“Strip.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her shock erupted as a nervous laugh.

The same cute sound, from early that morning, that had been so damn attractive. Stow it, Marine. One more time, he debated sharing why it was important to wait on the supplies he needed. He’d be prepared this time.

“I’ll wash your clothes while you shower. How did you think we were going to clean up?”

“I … That can’t possibly be a good idea—what if they come here and I’m—”

“Soapy?” He laughed, unable to stop himself. The look on her face was priceless. “We weren’t followed. Promise. If you’re worried about getting on the road, you should probably get moving.”

She stood and Dallas jumped off the couch to follow. Bree picked her up and Jake held out his hands to take her.

“The paramedics warned me about an infection.” He pointed to his bullet graze. “Do it for me. After all, I did save your life.”

The Marine’s

Last Defence

Angi Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANGI MORGAN writes Mills & Boon® Intrigue novels “where honor and danger collide with love.” She combines actual Texas settings with characters who are in realistic and dangerous situations. Angi has been a finalist for the Bookseller’s Best Award, RT Book Reviews Best First Series, Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and the Daphne du Maurier Award.

Angi and her husband live in North Texas, with only the four-legged “kids” left in the house to interrupt her writing. They recently began volunteering for a local Labrador foster program. Visit her website, www.angimorgan.com, or hang out with her on Facebook.

Dallas and Valentine—two sweet puppies who gave love every minute they were here. THANKS, Steve,

for your quick responses to my many questions

and your many years of service as a police officer.

AND THANKS, Jen—we both know this book wouldn’t have happened without you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Excerpt

Prologue

Six Months Ago

“Keep the girl alive. I’m telling you it would be less complicated,” Griffin Tyler said. “More money for us, too.”

“You don’t tell us nothin’, Tyler.”

Sabrina Watkins flattened herself to the hall paneling. They wanted to kill her? She’d been three years behind Griffin in high school, been in youth group with this man who had become her business partner. And recently she’d thought of him as a very close friend. Their mothers even still went to the same church every Sunday morning.

“She has too many friends,” the unknown voice continued. “Too many that will believe her when she claims she’s innocent. If we leave her alive to chat ’em up, everybody gets sympathetic. It’s better to kill her. Make it look like a suicide and then evidence comes out proving how guilty she is. We lose a little money framing her, but overall the operation survives. You set up shop somewhere else. Insurance, no one’s the wiser.”

She didn’t know the second voice. Average tone, not deep or high. She didn’t think he’d ever boarded a pet with her. She’d only seen the back of the man’s head as she’d rounded the corner from the offices into the clinic. She had no description for the police and didn’t even know his hair color since he was wearing a ball cap.

“Whatever,” Griffin said, not trying hard to sway his partner. “Suicide works. She’s surrounded herself with the business for the past two years. Everything she has is tied up in it. When it goes up in flames, our hometown will think she was too depressed to start over.” He put his hands on his hips, a gesture she’d seen a thousand times when he was ready to move on from a subject. “When will you do it?”

Oh, my Lord, they really are going to kill me, she thought, panicking. Why? What did I do?

“Listen, Tyler, you’re the one who screwed up. Too many fingers in the pie. You should never have involved the local cop who’s getting greedy. The higher-ups want them both gone, along with all traces of the connection to us. You’re damn lucky they don’t want you gone.”

Who have you gotten involved with, Griffin?

Sabrina’s heart pounded faster than Tweetiepie, the miniature Chihuahua she’d groomed at the truck stop that afternoon. Her hands shook even while she was plastered against the wall. She wanted to close her eyes and have someone explain why this was happening. Could someone wake her up from this nightmare so she could go back to her simple life of boarding pets?

Her thoughts drifted through her last conversation with Griffin. As far as she knew there had been no indicators that he was upset with her. But, then again, how did your best friend speak to you three hours before casually mentioning no one would miss you if you were dead?

Wait. Flames? Had he said flames?

Was Griffin speaking in metaphors or were they really going to burn the clinic down? “Gone...all traces.” She had to get to the police. No. The stranger had mentioned involving a cop. Which one? They didn’t mention anyone by name. Who could she trust? But they couldn’t all be bad. Right?

What could she tell them if she did trust them? She’d overheard her business partner plotting to kill a “she,” but unfortunately there were a lot of “shes” in Amarillo, Texas.

She’d look like an idiot. Griffin continued his discussion with the stranger. She couldn’t distinguish their words as they walked to the rear exit. She dropped to the floor and crept around the corner into the operating room.

Griffin was right about one thing—she had no other life outside the clinic or pet sitting. He was also right that every dime she had was tied up in her half of the business.

But right now, she needed help.

No one worked in the clinic on Sundays. She made a special trip with the house-call van once a month, working with truck drivers. It was five o’clock and she’d spent the afternoon grooming dogs at the I-40 truck stop and let Amber borrow her car for a baby shower. If she hadn’t finished an hour early, decided to restock the van while waiting on her assistant’s return, she wouldn’t have a clue about their plot to kill her and burn the clinic.

She’d been so dumb. Well, not anymore. It was time to get closer, find out what they were doing.

On her hands and knees, she scooted across the painted concrete floor. Staying close to the counters and then behind the stainless steel exam table, she was careful not to knock any of the rolling trays full of instruments. She’d never felt comfortable in this room. It wasn’t organized and certainly didn’t function effectively according to what she’d seen over the past two years.

There were many times she’d wondered how Griffin made any money. Now she knew. He made it illegally. She dared to look around the side of the table. There wasn’t enough light in her section of the room for her to be seen, but she was still very careful.

“So we’re agreed. Tonight,” the stranger said. “Get your cop friend to patrol nearby. I’ll nab the girl before the fire’s set and make it look real enough.”

“You think it’s necessary to burn the place with the animals inside?”

“You want the fire to look genuine, don’t ya?”

The stranger was near the back door. She caught a tilt to his lips when Griffin’s back was turned. Her stomach twisted in fear. Whoever this stranger was, he enjoyed killing. Animal or human, that smile indicated he looked forward to it.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and hid behind the island table again. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. They were going to kill her.

What should she do? Remember his voice. Remember that deadly smile and his thin, flat lips. She had no evidence, no proof that someone wanted her dead. And from what she’d overheard, they’d planted evidence that she was responsible for something. Dear Lord, she didn’t even know where to start. She knew nothing about police procedures except that they needed more information than she had to begin an investigation.

Fading daylight briefly filled the room as the back door opened and closed. The sound of the dead bolt turning echoed through the cold room. Oh, no, the van was parked out front now. How long had they been here? Would they notice? Would they come back?

Silence.

She sank to the floor. There was nowhere to hide and if they did return, what could she do?

The faint whine of an abandoned pup bolted her into action. No one was going to kill the animals left in her care. She tugged on one of the rolling tables and opened a bin. She yanked a scalpel, wielding it like a hunting knife. She could defend herself a little, maybe deter them long enough to race out the front door.

Explanation or no, she could get to the police to save her own life. Panda and Pogo barked.

The animals. She had to get them out of the building. She took a peek through the windows and didn’t see any cars. She ran through the clinic to the back of the boarding kennels and unbolted the door, slightly propping it open for quick access. Then another dash through the building and out the front, moving the van to the back.

Thank goodness she didn’t have a lot of animals at the clinic or being boarded for the weekend. The three dogs and kitty would fit inside the van and be safe. She closed the van door with a sigh of relief, dropping her forehead to the cooling metal. She could meet Amber at the house and have her drive the animals to their owners.

Then she would drive her car directly to the police station and take her chances. Crazy sounding or not, she had to report Griffin to the authorities.

“Back early?”

She yelped like one of the puppies. “Oh, Griffin. You scared the living daylights out of me.” Her partner jerked her away from the van in a constricted grip. “You’re hurting me.”

“Don’t play dumb, Sabrina. I saw you loading the animals. You heard us inside and are moving them before we torch the place.”

She pulled. His grip tightened. “I don’t understand any of this, Griffin. What’s going on?”

“Get inside.” He shoved a gun in her ribs. “Now.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t kill me, please. Whatever the problem is we can work it out.” She stumbled as he propelled her through the door. “I’m sure the police can sort through everything.”

“No, they can’t. I don’t give the orders. I follow them. My office.”

The gun was securely in his hand and she shuffled through the kennels sideways, unwilling to turn her back to him. What if he had the same maniacal smile as the stranger?

Had Griffin shot someone before? He couldn’t have. He wasn’t the man who drowned kittens—he was the veterinarian who saved them. Right? But he was an excellent marksman, who wouldn’t miss when he fired.

How am I ever going to get away from you? she wondered.

“Is it drugs? Money laundering? Who are you working for?” she asked, stalling. Think, think, think. She couldn’t allow herself to be trapped in his office. There was no way out. Only a slit of a window, high above her head.

“None of the whys or whos matter anymore, Sabrina. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Doing nothing is exactly what I did for the past two years while you plotted to set me up to commit suicide.” She stopped at his office door, so close to her own.

Unfortunately, her box of an office would be just as bad as his. The window was just as high. There weren’t any weapons inside. The can of pepper spray her father insisted she carry was on her key chain, in the van. Her only path out of the building was blocked by Griffin.

“I didn’t think they’d really kill anybody. You were supposed to take the blame, but they never said they’d kill you. But it’s you or me and I won’t let it be me. I’m lucky I came back for my insurance before they torch this place. Otherwise, we’d both be dead by morning.”

The light in his office was already on. The door was ajar enough to see an open briefcase overstuffed with paper. His insurance?

“I can’t believe you’re going to just kill me.” But she knew he meant what he said. What if she got his “insurance”?

Tears of fear trickled down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, leaning close to the picture of puppies they’d rescued last year. But she wouldn’t voluntarily move another inch to her death so she spread her feet for a stronger fighting position.

He’d relaxed, leaned lazily against her office door. If she could just delay him long enough to grab the briefcase and get to the van...she might have a chance.

“It’s no use,” he said. “You might as well stop stalling.”

Sabrina looked up, plucking the scalpel from her pocket. “Would you stop?” she shouted, lunging at his leg, stabbing him as deeply as she could.

He screamed. Fell. The gun went off. She darted into his office, grabbed his briefcase of “insurance” and ran for her life.

Chapter One

Present Day

“I didn’t complain when I was a private. I didn’t complain while serving three tours in Afghanistan. These guys have no clue how to make life miserable for someone like me. I can take a few icy sidewalks and midnight shifts.”

Jake Craig skidded on the slushy cement. Digging his steel-toed boots into the ice, he balanced on the slippery incline before he embarrassed himself by slamming to the ground. His partner—sitting in the nice warm car—probably had his smartphone ready, just waiting for him to fall flat on his butt so he could record it all.

The cold of the early morning felt good compared to the many long, hot desert memories he had from six years of war. North Texas cold didn’t compare to the bitter mountain freezing when he thought he’d lose his toes. Yeah, he could take his turn walking in the cold. At least this time he didn’t have seventy pounds of gear to carry.

On the Dallas P.D. a little over a year, he’d recently transferred to the homicide division. The promotion raised more than a few eyebrows when he jumped from rookie to detective—skipping everything in between, including the right to do so. Not too amazing for former military personnel. His fellow P.D. officers knew about department politics where qualified ex-military got bumped to the head of the list. It didn’t keep them from resenting him or make being the butt of their jokes any easier.

Just like now when he’d been directed to search for a dead body. An anonymous 911 call claimed there was a dead woman at the lake moving around in the bushes. He’d asked dispatch to repeat and again the claim was that a dead woman was moving around in the bushes.

“You go see if you can find that ghost,” his partner had ordered when they’d arrived. He’d leaned his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. “I’m going to keep the heater running on these old bones, partner. You love the cold, don’t cha, partner?”

“Sure, Owens. I could stay out here all freakin’ day.” Okay, maybe his reply had been a slight exaggeration. Then again, he hadn’t actually replied, just mumbled after he’d left the car. He would continue to accept the late shifts, practical jokes and crank calls, just like he had this morning.

“I’m a freakin’ machine.” No one could break down the machine at work.

The ghost was probably a drunk trying to get out of the snowfall, but it had to be checked out. What if the call was just a staged joke? Could Owens have arranged for a “ghost” to be at the spillway?

It was the perfect setup. Someone could pop out of the bushes, try to surprise him, and he might even lose his footing. “I will not fall and have that humiliation blasted across the internet. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Those guys knew he’d be the one out here verifying ghosts don’t exist. And he wouldn’t put it past any of them to have cooked up this entire charade.

As long as they dished it out, he’d take it. The cold, searching for a ghost, whatever, he’d keep at the job. He wanted the job. He had nothing else but the job. He wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers like the rest of his life.

An early morning search of the underbrush around White Rock Lake beat picking up Friday-night drunks from Deep Ellum any night of the week. Homicide detectives wore civilian clothes, a definite improvement from the street cops. Man, he was glad to be out of a uniform. Any uniform.

His years as a marine MP didn’t seem to make a difference to his coworkers. Maybe they thought he was more qualified to deal with drunks than legitimate homicides. If they only knew what he wanted to forget.

The beam from the flashlight reflected off a pair of red eyes. The animal didn’t bolt. Jake took a step closer to the fence and heard the low whine of a dog.

A black Labrador was under the brush on the other side of the six-foot security fence. Located just below a large yellow-and-orange danger sign, warning that the lake’s spillway was nearby.

The leash must have tangled around a limb, pinning the dog to the cold February ground. The pup yelped, whining louder, visibly shaking from the cold. He dropped back to the ground, obviously tired from his struggle for freedom.

“Hang on, now. How’d you get over there?” Just to his right the section of fence was raised off the ground, easy enough for a dog or person to crawl under.

Jake clicked off the light and dropped it in his pocket. Going over the icy fence was a lot cleaner than crawling under like the dog had. He shook the chain-link fence, verifying it could hold his weight, and scaled it in a few seconds, landing on the spillway side with both feet firm in the melting snow.

“So you’re the ghost those drunks reported?” He knelt and offered his hand for the Lab to sniff. It quickly licked his fingers. “You’re friendly enough. What are you caught on?”

The stubborn dog refused to budge even with encouragement and a gentle tug on his collar. His young bark did some tugging of its own on Jake’s heart—he hadn’t thought he had one left—earning a smile from a jaded soldier.

He pushed farther into the bushes, conceding that the only way to get the dog loose was to get wet himself. The poor mutt shivered hard enough to knock his tags together. Jake could relate, having been there a time or two.

Working his tall frame closer, his slacks were soaked as the slush seeped through the cloth. The snow that dropped on the back of his neck quickly melted from his body heat and dampened his skin. He slipped his hand around the dog collar and tugged again, receiving a louder howl and whimper.

“Are you hurt, boy? Is that why you can’t move? All right, then. I might as well send my coat to the cleaners, too.” He stretched onto his belly, sliding forward until he could reach the hindquarters of the dog, which had gone completely still. “What’s wrong besides me calling you a boy when you’re clearly a girl?”

Nothing felt out of place or broken. The pup’s whine was consistent. The harder he pulled her toward freedom, the more the dog pressed backward.

The leash was caught on something or the pup was injured. He pulled hard and he still couldn’t get the leash free. Blindly he followed the leather to an icy death grip of fingers, causing him to instantly retreat. His jerky reaction scared the dog, causing her to struggle harder in the dark.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Take it easy and I’ll get you out of here.” Jake kept a firm grip on the collar, snagged the flashlight from his pocket and flipped the switch to take a closer look at the body.

The glassy look of the dead took him back to Afghanistan. He’d experienced that look more than once in his military career. Male or female, it always twisted his gut.

Then it hit him. The smell of death. Faint, most likely because of the cold, but there wafting into his brain and triggering more memories that he wanted to forget. Once experienced, he could never forget.

The call hadn’t been a prank. The woman’s coat was covered in white. She’d been there all night. He’d flattened the crime scene getting to the dang dog, which wouldn’t or couldn’t leave her side.

“Hold on there, girl. I’m not going to hurt you. Give me a second here.” He couldn’t remove the leash from the body. So he’d have to disconnect the dog.

Expensive leash with a word etched into the wet leather. “Dallas? That your name or just a souvenir?” He kept a grip on the Lab with his left hand and unsnapped the leash from the dog harness with his right.

He crooned, attempting to calm the shivering mass of fur. He peeled his jacket off in the cramped space, the sharp broken twigs poking him with every shrug. He draped Dallas and shoved his coat under the dog’s legs. He took one last look into the frozen face. There was something about her, or the situation.

Something he couldn’t put a name to. Or maybe just a habit he’d started with the first investigation he’d had as a military cop. He didn’t want to make the vow. He had a clean slate but couldn’t stop the words. “Whoever did this won’t get away. And I’ll take care of your pup, ma’am. That’s a promise.”

Unable to move, Dallas didn’t struggle much covered in his jacket. Jake pulled her free, shimmying under the fence instead of scaling it, dragging the pup under after. Then he sat on a fallen tree, holding Dallas in his lap. He began to feel the cold as the wind whipped through the secluded jogging path that viewed the spillway overlook and hit his wet clothes.

Dallas made a unique noise halfway between a howl and whine.

“It’ll be okay, girl. We’ll find you another owner before too long.” He stroked the pup’s head and she quieted just a bit. Her tags indicated a rabies vaccination and that she’d been chipped, but they’d need Animal Control to access the information.

Jake tried his radio. Nothing. He took his cell from its carrier on his hip. Nothing. He moved up the hill until he had reception and dialed.

“Dallas 911. What’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Jake Craig, badge 5942. I have an expired subject. Bus required at Garland and Winstead parking lot WTR 114 marker.”

“An ambulance has been dispatched to your location. Do you need me to connect you to Homicide?” the dispatcher asked.

“Thanks, but we’re already here.”

“Understood, Detective Craig.”

Protocol required him to ask for an ambulance, but he knew it wasn’t necessary. The woman frozen to the ground a couple of feet away was dead and had been most of the night. He’d seen the dead before. Many times over and under too many circumstances to remember them all. He didn’t want to remember.

Life was easier when he didn’t.

The pup tipped her soggy face up at him, and then rested on his thigh. Jake looked around the crushed crime scene as he dialed his partner’s cell. “I don’t know about you, Dallas, but it’s going to be a helluva long day.”

Chapter Two

This murder should have been Jake’s. He’d discovered that body—and ruined the crime scene. No one razed him or admonished him for being so stupid.

All of the men thought the dog was great. But it was still his job to control it—not an easy task without a leash. He’d found a silver emergency blanket in the trunk and had fashioned a makeshift rope by slicing the end off.

No words saying he should have left the pup there. Nothing except “four black coffees, Craig,” turning him into a glorified errand boy. He had to remember that it was the appropriate place for the rookie team member. He walked to the car with a few laughs and snickers behind his back. His partner hadn’t offered the keys. No way he was going to beg, but he could keep the pup warm inside the car while he walked across the street.

A local diner was on the opposite corner. He could handle the errands and understood they came with being the newest team member. He’d dumped enough rookies into the same position himself over the years. He was just ready to move forward, to investigate. He hated being stuck with unimportant things. It gave him too much time to think about the life he’d wanted while in Afghanistan that seemed so far out of his reach.

The tremor he’d forgotten started his hand twitching. He fisted his fingers and shoved it in his pocket. Out of sight, out of his thoughts. Right along with the dreams he’d had from another time.

“Man alive, it’s cold out here.” A man waited on the corner to cross Gaston Boulevard, jumping in place to keep warm. “You a cop?”

Jake gave a short nod, not in the mood for curious onlookers. Even those dressed all in black, sturdy shoes and expensive leather gloves. Why was this guy walking anywhere in this weather? Not everyone’s a suspect, he said, to quiet the suspicions forming in his head.

This wasn’t the Middle East, where he couldn’t trust a kid crossing the street or even a middle-aged man dressed in black. The light turned red, the walk light blinked on and they both crossed. The man continued to the convenience store next to the diner, probably after cigarettes, since he’d reeked of nicotine.

Jake entered the old-fashioned diner and stuffed his gloves in his pockets. The place was basically empty except for a pretty raven-haired woman in the back booth. As soon as he looked in her direction, she dropped her lips to the edge of the mug and blew, gingerly sipping and not making eye contact.

Nothing suspicious in a young woman wanting to be left alone by a man covered in mud.

A robust man dressed in a bright red-and-black shirt hurried out of the kitchen. He only needed a white beard to look exactly like an off-duty Santa Claus. “Have a seat anywhere,” he said, wiping his hands on the bottom of his flannel plaid shirt.

“I just need five coffees to go, Carl.” The Santa named Carl looked surprised to hear his name until Jake pointed at his dangling nameplate stuck on his sleeve. “Don’t lose that in someone’s breakfast.”

The woman in the corner laughed, barely, but it was a sweet sound compared to the silent razing he’d been taking for wrecking the murder scene. Sweet, and it brought a smile to his frozen face.

“I was wonderin’ how you knew.” Carl reached for the cups and coffeepot. “You want cream or sugar?”

“Blacks all round. Thanks.”

“Hey, you with the cops at the lake? A guy came in earlier and said you found a body by the dam.”

“Detective Jake Craig, Dallas P.D.,” Jake acknowledged, trying to dissuade him from asking more questions. It didn’t work.

“So was it a woman, like they say? Was she really all in white? Murdered? Froze to death?”

Everyone, including himself, wanted those answers.

“How long have you been at work today?” he asked. If the counter guy wanted to be chatty, might as well point him in the right direction.

“Been here since ’bout midnight, I think. Took a while in this weather with the roads the way they were. I skidded through two different red lights. Glad you weren’t around then.”

“How about her?” Jake asked about the woman in the corner.

“Bree? She’s been here since I came on board.”

“That’s a long time to nurse a cup of java.”

“Nah, happens all the time. And I think that’s her fourth or fifth hot chocolate. She nods off every once in a while.”

There was a rolling suitcase against the wall next to her. “She homeless?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that. Lost her car, broke down a couple of months back, and she walks everywhere. Does jobs for people in Lakewood, picks up an extra shift around here sometimes. Manager don’t mind her sitting there when we ain’t busy.”

“You said she’s been here since midnight?” His victim had already been killed by then.

“Yeah, let me get you a carrier for these. I got a new box of ’em in the back,” Carl said, putting the last lid on a large cup.

“How much do I owe you?”

“On the house for cops.”

After leaving a five, Jake put his wallet away and leaned against the counter, watching the busy intersection. Predawn joggers, walkers with dogs, people driving by and going about their ordinary day. Busy, yet not a single witness. He took the lid off one cup and poured a good amount of sugar in. He’d need the extra calories today.

While he sipped, he watched, honing his skills, making mental notes. Passing the time like he had for so many years.

The woman Carl called Bree shifted in her seat, looking nervous. She’d obviously overheard the conversation with Carl. Most people were more curious for details. When he came across someone who turned away, covered their face and tried to act casual about doing so...it normally meant they were hiding something.

Or was he just being overly suspicious again, wanting to investigate a murder instead of paying his dues by getting coffee?

Stick it out. They’ll come around soon enough.

Carl loaded the coffees into the cardboard.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problemo. Come back when there’s not a murder. Gotta get ready for my breakfast regulars.” Carl waved and returned to the kitchen.

“I’ll do that.” Jake leaned his shoulder against the door, pushing it open for a fraction of a second. Hit by a blast of frigid air, the coffee carrier tipped toward his filthy coat. He let the door slam, successfully catching the coffees and balancing them against his chest. A tiny giggle from the corner. He looked up and locked eyes with Bree. The woman had a beautiful smile. No matter how brief or even if she was laughing at his near disaster.

She quickly hid her eyes by resting her forehead on her hand. Her reaction made him more than a little curious. He set the container down on the first booth’s table and deliberately meandered past the booth that separated them.

Speak. He stood there, waiting. Expecting...he didn’t know what. Anticipation took over his vocal cords, refusing to let them work. He didn’t want to ask her why she looked suspicious. He didn’t want her to be a suspect or a witness. What he wanted was her phone number.

Naw, he couldn’t do that. At least not as a police officer. He hadn’t asked for any phone numbers or called any that had been offered to him in the year since his divorce. Dang it. She was a potential witness. He should ask for her information, since she’d been here all night. Man, that is so weak. Just say something. His hand had reached inside his coat for his notebook before he realized he needed a pen.

Then her spine straightened, her hands dropped to her lap and she tilted her face up at him. Strikingly magnificent amethyst eyes. He’d never seen that color before.

“Do you need something, Detective?”

“I was...” The pen had been with the notepad earlier. He patted every pocket on his coat. “Can I borrow your pen?”

She didn’t turn away, just slid her larger spiral notebook in front of her and handed over the pen from between its pages.

“Thanks.”

“If you need one for the crime scene, I’m sure Carl has an extra. That ink’s actually pink.”

The old saying of a smile lighting up a room popped into his head. He would swear the entire diner had brightened when the corners of her mouth rose, silently amused that he’d be writing with her girlie-colored pen. He shook himself and wrote Carl’s name and then Bree.

“Ma’am, sorry to disturb you. Carl mentioned you walked here. Did you come through the park?”

“No, not last night. Was someone really murdered?” She visibly relaxed when she answered.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Sort of an odd physical reaction to the word murder. Don’t read anything into it.

“That’s so sad.”

“Yes, ma’am. Did you see anything unusual? Anyone running from the park or a car speeding away?”

“No. But I slept some after midnight.”

“I’d like your name and phone number, just in case we have new information and need to pursue it with you. You never know what detail might help.”

“It’s really hard to see out of these windows at night, Detective. I really don’t think there’s a need to put me in a report.”

He looked up to see the reflection of a man covered in mud—even on his face. He looked like an extra in a disaster movie. He agreed that from the booth you couldn’t really see much outside.

“Not for the report. It’s only in case I need to get in touch again. I’d prefer your cell number, if possible. Carl said your name was Bree?” He concentrated on the tip of the pen where it met the paper. Not on the disconcerted twitch that occurred at the corner of her eye when he said he wanted information about her.

“Yes. Bree Bowman. And I don’t have a phone, but you can reach me at 214-964-79— Well, shoot, I always get those last numbers confused.” She opened the spiral and removed a yellow flyer. “Here.”

“Jerome’s Pet Sitters. You work here?” He stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“I fill in when I have time. Jerome takes messages.”

“Is Bree short for something?”

“No.”

She shifted on the bench, looking as uncomfortable as he felt awkward. He knew cops who used the addresses and numbers of pretty girls. That wasn’t his style. He couldn’t legitimize pushing for her address. He’d get it if he really needed to get in touch.

“That should be enough for now.” He set her pen on the table, watching it roll to the edge of the spiral. “Thanks for your cooperation.”

“No problemo,” she said, imitating Carl.

“Right. Thanks again.” He scooped up the coffees, including his own, and headed for the door.

“Wait. Let me help.” Bree’s voice came from just behind him. “I can get the door so you don’t have a disaster with those cups.” She darted around him, pushed the door and kept it open while he passed through.

“Thanks for the help.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Like an idiot he stopped and took another look at her. And like someone who hadn’t flirted in a decade—which he hadn’t—he said, “You know you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

She inhaled sharply and pressed her lips together. Maybe embarrassed. Maybe flattered. Maybe like she received that compliment a lot. “Thanks, Detective. But it’s really cold out.”

“Yeah, sorry. Have a nice day.”

“You, too.”

Just before the door closed, he heard another sweet giggle.

You’re such an idiot.

* * *

DAWN CAME AND WENT along with the ambulance and dead woman’s body. She’d had no identification, no keys, and to their knowledge, no one had reported her missing. Dallas howled endlessly as her owner was removed by the medical examiner.

The obvious assumption was that the victim had been mugged while walking her dog. Locate where the dog lived and they’d discover the identity of the owner.

Simple.

No one was pursuing it. They’d wait on Animal Control to call with the chip’s registered address.

After contaminating the scene, Jake had been told he was lucky to be holding the dog. Coffee run completed, he’d waited in the car. Warmed the dog. Fed the dog his sandwich from home. Watered the dog. Pacified the dog. Everyone else finished up, the crime scene had been released, and he was now letting the dog do his business near a tree.

“Hey, Craig,” his partner called to him from across the lot, laughing and slapping the back of another longtime detective. “Make sure you wait around for Animal Control to get that mutt. They’re expecting you to be right here, so you should probably walk the dog in circles until they show.” He laughed some more and threw the car keys. “I’m catching a ride back to the station.”

Jake caught the keys and didn’t have a chance to ask his partner what they all found so hilarious before the car pulled away. He stood there holding the pup’s makeshift leash, fearing the joke was on him. Yeah, he was darn certain that around the station he’d graduated from the position of rookie to leash holder.

The last patrolman headed to his car, pointing at the ground. “You got a bag to clean that up, man?”

Jake shrugged, then shook his head.

“Seriously, man. You can’t leave that on the ground like that.”

He shot him a look, hoping the patrolman would back off. “I’ll get something from Animal Control.”

“You gotta set a good example for the kids over there. Leaving it in a park’s against city ordinances. You’re a cop now.”

“Sure. I got it.” And he did...get it. The marines were behind him and he was on his own, alone in a city where he barely knew anyone. He’d wanted that after the divorce. No one around to remind him of the six years of humiliation.

Jake sat in his car and started the engine, thinking of amethyst eyes. A better memory than the wasted time he’d invested with his ex. Should he call Bree Bowman?

And then what? Say what? Do what? Ask her to meet for coffee? Maybe he’d make it a habit to have breakfast at the diner and try to catch her there again. And breakfast to boot. It wasn’t too far out of his way. Then he might be able to offer a ride sometime. That was a plan he could live with. Slow. No commitment.

Another twenty minutes went by and more kids on bikes gathered in the parking lot. It looked like they wanted his car out of the way so they could take advantage of the ice and snow.

He moved to the far edge of the lot to give the boys room. Some of the tricks they performed were amazing. It wasn’t too much longer before Dallas began whining again, soon howling loud enough to attract attention.

This time she clawed at the window as one of the boys slowly approached from the curb. Dressed in a ski cap, a huge coat that wasn’t zipped, and straddling a bike designed more for tricks than street cruising, the teen waved and gestured to roll down the window.

“Hey, Dallas. You get lost, girl?” the teen crooned to the big pup and stuck his gloved hand through the window to stroke the silky ears. “Whatcha doin’ way over here?”

“Do you know this dog or the owner?” Jake asked.

“Sure, this is Dallas. She belongs to Mrs. Richardson. I ride past her house every day. Weird that she ran away. She sticks pretty close to home even when she gets loose.” The teen continued to pet the pup through the open window. “You a cop? One of the other guys said a drunk froze to death. He got a look at the body bag.”

“Would you happen to know her address?”

“It’s five or six houses up on Loving Street. The one on the hill. I can take her back if you want. She’s run next to my bike before.”

“Thanks, but I better hang on to her. What does the house look like?”

He shrugged. “We can show you. Nothing to do around here anymore. It’s getting too wet.”

“Thanks. There’s no rush. Make sure to use the crosswalks.”

“It’s the second street, mister.” The teen turned and tapped the hood before peddling off through the snow. “Try to keep up.”

Jake pushed the button to roll up the window and put the car in gear. Dallas turned three circles on the passenger seat before settling. She dropped her head in the crook of Jake’s elbow and looked up with dark brown sad eyes.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He scratched the pup’s snout and then picked up the car radio. “You’ll be okay. Somebody with a great yard will snatch you up quick.”

One by one the boys followed each other, skidding through the parking lot, enjoying the snow and slush. Sometimes, being a kid had its advantages. No worries and no past.

“Dispatch, Craig to Loving and Winstead. Cancel the Animal Control pickup at White Rock Lake. I’ll call back if needed later.” He turned on the second street, following the kid he’d spoken with while the others continued straight.

“Detective Craig, no record of a request for Animal Control. Your location is noted.”

The other detectives were probably having a big laugh at breakfast with this joke. He’d been left holding a dog leash, waiting for the past two hours on Animal Control when they’d never been notified. Some joke.

But he’d take the hazing. This time it might just work in his favor. When he’d spoken his opinion that the dog had a connection to the murder victim, his partner had put him in charge of the animal.

He’d either return Dallas to her owner without anyone the wiser or call in the identity of the dead woman. Maybe he’d get the last laugh after all.

Chapter Three

Two weeks in one bed. Sabrina could barely believe how much she looked forward to having the same pillow under her head for that long. Living out of a suitcase, shuffling from house to house or a couple of nights in a hotel room had gotten old after the fourth or fifth time. Six months later and she wasn’t any closer to discovering Griffin’s connection to whoever had ordered her death or who they’d referred to as the “higher-ups.”

She was ready to give up her search and her nomad existence. Griffin had accused her of not having a life. Well, he’d been wrong. Her life had been full of people and pets and things to care about. It was living like this that wasn’t really living. If that even made sense. A solitary life void of friends and fun. Shoot, she didn’t even have a car.

And to top it off, the first inkling of an attraction she’d had was for a cop. A detective she’d nearly given her cell number to. Yes, she’d lied to the detective about owning a cell. What if he’d actually called? What a stupid move that would have been. But he’d seemed so...so shy.

She lifted the suitcase out of the slush as she crossed the last street.

Walking through a little snow wasn’t hard for a girl born and raised in the Texas Panhandle. No, sir, a little snow and ice didn’t slow her down at all. She walked the four blocks from the coffee shop to her next pet-sitting job, pulling her handy-dandy suitcase. Barely any cars passed by. She’d taken the long way around to avoid the park just in case the detective was still nearby. From her view at the diner, it had appeared empty with the exception of one car and the local kids on their bikes.

Dallas with a layer of snow was a lot different than Amarillo in the same condition. Back home on a Saturday morning all the kids would have been on that hilltop, sliding until their fingers were frozen from grabbing the edge of their plastic or even cardboard sled. She couldn’t let herself think of home.

Thinking of the people she’d hurt by running away wouldn’t help her get home any sooner. At first, she hadn’t contacted her parents because she hadn’t wanted anyone in danger from the men working with Griffin. She soon realized being dead made getting around much easier. Law enforcement wasn’t searching for her.

Even if the police weren’t looking, it didn’t mean she could see the handsome detective. That would be thumbing her nose at the good fortune she’d had for the past six months. Sooner or later her luck would run out.

Each day she hoped her family would forgive her when she finally proved her innocence and could go home again. There were three more names to check out and then she’d have to turn herself in to the police. Or use the stolen money to hire a detective to clear her name.

She couldn’t do that. The money was evidence. If she’d used it, she could have gone anywhere, hired that dang detective months ago, slept in a nice hotel instead of those shelters the first week. Other than the three hundred dollars she’d been forced to use, over ninety thousand dollars—in very large bills—was now hidden in the liner of her toiletry bag. She’d only grabbed one bundle and hidden the rest with her uncle, who’d helped her leave Amarillo.

Sabrina peeled off her gloves and found her keys in her jacket pocket. She pushed the handle of the suitcase down. The huge monster was wearing out along the bottom faster than the first one she’d bought secondhand. Obtaining another needed to be added to her list of things to get done soon.

Think about that in two weeks. Maybe living out of a suitcase won’t be necessary then.

Stomping her wet tennis shoes on the welcome mat, she wished again she had her favorite snow boots. She tried to get as much snow off them as possible before entering Brenda Ellen’s immaculate domain and just pulled them off instead, along with her wet socks. She turned her key in the kitchen door, dropping the set into her pocket.

Backing inside, she lifted her case over the threshold, bracing for Dallas’s welcome. The big, rambunctious pup could knock her down when she caught her off guard.

No Dallas.

She whistled while shrugging out of her coat and dropping it along with her shoes on top of the suitcase. She clapped. Still no sound of nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

“Dallas,” she called. “Mrs. Richardson? Brenda Ellen?”

Had her trip been delayed again because of the snow? Dirty dishes sat on the counter and stove. Weird, because Brenda Ellen Richardson practically ate over the sink when she bothered to eat at home. The loaf of bread was open. Grease in a frying pan where eggs had been cooked. Blood near a block of cheese on the counter.

“Oh, God.”

Was that Brenda Ellen’s blood? Or had someone else made themselves at home?

Brenda Ellen didn’t eat eggs and never fried anything. Had they found her? No! No! No! Don’t panic. Maybe Brenda Ellen had forgotten to text her that the flight had been delayed. Maybe she’d had company overnight. That potential scene was embarrassing but held much less panic.

But where was Dallas? Even if she was locked out of Brenda Ellen’s bedroom, she’d be greeting any visitor at the door.

Something was wrong. Brenda Ellen was a businesswoman and wouldn’t have forgotten to cancel her dog sitter. Should she leave? Yes, turn and run this minute! Grabbing the suitcase and running down the sidewalk was the safest thing to do.

And then what? She could go...where?

If someone was here, they’d heard her come inside, heard her whistle for Dallas. They’d follow her down the street. What if they were waiting for her to search the house? What if Brenda Ellen was tied up or...or...worse?

I’m so tired of being afraid, she said to herself.

It was time to stop being afraid and confront the fear. Take action. Do something proactive and not just run. Dial 911 and then leave.

Her cell was packed. Fortunately, or it would have been in plain sight for Detective Jake Craig. Then get to the landline in the living room, and get help for Brenda Ellen, then leave. That was a plan. She’d taken self-defense classes. She could get to the phone on Brenda Ellen’s desk.

As quietly as possible, she rolled open the drawer that contained the meat mallet. The knives were tempting, but much bigger than the scalpel she’d stabbed Griffin with.

Attempting to get to Brenda Ellen’s phone was risky. But she couldn’t leave without trying, without knowing if her employer needed help. If Brenda Ellen was in trouble, it was Sabrina’s fault and she had to do whatever she could.

Mallet in hand, she knelt at the doorway, trying to see if anyone waited in the living area. Surely, if anyone were there, they would have already come to see who had whistled and clapped. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop shaking or thinking about the different possibilities. Overreacting had become the new normal for her.

“There’s nothing there.” Sabrina stood and shook the tension from her arms but kept the mallet in her hands.

She rounded the corner, prepared to whack any intruder or at least throw the mallet at their head. Nothing. The pillows were out of place, the cushions were crooked and the glass top on the coffee table was shattered.

It might look like an accident had happened, but she knew Brenda Ellen. The woman had given her a five-minute lecture when she hadn’t vacuumed one morning.

She froze. Had that been wood creaking? Barely a sound from the carpeted stairs, but she recognized it. Being in the house alone with Dallas, she’d heard it many nights as the pup had gone downstairs to bark and howl. She swallowed hard, the simple silent sound reverberating in her head like a shout. She held her breath.

Was it the man from the clinic? The one who looked like he enjoyed killing? His horrible smile haunted her nightmares where she was endlessly being chased.

Whoever was behind her on the stairs knew she was in the house. She couldn’t make it across the room to the phone. She couldn’t unbolt the front door without her keys, which were in the pocket of her coat. Out the kitchen door was her only choice.

So she ran. She hated turning her back, afraid the crazy-smile guy would shoot her between the shoulders. Unlike her dreams, where she ran all night, just out of his reach.

He heard her. She could hear his heavy, fast-paced steps. The lamp from the sofa table toppled to the floor behind her as she skidded around the corner of the kitchen.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

She slid to a stop, yanked the door open as far as her suitcase allowed and jumped the two steps to the driveway.

“Hi, Bree, looking for Dallas?”

It took a couple of seconds to shove her heart from her throat to her chest again. It was just a neighborhood kid she’d met plenty of times while walking the dogs. “Get out of here, Joey.”

“It’s okay. This cop found her at the lake. I guess she got out after Mrs. Richardson left.”

“Cop? Where?” She grabbed his bike handles and pulled. “Come on, Joey. I said to get going.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, dragging his feet through the drifting snow.

The door swung open. She caught a glimpse of a barrel, a man in a mask. “Get down!”

Sabrina jerked the handle bars sideways, knocking Joey to the ground and jumping on top of him. A beige blur pulled her sweater and shoved her facedown into the snow next to the street.

“Hold it,” a deep voice boomed from above her.

“He’s...he’s in the house with a gun,” she explained, spitting the snow from her mouth.

“You okay, kid?” the voice asked. Nothing like the voice from the clinic. The tones floating to her ears were deep and rich with a natural Texas twang she recognized.

Jake Craig.

She watched Joey’s head bob up and down and then an excited gleam dart into his eyes at the thought of danger. Give it up. It ain’t anything like you think it might be, kid.

“Stay here,” the voice commanded as he ran toward the door.

They’d do no such thing.

She was getting Joey as far away from the house as possible. “Get behind that car,” she told Joey, who seemed mesmerized.

“But he said—”

“I don’t care. Get up and move.”

Faster than she thought possible, they were sitting with their backs against the tires. She expected gunfire to explode around them at any moment. The more seconds that ticked by, the easier she breathed, and the more she realized she needed to sneak away before the cop returned.

Her feet were stinging from the cold. Could she get somewhere safe without any shoes?

Scratching against glass. She heard a familiar bark and whine. Dallas.

The pup was in good hands. The cop would take care of everything. She could leave without him ever really seeing her face. She shivered from the cold, wiping melting snow from her skin. She could get another used coat when she picked up a new suitcase.

Oh, no! The money!

Whether it was her exasperated cry of utter disappointment or her slow recovery from having been scared to death, Joey responded with an awkward pat on her shoulder.

“Was there really someone inside with a gun?” the teen asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “Was she, like, being robbed or something?”

He started to stand and she tugged him back to her side.

“How did Dallas end up with a policeman? What’s going on?”

“See, we was, like, going down to do some stunts in the empty lot and instead there was a lot of cop cars. They hauled somebody off in, like, a real body bag and everything. Then we notice this guy and he had Dallas. So I went over and asked him why.”

During the explanation, her heart ventured into another part of her body again. “Do you know who died?”

Dallas barked, pawing at the door.

“You’re Mrs. Richardson?” the detective asked, coming around the end of his car. “Is this your dog?”

“Nope, this is Bree. She’s the dog sitter,” Joey answered.

Jake had a strange look on his face. He listened intently the entire time and never took his eyes off her. Sabrina knew he was tall. He’d towered over her at the diner, but from a sitting position on the ground, he was frighteningly tall. It didn’t help that his wary approach seemed ominous. She knew he was legit and not a part of the higher-ups, but she couldn’t stop shaking.

“Can I go now?” Joey asked, touching her hand.

She hadn’t known she still held the teen’s arm. She released him and the cop came closer. He didn’t slide around on the quickly defrosting ice. But his clothes looked like he’d already taken a couple of bad spills. She’d seen them in detail at the diner.

“Thanks for the directions, kid.”

“I gotta go tell everybody what happened,” Joey said. He was down the hill and nearly around the corner by the time she turned to face Jake.

Jake? Detective Craig! The same detective who does not need your phone number, she realized. Oh, my gosh. She was even rambling nervously in her thoughts.

“Hold on a minute, sweetheart.”

“What?”

He reached past her and stuck his arm inside the car, then swung the door open and Dallas leaped out. The pup joined her, crowding her face with a cold nose. She automatically began running her fingers across the pup’s sides. While her chin was being licked, Bree shifted her gaze from the ground, connecting with the detective’s curious observation.

The images of a gun, body bags, jail... They all circled her head, making it swim. Brenda Ellen would have been walking Dallas last night. She felt desperately ill and dropped her face into the black fur.

“You didn’t catch him?” she asked.

“I didn’t find anyone, no.”

“Is she...? Is that why you were bringing Dallas home?” Oh, my gosh, she’s dead. Sabrina could tell she was right by the detective’s sympathetic sigh and awkwardness.

“I need to ask you a few questions, Miss Bowman.” He extended his hand to help her stand.

Sabrina had no choice. Because of her, Brenda Ellen had died. Perhaps she should be arrested and leave the investigating to professionals. She placed her cold fingers within his warm grip and stood. She didn’t want to go to jail. “I’m Bree.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

He kept hold of her hand, steadying her. Gone was the shyness, the awkward bit of flirtation from the diner. They stood there for several seconds until Dallas whimpered and pawed at her legs.

“Maybe we should go inside?” he asked.

“Can we? After that guy was there? I mean, don’t you need fingerprints or something? He killed Brenda Ellen.”

“Did you actually see someone?” He shoved into her hand some silver material that he’d used for a leash, then tugged her to the sidewalk, protectively pushing her a couple of feet behind a giant sycamore. She winced as the snow covered her feet.

“He pointed a gun at Joey out the door. The kitchen’s a wreck and you said someone killed her.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No.”

“But you found a body and Dallas was at the lake. There’s eggs and grease and a mess.” She wasn’t making sense and, from his curious expression, could tell he was confused.

“Did you actually see someone in the house?”

“Yes. He chased me outside and was going to shoot us, but then you got here.”

“What makes you think that? What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. He had a mask and a gun. I saw the gun.” Her hands shook. She hadn’t been this frightened since stabbing Griffin with a scalpel. “She never, ever eats fried food.”

“Ma’am, I’m having a hard time following. You aren’t making much sense. I didn’t find anyone inside, but I can check it out if you want to wait in the car.”

* * *

“HE KILLED HER, didn’t he?”

Bree Bowman was losing it and sort of melted onto the sidewalk along with the snow from the night before. He didn’t believe she’d actually fainted but it was close. Jake did the only thing he knew how to do...

He grabbed the leash and lifted Bree. She was a tiny thing, fitting easily into his arms. She was crying hard, and was half-frozen from being outside without a coat or shoes. Her tiny feet were a bluish color, waving in the air. His only option was the house. Crime scene or not.

The door banged half open again. He took a second to look this time at what it hit. He recognized the suitcase from the diner—so she was a house sitter, not only a dog walker. The bottom of the case was still wet, so she hadn’t been there long. She clung to the dog leash and Dallas pulled them a couple of steps forward. Jake whacked his hip on a drawer.

“I’m so sorry. I needed the meat mallet in case someone attacked.”

“Drop the leash, Bree.”

“I can’t.” She locked her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer. “She’ll run through the house, maybe destroy evidence. She’s certain to get into things and someone was here. They chased me.”

“I’ve got it. You can let go.” She searched his eyes and then let go as instructed.

When he set her on her feet, he kept an arm around her waist to steady her. Dallas continued to tug and beg to be free.

“What makes you think your boss didn’t just have an overnight guest who didn’t clean up after himself and maybe thought you were the intruder?”

“Brenda Ellen was scheduled to leave for Seattle yesterday. Her flight was canceled and she was rescheduled for eleven o’clock this morning,” Bree whispered. “She wouldn’t have left anything out of place. She never does.”

Jake searched the kitchen. It was immaculate compared to his apartment. “Look, even if someone was here earlier, they’re gone now.”

“How do you know they aren’t hiding? Where’d they go? All the doors are still closed. What if someone was with the man with the gun?”

“I checked out the perimeter and backyard.” He needed to follow procedure and begin from the beginning. But instead, he broke protocol and placed his hands on Bree’s shoulders, trying to reassure her it would be okay.

Great, he hadn’t even called the location into his partner or captain yet. If someone had been there, they were long gone. He had little hope of a BOLO. Bree inhaled and opened her mouth to speak again. He covered her parted lips with a finger. Her warm breath escaped, but she didn’t utter a sound.

“I’m going to call for backup. You’re going to stay here with Dallas. Try to keep her quiet. Nod if you understand?”

She barely moved. He wanted to dab her wet lashes and give her a long hug. Why? Maybe it was the sympathy he felt for the dog spilling over to this petite, caring woman. Or the way she’d giggled at him in the diner. He didn’t know and squashed the urge.

“One thing first. What did Brenda Ellen Richardson look like?”

“Dark brown hair, about my length, slender, average height.”

“What color were her eyes?”

“Were? She’s...then she is who you found at the lake. They’re brown.”

She described his murder victim. With his luck, he’d be destroying more evidence by searching the house, but he needed to secure it. He pulled his cell from its belt holster. “Wait here.”

Jake called for backup and moved methodically through the rest of the house. Once he was in the front room, he saw a picture of his murder victim, laughing with an older couple. Most likely her parents. And then another of her with a golden retriever. He called his partner, giving him the name and address, and hung up before the old goat could gripe at him for being inside the house.

The furniture was nice, no dust on the shelves, a variety of books in the hallway case. From his point of view, barely anything was out of place. Breakfast dishes, a drop of blood from slicing cheese and a cracked coffee table that could have happened when the dog ran through the house. It didn’t look like there’d been an intruder.

But he entered each room as if an AK-47 was on the opposite side of the door. He couldn’t help it. Old habits were hard to break. His last partner had laughed a couple of times, but it had quickly become a routine for them. Better safe than sorry.

A dress was lying on the bedspread—could have been worn Friday or laid out for today, he couldn’t tell. Two nice suitcases sat in the corner by the master bath, giving credence to Bree’s story.

The house was clear. His backup should be here in a few minutes. Time to get some information from his witness and get himself back on this case. He headed downstairs and Dallas greeted him halfway up. “So you got loose. Overanxious?”

He hooked his hand in the leash and spent a couple of minutes coaxing the pup to go with him.

“I need to ask you a couple of questions now.” He entered the kitchen, but his witness was no longer there. Gone, along with the coat and suitcase.

He’d fallen for her act, hook, line and sinker.

Chapter Four

“Dark hair, amethyst eyes, about five-three or -four. Looks a lot like the victim from the back. Nothing like her up close. Probably about twenty-five.” If Jake went into detail about the heart shape of her face, the petite bone structure or how he’d noticed the way her nose curved at the tip and had five distinct freckles, his partner would think him nuts. Or might believe Jake had let her go deliberately.

As it was, the razing hadn’t ceased since Detective Elton Owens had shown up to continue the investigation. More precisely, the murder investigation that didn’t involve Jake. Owens stood there, checking his notes, treating Jake like a suspect. Or worse, like a naive rookie.

“You say you saw her at the diner this morning? And you didn’t think to mention this when you returned with coffee?”

“Come on, Owens. There was no way to know she was the victim’s house sitter. You’d still be waiting on Missing Persons or the chip information about the dog if I hadn’t followed the kids here.” And Animal Control, if it hadn’t been for the kids. He knew he was acting defensively and was just tired enough not to care.

Owens ignored him and asked the crime scene investigator some questions.

Jake knew he’d been a good police officer over the past year. He’d accepted being the low man on the totem pole in Homicide, accepting the grunt work, not caring how many hours he worked without pay. He didn’t have a life outside of the job and didn’t want one. Working over Christmas had kept him from a face-to-face meeting with his parents, siblings and other relatives.

Being around his family made him uncomfortable. Being grilled by his partner was almost as bad.

His family had never asked if the accusations his ex-wife had made were true, but they’d also never said the words were lies. Maybe they interpreted his embarrassment for being blind to his wife’s indiscretions, somehow making him the guilty party. After a while, it just didn’t matter. It was easier to let sleeping dogs lie and avoid confrontations about his disastrous marriage. He was moving past his first wife and the war.

Thing about it—he was past his ex. And that was the hardest part for his parents to understand. Sad, but whatever had been there in the beginning of his marriage had slipped away after spending months and thousands of miles apart over the past six years.

When the position opened in Dallas—three hours from his hometown in east Texas—he jumped at it. He needed a new start and it was easier that way. A year later and he was working in Homicide. Exactly where he wanted to be.

Now his partner assumed he’d made mistakes instead of decisions. He’d like someone—anyone—to trust his judgment. No one really had since he’d left the corps. Well, he couldn’t actually blame them. He’d let the witness escape. Bree had turned on the waterworks and he’d been suckered in, big-time.

Bamboozled. That’s right, Craig, teased the devil sitting on his shoulder.

Owens removed the picture from the frame. “Definitely our victim. Looks like we need to find her parents to notify. The dog sitter, this Bree woman, you say she seemed more frightened that someone was in the house than that Mrs. Richardson had been murdered.”

“I didn’t say that, Owens. She was visibly upset about both instances.” I think.

“When you get back to the station, you can spend the day looking through mug shots. We’ll be taking a hard look at Richardson’s finances, see if we can find payment to this mysterious dog sitter. Right now, she’s our only lead.” He closed the notebook, returning it to his jacket pocket. “You sure she was a dog sitter?”

“Joey knew her and seemed to trust her.”

“No last name on the kid or any of the other kids?” he asked, but barely paused. “I’ll get a sketch artist to the diner and an officer moving house to house. Shouldn’t be too hard to locate this chick. Oh, and the captain wants to see you when you return.”

“I figured.”

Owens left the house, laughing as he stood on the porch talking to the first responding officer—as luck would have it—the same guy who had told him to set a good example for the kids at the park.

“It’ll get easier, you know,” Shirley, the crime scene analyst, interrupted his self-deprecation.

He stopped himself from asking what she referred to by compressing his lips together. He knew the answer, just didn’t want to have the conversation.

“The ribbing goes away. This is how they treat all the new guys.”

“Find anything?” He’d rather hear about the case—even if he wasn’t officially a part of the investigation.

“It will all be in my report. I’d rather not take wild guesses.”

“Hey, this is Jake Craig, the detective who’s not officially on the case. Can’t you give me the unofficial version? It won’t go any further. Promise.” He flashed her a smile, hoping it did the trick. Blatant flirting never hurt.

“Okay. It looks like she was killed at the park. Only a drop of blood in the kitchen and no real struggle other than in the living room.”

“Any fingerprints? The dog sitter said the victim kept things clean and lived alone.”

“The table does appear to have been shattered today. Very few of the pieces were ground deeply into the carpet. The prints left around the house are fresh and easy to find. We’ll rule out the victim’s easily enough.”

“So it was wiped clean?”

“I don’t think so. I agree with the missing dog sitter. I believe the victim did like things clean and took care of it almost daily.” His confusion must have appeared on his face since Shirley continued. “Look around you. The owner of this house had a black dog and white carpet. Either the dog didn’t live inside, or someone was meticulous about cleaning.”

“Got it. What about the footprints in the backyard?” he asked as the analyst gathered her gear. “Anything there?”

Jake stuck his hands in his pockets. He caught a glimpse of his tattered appearance in the mirror and pushed his shoulders back, standing tall. His mother had taught him he looked defeated when he slouched. He wouldn’t let this situation defeat him.

The marines corrected the high school self-consciousness of being six inches taller than everyone else around him. But his first week out of uniform, faced with a divorce, living with his parents and not having a future had his mother badgering him to stand up straight on more than one occasion.

“With the layer of snow and ice, it’s impossible to gather anything. Let’s just say the little bit of evidence I’ve collected won’t be the strongest lead for solving this homicide.” She slipped into her coat.

“Did you catch what the medical examiner surmised was the cause of death?” Definitely strangulation in his opinion. He’d seen the same bloodred eyes on a marine killed by a local militant.

“This isn’t official, mind you, but the M.E. noted the subconjunctival hemorrhages before they moved the body.” With the last of her winter wear in place, she lifted her cases and flashed him a smile. “In layman terms, she was strangled.”

He followed her to the front door and held the outer one open, lowering his voice. “Sounds premeditated if they made it look like it happened while walking her dog and then came back here to cook themselves breakfast.”

“Came back is right. They estimated her TOD sometime between eight and eleven last night.”

Premeditated and yet the death wasn’t violent like a lovers’ quarrel. The guy had probably strangled her while she was walking the dog.

Heartless? Had they left the pup to freeze or not killed the dog because they liked animals? Premeditation bugged him. It didn’t fit. The murderer seemed to be waiting around for something—or somebody—after the murder. Had the dog sitter taken them by surprise or had they been lying in wait?

Exactly who had she been running from when he drove up and why had she run when he was upstairs?

“Shirley?” He caught up with her on the front walk. “I need a favor.” Jake handed her his business card. “Can you send the results from the fingerprint search to me? Specifically the one you lifted from the kitchen drawer. That’s my cell.”

“Sure, but I thought Owens said—”

“Yeah, the favor is you’re not going to tell him I know.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. So you think we’ll find a match.” Shirley stashed his card in her pocket.

“She was too scared for her knees to work. And there is the fact that she ran without putting on her shoes.” As indicated by two sets of bare footprints that led into the street.

“It would seem so.” Shirley smiled and picked up her case. “I meant to ask, what happened to the dog from this morning?”

“Animal Control showed up this time.” It helped when they were actually called—which he’d done personally. “A kid saw Dallas with me at the park and led me here.”

“That was lucky, then. I hope someone claims her. Big, black dogs don’t get adopted so easily, especially ones with a blind eye. See ya.” She waved and got into her car.

Jake sat in his car. “Blind eye? I couldn’t tell she was half-blind. Dallas is a good pup. Somebody will adopt her.”

The dog deserved someone with a huge yard. Or someone close to a park where she could be trained to catch flying disks or retrieve tennis balls. From the little he’d seen of her interaction with Bree, Dallas had a huge heart. And the loyalty she’d displayed staying with her owner and fighting not to leave her side after she’d been freed, sort of reminded him of his marine brothers.

Would a pup like that get adopted? Or was it amazing she’d been adopted the first time. He’d seen genuine relief on his mystery woman’s face when he’d walked up with Dallas. Call it a hunch or good detective work, but he’d bet his next paycheck that Bree wouldn’t let Dallas stay overnight in the city pound.

Owens and the rest of the responders were out front, walking toward their vehicles. If he was right about the dog sitter showing up to rescue Dallas, he’d obtain the answers to many of his questions. Official case or not, it wouldn’t stop him from finding the murderer.

He’d stared into Brenda Ellen Richardson’s death gaze. He was connected to her. He’d also held a half-frozen dog walker in his arms and hoped somehow he was wrong about why she’d been so dang frightened. And especially wrong about why she’d run away.

After a series of calls, Jake finally got the information he needed and the pound location. He circled through a hamburger joint and dealt with his stomach’s insistence to be fed. Two burgers and twenty minutes later, he parked in the far corner of the parking lot at the Dallas Animal Services and waited.

Late on a Saturday afternoon, there weren’t too many people around. Most of the visitors had a kid or two with them. When a woman driving a really nice ride pulled to a stop, Jake’s attention perked up.

Sure enough, less than fifteen minutes later, she had Dallas on a leash and was loading her into the backseat. Jake didn’t have to tail the woman closely. They were following the path they’d both taken to get there...straight back to White Rock Lake.

And straight back to Bree.

Chapter Five

“Who’s that hunky man? Nice car, but he looks like he wallowed in the snow a couple of times today.” Julie brazenly ogled the detective while handing Dallas’s leash to Sabrina.

The detective from Brenda Ellen’s house? Here? She couldn’t turn to look. Maybe he hadn’t seen her.

Strong hands landed on her shoulders and long fingers locked her in place inches from his chest. “There you are, Bree. Sorry, I’m a little early.”

Oh, shoot. What should she do?

Sabrina hid her surprise as the detective came to her side, tugged her hand from her pocket and locked his fingers with hers. His fingers were warm and his grip secure. His nearness turned her inner thermostat up several degrees. At least he hadn’t shoved her face into the picnic table and slapped cuffs on her.

Detective Craig was being gracious and sparing her the embarrassment of an arrest in front of a friend and employer. Julie was just an employer. The only one home who could go pick up Dallas from the pound. And only after Bree had agreed to look after her dogs without charge once.

“Oh, hi, I’m Julie Butler,” she bubbled. “No wonder you didn’t mind the cold, Bree. Having such a nice guy to warm you back up.”

“Sorry to rush you two, but we should probably get going,” he said. “Got to run by my place for some different duds.”

Sabrina caught a glimpse of his free hand pointing at his mud-stained pants.

“You two are going out. That’s good. Bree shouldn’t be alone tonight. Did she tell you Brenda Ellen was murdered?”

“Yes, I was the first person she spoke to about it.” He patted her hand. “You’re like ice, Bree. We need to get you in front of the car heater.”

She’d let him know just how inappropriate he was behaving. Later. Right now, she was grateful not to say another word.

“I should get her home.” He kept her hand firmly sealed in his, anchoring her in place.

“Terrible about Brenda Ellen. I’ll never feel safe out here again. But Bree, dear, you promised to give me all the details if I picked up Dallas for you.” Julie emphasized her fright by dropping her hand across her rather large breasts.

“Another time,” the detective said.

“We’ll see you in two weeks to sit with the dogs. We’re gone four nights and you can bring Dallas with you to the house. If you need to, that is.”

“Thanks for picking her up, Julie.”

“Ta-ta for now.”

Another of her house-sitting jobs walked away. Sabrina acknowledged it would probably be the last time she saw her. If she got away from the police, she’d have to leave all the dogs she worked with.

“Should I thank you, Detective? Or demand a lawyer? Very clever of you to track me down through Dallas. How did you know I wouldn’t leave her in the pound?”

“I have to admit I was stuck the first couple of hours, thinking more about what would make you run from the police. But the forensics analyst said black dogs were less likely to be adopted. Then she mentioned the pup was blind in one eye—totally missed that. She seems normal enough.”

“She is,” she said, defending the puppy.

“I didn’t think you’d risk an adoption. Care to answer a couple of questions before we call a lawyer?”

“Well, as you can see, I’m extremely busy right now.” She pointed to Dallas, who was doing her best to get off the cold ground. Her scrambling included jumping and slapping her large front paws against Bree’s chest.

“Busy leaving?” He pointed to the suitcase just inside a row of bushes.

“Oh, I haven’t been home yet. I needed to wait close by for Julie.”

“And is home close, since you seem to be walking everywhere? Wait, you ran away five hours ago and haven’t made it home and couldn’t wait it out at the diner. They put an officer on the place. So you really are cold. I’ll be glad to give you a lift so we can chat where it’s warm or we could just head directly to see my captain.”

“I’m sure we can clear this up right here.” She sat at the picnic table, where she’d been waiting since Julie texted.

“I need to see your ID.” He extended a hand from the end of the table.

She felt like Jack facing the giant in the fairy tale. “I, um, I lost it about three weeks ago.”

“No driver’s license? Convenient. Can you remember the number? Or let’s try a simple question. One not too taxing on your elusive memory. What’s your real name?” He crossed his arms, acting as if he didn’t expect a real answer. “Think you can manage that?”

She had barely met him this morning, but she could already tell that the slight curve of the left side of his mouth meant trouble.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you want, but until I find out who you are—” he paused, digging into his back pocket and then swinging a pair of handcuffs on the tips of two fingers “—you’re under arrest.”

“For what?” Of course she knew, suspicion of murder, fleeing a crime scene, impeding an investigation. They’d pile on the charges and detain her. Then they’d find out that everyone she cared about in Amarillo thought she was dead. As soon as the police discovered she wasn’t, she’d be charged with the murder of whoever was in the clinic fire. And she shouldn’t forget about the embezzling and fraud charges that would be sure to follow.

Yes, she knew the answer to her own question...even if this cute detective didn’t.

“Fleeing the scene will get us started. I’m certain you’re wanted for something, since you’re pretty good at avoiding your real name.” He gestured for her to hold out her hands to be cuffed. “You know we’re going to find out from the prints. Right?”

She held both her hands in front of her, hoping they’d be loosely snapped over her thick gloves. No such luck. He pulled the black fur down, his thumb caressing her pulse.

Did he feel her heart racing?

He took the leash, put a hand on her head and guided her into the backseat of his car. He pulled the shoulder strap and buckled her inside, then gave Dallas a kiss-kiss sound and a gentle tug on her leash. The big, smiling Lab jumped across her, did a couple of turns and settled her head in Bree’s lap.

“I hate to ask, but could you get my suitcase? It’s on the other side of the bushes.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

The door shut, the locks clicked and she was alone while the detective retrieved her stuff. As soon as his back was turned, she tried the door.

Childproof locks. She was stuck. Caught. Going to jail. She stroked Dallas’s soft fur, loving the comforting companionship. Somehow she just didn’t feel alone when the dog was around.

“Well, girl, I’m not certain what’s going to happen now. It breaks my heart to send you back to the pound.”

Dallas answered with a sweet sound just like she understood and was commiserating. Brenda Ellen had adopted Dallas four months ago and, honestly, probably never should have. The businesswoman traveled almost twice a month and was gone at least a week for each trip. “I’ve spent more time with you than she did. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Sabrina dropped her cheek to the top of Dallas’s head. She was such a loving dog. The trunk opened and closed. It was time to explain everything to Detective Jake Craig. He was her last hope.

“Any chance you’re as hungry as I am?” she asked when he was inside the car and had adjusted the rearview mirror to see her.

“I grabbed a burger across the street from the pound while following your friend.”

“Oh.”

That new look crossing his face lifted one side of his tightly closed mouth, but it clearly indicated pity. She’d learned to recognize it very quickly, hating each time she’d received it over the past six months. But today, right this very minute, it seemed like a sign that her story may not fall on deaf ears.

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