A killer is at large.

And she’s next on his holiday hit list.

Someone is killing women in Detective Leah Cordon’s town—women who jog the same trail as her every day. Leah will do whatever it takes to ensure the case is solved by Christmas. But when details of the crime eerily resemble what’s been happening on cattleman Deacon Kent’s own ranch, he shows up looking for answers. It quickly becomes obvious that the killer has his sights set on Leah. Can Leah and Deacon discover the criminal’s identity before he strikes again?

USA TODAY bestselling author BARB HAN lives in north Texas with her very own hero-worthy husband, three beautiful children, a spunky golden retriever/standard poodle mix and too many books in her to-read pile.

In her downtime, she plays video games and spends much of her time on or around a basketball court. She loves interacting with readers and is grateful for their support. You can reach her at barbhan.com.

Also by Barb Han

Cornered at Christmas

Ransom at Christmas

Sudden Setup

Endangered Heiress

Texas Grit

Kidnapped at Christmas

Murder and Mistletoe

Bulletproof Christmas

Stockyard Snatching

Delivering Justice

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Ambushed at Christmas

Barb Han

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09459-7

AMBUSHED AT CHRISTMAS

© 2019 Barb Han

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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All my love to Brandon, Jacob and Tori, my favorite

people in the world.

To Babe, my hero, for being my great love and my

place to call home.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Homicide Detective Leah Cordon jogged along the familiar path of the Trinity River Trail in Fort Worth, Texas. She was halfway through her run and a cold front had arrived, causing a frigid gust of wind to penetrate the terry hoodie she wore.

December weather in Texas could drop from high sixty-degree temperatures to well below freezing in half an hour. She pushed her pace to increase her heart rate in order to stave off the next couple of blasts.

Leah reached up to tug on the rubber band taming her normally unruly locks and freed her hair from a ponytail in hopes that it would provide a little extra insulation. The loose-fitting hood wouldn’t stay put so she didn’t bother pulling it over her head. Instead, she zipped her lightweight vest up to the neck. She didn’t like the idea of blocking access to her Glock, which was something she hadn’t considered needing on her nightly run until a woman had been murdered near this very spot last night.

At ten o’clock the sky was covered with rolling gray clouds, blocking out all moonlight. She was entering the stretch of trail where trees thickened and there was little artificial light.

“Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi rocked through her left earbud. She always kept one ear clear in order to listen for faster runners, bikers or in-line skaters. Fatalities with pedestrians who were distracted by earbuds and cell phones were rising at a dizzying pace, especially at intersections. But now she felt the need to listen for a predator.

Leah tugged at her covered thumbholes to hold her sleeves in place over her base layer.

Keeping her pace, she considered turning back for a split second as the exact spot that the woman was pulled off the trail last night and brutally murdered came into focus. Crime scene tape roped off the section of trees where she’d been found fifteen feet off the trail.

A dozen temporarily placed lamps illuminated the path ahead.

The feeling of eyes watching her pricked the hairs on the back of her neck. A cold chill raced down her spine. She blamed it on the cold front, the area. Even so, the creepy feeling took hold.

Looking ahead, a yellow haze from the streetlamp covered a fifteen-foot radius. She stood outside its glow, breath coming in rasps. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell, turning down the volume.

Leaves rustled just ahead. Movement seemed too deep in the underbrush to be caused by gusting winds. They’d died down for the moment.

Leah stopped, pulled out the left earbud and studied the area as best she could in the dim light. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see decently. More movement ramped up her pulse. She immediately unzipped her lightweight vest in case quick access to her weapon was needed. And then a single low-hanging tree branch rustled. Her eyes tracked the movement. Her heart stuttered and her hand came up to rest on the butt of the Glock holstered inside her vest.

A rabbit scrambled out of the brush, caught eyes with her for a second and then darted off in the opposite direction.

That bunny had really gotten her heart going. Leah breathed a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on the handle.

Normally, on this stretch of trail she would’ve long since hit her stride and whizzed past without giving her surroundings much thought. Her police training had taught her to observe her environment but last night’s homicide had her second-guessing being on this trail in the first place.

She’d be damned if she let her fears rule. Her mind tried to flash back to the past but she forced it on the path ahead. She might not have been able to control what had happened in her youth but she could decide her focus now. She searched the area one more time before replacing her left earbud, drowning out her racing thoughts with the heavy drumbeat and raucous guitar threads.

Tucking her chin to her chest, she balled her fists and started off again. This time, she ignored the eyes-on-her shiver pricking her skin and pushed her legs harder. Running into the spot of last night’s attack was most likely the reason for her case of the heebie-jeebies. An innocent bunny had caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. What would be next? A squirrel?

The sound of footsteps behind her caused her heart to stutter again. She whirled around, running backward a few steps in time to see another jogger. His hood was on, his chin to his chest, and his gait had military precision. A pair of white cords bounced in front of his hoodie that combined into one string midway down his chest.

The runner glanced up, gave a slight wave and then increased his speed until he passed her. The squirrels weren’t getting to her but other runners were. Leah gave herself a mental head shake. Keep it up and she’d have to abandon her late-night runs until she could get her act together.

Stats kept spinning through Leah’s mind despite the loud music thumping in her left ear. Jillian Mitchell, the victim, was five feet seven inches tall. So was Leah.

Jillian Mitchell had espresso-brown hair that had been in a ponytail last night. Same as Leah.

Jillian Mitchell had a runner’s build, meaning she was pretty much all legs. Just like Leah. The killer had severed her right ankle before dragging her into the bushes.

The flashback to high school when Leah’s best friend had been brutally murdered edged into her thoughts. Leah was supposed to sneak out to meet up. She’d fallen asleep instead. The crime had rocked their exclusive white-collar Arlington Heights neighborhood.

Forcing her thoughts to the present, to the trail, she was grateful that lights had been set up in the normally dark stretch known as Porter’s Bend for the curvy pathway. That was a comfort. Leah tried to reestablish her pace. She had almost cleared the winding patch when she caught a glimpse of a man crouching near the brush. He was at the edge of the crime scene tape area and down on all fours. Even at this distance Leah could see that he had substantial size.

Leah slowed to a walk but her heart pounded her ribs as though she’d turned up her speed. She assessed the situation and quickly realized there was no one else around. She bit back a curse as she palmed her cell. She started to fire off a text to dispatch, noting a suspicious person at the scene of Porter’s Bend.

A mix of adrenaline and fear shot through her. Had the murderer returned to the crime scene? Was the person who’d attacked and murdered Jillian Mitchell digging in the shrubs?

Reason argued against the notion. Only an idiot would come back this soon. The criminal who’d murdered Jillian didn’t strike Leah as stupid. He had to know tensions were running high after last night’s attack. People would be on the lookout for anyone or anything suspicious in the area and along the trail. Those were the reasons she’d used when she’d convinced herself to stick to her nightly routine and go on the run.

If she’d been on time last night, it could’ve been her in the morgue and not Jillian Mitchell, a little voice in the back of her head stated. She couldn’t use rock music to block out the voice now.

Leah’s fingers were as cold as ice cubes thanks to the frigid air. She flexed and released them a couple of times before placing her hand on the butt of her still-holstered weapon. She’d stick around until an officer arrived.

Confronting this guy without backup would be taking an unnecessary risk. Leah decided it would be best to put enough distance between them to stay out of sight. As she eased back a few steps, the man popped to his feet and wheeled around to face her.

She sidestepped behind a tree. Anything—even a tree trunk—between them would slow down a bullet if he had a gun. It might not provide complete protection but it was better than nothing.

“Hold it right there,” she shouted, using the authoritative cop voice reserved for all threatening situations. “I’m a police officer. Don’t take one step closer. Hands where I can see them now.”

“I’m not moving.” True to his word, he froze. His hands flew into the air, palms facing her. She scanned them for any signs of a weapon and could see that they were empty. Well, almost empty. On closer examination, he wore plastic gloves. A knot formed in her stomach, braiding her lining.

Experience had taught her that empty hands didn’t mean there was no weapon present. A bullet had grazed her shin during her sophomore year as a patrol officer on a domestic violence call that had seemingly come out of nowhere. She tabled the glove-wearing part for now, careful not to reveal her suspicion that he was the Porter’s Bend Killer.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to steady her heart rate and keep a clear head.

“Take it easy.” The man was tall. Six feet four inches if Leah had to guess. Through his unzipped denim jacket she could see that he worked out. His muscled thighs had stretched and released as he stood. His thick sandy blond hair was tightly clipped with curls at the edges. He was too far for her to see the color of his eyes but his face was all sharp angles, like the kind that looked a little too good on a billboard in a major city. He seemed familiar. Did she know him?

“What are you looking for?” she asked, trying to dig for a little more information. If he was a criminal—and specifically the one her department was looking for—the more she got him talking, the more chances he had to make a slip.

“My keys,” he said. His voice was masculine. The kind that sounded like it was used to being in charge of a situation.

“What’s in your front right pocket?” she asked. “I see something.”

“I, uh—” He didn’t glance down and that told her he knew exactly where his keys were. It wasn’t uncommon for a perp to return to the scene of a crime but normally they came with search parties when the victim was missing. Jillian Mitchell had very much been found.

“Save the story.” She leveled her gaze on the man. “What are you really looking for?”

“What did you say your name was?” he shot back.

“I didn’t.”

“Then we have nothing left to say.” He turned his back to her.

There was no way she’d shoot without being provoked but this maneuver said he knew it.

“Stop right there,” she warned.

“And if I don’t?” he asked.

“What are the gloves for?” She used her cop voice to show him just how serious she was.

He froze.

“You better start talking here unless you want to do it downtown. We can start with your name,” she continued.

“It’s cold. These were all I had in the glove box,” he said.

She didn’t immediately answer. He was being bold, challenging her. Perhaps he was an amateur crime solver or someone hired by the Mitchell family. They had money.

Either way, this guy could be trampling on evidence.

“Detective Cordon,” she relented, leaving off the bit about being a newly minted detective. She lowered her weapon. “Identify yourself now or they’ll do it for you at Tarrant County Jail.”

He turned around and she nodded toward the badge clipped to the waistline of her jogging pants.

His eyes lingered there a little longer than she was comfortable and heat flushed her cheeks. That was the great part about having skin the color of milk. It was near impossible to hide her emotions.

“Deacon Kent,” he said. Why did that name sound familiar?

“Do you have any knowledge of the crime committed here last night?”

“Only what I read in the Fort Worth Star Telegram this morning.” His voice was calm.

There could be benefits to publicity on a case. Leah didn’t like it in this instance. Stories spawned copycats and brought out all kinds of wackos. In Mr. Kent, she saw neither and that could mean he was close to Jillian Mitchell, looking for vigilante justice.

This case set Leah’s nerves on edge. The brutality of the attack made it look like a revenge killing. Not to mention this had happened on her trail. Leah matched the description of the victim, which had happened in cases before but always gave her the prickly sensation of a cat walking over a grave.

She couldn’t count how many times her well-being had been threatened by jerks she’d arrested while on the job. But the thought of someone actually trying to make good didn’t sit well.

“The Telegram reports on crime every day. You show up at every crime scene?” she asked Mr. Kent.

He hesitated in answering and that meant one thing.

Deacon Kent was hiding something.

DEACON FIGURED HE’D better come clean with the detective. The woman picked him apart with her gaze. “That’s the only reason I’m here. The story in the paper. And, no, I don’t show up at crime scenes uninvited.”

Her brow shot up. The detective’s long wavy hair—the color of richly blended coffee—fell well past her shoulders, framing a face too delicate for the badge clipped on her hip. At a little more than five and a half feet tall, wearing jogging pants that hugged a taut figure, her gaze said she was a force to be reckoned with.

“What made you come out tonight?” she asked.

He let that one go.

“I can drag you down to the station to talk if you’d be more comfortable,” she said in more of a hiss.

That may be true, but Deacon wasn’t doing anything wrong. He hadn’t technically trespassed on a crime scene. He’d made certain not to cross the obvious area cordoned off with police tape. Even he could see that being there feeling around on the ground made him look suspicious.

“Before you get any ideas—” he paused to double-check that she wasn’t a trigger-happy detective “—can I put my hands down now?”

“No. In fact, up against the tree. Hands where I can see ’em,” she said, using that authoritative law enforcement voice he was all too familiar with, considering his cousin was the sheriff of Broward County. Experience had taught him not to argue with that voice and he couldn’t deny that he had been crawling around in the bushes at a crime scene. He’d known getting caught would be a possibility, even though he thought he’d checked out the area well enough before dropping down on all fours.

“Okay.” He kept his hands high as he walked toward the nearest tree trunk. “Let’s take it easy. I’m not the guy you’re looking for, so there’s no need to get hysterical.”

Detective Cordon issued a grunt sound.

For a split second he thought she might have been involved in a sting operation. The detective matched the basic description of the woman who’d been attacked at this very spot last night.

He glanced around for any signs of a stakeout. But then, wouldn’t another officer have made him or herself known by now?

“Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?” he asked, figuring it couldn’t hurt.

“Right now? I’m patting you down,” she countered. Her voice had a throaty note and he detected the shift in tone the moment she put her hands on him—hands that sent inappropriate sensations firing from each point of contact.

In this cold, and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees in the last fifteen minutes, he should have been shivering. Warmth shot through him and it had everything to do with the electricity coming from the detective’s touch.

“I’d noticed.” She’d figure it out but he decided to add, “I’m not packing heat and I don’t have any other weapons.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He’d expected her response to be something to that effect.

As she resumed patting him down, more annoying sensations fired up. They had no business in this situation so he ignored them.

“Turn around,” she stated, using that cop voice again.

This also wasn’t the time to notice the perfume she wore as he wheeled around to face her. At least, he guessed it was cologne. He’d never smelled anything like it before. If he were pressed for a description, he might have said it was like walking in the meadow after a cool spring shower with the first rays of sun hitting the land, waking the flowers.

Deacon mentally shook off the head trip.

“Keep your hands where I can see ’em.” She studied him. Their gazes held for a second longer than courtesy dictated. A blush crawled across her cheeks and it was damn sexy when her cheeks flamed.

Way to stay focused.

Finished with the weapons check, she took a step back. “You’re cleared.”

“Like I already told you.” Deacon wanted this over with so he could get back to searching the area.

“This is the scene of a murder investigation.” The detective almost leveled him with her stare, which took some doing with someone as hardened as him.

“Why are you really here?”

Chapter Two

This conversation wasted valuable time. It was late. Days on the ranch started early. Deacon had often joked with his brothers and sister that he could remember a time when 4:00 a.m. was the time to end the night, not begin a day. Being a Kent was a privilege, make no mistake about it, but one that came with obligations.

Deacon figured he could tap dance around the subject with the detective all night but decided to get to the point. As far as the murder, he considered it ranch business. “That’s exactly why I came, to see the crime scene.”

“You taking pictures on your phone?” Disgust came through clearly as soon as she unclenched her back teeth to speak. She’d probably seen just about everything in her line of work, including crazy folks who had morbid obsessions with death and murder sites.

“Check for yourself.” He gave her a look before fishing his cell from his pocket and holding it between them.

She took the offering and scrolled through his photo log. He hoped the offer would buy a little trust. Instead, as she scanned the pictures, she started rocking her head. “I know why your name sounded familiar now. Your family owns half of Texas, Wyoming and Idaho.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” She had the states right, just not the quantity of land.

“Cattle ranchers,” she continued, ignoring his comment, seeming like she was on a roll and would connect the dots as to why he was really there at any minute.

“That’s right.” They were cattle ranchers but owning mineral rights to their land had made his family fortune. It had also freed them from some of the pressures of cattle ranching. A bad year or a severe drought wouldn’t put them out of business. It also gave them ample space to take risks and create innovation. They’d been pioneers in the organic beef market.

The puzzle pieces clicked together so loudly in the detective’s mind he could almost hear them.

“You’re here because of the...” She met his gaze. This close, he could see the cinnamon flecks in her eyes.

“Severed foot,” he finished for her when her sentence dovetailed into silence.

“I read an article a few days ago about the heifers on your ranch turning up with severed left hooves,” she continued.

“Two other ranches have called to report the same crimes. Which brings us up-to-date with why I’m here,” he stated.

In a flash her expression changed. It was like she’d put in a quarter and hit all three numbers on the slot machine. “And you think the guy who’s been killing cattle has moved on to people.”

“Isn’t that how it usually works? Don’t most serial killers start with animals?” he asked.

“Yes. They usually start with something smaller, though.” Detective Cordon continued to take him apart with her stare. Now she looked like she was trying to determine if he needed a trip to Golden Pond Mental Hospital.

“Found three rabbits along Rushing Creek. Carcasses had been pretty picked through and they were in advanced stages of decay, all missing a front left paw.”

Now her brain really fired on all cylinders.

“I don’t remember reading anything about that,” she admitted. Her tone was laced with accusation.

He understood the implication. They’d just been found. Everyone on the ranch was being investigated. “The information will be out soon. As it is, we’ve had our fair share of crazies popping out of the woodwork with leads. Jacobstown is a small community. People are scared. They see this as some kind of omen.” He could tell by her reaction that the detective didn’t like to be the one on the light side of important information.

“You’d think he’d put out a bulletin right away,” she said.

“About rabbits that could have been caught in illegal traps and had their paws chopped off to free them?” Deacon issued a grunt. “The town’s already in a panic over the heifers. Folks aren’t used to crime. It’s not like here in the city. People don’t lock their doors where I’m from. Or at least they didn’t used to.”

“Everyone should lock their doors, Mr. Kent.” She stuck his phone out between them. “A criminal could strike anywhere, anytime. They like easy marks.”

Deacon chuckled. He couldn’t help himself.

“What’s that about?”

“Old Lady Rollick once shot at a friend of mine for sneaking onto her back porch to get a bite of one of her famous peach pies. Folks in Jacobstown can take care of themselves,” he stated.

“Yeah?” she fired back. “Well, the scum I’m used to dealing with wouldn’t be sneaking onto a porch to steal dessert.”

“Peach pie,” he corrected.

“I reported you. A beat cop will be here any minute to investigate.” The detective jerked an earbud out of her pocket and tucked it in her left ear. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my run.”

As she made a move to take off, Deacon caught her arm.

“Can I ask you a question?” He mustered as much politeness as he could.

Her gaze held on to his hand and then lifted to his eyes. There was no amusement.

“What?”

“Why are you out here alone after what happened?”

“THIS IS MY TRAIL,” Leah said, hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. Deacon Kent’s serious gray-blue eyes scrutinizing her were throwing her off-kilter. She reholstered her weapon, resting her hand on the butt for comfort and because she needed to touch something to push her reset button. Her fingers still tingled with sensations from touching the good-looking cowboy.

“You weren’t scared to come out here alone after what happened last night?” It seemed like it was his turn to dig information out of her. She figured, with his connections, after one phone call from him to headquarters she’d be hauled into the chief’s office to explain why she’d accused a Texas millionaire—billionaire?—of tampering with a crime scene. She hadn’t specifically accused him and there was something about the cowboy—those serious eyes sure seemed honest—that almost had her believing he wouldn’t play that card. But she hadn’t made detective at the age of thirty by taking people for their word or letting every good-looking male off the hook.

She pulled out her earbud and stuck it in between them. “That’s why I only use one earbud. Keep the other one free to listen so no one surprises me.”

“But I caught you off guard and that’s why your heart’s still thumping. Anyone else could’ve done the same thing.” He emphasized his point by dropping his gaze to the base of her throat, causing all kinds of heat to flush her cheeks.

“I was jogging. That’s why my heart was, is, racing.” Kent placated her by letting that little lie fly by. Being courteous must have been part of his Cowboy Code. “The path isn’t that busy at this time of night. It’s not rush hour. It’s not isolated, either.”

He shot her a look of disbelief, but she had no plans to detail out how hard she’d fought against her fears and why it was even more important to her now to face them.

“You can take those gloves off.”

He did, and her traitorous heart fluttered in her chest like a schoolgirl crush when she saw there was no ring on his left-hand finger. She told herself that she was just doing her job. It was true enough. She did get paid to notice things.

“Mr. Kent—”

“Call me Deacon,” he insisted.

She didn’t like being informal with someone she’d considered a possible suspect a few minutes ago, but figured if she threw him a few bones, he’d walk away without a formal complaint. The other irritating part about him was how much his voice—a dark ale kind of timbre—trailed down her spine, causing tingles she didn’t even want to consider. “Deacon.” His first name sounded less awkward coming out of her mouth than she’d expected. That little tinge of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips almost made her feel like he enjoyed hearing it. “I can see that your intentions are good, if misguided.”

He started to cut her off but she held her finger up to quiet him. The move would probably be gasoline on a fire.

Instead of flying off the handle, he smiled a smug smile, folded his arms and leaned back against the tree like they were old friends having a casual conversation. This guy was too smooth and full of contradictions. His calloused hands said he worked hard but a man with his family money wouldn’t have to work a day. His tanned olive skin said he spent his days outside. He was tall and strong; she’d seen his jeans stretch against seriously muscled thighs when he walked.

Normally, sizing someone up for a threat didn’t seem invasive or personal in the way being with Deacon Kent did.

“I can understand your interest in this case. However, I shouldn’t need to warn you the person responsible is dangerous. You might think investigating on your own is smart, but—” A tree branch snapped a few feet away, causing her to jump. She pulled out her phone and put on the flashlight app before bringing the light to a small brush.

Deacon was already investigating. He’d covered the distance between them and the brush in seconds. He was fast.

Leah swept the area and then moved behind him.

“It’s nothing. Animals,” he said, sitting back on his heels. His hands were on his knees when he turned his head.

A scream split the air.

Deacon hopped to his feet and started toward the cry for help as Leah darted to his side. She’d drawn her gun and was sweeping the area from side to side with it as she tore toward the sound.

Around the next turn, a man stood over a woman who was rocking back and forth on the ground.

The cowboy ducked behind a tree almost at the same time as Leah. She noted his familiarity with law enforcement tactics.

“Get your hands in the air where I can see them and stay right where you are,” Leah commanded.

The man, who wore a hoodie, took a couple of steps back and thrust his hands in the air.

“Freeze,” Leah said. She appreciated Deacon not going rogue and trying to take over the situation. Some people would. She kept one eye on Hoodie while she asked the woman, “Where are you hurt?”

“My leg. I tripped over something,” the woman managed to shout in bursts through forced breaths. “Didn’t see those rocks and rolled my ankle.”

“I’m going to get you some help. First, I need a little more information.” She could see the woman was in agony. One of the first rules of good policing was never run to an injured party. The man standing over her could use the move to his advantage and attack. Or, this could be a setup to throw her off base where she could be ambushed. There could be others waiting to jump out from the nearby brush. Leah had been trained not to take the chance. Given that she had a three-year-old son who’d be orphaned if anything happened to her, she doubled down on cautious police work. Her primary goal at the beginning of every shift—like most officers she knew—was to make it home to loved ones safely.

“You, sit down and keep your hands where I can see them,” Leah demanded of the man.

He dropped down.

Leah wasn’t quite ready to holster her gun. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Stacy Rutledge.” She was rocking back and forth faster.

“Mind if I check on her?” Deacon asked.

“Go ahead,” Leah stated.

“You with the hoodie. What’s your name?” she asked the man sitting back on his heels with his hands folded around the back of his neck.

“Kevin Lee,” the man said.

For all she knew, Kevin wasn’t really his name. He might’ve intended to take advantage of a woman who’d been injured on her run. Of course, he didn’t have to be the murderer from last night in order to be a criminal. There were plenty of other types of crimes against women. Her imagination was running wild, getting the best of her on this one and she knew it.

She thought about the fact that there’d been no witnesses to the crime last night, no description of the perp.

Tonight’s run had been a bad idea from the start.

No matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“Show me your face,” Leah demanded.

“I need to move my hands to do that.” Kevin sounded scared and confused. His reaction said he was caught off guard and most likely didn’t have criminal intent.

“Only enough to remove your hoodie,” she stated with authority.

He complied, revealing short black hair. He had a prominent nose set on an otherwise average clean-cut face. No warning bells sounded based on his looks but she had no description of the man from last night’s deadly attack to work with and no criminal profile yet. Whoever had attacked Jillian Mitchell had been strong enough to drag her off the trail, subdue her and then sever her right ankle. Her body had been carried deeper into the brush. Dirt underneath her fingernails indicated she’d put up a good fight. There were other signs, bruises on her body.

Maybe the investigator would get lucky and get a DNA hit.

It was presumed the suspect had worn gloves.

Investigators were still trying to determine if Jillian was murdered by someone she knew—which was the most likely case for a female—or if the attack had been random. Someone close to her would know her evening routine. The person had to be strong enough to subdue Jillian, drag her off the trail and carry her through the trees based on the fact that there were no signs of her being dragged there. Leah was certain she’d seen the woman before. The same people came out night after night. She’d found the same to be true in the mornings, too. After her rookie year she’d been placed on the deep night shift. The excitement and stress of the job caused her to start jogging in order to wind down enough to sleep during the day. Her clock had been turned upside down in those years. The routine comforted her.

“What are you doing here, Kevin?” An obvious question but one that had to be asked.

“Jogging.” His voice was incredulous.

Of course, everyone feared a serial killer in the making but a next-day attack would have been unlikely in this scenario. Seasoned serial killers took time to bake.

The lead investigator happened to be her ex and although she’d believed the split was amicable—it had been a long time coming—Charles Dougherty had been short with her ever since. Six months had passed now. With his attitude, she was beginning to question whether or not he’d agreed with her assessment or if he’d been playing along so she wouldn’t realize how much the breakup actually had hurt.

She’d overheard a fellow officer refer to her as Cold-Fish Cordon when she’d walked past the men’s locker room. Charles had laughed, not defended her.

And that was just the beginning of the cold-shoulder treatment she’d been getting from him ever since.

“Any other reason you’re out here tonight, Kevin?” she asked.

“Other than my nightly run? No,” he said with a quizzical look.

A good investigator asked every question, and especially the ones she thought she knew the answers to. Because every once in a while a witness answered wrong and gave her the leverage she needed to keep digging.

Chapter Three

Kevin Lee was innocent. All Leah had needed was five minutes to assess his guilt or innocence. Her years of experience had honed her instincts. As much as she trusted them, she never took them for granted. But the man was as clean as Sunday’s sheets on a freshly made bed.

An officer had arrived, followed shortly after by paramedics. The scene bustled with activity. Between the detour with Deacon Kent and the injured jogger, it was getting late. Leah checked her watch. She should’ve been home fifteen minutes ago to relieve her sitter. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem but tensions were running high.

“Excuse me, I need to make a phone call,” she said to Deacon.

“Someone expecting you at home?” he asked. An emotion flickered behind his gray-blue eyes that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Sort of,” she admitted for reasons she had yet to pick apart. The question had caught her off guard. She walked out of earshot in order to make the call to her babysitter.

Riley answered on the first ring. The soft hum of the TV that was on in the background comforted Leah.

“Everything okay?” Riley immediately asked. Her next-door neighbor was great about coming over after Connor had gone to sleep so that Leah could get in her run. Leah would miss that next fall when Riley left for college.

“I’m giving a statement to police right now about a jogger being hurt on the trail,” Leah informed her.

“Another one?” Riley’s tone was ominous. Her voice dropped as she asked, “Are you okay?”

“This was an accident. It’s not related,” Leah said quickly. Too quickly.

“Oh.” Riley must’ve picked up on it. Everyone’s nerves were on edge following the attack.

“How’s Connor?” Leah wanted an update on her son but she also wanted to redirect Riley.

“Hasn’t budged an inch since I got here,” Riley reported. “In fact, he hasn’t made a peep but I checked on him fifteen minutes ago, anyway.”

“His preschool teacher said they spent a lot of time outdoors today and that the class should sleep well tonight.” Leah couldn’t remember what a good night’s sleep was anymore. To sleep like an innocent child again. What would that be like?

Either way, Leah was grateful for her high school neighbor, who was close to the back half of her senior year. Riley’s job was basically to make sure Connor didn’t wake or need anything. The high schooler brought her laptop computer and Leah figured had knocked out most of her college applications while sitting on her couch. It was mutually beneficial because Riley complained about her brothers, twins, who were star football players on the middle school team. She said there wasn’t a safe place in the house with those two running, shouting and throwing the ball just about everywhere. There were always a few of their friends on hand, and since Riley’s room was directly across the hall from the twins’, she couldn’t get a minute of peace.

Since Leah offered money, going to her house was certainly cheaper than going to a coffeehouse and dropping five bucks on a latte every time she wanted to use the free Wi-Fi.

The arrangement worked out well for both of them. Since Leah didn’t get off work until six o’clock most nights, she barely had a pair of hours to spend with Connor before his bedtime. Rather than sit inside the house and stare at four walls after he was tucked into bed, Leah had made the proposition to Riley a year ago and the arrangement seemed to be working out for them both.

“I should be home soon,” Leah promised.

“Take your time. Seriously. I have nowhere else to go but home.” Leah almost smiled because she could practically hear Riley rolling her eyes.

Leah couldn’t feel guilty about being later than usual with an attitude like that. Her place was a refuge for Riley and Leah didn’t mind helping out the girl. Riley seemed to think it was cute that strangers thought they were sisters and had mentioned more than once that she wished it were true.

“I won’t be too late,” Leah promised. She wasn’t ready to leave the scene just yet. She needed to remind the handsome rancher that he had no business digging around a crime scene and that he could end up a suspect if he refused to listen to her.

She figured that would go over about as well as whipped cream on a taco.

“TELL ME MORE about the case,” Deacon said to the detective once the jogger had been carried away by the paramedics, Kevin Lee’s statement had been given and the scene had quieted down.

The detective shot him a look that left no question as to what she thought about his request. “I can’t.”

“I’m not telling you to give away your family’s barbecue recipe. I’d like to know who I’m looking for, if you have a description of the suspect. It’ll help us on the ranch as we guard our herd and we might actually be of some help if he returns,” Deacon said. He could ask the same information from his cousin Zach, but the detective might have an inside track.

“We don’t have one,” she admitted. “And I’m not the lead on this case, so I have no authority whatsoever to dig deeper. All we’re doing that I know of is watching the trail and pretty much everywhere else for another attack.”

“There were no witnesses and you have no leads,” he summarized.

“Just like the newspaper said,” she stated.

“Excuse me if I don’t believe everything I read,” he countered.

“Your cousin. He’s the sheriff, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” Deacon wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“Explains why you know how to conduct yourself during an investigation.” She locked on to his gaze and he ignored the power that one look held. He also saw a repeat of that split-second vulnerability that got all his protective instincts fired up. A glance at her finger had said she didn’t wear a wedding band. But that call home had thrown him off balance at first until he heard bits and pieces of her conversation. “Also tells me that you won’t mind me reminding you that I’m not privileged to share information with you. Even if I had access to it, which I don’t.”

There were ways to get around that but he didn’t want to push her.

“Want to grab a cup of coffee?” he asked, noticing she’d started shivering. The temperature had dropped another ten degrees. He could feel it through his jacket. Christmas was around the corner, so there was no shock that the weather had turned.

“No, thank you.” Her words were curt. “But I will share another piece of advice if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“If you go crawling around a crime scene, you might just leave your DNA for someone to discover and end up on the wrong side here. Why not leave this to law enforcement.”

“My cousin has no authority in Fort Worth. I have no idea if these cases are connected but have every intention of finding out before any more of my cattle suffer and heaven forbid another person if that’s what’s happening here. I’ll give you that I acted on impulse coming here. Doesn’t mean I regret my actions and especially not if I can help in any way.” Getting away from the ranch for a few hours had proven to be the distraction he needed. While his brothers seemed to have settled into their birthright, Deacon still wasn’t comfortable. He’d been restless since losing his parents and leaving his small but thriving Dallas-based custom millwork company. He’d sold the business to his partner not without regret.

Leah examined him and he noticed that her eyes darkened when she skimmed his torso.

“Maybe you shouldn’t act on impulse next time.” She pointed her finger at his chest.

“What are you not telling me?” The detective was holding back. He couldn’t say he was surprised given the circumstances. The statement caught her off guard enough for him to know he’d hit the nail on the head.

Leah’s cell buzzed. She checked the screen and Deacon caught the breath she blew out.

“Cordon here,” she said into the phone and he realized the caller couldn’t be the sitter who waited for her at home. The stab of jealousy said he feared it was a romantic interest. She turned around to face the opposite direction to take the call.

“That’s great news, sir,” she said quietly. “Thank you,” she added before ending the call and turning around to face Deacon.

“That wasn’t home calling,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Nope,” she reported. “Killer’s been arrested. We can all go home.”

LEAH STARED AT her bedroom ceiling. A light streamed in from the window, enabling her to see clearly. A cursory glance at the clock said the sun wouldn’t be up for three hours. A pair of hours after that and Connor would be awake and ready to go full tilt, as only three-year-olds knew how to do. So why was she still awake, thinking about the Porter’s Bend Killer, when she should have been deep in REM sleep by now?

The killer was in jail. Details of his murder would be out soon enough. Maybe she could go in to work early and stop off at the coroner’s office on the way in. Connor’s preschool opened at 6:00 a.m. and she’d had to take advantage of the extra hours for cases from time to time. The director, Mrs. Clark, wouldn’t be shocked if Leah showed up with Connor on short notice. The arrangement at Marymount Day School had worked well so far.

Another urge struck.

The impulse to call Deacon Kent and discuss the case was strong.

An unsettled feeling crept over her. If this case was wrapped up, why was she wide-awake in the middle of the night, staring at the rain spot on the ceiling? The perp behind bars had a rap sheet long enough to make his arrest feasible.

Leah reminded herself that this case was too close to home. She was losing her objectivity. A murder had occurred on her jogging path, the trail she took every night before bed in order to clear her head. She bit back the irony that she was a detective and couldn’t keep her own trail safe.

How many times had Leah and Jillian Mitchell possibly looked up and nodded while passing each other without really giving each other much thought? Dozens? More?

No good could come out of digging around in her ex’s case. Leah should have been able to let this go and walk away, sleep easy. And she would do just that.

She would close the book on this one as soon as she called Deacon Kent.

Chapter Four

Deacon rolled onto his side and stared at the clock. It read 3:43 a.m. Most of his family would be up in the next half hour, as well as his cousin Zach, the Broward County Sheriff.

The same couple of questions recycled. Could the trail murderer be the same man they’d been looking for in Jacobstown? Most people by now believed that the man responsible for the brutal killings of half a dozen heifers and even more small animals in various ranches across the state would move on to human targets. It made even more sense that the man would go after a woman, considering all the animal deaths reported so far had been females.

Folks in Jacobstown were jumpy and rightfully so. People started locking their doors, an act so foreign it seemed strange even to him to have to think about. People who used to leave cars running when they ran inside the post office to pick up mail from a PO box had changed habits. Everyone had buttoned up in the wake of the incidents.

Anyone new was suspect now instead of welcomed like in the past. The town had a long tradition of being family friendly but times had changed. People had changed. And fear—a foreign emotion—gripped the townsfolk.

Deacon thought about the detective from earlier. She’d put up a brave front but he’d seen the panic in her eyes. Leah Cordon lingering in his mind was as productive as pouring milk over asparagus.

Deacon sat up, rubbed his eyes and threw his feet over the side of the bed. Since sleep was out of the question, he might as well get up and do something industrious. His brothers and the ranch hands would be awake soon and he wanted to deliver the news personally that the Fort Worth Police had arrested the person responsible for the attack at Porter’s Bend. If there was any possible link between this guy and the person responsible for butchering animals on the family land, everyone would want to know about it.

Deacon’s thoughts again wandered into territory he knew better than to go—Leah Cordon.

He’d moved into his bungalow-style house on the ranch six months ago, the day after it had finished being built. Living here was convenient and he appreciated having his own space. He’d always been that kid who kept to the sidelines and did his own thing. Not much had changed since becoming a man. He’d probably laugh if someone described him as the strong, silent type but he couldn’t argue.

Having his own place gave him breathing room, even though he didn’t feel like he fit the rancher’s life. His older brother, Mitch, had taken to it like a fisherman to a pond. The baby of the family, Amber, followed in their eldest brother’s footsteps. But he and his three other brothers, Will, Nate and Jordan, fell somewhere in the cracks. Don’t get him wrong, he loved Texas and the family business. Being out on the range and sleeping under the stars kept him sane. It was the rest—the part where his entire life was planned out before him—that made his collar feel like a noose.

The ringtone of his cell caught him off guard. He hopped into his jeans and got to his phone that was vibrating on his dresser.

Leah Cordon’s name was on the screen.

“What’s up, Detective?” Deacon asked.

“Sorry to wake you.” She sounded like she’d had a shot of espresso.

“I haven’t slept.” Deacon sat on the edge of the chair next to his dresser, thinking he wouldn’t mind a cup of black coffee. He raked his free hand through his hair.

“What’s keeping you awake?” Her voice had a sexy ring to it, a campfire-and-moonlight-under-the-stars quality. And that was something he had no place noticing given the nature of their friendship—a word he’d use lightly to describe their liaison.

“Most likely the same reason your eyes are still open.” The line went quiet for a second and he wondered if she were debating whether or not it had been a good idea to call him.

“I’m heading over to the coroner’s office in a little while to see the body,” she finally said. “Something feels off.”

“What do you think you’ll find there?” His curiosity was piqued.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted.

“But you think it’s worth it to make the drive over.” He was stating the obvious but it didn’t hurt to make sure they were on the same page. He’d learned a long time ago not to assume he knew what anyone else was thinking.

She agreed that she did. Another few beats of silence permeated the line. Then came, “Your heifers. They suffered, didn’t they?”

“Yes.” He let his tone reflect his frustration.

“You mentioned smaller animals, too,” she continued.

“There’ve been rabbits.” He switched hands with the phone and put it to his left ear.

“No weapons were ever recovered.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“And no DNA was left behind,” he added. “What are you getting at?”

“In your best guess, what kind of weapon was used?” Her voice had a quiet calm and he assumed it was the one she used to get people to confide in her. He would’ve anyway because he didn’t have anything to hide.

“A jigsaw,” he said.

The line was dead quiet for several beats and he could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. “I thought that’s what I read. This guy made a clean cut.” She paused a few more beats before adding, “I’m sorry about your animals.”

“Are you still going to the coroner’s office?” he asked.

“I am,” she confirmed.

“Mind if I show up? I’d like to get a look for myself and your badge will get me through the door.” He could get to Fort Worth in about an hour. Judging her reactions so far, she didn’t believe the man sitting in jail had committed the crime.

“I have no authority in this investigation,” she said quietly. The killer had murdered someone on her trail. Based on the description of Jillian Mitchell, the two looked similar. Did the detective think it could’ve easily been her, instead? He understood when a crime hit a little too close to home. He knew the fear that could instill in people.

“I might be able to help with that.” With Deacon’s family name he could probably call in a few favors and get a private visit with the body of the victim without rattling too many cages. But he hoped the detective would take him with her. All she had to do was flash her badge and he wouldn’t have to have his name tied to the investigation.

“You know what, I made a mistake calling. Forget what I said. I’m sorry to bother you. I should go.” What had happened in the last few seconds to change her mind? Was it the fact that he’d used the Kent last name? That normally opened doors instead of closing them. Of course, she might not want to be associated with anyone who was high profile. That could draw attention to her.

“Hold on a minute, I—”

It was too late. The line went dead.

LEAH PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Tarrant County Coroner’s office. Dr. Timothy Rex had been with the city since long before her time and he was one of the most respected people she had the privilege of working with.

She’d no sooner put the gearshift in Park than movement on the east side of the parking lot caught her eye. A pickup truck door opened and Deacon Kent got out of the driver’s side. Her stomach gave a little flip at seeing Deacon Kent again. She ignored her reaction to him, even though instinctively she checked her face in the mirror. She should’ve known he would show. She’d all but invited him on the phone, and had regretted it almost instantly. It wasn’t like her to act on impulse, which is exactly what she’d done when she’d picked up her cell at almost four o’clock in the morning.

Speaking of which, lack of sleep had dark circles cradling her eyes. She’d never been one to do well without sleep, even though she’d gotten very little of it during her high school years. Unlike her peers, she wasn’t lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling because she worried she’d fail a test. Her stress levels reached far deeper than that. While everyone else met up on Friday nights to find out who would host the next party after Friday Night Lights, she churned all night feeling physically ill. She thought about what she could’ve done differently. Her mind stirred on how she’d let her friend down in the worst possible way.

Leah pushed those heavy thoughts aside and stepped out of her car. She didn’t bother asking what he was doing there.

“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” He was already making a beeline toward her by the time she climbed out of her driver’s seat.

“Call me Deacon,” he said. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“You have a vested interest in this case and so do I.” She left out the part where she liked having someone to bounce ideas off of for a change. For too long it had just been her and her three-year-old son, Connor. Even when she’d dated Detective Dougherty, she hadn’t felt the sense of—what?—comfort that she instantly felt with Deacon. She chalked it up to it being easier to talk to a stranger than those closest at times. But nothing felt strange about Deacon Kent. In a way, she felt like she’d known him for years and it was probably just because he was easy to talk to. She didn’t want to get inside her head about what that meant, so she just let it be.

There were four cars parked in the lot at this early hour aside from Deacon’s truck and her sedan. It wouldn’t be difficult to see if anyone came in or out.

“The Mitchell case isn’t mine to ask questions about. So I have a Jane Doe who came in three nights ago that we’ll say you might be able to ID. According to witnesses, she’s a vagrant and you won’t recognize her but that’s not the point—”

“You’re looking for an excuse to walk in the door,” he finished the sentence for her.

“That’s right.”

Leah badged them inside the building and then led Deacon down a hospital-like white-tiled hallway that led to a glass door. Etched on it were the words Dr. Timothy Rex along with a series of alphabet letters to indicate his degrees.

At sixty-eight, Dr. Rex, aka T-Rex was still a crackerjack. His mind was sharper than most thirty-year-olds she knew, which wasn’t exactly an endorsement for the people in her circle. Leah almost laughed out loud. Her circle consisted of the people she knew at work, her babysitter and a three-year-old. Unless she counted the purple dinosaur from Allen, Texas, whose voice she could hear in her sleep thanks to Connor binge-watching the DVDs. Did they call it binge-watching when it was almost-constant background noise and some of the same episodes over and over again?

Leah made a move for the metal bar to open the door but Deacon beat her to it. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had opened a door for her. She was independent and strong. She didn’t need a man to open doors. But there was something sweet and chivalrous about the gesture that caused her stomach to do another round of somersaults.

Old-fashioned chivalry was still a turn-on. She mumbled a thank-you and caught a small smile toying with the corner of his lips—lips she had no business focusing on.

There was no receptionist working this early. Leah had expected that. She didn’t have credentials to badge through the next set of doors leading to the lab. Dr. Rex looked up at her. He rocked his head as though he’d been expecting her. He hadn’t. She’d given him no warning. His manner had always been welcoming. That was just Rex.

He hurried over to the door, first removing his examination gloves and tossing them into the wastepaper basket positioned next to the door. He acknowledged Deacon with another smile after letting them in.

Deacon stuck out his hand as the door closed behind him.

T-Rex took it with a vigorous shake, introducing himself. His eyes sparked for the briefest moment when he heard Deacon’s last name. She figured that happened a lot, even though nothing about the down-to-earth cowboy screamed that he was one of the wealthiest men in Texas. Leah almost couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She came from money. Or, more accurately, her parents had money. They still did because she refused to let their money manipulate her and that’s exactly what they’d tried to use it for. As an only child, she blamed being the sole focus of their manipulation efforts on the lack of siblings to spread the “wealth” of their attention across.

Leah had gone to the police academy after getting her degree in criminal justice. Neither her philosophy-professor father nor her board-of-directors mother approved of her degree and that’s the reason they’d stated when they refused to pay tuition for her to go to the out-of-state college she wanted to attend. So she’d played the child-of-a-professor card and went to the University of Texas at Arlington instead. Being the child of faculty gave her free tuition and that had helped not to rack up education expenses. Now she couldn’t imagine trying to bring up a child on a detective’s salary and repay college loans.

T-Rex was given his nickname for his turtle-like shoulders and arms. It might’ve been cruel except that he’d been the one to make the joke and the name stuck. He said he’d had it since college and didn’t mind. T-Rex, after all, had been an apex predator. The real story behind it was that he’d broken both of his arms as a child. His missionary parents who traveled with him abroad had made sure he’d received the best available care. But he’d been given medical attention in a developing country. The incident had left him unable to lift his arms over his head. He liked to say he got a PhD and an MD because he couldn’t get the alphabet letters from his boyhood aspiration, NFL.

Otherwise, he was tall-ish. Admittedly, standing next to Deacon Kent made T-Rex look smaller. His spectacles slid down on his nose—much like pictures of Santa Claus. With the resemblance, there were other monikers T-Rex could’ve picked up. He had the same belly and carriage as the guy who made midnight rounds one night a year, a night that was coming soon. T-Rex also had a slow smile and quick wit. Both were genuine.

“How’s the grandbaby?” Leah always asked about the five-year-old light of his life, Harley. She’d come to live with him and his wife after losing his daughter to a rare bone disease. The father had never been in the picture.

“Growing like a weed.” He beamed. It couldn’t be easy to take on a child at his and his wife’s age. But he was the kind of man who wouldn’t turn his back on someone who needed him and especially not family. “She decided she needs to learn how to do a cartwheel.”

“What does she need to do that for?” Leah asked with a little more enthusiasm than she felt. She did care. Don’t get her wrong. But she was biding her time until she could ask what she wanted, what was on the tip of her tongue.

T-Rex rolled his eyes. “She’s made up a list of all the things she needs to do while she’s still young.”

“She still thinking kindergarten is the end of her childhood?” Leah couldn’t help but smile. The kid was a cutup and Leah figured she got half her personality from her grandfather. If she got half of his big heart, she’d do fine in life.

He nodded before turning his attention to Deacon. “You got kids?”

“Me? No.” Deacon’s response was a little too quick.

Leah almost asked what he had against kids. She figured it was none of her business what he thought about anything, except that a little piece of her argued that she did care. And more than she wanted to acknowledge to herself.

T-Rex must’ve picked up on her tension because he redirected his focus. “What brings you to my humble abode so early in the morning?”

“I need to see Jane Doe,” she said.

“Ah.” T-Rex’s gaze bounced from her to Deacon.

“His friend is missing and she fits my Jane Doe’s description.” Leah didn’t like being dishonest. But if she inserted herself into Charles Dougherty’s investigation and asked the questions she wanted to outright ask, Charles could make her life at work even harder than he had been.

“Right this way.”

Chapter Five

T-Rex motioned toward another hallway that led to another freezing cold room that had been dubbed The Meat Locker by beat cops.

Leah thought the term was disrespectful and had been teased her rookie year for not embracing the lingo. She also thought about her high school friend being inside a place like that and an icy chill trickled down her spine. She thought about the fact that Millie’s—short for Mildred, which was her aunt’s name—parents would have been brought down to a place like this in order to ID their daughter’s body, a fate no parent should ever have to face.

“Heard you got a new one in night before. The Mitchell case.” Leah figured there’d been enough casual conversation between the three of them this morning that she could start peppering in her questions. She also knew in her gut—from years of honing investigative skills—that T-Rex’s guard was down.

“Phone’s been ringing off the hook ever since. I unplugged it.” The case was big-time and people would be interested. He wouldn’t think anything of a few random-sounding questions.

“Mayor’s office?” she asked casually.

T-Rex nodded. He paused in front of The Meat Locker. “Sad case.”

“Heard her foot was missing,” she said.

“Cut clean off. One slice.” He turned to look them in the eyes. He always did that when he was delivering news that most people would consider disturbing. Leah had learned to keep an emotional distance from cases. That, and her nightly run were the only reasons she could sleep at all and still be able to do the kind of work she did. She gave families peace of mind. She couldn’t bring a loved one back, but knowing what had happened built a bridge to healing. Without it, becoming whole again would always be on the opposite shore, out of reach.

Deacon, who had been quiet up until now, folded his arms. Strong, silent type? He seemed to take everything in. See what most people couldn’t because they were too busy talking, trying to get a point across.

“Any idea what he used?” she asked T-Rex.

“Hatchet, maybe.” T-Rex shook his head. “She was young. Whole life ahead of her.”

She liked that he thought of the people who landed on his table in terms of being real human beings. People with parents, spouses, children. She’d heard stories of other coroners who’d mentally detached to the point they thought of people as projects.

“It’s awful.” Leah could only hope her friend Millie had been taken to someone as caring.

“She fought back, though,” he stated.

“Good for her.” Leah knew she would. There was no way she’d ever go down easy if faced with a similar situation. She’d take out an eye or anything else she could of her attacker. For one, she wouldn’t stop trying to break free until she took her last breath. Secondly, she knew that she’d leave behind valuable DNA evidence if she clawed and kicked.

Millie had willingly gone with her abductor. With what Leah knew now, she realized she and Millie had probably known the person who’d taken her. He was most likely someone they trusted.

“I heard her ankle was cut clean. That true?” Leah asked.

“Yes.” T-Rex led them inside the frigid room. The wall with drawers still made her queasy as she walked toward it but she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

He stopped at the last one on the right, bottom drawer. He pulled out a long table. Deacon watched as the body bag was unzipped and then the face of a woman who looked frozen in time, Jane Doe, was revealed. She was found on a playground swing after a pair of nights with temperatures in the teens. At first blush, it looked like she’d frozen to death until Leah walked around behind the body and saw a bullet hole.

He shook his head. “It’s not her.”

T-Rex attended to sealing up as Leah thanked him for his time. Deacon followed her outside, still saying very little. In the parking lot, Leah paused at her sedan. Deacon had slipped on sunglasses from his jacket pocket and between those and his Stetson his eyes were hooded.

“There a place we can grab a cup of coffee?” he asked.

She needed to pick his brain about the heifers for a few minutes before he disappeared out of her life. “There’s a little place around the corner.”

“I’ll follow you.” She ignored the deep rumble rippling through his voice. Any other circumstances and she’d want to get to know Deacon Kent better on a personal level. She knew deep down she’d never allow herself to get close to a man like him. There was something different about him, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint but felt like a threat. Maybe it was the fact he was the kind of person she could fall for. Being near him brought out feelings she’d thought long since dead. Besides, she had Connor to think about, and after dating Charles Dougherty, the last thing she needed to do was complicate her life further. She’d done a bang-up job with the last one.

Leah hopped into her sedan and led the way to Marvin’s Diner. It was one of those eateries that looked like a silver bullet train on the outside, complete with red vinyl benches and ’70s throwback decor on the inside.

She parked away from the front door where there were two parking spots together in the almost full lot. Marvin’s was always bristling with activity at this time and kept hours from 5:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. Breakfast and lunch were all that was on the menu. Ask any cop what he or she had in common with New York City cabdrivers and he or she would say both always knew the best places to eat.

Leah got out of her car and waited for Deacon. Again, her heart thudded against her rib cage when she saw him. He’d taken off his sunglasses and hat, leaving them inside his pickup. Rays of sunlight streaked his hair. His eyes were steel gray.

Detective Andrew McKeever, aka Keeve, came walking out the door to Marvin’s as Deacon made a move for the handle.

“Hello, Keeve.” Leah felt compelled to greet the man. He was one of Charles’s closest friends—which wasn’t saying a lot since Charles had pushed nearly everyone out of his life—and had been cold-shouldering Leah ever since the breakup. Keeve needed to get over it and she figured she’d kill him with kindness because the two of them had always had a solid professional relationship. Years ago, marrying Connor’s father, a detective, had made her think it would be okay to see someone socially from work. She quickly realized after Charles the flaws in that thinking. Because she and Wyatt Cordon had had a beautiful child together, whereas she and Charles had had a fling that ended badly, leaving a whole bunch of messiness in its wake.

Keeve’s gaze bounced from her to Deacon and back. His face muscles tensed. “Detective.”

That one word had such a dismissive quality in it that Leah didn’t bother to respond.

Keeve walked right past her, his gaze locking on to Deacon whose face of hard angles and planes gave away nothing of his reaction.

As they headed inside, Sunny Bowman, the diner’s most popular waitress, grabbed two menus. “How many in your party, hon?”

“The two of us,” Deacon responded.

She smiled at him and her cheeks flamed. Leah could only hope her own reaction to seeing Deacon for the first time wasn’t so obvious. A stab of jealousy she had no right to own caught her off guard.

“Right this way, Detective,” Sunny said. She was midthirties but looked older when Leah focused on the lines etched in the woman’s face. Her poufy white hair was in pigtails and her lashes were so long they practically touched her eyebrows. Sunny worked her hips when she walked and good food wasn’t the only reason so many male officers hung out at the diner.

Sunny stopped at a booth in the far corner, Leah’s favorite, and spun around with her arm out like she was presenting a new car to a game show winner.

“Thanks, Sunny,” Leah said. Before today, Sunny’s flirtatious personality hadn’t felt like fingernails on a chalkboard.

To Deacon’s credit, he didn’t seem to notice. Was it his good upbringing that made him such a gentleman? She’d read about his family. The Kents seemed like the best of the best, unlike her family, which was all surface and no substance. Her parents had tried to persuade her to at least become an attorney if she insisted on going down the path of criminal justice. When she’d told them she wanted to be a cop and then a homicide detective, they’d gone down a familiar road, reminding her she couldn’t bring her friend back by putting herself in danger. She’d have liked to believe they were worried about her safety, but then she’d heard her mother on the phone with Leah’s aunt, talking about how embarrassing it was that Leah didn’t have more ambition. That she’d always be stuck feeling sorry for herself for losing her best friend. Her mother had no idea then and nothing had improved since.

“Did you want coffee, Detective?” Sunny blinked at Leah expectantly.

“Yes. Thank you.” Leah must’ve zoned out there for a second.

“And for you?” Sunny’s smile widened when she looked at Deacon, who didn’t look up from the menu.

“I would, thanks.”

“Cream and sugar?” she asked.

“Black.”

“Same for me,” Leah said, unable to suppress a satisfied smirk. Based on the look on Sunny’s face, she wasn’t used to being anything other than the center of attention from male patrons.

It was probably just the smart girl in her that wanted to prove brains could be beautiful. She’d been gawky and awkward in high school and losing her friend made her want to disappear even more. Leah’s mother used to tell her that she could’ve been beautiful if she’d put in the effort. Even a successful businesswoman could prize looks over substance, Leah had realized.

Wow, what had her examining her past like this out of the blue? There was something about the Jillian Mitchell case that hit too close to home.

Leah pretended to focus on the menu but she was really lost in her own thoughts, ever aware of the strong male presence sitting across from her. She was surprised to find him staring at her when she looked up.

“Everything’s good here. It’s all farm to table,” she said, trying to detract attention away from the blush crawling up her neck.

“Wrong foot. Wrong MO,” he suddenly said to her.

Chapter Six

Sunny walked up with two cups of coffee. She bent closer to Deacon, showing her considerable cleavage and Leah was certain she heard a harrumph sound when Deacon had no reaction.

Leah picked up her cup and took a swig, the hot coffee a welcome burn on her throat. She needed a clear head if she was going to make progress on the investigation and keep her thoughts from wandering into unwelcomed territory when it came to Deacon.

As soon as Sunny took their orders and disappeared, Deacon’s gaze settled on Leah.

“You picked up on that.” She referred to the wrong foot. It was easy to see that a different MO had been used.

He nodded and then sipped his coffee. “The scenario at our ranches doesn’t fit the Porter’s Bend Killer. But a man’s in jail.”

“Eyewitness places him in the park. He has a violent past,” she said.

“Was a murder weapon recovered?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Then it’s a flimsy case at best,” he said. “They won’t be able to hold the guy for long.”

“His background is an issue for him.” She ran her finger along the rim of her coffee mug.

“Meaning?” The statement got Deacon’s attention.

“His crimes against women have been escalating. He has a decent-sized rap sheet.” She picked up the cup, rolling it in her palms for the warmth.

“But chopping off someone’s foot seems harsh for someone who is escalating their violence,” he stated.

“This case reads like a revenge killing to me. It’s violent and personal.” Her body shivered involuntarily, thinking about what had happened to Jillian Mitchell.

“But why the foot?” Deacon’s brows crinkled in concentration. She didn’t want to think of the move as adorable. It helped that his face muscles tensed. It seemed to dawn on him. “The killer wants to send police on a wild-goose chase.”

“A copycat who cut off a foot...” Leah didn’t finish her thought before she saw Charles walk into the restaurant out of the corner of her eye. Had Keeve alerted Charles to the fact that she was here? Son of a—

Charles Dougherty made a beeline for her table. His gaze zeroed in on Deacon. Looking at her ex now, she couldn’t see what she’d ever seen in him. Friendship? Kinship? Comfort? Familiarity? Charles had been a sympathetic ear after being alone for two and a half years following the loss of Wyatt, a man she’d truly cared about. Raising a child on her own had been tough and she wasn’t making excuses, but after Charles lost his teenage daughter to a rare childhood cancer and then his wife walked out, Leah had felt for the guy.

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