who sounded like the devil incarnate. “I can tell him I can’t make it.”

Roy shook his head. “I can tell you haven’t dealt with this man. Don’t worry about it. Take advantage of him picking up the tab. Sit there and smile at the guy. Tell him you came out here so your kids would grow up breathing clean air.”

Bree grimaced. “I really prefer not talking about my children to the media,” she told him. “I think you can realize why.”

Her superior looked at her and nodded in understanding. As police officers, they were fully aware of just how vulnerable kids today were.

“Bree, you’re living in a small town now. Everyone knew everything there was to know about you within ten minutes of you moving in. I’ll be the first to tell you your kids are safer here than they would have been in L.A. I’m not saying we haven’t seen problems with drugs, but we’ve been pretty successful in keeping the gangs out, and any kid caught with drugs finds out just how stupid he or she is. Cole’s looking for human interest fluff for his readers. Give him what he wants and he’ll go away. Trust me,” he told her in a soothing voice.

“If it was my choice I’d rather have a root canal without anesthesia,” she muttered, rising to her feet.

Roy laughed out loud. “Yeah, but you don’t get a free meal out of a root canal.”

“Then maybe you should do the interview,” she murmured, leaving the office.

Bree’s first alert that something was wrong was the way Jinx stood by her desk. His entire body vibrated with the need for action.

“So what did they do, huh, boy?” she whispered, sitting at her desk. She didn’t have to look around to notice everyone’s attention was centered on her, even if no one looked in her direction. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

She didn’t miss the sound of Frank Robert’s malicious chuckle from the other side of the room.

She swiftly reviewed past misdeeds thought up by co-workers. The flour bomb left in a desk drawer. Her picture pasted on top of a Playboy centerfold. Fake vomit placed under her desk chair. She affectionately called the perpetrators her own juvenile delinquents. And she did her own damage when the occasion arose.

She found what she was looking for in the second drawer. As soon as she opened it, a triangular head slid upward and a narrow, forked tongue flicked out to test the air. Bree leaned back a bit as a long, sinuous column swept toward her, seeking the heat of her body.

“Well, aren’t you a cutie,” she cooed, picking up the snake, which immediately wrapped itself around her arm. “And what did they arrest you for?” She glanced at Jinx, who whined in displeasure at having such a creature invade his partner’s private space. She had no doubt every eye was on her. “A rosy boa, isn’t he?” she said to no one in particular. She stroked the reptile’s head. “My oldest son has one.”

Keith, one of the deputies, rose to his feet. He looked a little uneasy as he approached her. “So that’s where he got to,” he chuckled, but the sound came out forced. “Mabel’s my son’s snake,” he explained, walking over with his hand outstretched, ready to take the boa from her.

“Mabel,” Bree murmured as she studied the reptile, which seemed content to remain wrapped around her arm. “Interesting name. Ours is named David Boa.” She grinned.

This time Keith’s chuckle was more natural as he understood the twist on words. As he turned, he caught sight of Frank’s dark expression. He turned away immediately.

“Keith, do you have some place for Mabel or should I just put her back in my desk?” Bree asked. “She seemed to have made herself at home there.”

His face reddened even more. “Ah, I’ve got a box in my locker.”

“She can stay here until you get back.” She set the snake back in the drawer.

Bree noticed some of the men looked wary, but a few still appeared hostile. She sensed this was just the beginning of pranks meant to test a new colleague.

But Bree wasn’t easily intimidated.

Since it was getting close to the time for her lunch meeting, she walked Jinx outside to the small fenced enclosure fixed up for him. She made sure he had plenty of water before she closed the gate after him.

“Can you believe those guys thought they could scare me with a measly snake?” she asked her canine partner. “As if that would do it. I have teenagers, for God’s sake!”

She went back inside and stopped in the ladies’ room long enough to freshen her lipstick and cologne. She knew her outfit was professional looking, with a touch of femininity—a square of lace peeking out of the pocket on her navy houndstooth vest, topping navy linen pants. She made sure her pager was switched on, then grabbed her purse and left.

Now to see if the man looked as good as he sounded.

The man looked even better than he sounded.

Bree might not have met Cole Becker before, but when she stepped inside the restaurant, she had no problem targeting her quarry.

He sat in the last booth, his back against the wall. Long jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him. Neatly shorn black hair flecked with silver framed a blatantly male face, whose signs of wear and tear only accented his rough good looks. A faded gray, cotton button-down shirt matched the equally faded jeans.

He looked like a man who had all the time in the world. As if nothing mattered except what he was going to order for lunch.

Bree knew better. There was something in that deceptively lazy gaze wandering over her that said this man probably knew everything about her down to her bra size. Just from that look.

An energetic Beatles tune boomed out of a jukebox near the front door. The first thing that hit the people who entered the restaurant was the black and hot-pink decor. Hot-pink vinyl bench seats framed black tables of the booths, and pink and black vinyl alternated on stools at the counter. Most of them were occupied, Bree noted. Chatter momentarily halted as the occupants paused and identified the newcomer.

Her gaze returned to the man sitting in the booth at the rear of the room.

Oh my God. No man should look this good.

She resolutely kept her jaw up off the floor as she walked toward him. This man didn’t need to worry that the lines by his eyes and mouth had been stamped there by time and the sun. They only intensified his good looks. He watched her with an expression that also betrayed a hint of amusement, as if he was aware of her thoughts.

He has to be used to lots of feminine appreciation.

Storm-gray eyes that matched his shirt tracked her movements. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and held out his hand.

He had to be a good six feet two inches to her five feet eight. She wasn’t used to men towering over her, and it had been a long time since a man looked at her the way Cole Becker was. As if she was today’s blue plate special.

“Detective Fitzpatrick, I’m Cole Becker.” He spoke in that kind of supremely masculine voice that wouldn’t sound out of place in a woman’s bedroom.

Where did that thought come from? She firmly shook it off before it gathered too much momentum.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward the bench across from his, then looked past her. “Did you leave your partner back at the station?”

She mentally gave him points for knowing about Jinx. But then, as Roy had told her, there’s no privacy in a small town.

“His table manners can’t always be trusted,” she replied, sliding across the hot-pink vinyl seat.

“Too bad. I was hoping to meet him.” Cole sat down. “I can guarantee everything they serve here is fantastic,” he added, nodding toward the menu. “And it’s on me.”

Bree arched an eyebrow. “Some might see that as bribing a police officer.”

“I don’t think Holloway would consider a $5.95 hamburger a bribe,” Cole murmured with amusement. “But if you order the steak sandwich, favors will be asked for.”

“Hey there, hon.” A waitress stopped by the table. Her gaze was filled with unabashed curiosity as she stared down at Bree.

“Annie, this is the town’s new detective, Bree Fitzpatrick,” Cole introduced. “Detective, this is Annie, the love of my life who keeps me well fed.”

Annie shot him her “get out of here” look.

“Nice to meet you, hon,” she said warmly. “What can I get you to drink?”

Bree smiled back. “Iced tea, please.”

She nodded and started to walk away.

“Hey, Annie, I don’t get asked?” Cole said with mock hurt.

She laughed. “Oh, hon, the day you don’t drink black coffee is the day the sky will turn plaid.” She wiggled ample hips encased in denim. “I’ll get your drinks now. That’ll give the detective time to figure out what she wants to eat.” She pointed her finger at Cole. “You, I already know.”

“Eat here often, do you?” Bree asked, entertained by the waitress’s lively chatter.

“Only two times a day, seven days a week,” he admitted. “But we’re here to talk about you. I understand you have three kids. Two from your husband’s first marriage, the third yours and your husband’s.”

The light in Bree’s eyes dimmed a bit. As if obeying a command from within, she pasted on her professional expression.

“I consider all three mine,” she replied, pausing long enough to murmur her thanks as the waitress deposited her drink in front of her. “But I really prefer we not discuss my children. I like to keep my work and personal life separate.”

The lines fanning out from his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You’ve never lived in a small town before, have you? The favorite entertainment around here is learning everything you can about your neighbor. Once the residents know all the little details, they consider you one of their own. It’s already common knowledge you bought Mrs. McGyver’s place. As for your job, the city council liked your credentials, which I have to say were impressive, and your hire was almost immediate. Detectives with your credentials don’t usually come to a place like Warm Springs,” he told her. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt when you’ve got some city politicians on your side.”

Bree’s gaze could have cut through him like a hot knife through butter. He didn’t look the least bit cowed. If anything, he smiled more.

She looked up when Annie returned to take her order. Bree quickly examined the menu and asked for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.

“I’ll have my usual,” Cole said.

Annie gave an unladylike snort. “Like I didn’t already know.” She moved away.

“One day I’ll order something different,” he called after her.

“Sure, and tomorrow Harrison Ford is going to show up and take me away from all this grandeur,” the waitress snickered.

Bree smothered her chuckle. “Stand in line.”

Cole looked at Bree and decided she was one fine-looking woman, even if she did carry a gun and could probably pin him up against a wall with a minimum of effort.

He’d never thought of freckles as sexy until he noticed them lightly dusted across her nose. They went with the red hair tucked behind her ears and wisped across her forehead. Her tailored clothing stated she was no-nonsense. Probably had to give that impression because of her occupation. But the citron studs in her ears, gold filigreed chain around her neck and the hint of perfume proclaimed her femininity to anyone who cared to look for it. His gaze flicked downward. She wore no wedding ring, so she must have laid her husband to rest even in her heart.

Cole was positive she’d deck him if he told her she was cute.

Besides, she was not his type. Law enforcement officials he’d met in the past were pretty regimented in their thinking. And the woman had three kids.

No, not his type. Even if just looking at her made his day.

This meeting was purely business, however. He’d dangled a little mystery in front of the lady to get her here. After all, who was more qualified to solve a murder than a homicide detective?

He wondered if he could trust her.

“How about if I start off with some humor,” he suggested. “What was one of the funniest things to happen to you on the job?”

Bree thought for a moment. “The first year I worked patrol, we were called to a carjacking scene. We were only a block away and arrived in time to see the suspect take off. We wasted no time in going after him. We apprehended the suspect and told him we were bringing him back for an ID. The minute we pulled him out of the car to face the woman, he said, ‘Yep, that’s the lady I robbed.’ He was dead serious when he said it, too. My partner and I couldn’t stop laughing. Good thing we’d Mirandized him the minute we grabbed him. There was no way his confession could be thrown out. That good enough for you?”

Cole chuckled. “Definitely. You gotta love an easy confession like that.”

“It did make it a lot easier for us,” she admitted.

“I would think Warm Springs would seem pretty quiet after the fast pace in L.A.,” he commented, looking up to smile at Annie as she set their plates in front of them. As always, his hamburger was grilled to perfection, the sauteed mushrooms on top of the meat finishing the work of art. The onion rings were golden brown and crispy. “Marry me, Annie,” he begged.

“The day I say yes is the day you’ll hotfoot it out of town,” she hooted.

“That’s what you eat every day?” Bree asked curiously, as she sprinkled salt on her French fries.

He shook his head. “Only on Wednesdays. I believe in a varied diet. So tell me, how long did you work for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department?”

“I was with the department for twelve years, the last three in homicide.”

“I guess Warm Springs seems pretty tame after all the excitement you had in L.A.,” he commented.

Her smile rivaled that of a shark moving in for the kill. “Sometimes what looks tame on the surface isn’t. I’ve heard that can happen in small towns.”

Damn, he should have known better than to underestimate the lady. It was as if she knew exactly what he was leading up to. But would she accuse him of chasing shadows that weren’t there?

She pushed her plate to one side so she could rest her arms on the tabletop. She fixed him with a steely gaze that had prompted more than one suspect to confess all. “Cut to the chase, Becker. Why are we sitting here having this conversation? No BS, either.”

“I’m just making conversation,” he drawled, falling back into the good-ole-boy routine that had lulled more than one subject he’d interviewed in the past. And gotten him some good quotes in the process. “I like to write up an accurate article. There’s nothing worse than a sheriff’s detective ticked off because I spelled her name wrong.”

Her verbal rejoinder to his glib reply was succinct and to the point.

Cole’s grin was slow to appear, but earth-shattering to the senses. “Damn, woman, I like your style. Something tells me you’re going to give this town the kind of shake-up it needs.” He leaned back, resting one arm across the back of the bench seat. He cocked his head to the side, watching her with piercing eyes that seemed to probe past any defenses she might erect.

Her return smile would have scared off a great white shark. “Lordy, Becker. Compliments like that will only go to my head,” she purred.

Cole looked stunned, but quickly recovered. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but waited until after Annie paused by the table to see if they needed anything.

“During your time in homicide, did you ever have a funny feeling about a case? Something that just didn’t feel right?” Cole asked when they were alone again. “A feeling that what was in front of you wasn’t what it should be? That while everyone else said it was fine, you knew deep down it wasn’t?”

Good. The lady looked intrigued.

“That’s not unusual for any good cop,” she said with a hint of caution in her voice. “When you’ve been on the job long enough, you learn to follow your instincts.”

“Even if it means stirring up trouble?” he pressed. “What if there’s an excellent chance that there’s someone from your own department involved in something illegal?”

She returned his gaze with an equally bold one of her own. “Then you do what you have to do. Just because somebody wears a shield doesn’t mean they’re exempt. Your job is to arrest the bad guys,” she said candidly.

“No matter who it is?”

“No matter who it is,” she repeated.

Cole shrugged. “The mind-set of a police officer is interesting. You not only have hard and fast rules to follow, but you need to follow your instincts, too.”

He noticed she absently placed her hand against the back of her neck, as if something bothered her.

“So what are you not telling me, Becker? What conspiracy do you believe has cropped up in Warm Springs?” Her emerald eyes glittered. “I’m sorry, I haven’t read your newspaper long enough to know what your views are—if you think aliens are landing in the desert or a wild coyote boy is living out there.”

Cole didn’t miss the mocking implication.

“Why don’t you eat your lunch first. Then we’ll talk.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean I don’t get dessert,” she murmured, as she picked up her sandwich.

Cole finished his hamburger in record time. With every bite he kept an eye on his companion, as she, too, ate with relish.

Bree Fitzpatrick wasn’t what he’d expected. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t met more than his share of female detectives, some of them downright gorgeous. But there was something about her that fascinated him.

When he’d learned the city council had hired a new detective, he’d been curious about what kind of officer they’d chosen. He hadn’t expected Detective Fitzpatrick to be a widowed mother of three, two of them teenagers. He thought he’d meet a hard-nosed cop who’d worked toward her twenty years on the force and looked every one of those years. A woman no one in his right mind would want to cross. He would hazard a guess that no one in his right mind would cross this woman, and for all Cole knew she was a hard-nosed cop. But there was more to her than that. He’d say Bree Fitzpatrick was made up of more than grit.

He also hoped she had good instincts.

“Dessert?” Annie asked cheerfully.

Bree looked past him so she could read the brightly marked board on a wall.

“Pink lemonade pie?”

Annie nodded. “You’ll love it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Coconut pie for me, my love,” Cole said.

Annie rolled her eyes. “As if you’d ever have anything different.” She moved away.

“It sounds as if you’ve dug yourself into a rut,” Bree commented. “Maybe you should shake things up a bit yourself by ordering something different next time.”

“Maybe I will.”

Bree looked at the chalkboard set next to the dessert board. She read the brightly colored words and laughed. Customers using cell phones in here will be treated with the same courtesy as anyone lighting up a cigarette.

Next to the board were two hooks. A squirt gun hung from the first and a waterfilled, clear plastic bucket hung from the second. A cell phone rested in the watery depths.

“The cell phone belongs to a businessman who’d stopped for lunch and didn’t believe the sign,” Cole said, noticing her interest. “He threatened to sue until he discovered he wouldn’t have a chance of winning, since the sign is up where everyone can see it.”

“I’ll remember to keep mine turned off,” she murmured, as the waitress dropped off their desserts.

Bree quickly discovered that pink lemonade pie was something very close to heaven even if there wasn’t one hint of chocolate in it. She finished the rich pie in no time and knew she’d be back for more.

Cole waited until she ate her last bite before he spoke. “Tell me something, Bree. Have you ever thought an accident or suicide could have been a homicide? Did you go even further and try to prove it?”

She looked intrigued by his question. “Any reason for asking?”

“Curiosity.”

Bree silently regarded him. He kept his expression blank.

“There have been times when something hasn’t seemed what it is,” she said finally.

“What if you were the only one who saw it? How do you handle that kind of situation? Do you go along with what’s already been determined, or try to make things right?”

Her expression tightened. “What’s important about any case is that it’s closed properly. I do whatever it takes. So why don’t you tell me exactly why you’re asking me this?”

Now it was Cole’s turn to regard her. “Some people get lost in the cracks.”

“Only if the investigator hasn’t done his or her job,” she retorted. “You’ve got sixty seconds to tell me exactly why you’re asking me these questions before I get up and walk out.”

Cole waited fifty-nine of those seconds before he leaned down and reached into his battered briefcase, which lay at his booted feet. He pulled out several sheets of paper and pushed them across the table.

“I’m trusting you with something I wouldn’t like to have get out, Detective,” he said quietly.

Bree picked them up and began reading. She noted the neatly aligned columns that listed names, dates and cause of death.

“Not very informative for an obituary,” she commented.

“These aren’t obits. These are not accidents or deaths by natural causes, either,” he said quietly, tapping the papers with his forefinger. “These are all murders.”

Chapter 2

Bree scanned the contents, then looked back up at Cole.

“What makes you think foul play?” she asked. She leaned slightly forward. “What you have listed here are traffic accidents, accidents in the home and death by natural causes. Considering the average age of people in this county, it’s expected.”

“Then can you give a good reason why the death toll has risen twenty-four percent in the past two years?” he challenged her.

He noticed she again placed her hand against the back of her neck, as if something bothered her. Maybe the same something that bothered him when he realized the death toll was just a little too high?

Bree shrugged her shoulders. “It still goes with the population growth. More senior citizens are moving here because of the temperate climate, affordable housing and low crime. When the median age is high, you have to expect more deaths.”

Cole shook his head. “The percentage still shouldn’t have risen that much.”

“Are you thinking you’ll discover some heinous plot directed toward the elderly?” she asked. “That you’ll write your way to a Pulitzer Prize?”

“There’s more involved here than some damn prize,” he said without heat, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his voice. “Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to cause these deaths. And usually everything boils down to money.”

She glanced down at the papers again. “Do you know if any of these people had extraordinary amounts of insurance?”

Cole shook his head. “We’re not talking millions.”

Bree gazed off into the distance. “I’ll look into it.” She held her hand up to indicate he should remain silent. “There’s probably not anything to this, but I will do some checking,” she announced, sliding out of the booth. “Thanks for lunch, Becker. Hope you got enough for your article.” She sounded as if she couldn’t care less.

“I’m not going to apologize, Fitzpatrick. I wanted a professional opinion,” he told her. Then he added, “You free sometime for dinner?”

Bree laughed softly and shook her head. “In your dreams, Becker.” She walked away.

“Shot you down but good, big fella,” Annie said, as she collected the plates.

Cole shook his head as he watched Bree walk past the front window. “Naw, she’s just playing hard to get.”

Bree couldn’t stop thinking about Cole Becker’s real reason for seeing her.

It wasn’t the first time someone had sought her detecting skills for an alleged crime, and it wouldn’t be the last.

He’s a good-looking man, a little voice whispered in her ear.

“I had a good-looking man,” she muttered to herself. “I don’t need another one.”

Fitz wouldn’t want you to be alone.

“Like I’m ever alone. Jinx sleeps in my room and he snores worse than Fitz ever did.” She waited for the faint ache that happened each time she invoked her husband’s name to settle deep within her body. “Oh, Fitz.” His name came out on a soft sigh. “Damn you for leaving me.”

The ache was still there. Not as strong as it had been in the past. But instead of Fitz’s face swimming in front of her, Cole Becker’s rugged features appeared.

She hastened back to the office and walked around to the rear, where Jinx’s kennel was set up. The German shepherd was ecstatic to be let out.

“Heel,” Bree ordered. The dog obediently fell into step by her left side as she entered the building. She stopped at the call board that indicated which deputies and detectives were on duty, and marked herself in.

“Fitzpatrick! You want to come in here, please?” Roy appeared in his office doorway. Assured he’d gotten her attention, he turned around and disappeared back into the room.

“Boss man yells, we jump,” Irene murmured as she walked past Bree.

“I haven’t been here long enough to have done anything wrong,” Bree mumbled, thinking of a past superior who believed the louder the voice, the faster the response from his people. It generally proved to be true. She parked Jinx at her desk and walked back to Roy’s office.

By the time she stepped inside, he was already seated behind his desk.

“I have to report to the courthouse in an hour regarding a case,” he announced, looking up at her. “Seems it got moved up at the last minute. Probably something to do with that idiot of a defense attorney,” he grumbled. “The thing is, I’d promised to give a safety lecture at the senior center this afternoon.”

That area in the back of Bree’s neck was now tingling like crazy. The chance to meet some of the town’s senior citizens was too good a chance to pass up. “Okay,” she said, easily guessing the direction he was taking.

“Glad to hear you’re volunteering for the job.” He grinned.

“I did?” She pretended surprise. Why did a boss always try to make it sound as if you were volunteering for the last possible job you’d want, when in actuality you were being volunteered? With no way to get out of it.

“Sure, you did.” He tossed a sheet of paper across the desk. “Speaking to the group will give you a chance to get to know some of the county residents. And for them to get to know you in a more relaxed atmosphere than you showing up at their door because you’re investigating a crime. The talk is the usual—street smarts and not letting yourself look like a victim. You’ve probably given your share in the past.”

She picked up the paper and read. The block letters announced a safety lecture to be given by Sheriff Roy Holloway at two o’clock in the sunroom at the Warm Springs Senior Center. All were encouraged to attend this informative talk on how not to be a victim in today’s tumultuous times.

“Aren’t these usually handled by the deputies?” she asked.

He eyed her sharply. “You don’t think you can give a simple talk on street smarts, Fitzpatrick?”

“I have given talks like this,” she admitted.

“Good, because I have an idea the good people at the center will enjoy the talk more coming from you than from me.”

Bree silently cursed her big mouth.

“Actually, I like the idea of everyone doing their part,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as if she was trying to flatter her boss. “I’d hoped a smaller town meant a chance to get out more and meet with the people.”

He nodded in agreement. “Be there at quarter of two and ask for Joshua Patterson. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Hearing the dismissal in his voice, Bree left the office and walked over to her desk.

“Community relations are very important,” she instructed herself, as she stared at the too clean surface. No pink message slips were waiting for her. She told herself it was a good thing, since the only people who would have tried to get hold of her were from the kids’ schools. “The public gets to know the officers who protect them. Nobody can say I’m not being thrown into the fray.”

“Sheriff Holloway said to give these out at your talk.” Irene set a small cardboard box down in front of Bree. “We just got them in. They’re magnets they can stick on the refrigerator. They have the phone numbers for the sheriff’s department and fire department, plus blank spaces where they can write in their doctor’s and pharmacy’s numbers,” she explained.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Bree said approvingly, looking at the white squares with red lettering. “Is this senior citizens center pretty active?”

“They have something going on all the time,” the receptionist replied. “Dances, bingo, day trips to San Diego for plays and concerts. You name it.”

“Definitely a better social life than mine,” Bree told Jinx, who lay under her desk.

The moment Bree and Jinx entered the Warm Springs Senior Center, they were approached by the administrator.

“We’re grateful you were willing to step in at the last second and take the sheriff’s place, Detective Fitzpatrick,” Josh Patterson said after he’d introduced himself. He clasped Bree’s hand in a warm grip.

While the man’s weathered features indicated he had to be in his mid-to late seventies, his demeanor was that of a man a good twenty years younger. His silver hair and mustache gave him a dashing look that reminded her of Douglas Fairbanks Jr. Bree wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been told more than once about the strong resemblance.

“Thank you. Hopefully, this will be a good chance for me to meet some of the county residents, and in turn, they can begin to get to know me,” she replied with a warm smile, finding it easy to fall under the spell of his courtly charm.

He looked down. “And I see you brought your partner with you. Excellent.” He beamed. “That box looks heavy. Let me help you with it,” he offered.

“Oh my, the man is doing it again. I swear he can’t be trusted to keep his hands off any female.”

Josh turned his head at the sound of the woman’s voice. His mouth broadened in a smile and his eyes softened with an expression Bree remembered well and ached for again.

“Detective, this is my wife, Renee.” He made the introductions. “Renee, this is Detective Fitzpatrick. She’s taking over for Roy today.”

“And I must say it’s a definite improvement.” Renee smiled at Bree and held out her hand. “Roy is a dear man, but there are times when he can be a real tight-ass,” she confided.

Bree smiled back. Just as Josh was movie star handsome, Renee equaled him in looks. Her hair was as silver as her husband’s and brushed back in thick short waves. Fashionable glasses were perched on her small nose. Her dusty-blue silk pants and a print polo-style top coordinated with her husband’s navy slacks and navy-and-white-striped shirt.

“You have to excuse Josh. He likes to believe he’s still a stud,” Renee confided, tucking Bree’s arm in hers as they walked across the center’s spacious lobby to a side room. “The dear man can’t understand that he’s in his declining years.”

Bree chuckled. “I can’t imagine the man is even close to his declining years.”

The older woman leaned closer to say in a low voice, “He’s not. I just don’t want him to know that. Makes him too self-confident.”

People milled around the end of the room where a long table held a coffee urn and cups. Several turned and looked curiously at her and the dog walking next to her.

“It’s nice to know they’ve finally gotten smart and hired another woman over there,” Renee told Bree as she guided her toward the front of the room, where a podium and several chairs were set up. “Oh, I know the department has a female deputy, but they need more women in there. Roy Holloway can’t help being your typical male chauvinist. He was brought up to believe women belong in the home and so on. His wife is Suzie Homemaker with a capital H. As for his children…well, there’s no reason I should give you all the gory details at once.” Her brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

Bree was amazed at her frank speech. “So far, he’s been fine with me,” she confessed.

Renee chuckled. “That’s because he knows a good thing when he sees it.” She squeezed Bree’s hand. “Please don’t let my words scare you off. Something tells me you can handle the man.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised, keeping in the lighthearted spirit.

“I think you will.” The woman looked around and gestured for people to be seated. “Would you like a glass of water or some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Bree set the box of magnets on the floor by the podium.

“Will everyone be seated now?” Renee called out. She waited until the group did her bidding. “As you all know, Sheriff Holloway was going to speak to us today on personal safety. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to be with us, but he has sent his newest detective, Bree Fitzpatrick. Detective Fitzpatrick worked for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and is now with the Warm Springs Sheriff’s Department. Please give her a warm welcome.”

Bree looked around the room, noting the audience’s age bracket ran from late fifties to late eighties. She’d lost count of the number of talks she’d given to various groups over the years, so this was nothing new to her.

So why did she feel this talk could be the most important one she’d delivered to date?

“Thank you, Renee,” she said warmly. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Detective Bree Fitzpatrick. Before coming to Warm Springs, I was a homicide detective with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for twelve years, the last three in homicide. I am also a K-9 officer, which means my partner is a dog. Which I’m sure more than one officer has said about their human partners,” she said, to expected laughter. “Jinx here comes from a long line of K-9s. Right now, his three brothers are working for the Los Angeles Police Department and Sheriff’s Department. He is considered a bona fide member of the sheriff’s department. He even has his own specially fitted Kevlar vest. If anyone dares to shoot or, God forbid, kill him, the investigation and conviction would be treated the same as firing on any human police officer.”

“But he’s a dog,” a woman said, almost apologetically.

“A dog with very special training,” Bree replied. She went on to explain what his training entailed. “And now to the reason for my being here.” She looked from one face to another. “I wish I could say that there are places and communities where you don’t have to worry about crime. But, sad to say, those days are over. It’s lovely that the crime rate is low in this county, but everyone still needs to be cautious. To use your common sense and street smarts so you won’t become a victim. At night, park in a well-lit area, as close to your building as possible. When you leave a building and head for your car, make sure you already have your keys in your hand. Be aware of everything going on around you. Keep your head up, walk with a confident stride. Before you get in your car, take a few seconds to glance at the back seat to make sure no one is hiding there. The minute you’re inside your car, lock the doors.”

“What if you feel someone is following you?” a woman asked.

“Marian, we’ll have a question and answer period after the talk,” Renee chided.

“She did bring up a good point,” Bree said. “If you feel you are being followed, never go home. Drive directly to the police station or someplace that’s well lit and busy. If you have a cell phone, call the authorities and explain your situation. Once you reach the police station, and if you’re afraid to get out of your car, honk your horn repeatedly. Believe me, someone will come out to investigate.”

Bree felt herself relax as she gave a talk she knew she could give in her sleep.

Then the rear door opened and someone slipped inside, making his way toward one of the chairs in the back row.

Bree felt herself start to falter as she locked gazes with Cole Becker. He smiled and tipped his head in a silent greeting as he sat back in the chair. He pulled a notebook out of his briefcase and settled his ankle on the opposite knee. She purposely ignored him and continued speaking.

It wasn’t easy pretending he wasn’t there. Not when he was staring unflinchingly at her.

What is he doing here? He’s not old enough to be a member of this center, unless he’s better preserved than I thought. And if that’s the case, I want to know his secret.

One way or another, she was determined to finish her talk without stumbling over any words.

What was it about Cole Becker that affected her this way?

If it wouldn’t ruin her future with the sheriff’s department, she’d just shoot the man and get it over with.

She mentally heaved a sigh of relief when she finished her speech and waited for questions. She nodded at one woman sitting in the second row.

“But what about when someone tries to rob you?” the tiny, gray-haired lady asked in a trembling voice. “I know you’re not supposed to fight them, but I can’t just allow them to take my money, either.”

“Better to lose the money than lose your life. However, what we’ve seen is that many thieves preying on the elderly are actually cowards. They tend to choose people they don’t think will fight back,” Bree explained. “If you feel you have a chance, then show them you aren’t that easy. Especially if they’re not carrying a weapon. Things you can do are stomp down on their foot really hard, plant your knee between their legs, and if possible, poke at their eyes. And yell as loud as you can. Some people feel yelling ‘Fire!’ gets more action than yelling for the police. Do whatever you think will get you assistance.”

“That’s why we need to carry guns of our own,” one man grumbled. A low rumble moved through the audience. “That way the bastards will know who’s really in charge.”

“Not at all a good idea,” Bree said firmly. “I’ve had to work on too many crime scenes where the victim’s own gun was used on him or her.”

“Then what should people do, Detective Fitzpatrick?” Cole called out from the back of the room. “What do they need to do to protect themselves?”

“Carry a personal alarm. The kind where you pull a cord and it emits a screeching sound. That will attract attention. Take a course to learn how to properly use pepper spray,” she recommended. “Take a self-defense course that will not only teach you how to defend yourself, but will give you a little confidence to boot.”

“What about a large dog?” someone else asked.

“They’re a good deterrent and make for good company,” she agreed.

“I can see our time is up.” Joshua stood up and moved over to stand next to Bree. “I’d like to thank Detective Fitzpatrick for coming here and giving us some good ideas on how to protect ourselves.” He started clapping and the others joined in.

What Bree noticed most was the tall man now standing in the back of the room.

“I’ve brought some magnets for you to put on your refrigerator or by the phone,” she said, holding one up. “Please, help yourselves.”

Bree stood by the podium as many of the seniors made their way to the front. She smiled and spoke to each person Joshua and Renee introduced her to.

“Thank you for explaining who we need to beware of,” one frail silver-haired woman said, laying her trembling hand on Bree’s arm. She lowered her voice. “Sometimes I feel very frightened.”

Bree had only to look into her eyes to see that she wasn’t speaking lightly. Fear spoke a stark message in her gaze. Bree didn’t hesitate. She plucked the magnet out of the woman’s hand, dug a pen out of her pocket and quickly wrote on two of the empty lines.

“This is my cell phone number and this is my home number,” she said quietly. “If you need to, call me directly, all right?” She tucked the magnet back into the woman’s hand and curled her fingers over it. “I am very serious. You call me anytime, day or night.”

The woman offered a tremulous smile, then turned away to walk slowly to the door. Bree watched her thoughtfully.

“Estelle Timmerman,” Renee murmured in Bree’s ear. “Poor dear. She used to be such an incredible woman. She was in the Women’s Army Corps during World War II. She faced each day with a smile. She and her husband did everything together. After his death, she seemed to change overnight. Became timid. Quiet. I’ve tried countless times to find out what’s wrong, but she tells me it’s nothing. I’ve been able to persuade her to go on some of our day trips, but it hasn’t been easy. I worry about her.”

“Sometimes what someone sees as something very wrong, we would see as nothing,” Bree murmured back, making a mental note to check on the woman.

She was meeting the last of the group when her senses picked up Cole Becker’s presence. She turned and offered him a brief smile that wasn’t the least bit friendly.

“I found your talk informative, Detective,” he drawled. “I think our senior citizens will feel safer after knowing their options. I know I do.”

“Something tells me that most criminals would run the other way if they ran into you,” she said.

He nodded sagely. “True. Power of the press and all that.”

Bree suddenly realized that everyone else seemed to have disappeared, leaving her and Cole alone. He appeared to have realized it, too.

“Lunch tomorrow?”

“I’m busy.”

“Dinner tomorrow night?”

“Busy,” she said glibly.

“March 7, 2004?” Cole asked without missing a beat. He reached for the box of magnets, but she beat him to it.

She smiled. “Dentist in the morning. Seeing my psychic in the afternoon, and I’ll be washing my hair that evening.” She headed for the door. “Have a nice day, Mr. Becker.”

As Bree entered the reception area, Renee approached her.

“Don’t tell the sheriff, but I believe I got the better deal, too. I didn’t have to familiarize myself with mountains of paperwork,” she confessed with a big grin.

“Next time you must show us what your dog can do,” the older woman requested.

“He’s a working police dog. He doesn’t do tricks,” Bree warned.

Renee chuckled. “Don’t worry. We don’t expect him to shake hands or sit up. Perhaps you could show us how he catches a suspect.”

“Now that he can do,” she assured her.

“Come back anytime,” Renee invited.

“I’m not exactly in the right age group.”

Her eyes twinkled with laughter. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a special dispensation.” She laid her hand on Bree’s arm. “Perhaps you’d be free for lunch one day. I’d like the chance to get to know you better.”

“I’d enjoy that,” she said sincerely.

Renee’s smile was sly. “Poor Cole must not have said the right words.” She turned away when one of the women called her name. “Thank you again, dear,” she said to Bree as she took her leave.

Bree walked out to the truck with the box nestled in her arms.

She disarmed the vehicle alarm and set the box on the floor of the back seat. She expected to see Cole Becker in the area and found herself feeling strangely disappointed that she didn’t.

“I am not going back there!” Sara’s strident voice could be heard as Bree pulled the Expedition into the garage.

She could hear every word even with the vehicle’s windows closed.

Jinx whined and pawed at the back of the seat.

“I hear them, too,” Bree said with a deep sigh.

“What are you complaining for? I was the one who got the dork of the year award,” David yelled back.

“When’re we gonna eat? I’m really hungry!” Cody wailed.

Bree shut off the ignition and pulled the key free. Her fingers hovered over the garage door opener button.

“Maybe we should go out for a hamburger,” she mused. Before she could give in to her first thought, she pushed the button. As she climbed out of the SUV, she listened to the whir of the garage door sliding downward.

When Bree opened the back door, the first thing she noticed was the sudden silence that dropped over the room. Then the spicy scent of garlic and oregano tickled her nose.

“Spaghetti?” she asked, walking through the room. “It smells good. Thanks for starting dinner, Sara.”

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

“Mom?” Cody was right on her heels as Bree headed for her bedroom.

“Give me a minute.” She pulled her lock box off the closet shelf and deposited her weapon inside. “What is it, honey?”

“I got to feed the parakeet today,” he told her.

Bree dropped onto the bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

“So it’s not so bad, after all?” she asked.

He gave a fleeting grin and shook his head. Before he could say anything, shouting erupted from the kitchen.

“I don’t give a—!” David yelled at his sister.

“Cuss jar,” Cody whispered, burrowing closer to his mother. “That’s a dollar word.”

Bree urged him onto his feet and together they walked back to the kitchen. She found brother and sister facing off in what she knew was only the beginning.

“Did you pay your dollar?” she asked her stepson.

David muttered something under his breath as he reached into his pocket, then pulled the cork top off a large earthenware jar with Cuss Jar engraved on the front.

“Add another dollar to it,” Bree instructed.

“He’s being a sh—!” Sara’s complaint was cut off by Bree’s upheld hand.

“Dollar from you, too. Want to go for two?”

“But I didn’t say it!”

“No, but you were ready to.” Bree pulled open a cabinet door and withdrew a bag of dog kibble. She filled the large plastic dish set by the refrigerator. Jinx wasted no time heading for his bowl. “Dare I ask if anything good happened today?”

Sara swiped her hand across her eyes. “They’re all lame at school,” she complained.

“You’re the one who’s lame,” David muttered.

When the kitchen timer dinged, Bree felt as if she was listening to the gong announcing the next round in a championship fight.

“David, drain the spaghetti and pour the sauce over it, please,” she directed. “Sara, you want to get the garlic bread out of the oven?”

Bree watched her stepson set the bowl on the table as they all sat down.

“It looks good,” she said cheerfully.

Her rule regarding no battles at the table held true. The children’s conversation was chillingly polite.

After dinner, Bree loaded the dishwasher while the three children disappeared into their rooms to do their homework.

She enjoyed the peace and quiet in the kitchen as she rinsed off dishes and placed them in the machine. For the next half hour, her only companion was Jinx, who lay sprawled on the floor.

“If I could get you to do the dishes, you’d be the perfect partner,” she informed the dog.

She should have known her quiet time wouldn’t last long.

“Mom!” Sara yelled. “Where’s my pink lace top? I want to wear it tomorrow.”

“Mommy!” Cody joined the chorus.

Bree threw up her hands. She looked down at the dog, who looked back at her with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Who are these children and why do they call me Mom?”

Chapter 3

Cole should have been working on next week’s column. He knew what he was going to write. Had already drafted it in his head. It would be easy enough to type the words into his laptop computer. He’d done it many times before.

Trouble was, he didn’t want to write his reflections on the new school year compared to his memories of school. Not when something in town had been brewing for quite a few years now. All he had to do was find some hard facts to back up what he’d only been able to suppose so far.

He was hoping Bree Fitzpatrick would be able to help him in that matter. A reminder of another story that needed to be written.

He stared at the bulky file folders and the contents he’d been accumulating for the past year. They were stacked haphazardly around the easy chair in his living room.

With all the research he’d done so far, why hadn’t he been able to find some hard proof that he could take to the authorities? Considering the stories he’d investigated and written in the past, this one should be a piece of cake. It had started late one night when he’d been feeling stuck on what to write about. He’d pulled out some of his uncle’s files, looking for ideas for his column. A sticky note attached to a file folder had caught his attention. Too many are dying.

Cole knew his uncle wouldn’t have written such a cryptic note unless there was something behind it. Sometimes, he feared that note had something to do with his death. So he’d done some digging of his own. And discovered, indeed, too many people were dying.

Even with the large senior citizen population in the county, the numbers were still too high for his peace of mind. He did what digging he could, but he still couldn’t find enough solid evidence to indicate foul play.

Cole’s gut told him a lot of these deaths weren’t accidents or from natural causes. Now he just had to find the connection.

He’d mentioned his suspicions to Roy once. The sheriff had listened and, when he was finished, explained that he could understand his concerns, but that Cole had to look at it from the sheriff’s point of view. What he was talking about sounded a hell of a lot like some sort of conspiracy theory. If Cole came up with some evidence Roy could follow up on, then he’d be happy to do whatever was necessary to investigate.

Cole figured Roy had mouthed all the right words and hoped he would move on to something else.

Cole did. After all, he had a newspaper to put out.

But it didn’t stop him from gathering information every chance he got. “Casual” talks with victims’ friends gave him insight into their lives that he couldn’t have gotten any other way. He’d drunk gallons of coffee and eaten pounds of homemade coffee cake while discovering bits and pieces about various residents that he kept filed away. Pieces of information that didn’t always make sense.

Sure, it was possible for someone suffering from inoperable cancer to succumb to a heart attack. No reason why someone diagnosed with impending blindness as a complication due to diabetes wouldn’t die from slipping in the shower. Some of the deaths Cole could have believed were suicide, but there was just something about them that didn’t add up in his mind.

Maybe he was looking for a story that wasn’t there. Seeing things that didn’t exist.

Except for Uncle Charlie’s notes.

Uncle Charlie who hadn’t had one fanciful bone in his body.

Cole leaned back in the easy chair that faced his big-screen television set. He had CNN on now, but the sound was muted. An open pizza box had two pieces of mushroom pizza remaining. A can of beer sat on the table by his elbow. For now, he was content to think about Bree.

Ordinarily, he kept his distance from a woman with children. Trying so hard to get her to go out with him wasn’t his usual modus operandi.

He didn’t consider himself good relationship material. A failed marriage had taught him all he needed to know—he wasn’t good in the long run. After his ex-wife told him his work came before anything else and she was tired of not meaning anything to him, he’d decided she was right.

Except things weren’t the same after she left. He felt as if he’d failed. Going after any and all stories, no matter how dangerous, was his way of coping.

Amazing how a bomb almost turning him into confetti had got him to make a few changes in his lifestyle. He took life a little easier now. But one rule was still hard and fast with him: any woman he dated knew from the get-go he wasn’t the commitment type.

Marriage and family weren’t meant for him. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying an evening, and maybe even all night, with a woman.

It wasn’t the thrill of the hunt Cole thought about when it came to Bree. He’d outgrown that behavior years ago. No, what he felt was a tug toward the lady. All he wanted was the chance to follow through on his interest.

But first he had to convince her he wasn’t such a bad guy.

“Did you look through the files I sent you?”

Cole’s husky drawl filtering through the telephone line was surprisingly devastating to a woman who believed she was immune to the man.

Bree thought of the manila envelope delivered to her home. There was no note inside, but there didn’t need to be. She knew the identity of the person who’d sent her copies of accident reports and a few doctors’ statements. Clipped to the first page of each report was a lined sheet of paper filled with neatly printed comments.

No way he could have fallen in the shower. He preferred baths.

Medical report more fiction than fact.

Any reason why only Holloway signed off on most of these accidents?

Heatstroke theory doesn’t wash.

“Tell me something, Becker. Why me?” she asked now.

“You look like a lady who likes a challenge.”

Bree picked up her pen and began doodling on the pad in front of her. Anyone looking at her would think she was taking notes.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re as irritating as poison ivy?” she asked.

His chuckle was like a warm breeze in her ear. “That’s a new one. Trust me, I’ve been called worse. Come on, Bree, help me out here.”

“Again, why me?”

“Because you’re new to the area. You don’t have any preconceived ideas about any of these people or their deaths. Because you worked homicide and were good at it. And because you don’t believe anyone should die unnecessarily.” The humor had leached out of his voice as he spoke quietly, but with a note of determination.

“You have no proof,” Bree stated.

“There’s proof out there. And I plan to be around when it shows up.” He was silent for a moment. “I feel that proof is there on your end.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Think about it. Whenever there’s a cover-up it usually goes back to the cops.”

She straightened up so quickly, Jinx raised his head to watch her.

“Don’t go there, Becker,” she warned.

He couldn’t miss the ice in her voice. “All right, big mistake. Let me apologize by taking you out to dinner.”

Bree laughed in spite of herself. The man never quits. “I would think you’d have dates running out of your ears. If I were you, I’d think twice about trying for a woman who has three children, two of them in high school.”

“Ordinarily, I’d be running the other way,” he said candidly. “I guess there’s just something special about you.”

“No, there isn’t.” She matched his candor with some of her own. “You’re not used to being turned down. Good-looking guy like you.”

“You’re weakening, Detective. You just admitted you think I’m good-looking.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Roy could be heard saying to someone.

Bree looked up just as he stopped at her desk.

“Please, ma’am, don’t apologize for calling,” she said in her calm official voice, as if she’d been occupied with a business call. “If you think your handyman has been seen on America’s Most Wanted, you should call us right away. We’ll certainly check on it. Thank you for calling.”

“Coward!” She heard Cole’s accusation as she laid the receiver in the cradle.

Roy dropped a file folder on her desk.

“It’s one of those cases that should be simple, but isn’t,” he told her. “A uniform was out there early this morning to take the initial report, but the complainant is still up in arms. She wants action. This is a situation that’s been escalating for some time now. I’m hoping that sending you out there will diffuse it. I’ll warn you, Mattie Williams isn’t too easy to deal with and, personally, these calls are more crank than legit. But I’m not going to have anyone say we didn’t follow up on a call just because we don’t take it seriously. The day could come when it would be serious.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right over there.” She picked up the file and opened it. She realized the man was still standing by her desk. She looked up. “Is there anything else, Sheriff?”

“The Pattersons said you gave a good talk,” he said.

“I’m glad they were pleased,” she replied, warmed to know her first public appearance was well received.

“It was a good beginning for you. You might want to attend the city council meetings, too,” he suggested. “I like my people getting involved in the community.”

“I’ll do that.”

He nodded and moved away. The moment his office door closed after him, Bree noticed everyone else’s eyes shift back to their desks.

She picked the case folder up again and began reading. Once finished, she kept it in her hand and stood up. The moment she rose to her feet, Jinx got to his. The dog immediately moved to her left side.

“I think I’d rather have a human for a partner than a dog,” Frank Roberts said. “At least then I’d know my backup was carrying a weapon.”

“Oh really?” Bree’s expression was bland as she kept her gaze centered on him. There was no inflection in her voice, nor did she glance at the German shepherd. “Jinx. Detain.”

The dog moved so swiftly, the man didn’t have a chance of blinking, much less moving, before the German shepherd cut off any hope of retreat. He gently, but firmly, held the man’s trouser leg in his mouth.

“Hey!” Frank snarled, but he was no match for the dog keeping him in check. “Tell him to let go.” Frank started to jerk backward, but Jinx’s low growl changed his mind.

Bree knew he’d be furious, but she wanted to make a point. “Jinx. Keep close.”

Frank froze when Jinx’s jaws now landed a bit too close to the crotch of his slacks.

“If you’d had a weapon in your hand, he would have immediately disarmed you,” Bree explained. “And you know the nice thing about having a K-9? He doesn’t spill coffee on the seat, he doesn’t complain about his wife and he doesn’t nag me about my driving. If the situation came up, he would also take a bullet for his partner. Something you can’t always count on with a human partner.”

Frank’s eyes blazed with temper, but he quickly masked it when he realized the dog picked up on his reaction.

“Who do I apologize to? You or the dog?” he asked, keeping his voice low and even.

“Jinx is the one you disparaged.”

He took a deep breath. “Jinx, I’m sorry if I saw you more as a dog than as an officer,” he muttered.

“Jinx, stand down,” Bree said softly.

Jinx released his grip on the man’s pant leg, took two steps back and settled back on his haunches.

“Say hello, Jinx,” Bree instructed.

The dog lifted his paw. Frank looked as if the last thing he wanted to do was shake the dog’s paw, but too many people were watching. He circled his fingers around the paw and shook it.

Bree stepped forward. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, Frank,” she said in a low voice, meant for his ears only. “But I want to make the people in here understand that Jinx isn’t just a dog who happens to have a shield attached to his collar. He’s been trained as a deputy’s partner, which frees up someone to work elsewhere. He was one of the first to work in a trial program to work with detectives also.”

Frank’s jaw worked as he thought about her words. “Just as long as he doesn’t have fleas,” he said grudgingly, drawing on anything to preserve his dignity before he returned to his desk.

“You should worry more about me than him on that count.” She offered him a smile.

He didn’t return her smile. She didn’t take it personally. She sensed he was of the mind-set that didn’t believe women belonged in law enforcement. Nothing new to her.

He looked around at their audience, officers that pretended not to be interested. “I see one dog collar or chew bone on this desk and there’ll be hell to pay.” He gave a growl worthy of Jinx.

“Our cue to leave. Jinx. Heel.”

Bree walked out to her SUV and opened the rear door for Jinx to climb up inside. “Domestic dispute,” she murmured with a sigh, switching on the engine. “My favorite kind of case.”

She didn’t have any trouble finding the location of the dispute. The first thing she noticed was Cole Becker standing on the sidewalk. He was busy studying what looked like a major war zone. She hazarded a guess that the day before, the green lawn had been lush and flowers bordering the front porch had added a colorful accent to the neatly painted house. Today it looked as if a deranged gardener had been let loose on the lawn. Flowers were torn up and thrown every which way. Chunks of sod were tossed up onto the porch and ground into the steps. And some kind of strange design was burned into the lawn.

Bree winced as she studied the destruction in front of her.

Then she sneaked a peek at Cole, who stood nearby. It was a sin a man could look so good in a pair of jeans.

Keeping her eyes off his illegal rear end, she parked in front of the house and got out. She let Jinx out of the truck and walked up the driveway with him at her side.

The morning breeze sent a hint of lemony aftershave her way. The man smelled as good as he looked.

“What did you do so wrong that you caught the Williams-Baxter feud?” he asked, snapping off a couple of photos.

“Don’t tell me, you not only write the stories, you take the photos, too,” Bree commented.

“I’m a Renaissance man. I do everything,” he admitted.

A woman stepped outside. “Who’re you?” she asked in a raspy voice that had an accent more commonly heard in Brooklyn, New York, than Southern California. She wore baggy shorts and a faded blue T-shirt that hung on her bony frame. Chipped red polish adorned her toes and fingernails. A cigarette dipped dangerously from her lower lip. She had the look of a woman who’d lived a hard life and didn’t mind if it showed. She cast a suspicious eye in Jinx’s direction. “He won’t pee on my lawn, will he?”

As if that would hurt it more! Bree thought to herself.

“Mrs. Williams, I’m Detective Fitzpatrick.” She moved forward, holding out her hand. The woman took it in a brief shake. “I understand you’ve had some vandalism.”

“Hell, yes, I’ve had problems. You can’t miss them, can you?” Her eyes flashed fire. In between puffs on her cigarette, she mouthed a few colorful phrases detailing what she thought of the vandals. “Teresa and her spawn are the ones who made this mess on my Harry’s lawn. He works damn hard to keep it looking beautiful and they’ve ruined it. I want them arrested.”

“Why do you think Teresa is to blame?” Bree’s nose twitched at the acrid smoke. She’d quit smoking when she learned she was pregnant with Cody, and every once in a while that craving for nicotine hit her. Thanks to Mrs. Williams, it was rearing its ugly head.

“Teresa is my sneaky sister. How do I know she’s behind this? I know because this is something she’d do. Or she’d have her son do it.” She squinted in the plume of smoke rising upward.

“Come on, Mattie, tell her the truth why you think it was the Baxters,” Cole suggested.

She glared at Cole. “Everyone knows why, Cole. This detective is here to arrest them. Not hear stories.”

“Mrs. Williams, I can’t arrest someone just on your say-so. I need proof,” Bree explained.

The other woman snorted. “It’s not as if I know they’re out here so I run out with a camera. Besides, that’s your job. Proving they did it,” she insisted. “You just go on and do your job and put the two of them behind bars! This yard was just fine last night. That means they did it between the time I went to bed after Letterman and sometime before I came out for my newspaper this morning after the morning news.” She waved her cigarette for emphasis, sending ash flying everywhere.

“Stand on the sidewalk where you can get a better look at the lawn,” Cole advised in a low voice.

Bree did just that. As she stood on the sidewalk and looked at the grass, she realized it was more than some kind of design burned in the lawn, it was words.

“Interesting choice, wouldn’t you say?” Cole asked, moving over to stand next to her. “No crop circles for this person.”

“Whoever did it can’t spell worth a damn,” she muttered. “Considering this could be considered a favorite obscenity, you’d think they’d know how to spell it.”

“All you need to do is ask someone to spell this word and see if they use two ks instead of a ck,” he commented. “Too bad that last school bond was voted down. Seems like our schools really need to do something about the students’ spelling skills.”

“When my Harry gets home and sees what those Baxters did to his lawn, he’s going to bust a gut,” Mrs. Williams said. “You have to arrest them!”

Bree took a deep breath, then wished she hadn’t when she inhaled a hint of smoke. She was going to have to dig through the glove compartment and hope she could find a stick of gum. A mint. Anything that would help the craving. She blinked when something appeared in her range of vision.

Cole held out a square of bubble gum.

“It’s the only way I can be around Mattie for more than thirty seconds,” he said quietly. “And a hell of a lot safer. If I tried to take that cigarette from her, she’d have me flat on my back before I knew what happened.”

Bree pulled off the paper wrapper, popped the pink disk in her mouth and started chewing.

“Mrs. Williams, I’m going to have a talk with Mrs. Baxter,” she told the other woman. “But I’d like to ask you a few more questions first.” She pulled her notebook and a pen out of her bag.

It didn’t take her long to realize that all Mrs. Williams cared about was Bree arresting the entire Baxter family and putting them away for the next hundred years. Cole made no pretense of pretending not to hear. What irked Bree most was the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he knew something she didn’t.

He was walking toward a battered pickup truck when she finished talking to Mrs. Williams.

“Becker,” Bree called out, just as he opened the door. She picked up her pace and headed toward him. “Okay, what’s the big joke about this feud? And if you tell me the Baxters are aliens from another galaxy…” She left the threat unspoken, but no less powerful.

“Whoa, Detective, I’m not packing heat.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re not even close with the alien guess. But you have to meet the Baxters to understand where Mattie is coming from. Or not,” he muttered. He climbed inside the truck and closed the door after him. The window lowered. “Let me know how your meeting with the Baxters goes.”

“You know something,” she accused.

“Nothing that can help the case. See ya, Detective, honey.” The window rolled upward and the engine rumbled to life.

Bree remained on the sidewalk, watching Cole drive away.

“You’re seein’ the Baxters today, arn’cha?” Mattie Williams called out to her.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bree headed for her vehicle. She had an idea this case wasn’t going to get any easier.

Bree knew it for a fact the moment she rolled to a stop in front of the Baxter house, situated a few miles outside of town.

She guessed the two-story dwelling had been built in the 1940s, but the paint job was pure 1960s—hot-pink with orange and purple daisies decorating the shutters bracketing each window, and an equally bright green door. As she walked up the obviously handmade stone walkway, she surreptitiously gave a few sniffs. The only smoke she detected was the tangy aroma of mesquite, not the sweet odor of something illegal.

When she reached the door, she found a multicolored rope hanging there. She gave a yank and listened to melodic chimes echo from inside the house.

“May I help you?”

She turned toward the side of the house. The woman she faced wasn’t who she expected after listening to Mattie Williams ranting and raving about the people destroying her life. This woman dressed as if she still lived in the sixties in a pale yellow peasant-style blouse with a drawstring neckline and a brightly colored skirt that swirled around her bare ankles. Her brown hair was liberally streaked with gray and hung straight to her waist.

“Mrs. Baxter?”

Her smile was serene. “I prefer Teresa.”

Bree moved forward. “I’m Detective Bree Fitzpatrick.” She pulled out her shield and identification.

“Mattie sent you,” she said softly. “Please, come on back.” She stepped around to the rear of the house. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.” Bree looked at the greenhouses set away from the house. “What do you grow?”

Teresa smiled as if she found her question amusing. “I supply orchids to local florists. Would you care to see them?”

She saw it as a chance to learn about the woman. “Yes, I would.”

The first thing Bree noticed as she stepped inside the glass enclosure was the heavy moisture in the air. At first she felt as if she was breathing water.

“Do you feel as if you’ve suddenly traveled to the tropics?” Teresa asked. “Orchids prefer this type of atmosphere.”

For the next hour, Bree was shown varieties of orchids. She expressed her astonishment at the colors arrayed before her.

“What is Mattie saying I’ve done this time?” Teresa asked, after she led Bree out of the greenhouse.

“She insists you carved designs in her lawn.” Bree told her the words adorning the yard.

Teresa chuckled. She gestured for Bree to follow her inside the house. The kitchen was as brightly colored as the exterior, but very much set in the present. The two women sat at the butcher block table set with red-and-black cloth place mats.

“Mattie has blamed us for everything from her water heater going out to her cat having a hairball to her husband’s erectile dysfunction,” she said serenely as she set a teakettle designed to look like a duck on the stove.

Bree swallowed the laugh that threatened to crawl up her throat. “Any reason why she would think that?” She pulled out her notebook.

“Her reason for me to be in jail is very easy. She believes I stole this property from her.”

Bree paused. “Any reason why she would think that?”

“Possibly because I married the man she thought she was in love with.” She poured tea into a cup and carried it over to the table. She sat across from Bree. She nodded as if Bree had said something. “It’s not a new story. Two sisters attracted to the same man. The man chooses one over the other. The spurned sister plots revenge.”

“How long has this been going on?” Bree asked.

She closed her eyes in thought. “It’s been a good thirty years.”

“Even though she has Harry,” Bree said.

“Harry is the man in question. We divorced fifteen years ago and he married Mattie. I received the house as a settlement.”

“But you’ve since remarried,” Bree said, hoping she could keep this straight.

Teresa nodded. “And divorced again. Harry and I had a son who is now nineteen. Adam helps me with the orchids.”

Now Bree felt lost. “If Mattie has the man she’s wanted for so long, why would she accuse you? And her husband’s son?”

She smiled. “That’s Mattie’s way. She thinks I still want Harry. But I don’t.”

Bree shook her head, amazed at the woman’s story. And believing it because it was too bizarre not to believe.

Teresa sipped her tea. “I don’t want her husband, Detective Fitzpatrick. But Mattie refuses to believe me. So she does whatever she can to try to get me into trouble. This is an ongoing thing,” she explained. “And I’m afraid since you’re new to the area, you had no idea what you were in for.” She got up from the table and headed for the stove. “I think you’ll take that tea now.”

“Let me get this straight. You married the man your sister was in love with?”

Teresa nodded.

“You had a son. Later, you divorced the man and your sister married him. You married someone else.”

“Correct.”

“But your sister thinks you want him back, so she’s making all these accusations.” Bree hoped she was filling in the blanks properly. “For what reason?”

“If I’m in prison, I can’t chase after Harry,” Teresa said evenly. “I have to say the vandalism of her front yard is a new twist. Before, it’s been trash strewn around on the lawn or flowers dug up. What you’ve described is much too imaginative for Mattie. I hope she hasn’t made an enemy.” She shook her head in sympathy. “She can sometimes come across as a bit abrasive.”

Bree didn’t doubt it.

An hour later, she left Teresa’s house feeling as if she had been Alice traveling through the Looking Glass. She didn’t doubt Teresa’s story. Bree was familiar with liars. In her line of work, it was a given. She also noticed that when someone lied they had a habit of coming up with a complicated story, as if it made them sound more credible. She usually had a pretty easy time finding the truth. However, she didn’t doubt Teresa’s convoluted tale.

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