Kendall’s scream pierced the still night and turned the blood in Coop’s veins to ice.

Coop had already been making his way back down the drive when he’d heard Kendall’s truck coming back to the house. Now his boots grappled for purchase against the soggy leaves on the walkway as he ran toward Kendall.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” By the time he reached her, he was panting as if he’d just run a marathon.

She’d stumbled back from the truck and stood staring at the tailgate with wide, glassy eyes. Raising her arm, she pointed to the truck with her cell phone. She worked her jaw but couldn’t form any words—no coherent words, anyway.

He pried the phone from her stiff fingers, aimed the light at the truck bed and jumped onto the bumper. The phone illuminated a light-colored tarp with something rolled up in it.

“I-it’s a body.”

Single Father Sheriff
Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

To my sister Janice, my cheerleader

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Let go of my sister.” The little girl with the dark pigtails scrunched up her face and stomped on the masked stranger’s foot.

He reached out one hand and squeezed her shoulder, but she twisted out of his grasp and renewed her assault on him, pummeling his thigh with her tiny fists.

The monster growled and swatted at the little girl, knocking her to the floor. “You’re too much damned trouble.”

As he backed up toward the door, carrying her sleeping twin over one shoulder, the girl lunged at his legs. “Put her down!”

With his free hand, the stranger clamped down on the top of her head, digging his fingers into her scalp, holding her at bay. As he gave one last push, he yanked off the pink ribbon tied around one of her pigtails and left her sprawled on the floor.

She scrambled to her knees, rubbing the back of her head. Whatever happened, she couldn’t let the man take Kayla out that door. She crawled toward his legs once more.

“Your parents are gonna wish I took you instead of this one.” Then he kicked her in the face and everything went black.

* * *

KENDALL RAN A HAND across her jaw as she dropped to her knees in front of the door. “I’m sorry, Kayla. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Common sense and her therapist’s assertion that a five-year-old couldn’t have done much against a full-grown man intent on kidnapping her twin were no match for twenty-five years of guilt.

Kendall leaned forward, touching her forehead to the hardwood floor. She’d relegated the trauma of that event to her past, stuffed it down, shoved it into the dark corner where it belonged. Now someone in Timberline was bringing it all back and that sheriff expected her to help in the investigation of a new set of kidnappings.

If she could help, she would’ve done something twenty-five years ago to bring her sister home. Her heart broke for the two families torn apart by the same torment that destroyed her own family but she couldn’t save them, and that sheriff would have to look elsewhere for help solving the crimes.

She’d come back to Timberline to sell her aunt’s house—nothing more, nothing less. It just so happened that her aunt’s house was the same house where she’d spent many days as a child, the same house from which someone abducted her twin sister and had knocked her out cold.

Raising her head, she zeroed in on the front door. She could picture it all again—the stranger with the ski mask, her sleeping sister thrown over one of his shoulders. Much of what followed had been a blur of hysterical parents, soft-spoken police officers, sleepless nights and bad dreams.

She still had the bad dreams.

Someone knocked on the door, and her muscles tensed as she wedged her fingers against the wood floor like a runner ready to shoot out of the blocks.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s Wyatt, Wyatt Carson.”

Her thundering heartbeat slowed only a fraction when she heard Wyatt’s voice. If she was looking for someone to bring her out of the throes of these unpleasant memories, it wasn’t Wyatt.

Clearing her throat, she lumbered to her feet. “Hold on, Wyatt.”

She brushed the dust from her knees and pushed the hair back from her face. Squaring her shoulders, she pasted on a smile. Then she swung open the door to greet the last man she wanted to see right now.

“Hey, Wyatt. How’d you know I was back?”

“Kendall.” He swooped in for a hug, engulfing her in flannel and the tingly scent of pine. “You know Timberline. Word travels fast.”

“Supersonic.” She mumbled her words into his shoulder since he still held her fast. She stiffened, arching her back, and he got the hint.

When he released her, she shoved her hands in her pockets and smiled up at him. “I just arrived yesterday and took one trip to the grocery store.”

He snapped his fingers. “That must’ve been it. I heard you were back when I was getting coffee at Common Grounds this morning.”

“Come on in.” She stepped back from the door. “How have you been? Still the town’s best plumber?”

“One of the town’s only plumbers.” He puffed up his chest anyway.

“Do you want something to drink?” She held her breath, hoping he’d say no.

“Sure, a can of pop if you have it.”

“I do.” She moved past him to go into the kitchen. She ducked into the refrigerator and grabbed a can of soda. “Do you want a glass?”

She cocked her head, waiting for an answer from the other room. “Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

She jumped, the wet can slipping from her hand and bouncing on the linoleum floor. Wyatt moved silently for a big man.

“Sorry.” He pushed off of the doorjamb and crowded into the small kitchen space.

Before she could recover her breath, he crouched down and snagged the can. “Do you have another? I don’t want to spray the kitchen with pop.”

She tugged on the fridge door and swept another can from the shelf.

He exchanged cans with her. “You’re jumpy. Is it this house?”

Her gaze met his dark brown eyes, luminous in the pasty pallor of his face—a sure sign of a Timberline native.

Ducking back into the fridge, she shoved the dented can toward the back of the shelf.

“You just startled me, Wyatt. I’m not reliving any memories.” She waved her arm around the kitchen to deflect attention from her lie. “This is just a house, not a living, breathing entity.”

“I’m surprised you’d have that outlook, Kendall.” He snapped the tab on his can of soda and slurped the fizzy liquid from the rim. “I mean, since you’re a psychiatrist.”

“I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.”

“Whatever. Don’t you dig into people’s memories? Pick their brains? Find out what makes them tick?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Wyatt. You get out of therapy what you put into it. My clients pick their own brains. I’m just there to facilitate.”

“Wish plumbing worked that way.” He slapped the thigh of his denims and took another gulp of his soda. “Seriously, if you ever want to talk about what happened twenty-five years ago, I’m your man.”

“I think we’ve talked it all out by now, don’t you?”

“But you and me—” he wagged his finger back and forth between them “—never really talked about it—not when we were kids right after it happened and not as adults.”

Folding her arms, she leaned against the kitchen counter. “Do you need to talk about it? Have you ever seen a therapist?”

He held up his hands, his callous palms facing her. “I’m not asking for a freebie or anything, Kendall.”

A warm flush invaded her cheeks, and she swiped a damp sponge across the countertop. “I didn’t think you were, but if you’re interested in seeing someone I can do a little research and find a good therapist in the area for you.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just thought...” He shrugged his shoulders. “You know, you and me, since we both went through the same thing. You lost your sister and I lost my brother to the same kidnapper. We just never really discussed our feelings with each other.”

Years ago she’d vomited up these feelings to her own therapist until she’d emptied her gut, and she had no intention of dredging them up again with Wyatt Carson...or with anyone.

“It happened. I was sad, and we all moved on.” She brushed her fingertips along the soft flannel of his shirtsleeve. “If you need—if you want more closure, my offer stands. I can vet some therapists in the area for you.”

He downed the rest of his drink and crushed the can in his hand. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on, Kendall.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Two children have been kidnapped.”

“I moved on, too.” He toyed with the tab on his can until he twisted it off. “I had it all packed away—until this. I just figured that’s why you came back.”

“N-no. Aunt Cass left this house to me when she passed, and I’m here to settle her things and sell the property.”

“Aunt Cass passed away ten months ago.”

“You know, probate, legal stuff.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “All that had to get sorted out, and I had a few work obligations to handle first.”

“If you say so.” He held up the mangled can. “Trash?”

“Recycle bin in here.” She tapped the cupboard under the sink with her toe.

He tossed the can into the plastic bin and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know, you might not be able to slip in and out of Timberline so easy.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s a new sheriff in town—literally, or at least new to you. He’s actually been here about five years.” Wyatt tapped the side of his head. “He’s been picking my brain, and I’m pretty sure he’s gonna want to pick yours, too, once he knows you’re back.”

Her heart flip-flopped. “I’d heard that from someone else—that he wanted to talk to me.”

“Timberline’s still a small town, even with Evergreen Software going in. Coop must’ve heard you were back already.”

“Coop?”

“Sheriff Cooper Sloane. He moved here about five years ago.”

“Yeah, you said that. Isn’t the FBI involved?”

“As far as I heard they were. I think they set up operations just outside of Timberline. There are a couple of agents out here poking around, setting up taps on the families’ phones, waiting for ransom instructions.”

Kendall pressed her spine against the counter, trying to stop the shiver snaking up her back. There had been no ransom demands twenty-five years ago for the Timberline Trio—the three children who’d been kidnapped. Would there be any now?

“Anything?”

“Not yet and it’s already been almost three weeks.” Wyatt scratched his chin. “That’s one of the reasons Coop’s so interested in talking to all the players from the past. He sees some similarities in the cases, but the FBI agents aren’t all that interested in what happened twenty-five years ago.”

“Well, I’m not going to be much help.” She pushed off the counter. “But I do need to get back to work if I hope to get this place on the market.”

“Don’t worry. I’m outta here.” Wyatt exited the small kitchen and stood in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips, surveying the room as if he could see the ghosts that still lingered. “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

“I appreciate that, Wyatt.” She took two steps into the room and gave the big man a hug, assuaging the pangs of guilt she had over her uncharitable thoughts about him. Had he sensed her reluctance to talk to him? She squeezed harder.

“Take care, Wyatt. Maybe we’ll catch up a little more over lunch while I’m here.”

“I’d like that.” He broke their clinch. “Now I’d better head over to the police station.”

As much practice as she’d had schooling her face into a bland facade for her clients, she must’ve revealed her uneasiness to Wyatt.

His dark eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “This is just a plumbing job, not an interrogation.”

“Honestly, Wyatt, what you plan to do is your business.” She smoothed her hands over her face. “I’d rather leave it in the past.”

“I hear ya.” He saluted. “Let’s have that lunch real soon.”

She closed the door behind him and touched her forehead to the doorjamb. Wyatt didn’t even have to be an amateur psychologist to figure out she was protesting way too much.

She’d need a supersize session with her own therapist once she left this rain-soaked place and returned to Phoenix.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed her hands together and grabbed an empty box. She stationed herself in front of the cabinet shelf that sported a stack of newspapers.

She dusted each item in her aunt’s collection before wrapping it in a scrap of newspaper and placing it in the box. She’d have an estate sale first, maybe sell some of the stuff online and then pack up the rest and take it home with her. She studied a mermaid carved from teak, running her fingertip along the smooth flip of hair. Her nose tingled and she swiped the back of her hand across it.

Kayla had loved playing mermaids, and Kendall had humored her twin by playing with her even though she’d have rather been catching frogs at the river or riding her bike along the dirt paths crisscrossing the forest.

She’d been the tomboy, the tough twin—the twin who’d survived.

She rolled the mermaid into an ad for discount prescription drugs and tucked it into the box at her feet. Thirty minutes later, she sprayed some furniture polish on a rag and swiped it across the empty shelves of the cabinet. One down, two to go.

The round metal handle on the drawer clinked and Kendall groaned. Most likely, Aunt Cass had more stuff crammed into the drawer.

She curled her fingers around the handle and tugged it open. She blew out a breath—papers, not figurines.

Grabbing a handful, she held the papers up to the light. Bills and receipts. Probably of no use to anyone now.

She ducked and grabbed the plastic garbage bag, already half-full of junk she’d pulled from her aunt’s desk. She dropped the papers in the bag, without even looking at them, and reached for another batch.

A flash of color amid all the black and white caught her eye, and her fingers scurried to the back of the drawer to retrieve the item. She tugged on a silky piece of material and held it up.

The pink ribbon danced from her fingertips, taunting her. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t breathe.

She crumpled the ribbon in her fist and ran blindly for the door.

Chapter Two

Sheriff Cooper Sloane wheeled his patrol SUV onto the gravel driveway of Cass Teagan’s place, the damp air tamping down any dust or debris that his tires even considered kicking up.

He owed Wyatt Carson for giving him the heads-up about Kendall Rush’s presence at her aunt’s house. The plumber hadn’t even done it on purpose, just let it slip.

He opened his car door and planted one booted foot on the ground where it crunched the gravel. He clapped his hat on his head and adjusted the equipment on his belt.

As he took one step toward the house, the front door crashed open and a woman flew down the steps, her hair streaming behind her, a pair of dark eyes standing out in her pale face.

She ran right toward him, her gaze fixed on something beyond his shoulder, something only she could see.

“Whoa, whoa.” He spread his arms as she barreled into him, staggered back and caught her around the waist so she wouldn’t take both of them down.

Her heart thundered against his chest, and her mouth dropped open as one hand clawed at the sleeve of his jacket.

“Ma’am. Ma’am. What’s the matter?”

She arched back, and her eyes finally focused on his face, tracked up to his hat and dropped to his badge. She blinked.

“Are you all right?” Her body slumped in his arms, and he placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

Then she squared those shoulders, and shoved one hand in the pocket of her jeans. A smile trembled on her lips. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” He gave her a final squeeze before releasing her. “What happened in the house to send you out here like a bat outta hell?”

She wedged two trembling fingers against her temple and released a shaky laugh. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Raising one eyebrow, he cocked his head. “Try me.”

“S-spider.” She waved one arm behind her, the other hand still firmly tucked into her front pocket. “I have an irrational fear of spiders. I know it’s ridiculous, but I guess that’s why it’s irrational. A big, brown one crawled across my hand. Freaked me out. I should’ve just killed the sucker. Now I don’t know where he is. He could be anywhere in there.”

As the words tumbled from her lying lips, he narrowed his eyes.

She trailed off and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I told you it was silly.”

“We all have our phobias.” He lifted one shoulder, and then extended his arms. “After that introduction, we should probably backtrack. I’m Sheriff Sloane.”

“Kendall Rush, Sheriff. Nice to meet you. I’m Cass Teagan’s niece, and I’m here to sell her place.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” He gestured toward the front door, which yawned open behind the screen door that had banged back into place after Kendall’s flight from the...spider. “Can I talk to you inside?”

“Of course.”

She rubbed her arms as if noticing the chill in the soggy air for the first time.

When she didn’t make a move, he said, “After you.”

She spun on the toes of her sneakers and scuffed her feet toward the steps with as much enthusiasm as someone going to meet her greatest fear—and it had nothing to do with spiders.

He followed her, the sway of her hips in the tight denim making his mouth water—even though she was a liar.

She opened the screen door and turned suddenly. His gaze jumped to her face.

Her eyes widened for a nanosecond. Had she busted him? He didn’t even know if she had a husband waiting on the other side of the threshold. The good citizens of Timberline probably could’ve told him, but that piece of information hadn’t concerned him—before.

Standing against the screen door, she held it wide. “You first.”

“Still afraid that spider’s going to jump out at you?”

Her nostrils flared. “Better you than me.”

Something had her spooked and she hadn’t gotten over it yet.

He patted the weapon on his hip. “I got him covered if he does.”

“Even I’d consider that overkill for a spider.”

He brushed past her into the house, and a warm musky scent seeped into his pores. He had the ridiculous sensation that Kendall Rush was luring him into a trap—like a fly to a spider’s web.

The dusty mustiness of the room closed around him, replacing the seductive smell of musk and even overpowering the pine scent from outside. His nose twitched and he sneezed.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to clean up ten months’ worth of dust in here yet.” She plucked a tissue from a box by the window and waved it at him.

“Why don’t you open a couple of windows?” He scanned the room, cluttered with boxes of varying degrees of emptiness, his gaze zeroing in on a cabinet with an open drawer, papers scattered around it.

“There was a breeze this morning, and I thought opening the window would stir up the dust and make it worse.” She walked backward to the cabinet and leaned against it, shutting the drawer with her hip in the process.

“Hope to trap him in there?”

A quick blush pulsed in her cheeks. “What?”

“The spider.” He pointed to the cabinet she seemed to be trying to block with her slight frame. “It looks like you were going through that drawer when you discovered him.”

The line of her jaw hardened. “I was going through the drawer, but the spider crawled on my hand while I was carrying one of the boxes.”

He looked at the neat row of boxes, not one dropped in haste, and shrugged. If she wanted to continue lying to him about what gave her such a scare that she’d run headlong out of the house and into his arms, he’d leave it to her. He hadn’t minded the introduction at all.

“If I happen to see him or any of his brethren, I’ll introduce him to the bottom of my boot.” He tipped his hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Now, can I ask you a few questions, Ms. Rush?”

“All right, but I can’t help you.”

“That’s a quick judgment when you haven’t even heard the questions yet.” He put his hat on the top of a box filled with books. “Is there someplace else we can talk so I don’t have a sneezing fit?”

“I cleaned up the kitchen pretty thoroughly. Do you want something to drink while we talk?”

“Just water.” He followed her into the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the back of her head this time, although the way her dark hair shimmered down her back was just as alluring as her other assets.

She cranked on the faucet and plucked a glass from an open cupboard. “That’s one thing I miss about living in Timberline, maybe the only thing—the tap water. It’s as good as anything in a bottle.”

“It is.” He took the glass from her and held it up to the light from the kitchen window. He then swirled it like a fine wine and took a sip.

She pulled a chair out from the small kitchen table stationed next to a side door that led to a plain cement patio. She perched on the edge, making it clear that she was ready to get this interview over with before it even started.

She kicked out the chair on the other side of the table. “Have a seat.”

He placed his glass on the table and sank into the chair, stretched his legs to the side and pulled a notepad from his pocket. “You obviously know I’m interested in asking you questions about the kidnapping of your sister.”

She drummed her fingers on the table. “Did Wyatt Carson tell you I was out here?”

“No. I heard you’d arrived yesterday—just local gossip.”

She rolled her eyes, apparently not believing his lie any more than he believed hers. “Okay. Ask away, but you’re asking me about something that happened a long time ago.”

“A traumatic event.”

“Exactly, I’ve squished down a lot of those memories, and I’m not inclined to dredge them up.”

“Even if they can help the Keaton and Douglas families today?”

“I don’t believe they can.” She flattened her hands on the table, her fingers splayed. “You can’t seriously believe the two current kidnappings have anything to do with the Timberline Trio disappearances. What, some kidnapper has been lying dormant for twenty-five years and then up and decides to go another round?”

“I think there are some similarities.” He hunched forward in his chair. “There are cases where a serial killer is active and then the killings just stop, sometimes because the killer goes to prison for some other crime. Then when he’s paroled, he starts killing again.”

“So you think the man who kidnapped my sister is on the loose and picking up where he left off over two decades ago?” She folded her hands in front of herself, and his gaze dropped to her white knuckles.

Before his action even registered in his brain, his hand shot out and he covered her clasped hands with one of his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

“I’d rather you be truthful with me, Sheriff Sloane.”

“Call me Coop. Everyone does.” He slid his hand from hers. “I’d like you to be truthful with me, too, Ms. Rush.”

Her eyes flickered. “Call me Kendall, and I’ll be as truthful as I can. What do you want to ask me?”

So he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her again, he dragged his notebook in front of him and tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the first page. “What do you remember about that night?”

“That’s an open-ended question.”

“Okay. Why were you and your sister spending the night at your aunt’s house instead of your own?”

“If you read the case file, you know the answer to that question.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Tucking her hair behind one ear, she ran her tongue along her lower lip. “I’m trying to make it easy on you and save some time. A lot of that stuff is in the case file. I don’t see the point in rehashing it with me.”

“You’re the therapist. You understand the importance of reliving memories, of telling someone else your version of events. Isn’t that what therapists are supposed to do?” His lip curled despite his best efforts to keep his feelings about therapists on neutral ground.

“You’re trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“I’m trying to see if you have anything to offer that doesn’t come through on a page written twenty-five years ago.” He snorted. “Unless you’re trying to tell me talk therapy doesn’t work. Does it?”

She studied his face, staring into his eyes, her own dark and fathomless. Could she read the disdain he had for therapy? He’d brought up the therapy angle only to make her feel comfortable.

She tapped the table between them with her index finger. “Therapy is supposed to help the subject. You want me to start spilling my guts to help you, not to help myself.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he wished he was questioning Wyatt again and not this complicated woman.

The gesture must’ve elicited her pity because she started talking.

“Kayla and I were at Aunt Cass’s that night because my parents were fighting again. Aunt Cass, my mother’s sister, felt that my parents needed to work out their differences one-on-one and not in front of the kids.”

“The police suspected your father of the kidnapping at first because of the fight.”

“I didn’t realize that at the time, of course, but that assumption was so ridiculous. I’d given a description of the kidnapper, and I would’ve recognized my dad, even in a mask. I suppose the police figured I was too traumatized to give an accurate description or I was protecting my father.”

“What was your description, since the guy had a ski mask on?” He doodled in his notebook because Kendall had been right. All this info was in the case file.

“He was wearing a mask, gloves, and he was taller and heavier than my dad. That I could give them. Oh, and that he had a gravelly voice.”

“He just said a few words, though, right? ‘Get off’ or ‘let go’?”

She shifted her gaze away from him and dropped her lashes. “I’d grabbed on to his leg.”

“Brave girl.”

“It didn’t stop him.”

His eye twitched. Did she feel guilty because she didn’t stop a grown man from kidnapping her twin?

“No surprise there.”

Her dark eyes sparkled and she shrugged her shoulders.

“He took something from you, didn’t he?”

“My twin sister. My innocence. My security. My mother’s sanity. My family. Yeah, he took a lot.”

He wanted to reach for her again and soothe the pain etched on her face, but he tapped his chin with the pencil instead. “Not that it can compare with any of those losses, but he also took a pink ribbon from your hair.”

The color drained from Kendall’s face, and a muscle quivered at the corner of her mouth.

“Do you want some water?” He pushed back from the table. “You look pale.”

“I’m okay.” Her chest rose and fell as she pulled in a long breath and released it. “I’d forgotten about that ribbon. Pink was Kayla’s favorite color. Mine was green. That night Aunt Cass had put our hair in pigtails, and Kayla had insisted on tying pink ribbons in my hair while she tried the green. I was glad he took that ribbon.”

“Why?” He held his breath as Kendall’s eyes took on a faraway look.

“I always thought that when Kayla woke up and found herself with this strange man, she’d feel better seeing the pink ribbon. Now...” She covered her eyes with one hand.

“Now?” He almost whispered the word, his throat tight.

“Now I think that he just killed her, that she never saw the ribbon.”

When her voice broke, he rose from his chair and crouched beside her. He took the hand she had resting on the table and rubbed it between both of his as if she needed warming up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m forcing these memories and thoughts back to the surface.”

A misty smile trembled on her lips. “This is exactly what I put my clients through every day.”

“And it’s supposed to help them. Is it helping you?”

Sniffling, she dabbed the end of her nose with her fingertips. “This is well-traveled territory. It’s not like I haven’t been through all of this before with my own therapist.”

“You see a therapist?” He sat back on his heels.

“All therapists do at the beginning. It’s part of our training, and most of us keep it up because it helps our work.”

“So I must be a poor substitute.” Although he could probably do a better job than half the quacks out there.

She curled her fingers around one of his hands. “She never holds my hand, so you’ve got her beat there.”

He squeezed her fingers and released them as he backed up to his own seat. “Did your therapy ever bring up any memories of that night that you hadn’t realized as a child? The man’s accent? Someone he reminded you of?”

“Nothing like that.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I don’t have any repressed memories of the event, if that’s what you’re driving at, Doctor Sloane.”

He stroked his chin, wishing he had a clean shave. “You know, sometimes I feel more like a psychiatrist than a cop when I’m questioning people.”

“So tell me.” She wedged her elbows on the table and sunk her chin into one cupped palm. “What makes you think these two kidnappings are at all related to the Timberline Trio case? Wyatt mentioned you were working on some theory that the FBI didn’t share.”

When Kendall mentioned the FBI, he ground his back teeth together. He’d never met a more arrogant bunch, who seemed more interested in dotting i’s and crossing t’s than doing any real investigative work.

“It’s something I’d rather keep to myself.”

She swiped his glass from the table and jumped up from her chair. As she sauntered toward the sink, she glanced over her shoulder. “You want me to help you, but you won’t share your findings?”

“Can you keep a secret?” He sucked in his bottom lip as he watched her refill his glass with water from the tap. She’d lured him into a comfortable intimacy, making him forget that she’d lied about the spider, but she seemed like someone who could keep secrets because she had plenty of her own.

“Who am I going to tell? I’m only going to be here for a short time anyway. Pack up the house, list it, outta here.”

He scooted back his chair and stood up, leaning his hip against the table. “When this guy snatched the two children on separate occasions, he left something behind.”

“What?” She placed the glass on the counter and wiped her fingers on the dish towel hanging over the oven’s handle.

“When he took the boy, he left a plastic dinosaur. When he took the girl, he left...a pink ribbon.”

Chapter Three

The room tilted and Sheriff Sloane’s handsome face blurred at the edges. The pink hair ribbon that she’d found in the drawer of the cabinet burned a hole in her pocket where she’d stuffed it.

What did this mean? Who had put the ribbon in the drawer? What was the significance of the ribbon left at the scene of the kidnapping?

She swallowed. “A dinosaur?”

“You didn’t know that, did you?” He reached over and took the glass from the counter. “When Stevie Carson was kidnapped, his parents insisted that one of his dinosaurs from his collection was missing. When Harrison Keaton was taken from his bedroom, the same kind of dinosaur as Stevie’s was on the floor.”

“The boy’s parents confirmed the dinosaur didn’t belong to him...to Harrison?” She twisted her fingers in front of her.

He gulped down half of the water. “No. That’s why the FBI isn’t looking at this angle. Harrison’s parents can’t say whether the dinosaur belongs to him or not.”

“And the p-pink ribbon?”

“Same thing. The ribbon was on the little girl’s dresser. Cheri Douglas wears ribbons. She likes pink.”

Kendall eked out a tiny breath. Sounded like a coincidence to her. Lots of little boys played with plastic dinosaurs. Lots of little girls wore ribbons, especially pink ones, in their hair. Sheriff Sloane was grasping at straws, perhaps trying to stay relevant as the FBI moved into Timberline and took over the investigation.

She hooked her thumb in the front pocket of her jeans, the ribbon tickling the end of her finger. “Your theory is a stretch.”

“Could be.” He downed the rest of the water. “I’ll let you get back to work, Kendall. If anything comes to you while you’re still in town, give me a call.”

He plucked a white business card from the front pocket of his khaki shirt and held it out between two fingers.

Taking it from him, she glanced at the embossed letters before shoving it in her back pocket. “I’ll do that.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the ribbon or dinosaur to anyone else—just in case they mean something.”

“My lips are sealed. As a therapist, I’m good at keeping secrets. It’s part of my job description.”

“I figured you were, or I wouldn’t have told you. I think you’re probably very good at keeping secrets.” He jerked his thumb toward the living room. “I’m gonna head on out.”

She followed him into the other room and then scooted past him to open the front door. “It was nice meeting you, Sheriff Sloane—Coop. I sure hope you can help those families, and I wish I could do more.”

“I appreciate your time, Kendall. I’ll probably be seeing you around before you leave.” He stopped on the porch and did a half turn. “Watch out for those...spiders.”

She squinted through the heavy mesh of the screen door at the sheriff as he climbed into his SUV. He beeped his horn once as he backed down the drive.

He hadn’t bought her story about the spider. She did hate the creepy crawlies, but that mad flight from the house would’ve been over-the-top even for her.

Shutting the door, she dug into her pocket, the ribbon twining around her fingers. She pulled it free and dangled it in front of herself.

The soft pink had a slight sheen to it that caught the lamplight. It couldn’t be the same one yanked from her pigtail that night or even its companion. A twenty-five-year-old ribbon would be faded and frayed, not buoyantly dancing from her fingertips.

She dropped it on top of the cabinet and shuffled through the drawer where she’d found it. Nothing else jumped out at her, not even a spider.

Although the ribbon had spooked her, there was probably a good, reasonable explanation for its presence in the drawer—not that she could think of one now.

She grabbed another handful of papers and shoved them into the plastic garbage bag. The sooner she got Aunt Cass’s place ready, the sooner she could get out of this soggy hellhole.

And the sooner she could escape the tragedies of Harrison and Cheri. Damn Sheriff Sloane for naming them and making them human—a boy who liked dinosaurs and a girl who liked pink hair ribbons.

And damn Sheriff Sloane for peeling back her facade so easily. He’d just given her another reason to run back to Phoenix.

A man like that spelled trouble.

* * *

A FEW HOURS LATER, Kendall scrubbed the grit and dust from her skin under the spray of a warm shower—her first since arriving in Timberline because she’d forgotten to contact the gas company until she got here. If she’d known she would be having a meet and greet with the hunky sheriff in town, she would’ve gotten on that sooner.

She’d been dreading the social engagement tonight but after finding that ribbon and answering the sheriff’s prying questions, she was glad for the distraction.

Melissa Rhodes, a friend of hers from high school, had invited her over for a dinner party. Even if she didn’t plan to stay in Timberline longer than she had to, she’d use the time to catch up with some old friends—the few that still remained.

The dinnertime conversation had better not revolve around the current kidnappings or she’d have to cut the evening short.

She stepped into a pair of skinny jeans and pulled some socks over the denim and finished off with knee-high boots. Topped with a sweater, the outfit pretty much defined the casual look for the Washington peninsula.

Her flip-flops and summer skirts called to her, but she hadn’t even packed them for this cold climate.

She braided her long hair over one shoulder, brushed on a little makeup, and then yanked a wool shawl off the hook by the door.

Crossing her arms, she faced the living room and took a deep breath without worrying about choking on the dust for the first time since she’d arrived. After Sheriff Sloane had left, she’d gotten down and dirty with a rag and a can of furniture polish. She even took a vacuum to the drapes at the windows.

Rebecca, her Realtor, would be thrilled with the progress.

After locking up, she slid into her aunt’s old truck and trundled down the drive to the main road. The lush forest hugged the asphalt on either side, the leaves still dripping moisture from the rain shower an hour ago.

The brakes on the truck had seen better days, and Kendall mentally added the sale of the vehicle to her list of to-do items. There had to be some local kids who wanted to practice their auto shop skills on an old beater.

She drove the few miles on slick roads and pulled behind a line of cars already parked on the street in front of Melissa’s house—Melissa and Daryl’s house. Daryl had come to Timberline almost two years ago to take a job with Evergreen Software and had fallen for a local girl. Melissa had never left Timberline since she’d had to take care of her mom who’d had Parkinson’s disease. She’d found her prince charming anyway, in the form of a software engineer.

As she ground the gear shift into Park, Kendall winced. Anyone interested in this truck had better be a good mechanic.

She jumped from the truck and wrapped her shawl around her body as she headed up the pathway to the house. Warm lights shimmered from the windows and smoke puffed from the chimney.

She knocked on the door, tucking the bottle of cabernet under one arm.

A man—presumably Daryl—opened the front door and broke into an immediate smile. “You must be Kendall.”

“I am.” She stuck out her hand. “And you must be Daryl.”

Taking her hand, he pulled her over the threshold. “Honey, Kendall’s here.”

Kendall’s gaze shifted over his shoulder to the living room, and her fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle as several pairs of eyes focused on her. The few friends Melissa had mentioned looked like a full-scale party, and it seemed like she’d just interrupted their conversation.

She rolled her shoulders. She liked parties. She liked conversations—some topics better than others.

“I brought sustenance.” Kendall held up the bottle of wine.

“We can always use more alcohol.” Melissa broke away from a couple and approached Kendall, holding out her hands. “So good to see you, Kendall.”

Kendall hooked her friend in a one-armed hug. “Same. You look great.”

“And you look—” Melissa held her at arm’s length “—tan. I’m so jealous. I’m as pale as ever.”

“What do you expect when the sun shines maybe three times a year, if you’re lucky?” Kendall jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the damp outdoors.

“She’s dissing our lovely, wet, depressing weather.” Melissa held up the bottle to read the label. “But she’s not snobby enough to dis our local wineries.”

As Melissa peeled away from her side to put the wine in the kitchen, Kendall stepped down into the living room. She waved and nodded to a few familiar faces, shrugging off her shawl.

Melissa materialized behind her, a glass of wine in one hand. “This isn’t yours. Is merlot okay?”

“Fine. The other stuff’s for you and Daryl to drink later.”

“Thanks. Let me take your shawl. We keep it warm in here.” Daryl joined them, and Melissa patted her husband’s arm. “Daryl’s a transplant from LA. After two years, he’s still not acclimated.”

“Has my scatterbrained wife introduced you to everyone?” He went around the room, calling out names Kendall forgot two seconds later, until he named everyone there.

Melissa started carrying dishes to the dining room table, and Kendall broke away from the small talk to help her. The other guests’ conversation had seemed guarded, anyway, and she’d bet anything they’d been talking about the kidnappings before her arrival.

Joining Melissa in the kitchen, she tapped a Crock-Pot of bubbling chili sitting on the kitchen counter. “Do you want this on the table, or are you going to leave it here?”

“You can put that on the table next to the grated cheese and diced onions.”

Kendall hoisted the pot by its handles and inhaled the spicy aroma. “Mmm, this has to be your mom’s recipe.”

“It is.” She patted the dining room table. “Right here.”

Kendall placed the Crock-Pot on the tablecloth and removed the lid. “What else?”

“Can you help me scoop some tapenade and salsa and some other goodies into little serving dishes?”

“Absolutely, as long as I can sample while I’m scooping.” Kendall pulled a small bowl toward herself and plopped a spoonful of guacamole in the center. “I like Daryl.”

“Yeah, he’s an uptight programmer—just perfect for his flaky, artsy-fartsy wife.”

“Opposites do attract sometimes. He’s a good balance for you.”

“And what about you?” Melissa pinched her arm. “Any hot guys in hot Phoenix?”

“Lots, but nobody in particular. You single gals here in Timberline hit the jackpot when Evergreen Software came to town, didn’t you?”

“It definitely expanded the dating scene, but a lot of the Evergreen employees came with ready-made families. Came to Washington for clean air, clean living, safety. Or at least it was safe until...” Melissa shoved a tapenade-topped cracker into her mouth.

“I know all about the recent kidnappings, Melissa.” She scraped the rest of the guac into the bowl. “Wyatt Carson dropped by today and so did Sheriff Sloane.”

“Coop already talked to you?”

“He came by the house this afternoon.”

“Talk about your hot property.” Melissa licked her fingers.

“He is definitely hot.” Kendall elbowed her friend in the ribs. “I’d like to see him without all that khaki covering everything up.”

“Ladies? Need any help?”

Kendall’s face burned hotter than the salsa she was dumping into the bowl. She didn’t have to turn around to know who’d crept up behind them. She’d been listening to that low-pitched, smooth voice all afternoon.

“Hey, Coop. Glad you could make it.” Melissa nudged Kendall’s foot with her bare toes. “Have you met Kendall Rush yet?”

Kendall got very busy wiping salsa spills from the counter as she glanced over her shoulder, trying not to zone in on the way the man’s waffle knit shirt stretched across his broad chest. “We met this afternoon. Hello again, Sheriff Sloane.”

“I thought we were on a first-name basis. Call me Coop.”

He entered the kitchen with a few steps and, even though he still must’ve been yards behind her, it felt like he was breathing down her neck.

“Do you need any help in here, Melissa?”

“I do not. We have it all under control.” She tapped Kendall’s arm. “My hands are goopy. Can you grab a cold beer for Coop from the fridge?”

Kendall shuffled over a few steps and yanked open the refrigerator. “What kind would you like?”

“Anything in a bottle, not a can. Surprise me.”

She studied the bottled beer, grateful for the cool air on her warm cheeks. Had he heard their schoolgirl conversation about him? She grabbed a bottle with a blue label and spun around, holding it up. “How’s this?”

He ambled toward her, his eyes, as blue as the label on the bottle, sparkling with humor. He reached for the beer and for an electrifying second his fingertips brushed hers. With his gaze locked on hers, he said, “This’ll do.”

“Well, then.” Melissa grabbed a dish towel and wiped her hands. “Once we get these bowls to the table, dinner will be served.”

Coop reached around Kendall, his warm breath brushing her cheek, and pinched the edge of a serving dish between his fingers. “I’ll get this one.”

Kendall followed him to the dining room while Melissa made wide-eyed faces at her, which she had no idea how to interpret.

“Come and get it,” Melissa called out to the group. “Paper plates and bowls on both sides of the table. Nothing but first class around here.”

Coop stuck to her side as they both filled up plates and bowls with food.

Stopping at the chili, Kendall spooned some into her bowl and held up the ladle to Coop. “Have you tried Melissa’s famous chili yet?”

“Nope. Fill ’er up.”

She dipped the spoon into the dark red mixture and ladled it into his bowl. “Another?”

He nodded.

“This stuff only makes it better.” She sprinkled some grated cheese, chopped onions and diced avocado on the top.

Holding her plate in one hand and a bowl in the other, her fingers curled around her plastic cutlery, Kendall shuffled into the living room and nabbed a spot at a card table Melissa had set out for her guests. As she placed her food on the plastic tablecloth, Coop joined her.

“You left your wineglass in the kitchen. Do you want a refill?”

“I don’t have far to drive, but I’m still driving. I’ll take some iced tea. There are some cans in the fridge.”

“Responsible driver.” He put his fist over his heart. “Just what a man of the law wants to hear.”

By the time Coop returned with their drinks, Melissa and Daryl had claimed the other two places at the table, but they didn’t last long. One or the other and sometimes both kept hopping up to see to their guests’ needs, which left Kendall alone with the sheriff...which suited her just fine.

“Verdict on the chili?” She poked the edge of his empty bowl with her fork.

“Awesome. I’m going to have to ask her for the recipe.”

Blinking, she stole a glance at his ring finger, which she hadn’t bothered to check before. Bare. She hadn’t pegged him as a domestic sort of guy. Maybe he was joking about getting the recipe.

With his face all serious, he took a sip of the beer he’d been nursing all through dinner and started cutting into a piece of barbecued chicken.

“Did you have any more scares cleaning up your aunt’s place after I left?”

Knots tightened in her gut, but she didn’t know if thinking about the pink ribbon had caused the sensation or the fact that Coop had nailed her as a liar.

“If you don’t count the scary dust bunnies, all went smoothly. I’m going to hire a cleaning crew to come in and finish the rest of the house, so I can focus on selling my aunt’s things.”

“You’re not taking any of it back home?”

“Aunt Cass’s decorating style and mine clash.” She slathered a pat of butter on a corn bread muffin and took a bite.

“She had a lot of collections, didn’t she?”

“Mermaids, wood carvings from the old days when Timberline was a lumber town—stuff like that.”

“And you’re just going to sell that stuff? Might be nice to hand down to the kids one day.”

She almost inhaled a few crumbs of corn bread. Kids? She had no intention of having kids. Ever. She coughed into her napkin. “Maybe.”

He reached forward so suddenly, she jerked back, but then he touched his fingertip to the corner of her mouth. “Corn bread.”

To quell the tingling sensation his touch had started on her lips, she pressed the napkin to her mouth again. “Great. Do I have chili in my eyebrows, too?”

Taking her chin between his fingers, he looked in her eyes, his own darkening to a deep blue. “Not that I can see.”

Laughter burst from the crowd sitting on the floor around the oversize, square coffee table, startling them both. He dropped his hand.

“You heard that story, didn’t you, Coop?” A woman from the group called to him.

He eased back into his chair and finished off the last of his beer. “What’s that, Jen?”

“Davis Unger, the little boy in Ms. Maynard’s class, who announced to everyone that his mom and the mailman were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Coop chuckled. “Out of the mouths of babes. Does Mr. Unger know about that relationship?”

“I think it was all a misunderstanding.”

“Riight.”

“Doesn’t your daughter give you the kindergarten report every day?”

His daughter? Kendall sucked in a quick breath, her gaze darting to that finger on his left hand again.

“Steffi’s in her own little world half the time.” He stood up and stretched. “When I ask her about school, she tells me bizarre stories about unicorns and fairies. Should I be concerned?”

Jen and a few of the other women laughed. “She just has an active imagination, and all the kids are crazy about that fairy movie that just came out.”

Coop piled up his trash, and his hand hovered over her mostly empty plate. “Are you done?”

“You don’t need to wait on me.” She pushed back from the table, crumpling her napkin into her plate. “After all that food, I need to move. Let me take your empties, and you can go over there and discuss kindergarten.”

A vertical line flashed between his eyes as he handed his paper plate and bowl to her. “I’ll do that.”

“Another beer?”

“Wouldn’t do for the sheriff to set a bad example, would it?”

“Not at all.” She meandered back to the kitchen, exchanging a few words here and there with Melissa’s guests.

She slipped the trash into a plastic garbage bag in the kitchen and cleaned up some other items from the counter. Maybe Coop was divorced and had joint custody with his ex. Melissa would know. She made it her business to know everyone else’s.

But the interrogation would have to wait. Melissa took her hostessing duties very seriously, and Kendall couldn’t get one word with her alone.

After chitchatting and helping out with the cleanup duty, Kendall checked the time on her phone and decided to call it a night. She had a meeting with Rebecca tomorrow morning and wanted to check out a few online auction sites to assess Aunt Cass’s collections.

She eyed Coop across the room talking with a couple of men and mimicking throwing a football. Thank God she hadn’t stuck her foot in her mouth and admitted to never, ever wanting children since Coop had one.

Not that Coop’s parenthood, marital status or anything else about his personal life would matter to her one bit once she flew the coop. She grinned at her lame joke and strolled to the den off the foyer to grab her shawl.

She dipped next to Melissa sitting on the couch and whispered in her ear. “I’m going to take off. I’m exhausted.”

“Are you sure? There’s still dessert.”

“I can’t handle another bite, but let’s try to get together for lunch before I leave.”

“Let me see you out.” Melissa rocked forward, and Daryl placed a hand on her back to help her up.

“Nice to meet you, Daryl. You and Mel are welcome in Phoenix anytime.” She pecked him on the cheek, and he gave her a quick hug around the neck.

Melissa took her arm as they walked to the front door. “Daryl and I are taking off for Seattle for a few days, but we should be back before you leave. Don’t be a stranger while you’re here and if you need any help with Aunt Cass’s house, call me.”

“Call you for help cleaning a house?”

“Hey.” Melissa nipped her side with her fingertips. “I know people.”

“I think I know the same people.”

Coop materialized behind Melissa. “I’ll walk you to your truck.”

With her back to Coop, Melissa gave her a broad wink.

“Okay, thanks.” Kendall hugged her friend goodbye and stepped out onto the porch with Coop close behind her.

He lifted his face to the mist in the air. “Ahh, refreshing.”

“Are you a native of Washington?”

“No, California. I’ve been here about five years.”

“Oh, the reviled California transplant.”

He spread his arms. “That’s me.”

“Well, this is me.” She kicked the tire of her aunt’s truck.

He took her hand as if to shake it, but he just held it. “Good to talk to you tonight about...other things.”

“It’s always good to talk about other things.” She squeezed his hand and disentangled her fingers from his.

She climbed into the truck and cranked the key twice to get the engine to turn over. Waving, she pulled into the street. As the truck tilted up the slight incline, an object in the truck bed shifted and hit the tailgate.

She drew her brows over her nose. She didn’t have anything in the back.

She reversed into her previous parking spot and threw the truck into Park. As she hopped from the seat, Coop turned at the porch.

Using the light on her cell phone, she stood on her tiptoes to peer into the truck bed. She traced the beam along the inside where it picked up a bundle wrapped in a tarp. Then the light picked up one small, pale hand poking from the tarp.

Kendall screamed like she’d never stop.

Chapter Four

Kendall’s scream pierced the still night and turned the blood in his veins to ice. Coop had already been making his way back down the drive when he’d heard Kendall’s truck coming back to the house. Now his boots grappled for purchase against the soggy leaves on the walkway as he ran toward Kendall.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” By the time he reached her, he was panting as if he’d just run a marathon.

She’d stumbled back from the truck and stood staring at the tailgate with wide, glassy eyes. Raising her arm, she pointed to the truck with her cell phone. She worked her jaw but couldn’t form any words—no coherent words, anyway.

He pried the phone from her stiff fingers and aiming the light at the truck bed, he jumped on the bumper. The phone illuminated a light-colored tarp with something rolled up in it.

“I-it’s a body.”

His heart slammed against his rib cage when his gaze stumbled across a hand peeking from the tarp. He leaned in close, aiming the phone’s flashlight at the pale appendage, sniffing the air.

He smelled...turpentine. The hard plastic of the hand gleamed under the light and he poked it with the corner of the phone.

Pinching a corner of the tarp between his fingers, he lifted it, exposing the foot of the mannequin.

He blew out a breath and jumped down from the truck. “It’s not a body, Kendall. It’s a mannequin.”

Her eyebrows collided over her nose. “A mannequin?”

“Do you want to have a look?”

She hunched her shoulders and drew her shawl around her body. “No. What’s it doing in my truck? I didn’t put a mannequin in my truck. I don’t even have a mannequin. Why is it wrapped up like that?”

“Beats me, but I’m going to get a few of my guys down here to collect some evidence, and I’d better call the FBI.”

“FBI?” Her voice squeaked and she burrowed further into her shawl. “Why would you call the FBI?”

“I’m pretty sure the agents investigating the kidnappings will be interested in this development, or at least they should be.”

“Why?” She tilted her head and her long braid almost reached her waist.

“The mannequin?” Coop chewed on his bottom lip before spitting out his next words. “It’s a kid.”

Kendall choked and swayed on her feet.

He jumped forward to grab her and ended up pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her shaking frame. Beads of moisture trembled in the strands of her hair, and he brushed his hand across the top of her head to sweep them off.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll make those calls and you can warm up.” He rubbed her arms still wrapped in the shawl. “You’re shivering.”

“Do we have to?” she murmured against his chest. “You can’t use your cell phone for those calls?”

“And keep you waiting around outside while I do? No way.”

She placed her hands against his chest and leaned back, looking into his face. “I don’t want to go back in there and make a scene. I’m surprised they didn’t all come rushing out here when they heard me scream.”

“They didn’t hear you. I was standing on the porch and the decibel level is high in there. Someone even turned on some music, not to mention the house is set back from the street.” He spread his arms. “So, no alarm bells.”

“Until we walk into that house. They were already eyeing me in there like I was some kind of black cloud.”

Grabbing the edges of her shawl, he tugged. “It’s just a mannequin, Kendall, not a dead body. Just some kind of sick trick.”

“If you really believe that, why are you calling out your officers, the FBI and God knows who else?”

“Because we’ve had two kidnappings in this town, and that mannequin was left for you. If there’s any kind of forensic evidence in your truck, we need to get our hands on it.”

“All right.” She rolled back her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

He ushered Kendall back into the house, but most of the guests were too busy talking, eating and singing karaoke in the corner to notice them.

As one of Daryl’s colleagues from Evergreen hit a high note in a 1980s rock song, Coop winced and squeezed Kendall’s arm.

She rewarded him with an answering grimace and an eye roll.

“Couldn’t stay away from the karaoke?” Melissa sailed forward, snapping her fingers and shaking her hips. Then her eyes widened and the smile dropped from her lips. “What’s wrong?”

Coop bent forward until his lips almost grazed Melissa’s ear. “Someone pulled a prank on Kendall by leaving a mannequin wrapped in a tarp in the back of her truck.”

“Why would someone do that?” Melissa clapped one hand over her mouth. “You think it has something to do with—” she glanced over her shoulder at her guests whooping it up “—the kidnappings?”

“Maybe, maybe not, but if it is just teenagers and we catch them, let’s just say this could be a teachable moment for them.”

“I’m sure that’s all it is.” She yanked on Kendall’s braid and grabbed a phone from its stand. “You can use our landline. Our reception is so iffy down here, we can’t always depend on our cell phones.”

Coop called the station first and asked the sergeant on duty to bring a forensics kit and send a squad car over. Then he plucked Agent Dennis Maxfield’s business card from his wallet and punched in his number.

While the phone rang, he covered the mouthpiece and jerked his chin toward an open bottle of wine on the counter. “Have another glass, Kendall. I’ll give you a ride home when this is all over.”

“Agent Maxfield.”

“This is Sheriff Sloane. There was an incident tonight I thought you might want to know about. Someone wrapped a tarp around a child-sized mannequin and put it in a truck bed to make it look like a body.”

“Sick SOB. What’s that got to do with the kidnappings?”

Coop turned his back to Kendall and Melissa chatting over their wine. “The truck belonged to Kendall Rush.”

Silence ticked by for two seconds. “Who?”

“Kendall Rush. Her sister Kayla Rush was one of the Timberline Trio.”

“Yeah—twenty-five years ago.”

Coop’s jaw tightened. “It’s a coincidence, don’t you think? If the mannequin had appeared in some random employee’s truck at Evergreen, I wouldn’t be as interested in it as I am.”

“Is your department already looking into it, Sheriff?”

“My guys are on the way.”

“We’ll let you handle...this one. Let us know if you find anything of interest to our case.”

Coop had a death grip on the phone, but he closed his eyes and relaxed his muscles. “Copy that, Maxfield.”

He held out the phone to Melissa. “Thanks.”

“Well? Is everyone going to rush out here with their lights spinning and guns blazing?” Kendall swirled the single sip of wine left in her glass before downing it.

“Couple of my guys are going to have a look—fingerprints, fibers, footprints. Then they’ll take the mannequin away and we can figure out where it and the tarp came from.”

“My guests are going to know, aren’t they?” Melissa’s gaze slid to the merrymakers in the other room.

Coop snorted. “By the sound of it, they’ll be too drunk to notice what’s going on. I hope they all have designated drivers.”

Ten minutes later, Sergeant Payton called to indicate he and the patrol officer were out front.

Coop popped a mini creampuff in his mouth and charged toward the front door, eager to escape the screeching duo on the makeshift stage.

“Hold your horses.” Kendall grabbed on to his belt loop. “I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure?”

She covered her ears. “Even looking into the dead eyes of a mannequin has got to be better than this.”

Nodding, he opened the door for her, releasing a breath into the cold night. The wine had done her good, or maybe it was being around people oblivious to her uneasiness. He glanced back into the room, still frothing with hilarity.

That wouldn’t last long.

Both officers had double-parked their squad cars, since the party guests had left no room on the street. They broke off their conversation when Coop and Kendall exited the Rhodes’ yard.

Sergeant Payton pushed off the door of his car and met them at the truck. “We already took a look. Creepy.”

“Did you watch where you were stepping?” Coop pointed at the ground. “Ms. Rush and I already tromped through here before we knew what we had.”

The sergeant flicked on a spotlight to flood the truck bed and the area around it with light. “We had a look before, but either the person who planted the mannequin covered up any footprints and disturbances or the wind and rain did it.”

Coop crouched next to the back tire and examined the road. It hadn’t helped matters that Kendall had driven the truck away and then backed up. The moist dirt bordering the street showed no footprints except theirs.

The patrol officer joined them—a new kid named Quentin Stevens.

He held up a black case. “I have the fingerprint materials. Should I give it a try?”

“Why not? Dust the tailgate and all around the back of the truck.”

“Do the homeowners have a surveillance camera, by any chance?” The sergeant poked his head into the yard.

“Not that I know of. Like I said, Ms. Rush and I were both attending a party at the house. The owners are friends of mine. I think they would’ve told me if they had cameras, but I’ll ask.”

The front door swung open, and a couple descended the porch steps. As they looked up, they stumbled to a stop.

“What’s going on?”

Kendall cleared her throat. “Someone left something in my truck, probably a stupid joke.”

The couple, who had two kids at home, picked up their pace and approached the circle of white light. The woman spoke up. “What kind of joke?”

“A stupid mannequin.”

The man draped his arm around his wife and forced a laugh. “Teenagers.”

Coop shot a glance at his two deputies, willing them to keep quiet about the fact that the mannequin was a child and wrapped up to look like a dead body.

Melissa and Daryl must’ve ended the party because a steady stream of people started leaving their house, all drawn to the investigation area like lemmings to the sea.

Sergeant Payton and Stevens went about their business as Coop and Kendall fielded questions and kept the looky-loos at bay.

Finally, they all cleared out and when the last one drove off, Melissa and Daryl barreled down the drive.

Melissa took Kendall’s hand. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, but they’re about to take the thing out of the truck.”

“Maybe we’ll find something when we bring it in.” Coop opened the back door of the squad car. “Lay it in the backseat.”

He turned to Daryl while the sergeant and Stevens wrestled with the mannequin. “Do you guys have a security camera on the house?”

“No, but after this? We’re getting one. Tell us the best model to buy and we’ll buy it.”

“Will do.”

“Sweetie, do you want to come inside for a while?” Melissa rubbed a circle on Kendall’s back. “You’re freezing, and I promise I won’t make you help clean up—unless you want to.”

“Thanks, Melissa, but I just want to get home.”

Coop raised his hand. “I’m taking Kendall home.”

“That’s okay. I think that second glass of wine has worn off by now.”

“Ha! Let me warn you, ma’am, if you attempt to get behind the wheel of this truck, I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

Melissa squeezed Kendall’s shoulder. “I can pick you up tomorrow, Kendall, to get the truck or if you want to leave the keys, Daryl can take it over in the morning.”

“If you don’t mind.” Kendall dug the keys to the truck out of her purse and dangled them in front of Melissa.

Melissa snatched them from her fingers. “Not at all. Go—warm up, relax. You’re in good hands with Sheriff Sloane.”

They said their goodbyes and Coop bundled Kendall in the passenger seat of his civilian car—a truck but a newer model than Kendall’s old jalopy.

He slid a glance at Kendall’s profile, which looked carved from ice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“It might just be a joke. There’s some pretty sick humor out there, and you know teens.”

“You’re probably right. Why would the kidnapper want to expose himself to scrutiny before he collects his ransom?”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel in a spasm. She had to know that if the kidnapper hadn’t demanded a ransom now, chances are good he never would. None was ever asked for her twin sister.

Spitting angry droplets against his windshield, the rain started up again before he pulled into her driveway. Steffi hated the rain and another pinprick of guilt needled him next to all the others for making her stay in a place she didn’t like, a place that never seemed like home even though she was born here. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to stay. Now he wasn’t quite so sure.

He parked the truck and killed the engine. He’d at least walk Kendall up to the front door, not that he felt comfortable leaving her here after that stunt.

She swung around. “Do you want to come inside for a minute? I hate the rain.”

“Sure. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening for me, a kickoff to a few vacation days, and I spent the second half of it working.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t blame you—not much, anyway.”

A smile quirked her lips, and she grabbed the door handle.

He exited the truck and followed her to the porch, scanning her outdoor lighting and the screens on her windows. She could use a surveillance system here, too.

She unlocked the door and twisted her head over her shoulder. “I think you’ll find it a little easier to breathe in here compared to this afternoon.”

He stepped across the threshold and took a deep breath. Not only did he not get a lungful of dust, but the sweet scent of a candle or some air freshener tickled his nose. “That’s better.”

“I can’t vouch for the rest of the rooms, but at least this one’s clean, and the kitchen and the bedroom where I’m sleeping.” She tossed her purse on the nearest chair. “I’m going to admit defeat and get a cleaning crew in to finish the job.”

“Probably not a bad idea.” He poked the toe of his boot at one of the boxes. “When are you going to have the estate sale?”

“As early as this weekend. You looking for some furniture from the Nixon era?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

He took a turn around the room, his gaze wandering to the cabinet where the phantom spider had been hiding. “Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None, but do you need to get home to your daughter?”

Ah, he knew that was coming. “She’s having a sleepover with her friend, who happens to be the daughter of our receptionist at the station.”

“She’s five?” She crooked her finger. “Follow me to the kitchen while I make the coffee.”

He folded his arms and wedged a shoulder against the doorway into the small kitchen. “Yeah, Steffi’s five and a half, as she’ll be quick to tell you, and she’s in kindergarten at Carver Elementary.”

“Good, old Carver.” She poured water into the coffeemaker and punched the button to start the brew. “Are you...married?”

Knew that one was coming, too.

He held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. “Nope.”

“Divorced?”

Even though it had been business, he’d poked into her personal life and that intimacy must’ve given her the impression it was okay for her to return the favor. She probably wouldn’t feel the same way if one of her clients turned the tables and started asking her personal questions.

“I’m sorry. I’m prying. Occupational hazard. You can just ignore me, if you like.” She turned and grabbed the handle to the refrigerator. “Milk with your coffee? No cream.”

“I take it black, and I don’t mind the third degree.”

“Yes, you do.” She pulled a carton of milk from the fridge. “Your face closed down, and your mouth got tight.”

“You’d be good interviewing suspects.” He took a quick breath and then blurted out, “She’s dead.”

Her hand jerked and the milk she’d been pouring into a mug sloshed onto the counter. “Excuse me?”

“My wife—she’s dead.”

“I’m so sorry.” She swiped a sponge from the sink and dabbed at the pool of milk.

He pointed to the coffeemaker, the last drips of coffee falling into the pot. “Coffee’s done.”

Kendall tossed the sponge back into the sink and poured a stream into his cup. Then she added some to the mug with the milk.

Taking the handles of both cups, she said, “Let’s go sit in the living room where it’s warmer.”

He took the mug from her. “Thanks.”

They sat in chairs across from each other, and he used the box next to his chair as an end table.

“Do you like Timberline?” She watched him over the rim of her cup and he got the sense that she had the same look in her eye when she was sitting across from a patient or a client or whatever term they used.

“I like it. I’m an outdoorsy kind of guy, so I like the fishing, hiking, rafting.”

“You’ve come to the right place for that.” She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her mug. “Looks like Evergreen Software is making an impact on the area. Young and Sons Lumber had gone out of business before I left for college, and Timberline was in danger of becoming a ghost town.”

“Evergreen had already planted stakes by the time I got here, so I don’t have the before and after picture, except from the locals’ stories of the old days, and Mayor Young is always crowing about how much he’s done for development in Timberline.”

“Ah, so Jordan Young is mayor now.”

“Actually, he stepped down recently, but he’s a one-man cheerleading squad.”

“Timberline does have a storied history—from silver mining to lumber to high tech. It’s nice to see some life in the old place—maybe a little too much life.” She wrapped both hands around her mug. “What do you really think about that mannequin?”

He blew the steam from the surface of the coffee in his cup and took a sip. “I don’t think it was a coincidence that it was left for you, even if it was a joke. Everyone in town knows your connection to the old kidnappings.”

“I wonder if Wyatt got any surprises tonight.” She tapped her fingernail against her mug. “I’m not the only one in town connected to the Timberline Trio, although it’s just the two of us after Heather Brice’s family left the area. I don’t suppose her older brother, wherever he is, has been getting these little reminders”

“Good idea. I’ll check with Wyatt tomorrow. He’s still working on a job at the station for us.”

“I have a hard time believing it’s the kidnapper who left it. What’s the point?”

“He’s a kidnapper. Who knows? There could be a million reasons in his deranged mind—if he has a deranged mind.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s like you just said—he’s a kidnapper. Why wouldn’t he have a deranged mind? Anyone who kidnaps a child for whatever reason has to be sick.”

“These two kidnappings could be for a purpose.”

“You mean like some kind of ring?” She laced her fingers around her cup as if trying to draw warmth from the liquid inside. “I can’t bear to think about that possibility.”

“I know. Believe me, as the father of a young daughter, I can’t, either.”

“Someone like that wouldn’t hang around to plant mannequins in trucks.”

“Exactly, so we don’t know what we’re looking at yet, but I’m sure that mannequin is connected to the kidnappings, even if it is just a cruel joke on you.”

She yawned and covered her mouth. “Sorry. Not even coffee can keep me awake after the day I’ve had.”

“I’ll get going. Didn’t mean to keep you up all night.”

His mind flashed on keeping her up all night another way and as her brows lifted slightly, he had an uneasy feeling the therapist could not only read his face but his mind, too—unless it was all an act. A therapist didn’t know much more than a layman or a cop, for that matter.

“I was glad for the company. Having you here in this empty house made my jitters go away.” She rose from the chair and held out her hand for his cup.

“Good.” He handed her the mug. “Is it okay if I use your restroom before heading out?”

“First door on your right.”

After he washed his hands and stepped into the short hallway, he heard clinking glass in the kitchen. He glanced at the cabinet again.

Something had spooked her this afternoon, and then the mannequin had spooked her tonight. Was this a pattern? And didn’t he have an obligation to find out if it was?

He crept toward the cabinet and eased open the drawer, his gaze tracking through the contents.

“Shouldn’t you get a search warrant before you go snooping through my stuff?”

Her cold voice stopped him in his tracks. Then he plucked the pink ribbon from the drawer and turned, dangling it in front of him.

“Funny-looking spider.”

Chapter Five

Heat flashed across her cheeks and she dug her heels into the carpet to keep from launching herself at him and snatching the ribbon from his hand.

“Why are you pawing through my aunt’s possessions? You can’t wait for the yard sale?”

“Nice try, Kendall.” He shook the ribbon at her. “This is what scared you this afternoon, sent you running for the hills.”

“So what if it was?” She jutted her chin forward. “You’re a cop, not my therapist. I don’t have to reveal every facet of my life to you.”

“I’d at least appreciate the ones that are pertinent to my case.” He dropped the ribbon where it fluttered to the top of the cabinet.

“I didn’t know it was.”

“C’mon, Kendall, a pink ribbon like the one the kidnapper took from you that night? That’s why it freaked you out, isn’t it?”

She dropped her chin to her chest and studied his face through lowered lashes. “I’d just met you, so to speak. I felt foolish for taking off like that, for exposing my frailties to a stranger.”

He wedged his hands on the cabinet behind him. “I can understand that, but why didn’t you tell me about it tonight after you found the mannequin?”

“Not sure.” She crossed her arms over her chest, cupping her elbows. “Telling you later would be admitting I lied to you.”

“Look, Kendall.” He blew out a breath. “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t even owe anything to those two grieving families.”

She sliced her hand through the air. “It’s not that I don’t want to help them. God knows I do, but it can’t be at the expense of my own mental health, especially if that help doesn’t do anything to find their children.”

“We don’t know that yet. Let’s put everything on the table.” He launched off the cabinet and took her by the shoulders. “Trust me. Just trust me. Am I that scary? Do I come across as judgmental? I’m not.”

She tilted her head back to look into his earnest blue eyes. Was it that important for him that he have her trust?

“You don’t. Not at all.” She ringed her fingers around his wrists, or at least as far as they would go. “I lied this afternoon because I didn’t want you to see how affected I was by the events in my past, and I didn’t think the ribbon had any meaning for the current case. I didn’t tell you about the ribbon after the mannequin because it would’ve exposed my earlier lie. Is that plain enough for you?”

“Why try to hide your feelings about the tragedy? Anyone would be traumatized.”

Her lips twisted into a smile. “Only the strong survive.”

His eyes flickered for a second as they darkened with pain.

Who didn’t trust whom here?

“You found the ribbon in the drawer of that cabinet. It can’t be the same one.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s not a twenty-five-year-old ribbon.”

She stepped back from his realm. How did he get truths from her so easily? Who was the therapist here?

“I’ve been thinking about it all day. It could be the original one left in my hair, or another one of Kayla’s that my aunt found. If the ribbon hadn’t been exposed to the sun, it wouldn’t have faded. Or maybe my aunt had bought some new ribbons for some project, and this one happens to be pink.”

“Or the same person who left a child-sized mannequin in your truck bed, left the ribbon for you to find knowing the effect it would have on you.”

“Which brings us back to square one.” She massaged her temples. “Why would the kidnapper, or anyone else for that matter, want to needle me?”

“Not sure, but it’s on my list of things to find out.” He skimmed a hand over his short hair. “It’s late.”

Hooking a finger on the edge of the curtain, she peeked outside. “The rain stopped—for now.”

He touched her back. “Are you going to be okay?”

Turning, she curled her arm and flexed her biceps. “I’m tough. And, listen, I would’ve told you about the ribbon...eventually. Especially after finding the mannequin.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He grabbed the handle and then turned his head to the side, so that she could see his face in profile only. “You don’t have to be so tough, Kendall. I can share some of your burden. Let me.”

Then he slipped outside, and she watched him until the darkness swallowed him.

If she transferred some of her pain onto his shoulders, it was only fair that he transfer some of his onto hers.

Because Sheriff Cooper Sloane had pain to spare.

* * *

“STOP KNOCKING YOURSELF OUT.” Rebecca Geist, her Realtor, held out a card between two perfectly manicured nails. “I’ve used this cleaning crew before, and they’re professional and reasonably priced.”

“Thanks. I should’ve called them sooner.” Kendall shoved the card beneath the phone on the kitchen counter. “But I did manage to get Aunt Cass’s collections boxed up. I’m going to try to sell some of them at the estate sale, and I’m going to take the rest to one of those places that will list them online for a fee. I’ve already found a business in Port Angeles that will do that.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Rebecca held up the camera hanging around her neck. “If we want to get this place listed, I need to take photos now. I can always replace them with newer photos once you clear out of here.”

“This room, the kitchen, the master and the bathroom. Hold off on the other two rooms if you can until I get that cleaning crew out here.”

“I think that’ll be fine.” She winked. “You know those buyers from California. They’ll snap up anything in the low threes.”

“Three hundred thousand dollars? This dump?” Kendall waved her arms around the small living room.

Rebecca put a finger to her glossed mouth and swiveled her head from side to side as if she suspected a potential buyer was lurking in the corner. “This,” she said, spreading her arms, “is a charming cottage in the woods. Don’t forget, you’ve got an acre of land here, and ever since Evergreen planted its corporate headquarters in Timberline the housing market—if not the weather—has been heating up.”

“Okay, scratch that. It’s a bucolic hideaway, a nature buff’s paradise, a forest love nest.” She could even half imagine that last one with the carpet stripped away, refinished hardwood floors, a Native American rug before a crackling fire in the grate—and Coop Sloane, half-naked, lounging in front of it.

One corner of Kendall’s mouth curled up.

“That’s the spirit.” Rebecca nudged her side. “Of course, we will have to reveal the history of the house.”

Kendall snapped out of her daydream. “History? Like when it was built and any additions? I can assure you, there have been no additions to this house.”

“No, dear.” Rebecca had the camera to her face and was aiming it around the room. “The kidnapping.”

The daydream completely evaporated.

“Really? We have to reveal something that happened twenty-five years ago? It’s not like the house is haunted.” Her gaze darted around the room, bouncing over the cabinet with the pink ribbon stashed inside.

“Well, it was a crime scene, but I don’t think the negative will be too great.” Rebecca lowered the camera and chewed on her bottom lip. “Unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Unless the FBI can’t solve these two current kidnappings, or God forbid, there’s another. Then it might not just be your house, but the whole area that’s going to suffer.” Rebecca’s cheeks flushed beneath her heavy makeup. “And the families. Of course, the housing market is nothing next to the pain of the families.”

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