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Deputy Defender
Cindi Myers
HE’S ALWAYS HAD HER BACK. Now can he earn her love?Deputy Dwight Prentice has secretly loved Brenda Stenson since they were teenagers. Now the auctioning of a rare book has thrust her into harm’s way.Keeping Brenda safe from a deadly threat will test Dwight’s limits as a law officer and as a man.


He’s always had her back…
Now can he earn her love?
Deputy Dwight Prentice has secretly loved Brenda Stenson since they were teenagers. Now the auctioning off of a rare book has thrust the widowed museum curator into harm’s way. Keeping his Colorado town safe is the lawman’s most heartfelt mission. But protecting the innocent Brenda from a deadly threat will test Dwight’s limits as a law officer and as a man.
Eagle Mountain Murder Mystery
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Also by Cindi Myers (#ulink_8bb27329-bac7-54d3-a7da-193c531bfb29)
Saved by the Sheriff
Avalanche of Trouble
Deputy Defender
Murder in Black Canyon
Undercover Husband
Manhunt on Mystic Mesa
Soldier’s Promise
Missing in Blue Mesa
Stranded with the Suspect
Colorado Crime Scene
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Deputy Defender
Cindi Myers


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07928-0
DEPUTY DEFENDER
© 2018 Cynthia Myers
Published in Great Britain 2018
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.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Gaye
Contents
Cover (#u91ea1131-c309-5041-980a-1a99344f1d7a)
Back Cover Text (#uf2e2d854-e9cd-50b7-9c32-c4269477611a)
About the Author (#ude2433fb-a811-5e73-b996-a269a739c79a)
Booklist (#ulink_1a1c0cc9-fd94-59fa-b3d1-7400d7e1f2d7)
Title Page (#uad81afef-d89d-50ed-9666-b4370b9c4d92)
Copyright (#u0df37d0d-54ad-5dfc-8e22-d6608b1789a4)
Dedication (#uaee07f86-d798-589a-81c4-7e3f063b501e)
Chapter One (#u64f21e64-c664-5987-933e-c13276e3cf16)
Chapter Two (#u76c9db19-8a71-57e0-a04d-c7d2c80110f2)
Chapter Three (#u042d0d55-c688-5a34-ba41-167234b63118)
Chapter Four (#uc1a241e0-51ea-5cbf-86d2-5e43d0d2f0d8)
Chapter Five (#u007faf5c-365d-5053-a2bd-fa067f35caf0)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ubcc0dd40-8b26-5323-8cf0-fdbaeabcaf0b)
Yellow was such a cheerful color for a death threat. Brenda Stenson stared down at the note on the counter in front of her. Happy cartoon flowers danced across the bottom of the page, almost making the words written above in bold black ink into a joke.
Almost. But there was nothing funny about the message, written in all caps: BURN THAT BOOK OR YOU WILL DIE.
The cryptic message on the cheerful paper had been enclosed in a matching yellow envelope and taped to the front door of the Eagle Mountain History Museum. Brenda had spotted it when she arrived for work Monday morning, and had felt a surge of pleasure, thinking one of her friends had surprised her with an early birthday greeting. Her actual birthday was still another ten days away, but as her best friend, Lacy, had pointed out only two days ago, turning thirty was a milestone that deserved to be celebrated all month.
The message had been a surprise all right, but not a pleasant one. Reading it, Brenda felt confused at first, as if trying to make sense of something written in a foreign language or an old-fashioned, hard-to-read script. As the message began to sink in, nausea rose in her throat, and she held on to the edge of the counter, fighting dizziness. What kind of sick person would send something like this? And why? What had she ever done to hurt anybody, much less make them wish she were dead?
The string of sleigh bells attached to the museum’s front door jangled as it opened and Lacy Milligan sauntered in. That was really the only way to describe the totally carefree, my-life-is-going-so-great attitude that imbued every movement of the pretty brunette. And why not? After three years of one bad break after another, Lacy had turned the corner. Now she was in school studying to be a teacher and engaged to a great guy—who also happened to be county sheriff. As her best friend, Brenda couldn’t have been happier for her—and she wasn’t about to do anything to upset Lacy’s happiness. So she slid the threatening note off the counter and quickly folded it and inserted it back into the envelope, and dropped it into her purse.
“No classes today, so I thought I’d stop by and see what I could do to help,” Lacy said. She hugged Brenda, then leaned back against the scarred wooden desk that was command central at the museum.
“I can always use the help,” Brenda said. “But you’re putting in so many hours here I’m starting to feel really guilty about not being able to pay you. If the fund-raising drive is successful, maybe there will be enough left over to hire at least part-time help.”
“You already rented me the sweetest apartment in town,” Lacy said. “You don’t have to give me a job, too.”
“I’ll never find anyone else who’s half as fun for that garage apartment,” Brenda said. “At least if I could give you a job, I’d still be guaranteed to see you on a regular basis after you’re married.”
“You’ll still see plenty of me,” Lacy said. “But hey—I hear Eddie Carstairs is looking for a job.”
Brenda made a face. “I seriously doubt an ex–law enforcement officer is going to want a part-time job at a small-town museum,” she said.
“You’re probably right,” Lacy said. “Eddie certainly thinks highly of himself. He’s been going around town telling everyone Travis fired him because he was jealous that Eddie got so much press for being a hero, almost dying in the line of duty and all.” Her scowl said exactly what she thought of her fiancé’s former subordinate. “Obviously that bullet he took didn’t knock any sense into him. And as Travis told him when he fired him, Eddie wasn’t on duty that day and he wasn’t supposed to be messing around at a crime scene. And he wasn’t a full deputy anyway—he was a reserve officer. Eddie always fails to mention that when he tells his tales of woe down at Moe’s Pub.”
“Is Travis as upset about this as you are?” Brenda asked. She had a hard time picturing their taciturn sheriff letting Eddie’s tall tales get to him.
“He says we should just ignore Eddie, but it burns me up when that little worm tries to make himself out to be a hero.” Lacy hoisted her small frame up to sit on the edge of the desk. “Travis is the one who risked his life saving me from Ian Barnes.”
“And anyone who counts knows that,” Brenda said. Ian Barnes—the man who had killed Brenda’s husband three years before—had kidnapped Lacy and tried to kill her during the town’s Pioneer Days celebration two months ago. Travis had risked his life to save her, killing Ian in the struggle.
“You’re right,” Lacy said. “And I’m sorry to be unloading on you this way. You’ve got bigger things to worry about.” She glanced around the museum’s front room, comprising the reception desk and a small bookstore and gift shop. Housed in a former miner’s cottage, the museum featured eight rooms devoted to different aspects of local history. “How’s the fund-raising going?”
“I’ve applied for some grants, and sent begging letters to pretty much every organization and influential person I can think of,” Brenda said. “No response yet.”
“What about the auction?” Lacy asked. “Are you getting any good donations for that?”
“I am. Come take a look.” She led the way through a door to the workroom, where a row of folding tables was rapidly filling with donations people had contributed for a silent auction, all proceeds to benefit the struggling museum. “We’ve gotten everything from old mining tools to a gorgeous handmade quilt, and a lovely wooden writing desk that I think should bring in a couple hundred dollars.”
“Wow.” Lacy ran her hand over the quilt, which featured a repeating pattern of squares and triangles in shades of red and cream. “This ought to bring in a lot of bids. I might have to try for it myself.”
“My goal is to make enough to keep the doors open and pay my salary until we can get a grant or two that will provide more substantial funds,” Brenda said. “But what we really need is a major donor or two who will pledge to provide ongoing support. When Henry Hake disappeared, so did the quarterly donations he made to the museum. He was our biggest supporter.”
“And here everybody thought old Henry was only interested in exploiting the town for his rich investors,” Lacy said. “I wonder if we’ll ever find out what happened to him. Travis won’t say so, but I know since they found Henry’s car in that ravine, they think he’s probably dead.”
Henry Hake was the public face of Hake Development and Eagle Mountain Resort, a mountaintop luxury development that had been stalled three and a half years ago when a local environmental group won an injunction to stop the project. Brenda’s late husband, Andy, had been a new attorney, thrilled to win the lucrative job of representing Hake. But Hake’s former bodyguard, Ian Barnes, had murdered Andy. Lacy, who had been Andy’s administrative assistant, had been convicted of the murder. Only Travis’s hard work had freed her and eventually cleared her name. But then Henry had disappeared. And only last month, a young couple had been murdered, presumably because they saw something they shouldn’t have at the dormant development site. Travis’s brother, Gage, a sheriff’s deputy, had figured that one out and tracked down the couple’s killers, but the murderers had died in a rockslide, after imprisoning Gage and schoolteacher Maya Renfro and her five-year-old niece in an underground bunker that contained a mysterious laboratory. A multitude of law enforcement agencies was still trying to untangle the goings-on at the resort—and no one seemed to know what had happened to Henry Hake or what the young couple might have seen that led to their murders.
“I guess I don’t understand how these things work,” Lacy said. “But it doesn’t seem very smart to base a budget on the contributions of one person. What if Henry had suddenly decided to stop sending checks?”
“Henry’s contributions were significant, but they weren’t all our budget,” Brenda said. “When I started here four years ago, we had a comfortable financial cushion that generated enough income for most of our operating expenses, but that’s gone now.” Her stomach hurt just thinking about it.
“Where did it go?” Lacy asked. But the pained expression on Brenda’s face must have told her the truth. “Jan!” She hopped off the desk. “She siphoned off the money to pay the blackmail!” She put her hand over her mouth, as if she wished she could take back the words. “I’m so sorry, Brenda.”
Brenda had learned only recently that before his death, Andy had been blackmailing her former boss, Eagle Mountain mayor Jan Selkirk, over her affair with Henry Hake. “It’s all right,” she said. “I can’t prove that’s what happened, but probably. But if that is what happened, I don’t know where the money went. I mean, yeah, Andy used some of it for the improvements on our house, and to buy some stuff, but not the tens of thousands of dollars we’re talking about.”
“Maybe Jan was giving the money to Henry, and his donations were his guilty conscience forcing him to pay you back,” Lacy said.
“That would fit this whole sick soap opera, wouldn’t it?” Brenda picked up a battered miner’s lantern and pretended to examine it.
Lacy rubbed Brenda’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault,” she said. “And you’re doing an amazing job keeping the museum going. These auction items should pull in a lot of money. Didn’t you tell me that book you found is worth a lot?”
The book. A shudder went through Brenda at the thought of the slim blue volume she had found while going through Andy’s things a few weeks ago. The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado. What had at first appeared to be a run-of-the-mill self-published local history had turned out to be a rare account of a top-secret government program to produce biological weapons in the remote mountains of Colorado during World War II. Was that what had whoever left the threatening note so upset? Did they object to the government’s dirty secrets being aired—even though the operation had ended seventy years ago?
In any case, Brenda’s online research had revealed an avid group of collectors who were anxious to get their hands on the volume, and willing to pay for the privilege. Thus was born the idea of an auction to fund the museum—and her salary—for the immediate future.
“I still can’t imagine what Andy was doing with a book like that,” she said. “But I guess it’s obvious I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought.”
“Whyever he had it, I’m glad it’s going to help you now,” Lacy said.
The local paper had run an article about the fund-raiser, and listed the book among the many donations received. That must be where the letter writer had found out about it. Was it just some crank out to frighten her? Could she really take seriously a letter written on yellow stationery with cartoon flowers?
But could she really afford not to take it seriously? She needed to let someone else know about the threat—someone with the power to do something about it. “Can you do me a favor and watch the museum for a bit?” Brenda asked.
“Sure.” Lacy looked surprised. “What’s up?”
“I just have an errand I need to run.” She retrieved her purse from beneath the front counter and slung it over her shoulder. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour.” She’d have to ask the sheriff to keep the letter a secret from his fiancée, at least for now. In fact, Brenda didn’t want anyone in town to know about it. She had been the focus of enough gossip since Andy’s murder. But she wasn’t stupid enough to try to deal with this by herself. She figured she could trust the Rayford County Sheriff’s Department to keep her secret and, she hoped, to help her.
* * *
DEPUTY DWIGHT PRENTICE would rather face down an irate motorist or break up a bar fight than deal with the stack of forms and reports in his inbox. But duty—and the occasional nagging from office manager Adelaide Kincaid—forced him to tackle the paperwork. That didn’t stop him from resenting the task that kept him behind his desk when Indian summer offered up one of the last shirtsleeve days of fall, the whole world outside bathed in a soft golden light that made the white LED glare of his office seem like a special kind of torture.
As he put the finishing touches on yet another report, he wished for an urgent call he would have to respond to—or at least some kind of distraction. So when the buzzer sounded that signaled the front door opening, he sat back in his chair and listened.
“I need to speak with Travis.”
The woman’s soft, familiar voice made Dwight slide back his chair, then glance at the window to his left to check that the persistent cowlick in his hair wasn’t standing up in back.
“Sheriff Walker is away at training.” Adelaide spoke in what Dwight thought of as her schoolmarm voice—very precise and a little chiding.
“Could I speak to one of the deputies, then?”
“What is this about?”
“I’d prefer to discuss that with the deputy.”
Dwight rose and hurried to head off Adelaide’s further attempts to determine the woman’s business at the sheriff’s department. The older woman was a first-class administrator, but also known as one of the biggest gossips in town.
“Hello, Brenda.” Dwight stepped into the small reception area and nodded to the pretty blonde in front of Adelaide’s desk. “Can I help you with something?”
“Mrs. Stenson wants to speak to a deputy,” Adelaide said.
“That would be me.” Dwight indicated the hallway he had just moved down. “Why don’t you come into my office?”
As he escorted her down the hall, Dwight checked her out, without being too obvious. Brenda had been a pretty girl when they knew each other in high school, but she had matured into a beautiful woman. She had cut a few inches off her hair recently and styled it in soft layers. The look was more sophisticated and suited her. He had noticed her smiling more lately, too. Maybe she was finally getting past the grief for her murdered husband.
She wasn’t smiling now, however. In his office, she took a seat in the chair Dwight indicated and he shut the door, then slid behind his desk. “You look upset,” he said. “What’s happened?”
In answer, she opened her purse, took out a bright yellow envelope, and slid it across the desk to him.
He looked down at the envelope. BRENDA was written across the front in bold black letters, all caps. “Before I open it, tell me your impression of what’s in it,” he said.
“I don’t know if it’s some kind of sick joke, or what,” she said, staring at the envelope as if it were a coiled snake. “But I think it might be a threat.” She knotted her hands on the edge of the desk. “My fingerprints are probably all over it. I wasn’t thinking...”
“That’s all right.” Dwight opened the top desk drawer and took out a pair of nitrile gloves and put them on. Then he turned the envelope over, lifted the flap and slid out the single sheet of folded paper.
The capital letters of the message on the paper were drawn with the same bold black marker as the writing on the envelope. BURN THAT BOOK OR YOU WILL DIE.
“What book?” he asked.
“I can’t be sure, but I think whoever wrote that note is referring to the rare book that’s part of the auction to raise funds for the museum. It’s an obscure, self-published volume purportedly giving an insider’s experiences with a top-secret project to manufacture biological weapons for use in World War II. The project was apparently financed by the US government and took place in Rayford County. I found it in Andy’s belongings, mixed in with some historical law books. I have no idea how he came to have it, but apparently it’s an item that’s really prized by some collectors—because it’s rare, I guess. And maybe because of the nature of the subject matter.”
Dwight grabbed a legal pad and began making notes. Later, he would review them. And he would need them for the inevitable report. “Who knew about this book?” he asked.
“Lots of people,” she said. “There was an article in the Examiner.”
“The issue that came out Thursday?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He riffled through a stack of documents on his desk until he found the copy of the newspaper. The article was on the front page. Rare Book to Head Up Auction Items to Benefit Museum—accompanied by a picture of Brenda holding a slim blue volume, the title, The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado, in silver lettering on the front. “How much is the book worth?” he asked.
“A dealer I contacted estimated we could expect to receive thirty to fifty thousand dollars at a well-advertised auction,” she said. “I thought that in addition to the money, the auction would generate a lot of publicity for the museum and maybe attract more donors.”
“People will pay that much money for a book?” Dwight didn’t try to hide his amazement.
“I was shocked, too. But apparently, it’s very rare, and there’s the whole top-secret government plot angle that collectors like.”
“But this note wasn’t written by a collector,” he said. “A collector wouldn’t want you to burn the book.”
“I know.” She leaned toward him. “That’s why I’m wondering if the whole thing is some kind of twisted joke. I mean—that cheerful yellow paper...” Her voice trailed away as they both stared at the note.
“Maybe it’s a joke,” he said. “But we can’t assume anything. Has anyone said anything to you about the book since this article ran?” He tapped the newspaper. “Anything that struck you as odd or ‘off’?”
“No. The only thing anyone has said is they hope we get a lot of money for the museum. A couple of people said they couldn’t imagine who would pay so much for a book, and one or two have said the subject matter sounded interesting. But no one has seemed upset or negative about it at all.”
“Where is the book now?” he asked.
“It’s at the museum.”
The old-house-turned-museum wasn’t the most secure property, from what Dwight could remember about it. “Do you have a security system there—alarms, cameras?”
She shook her head. “We’ve never had the budget for that kind of thing. And we’ve never needed it. We just have regular door locks with dead bolts, and we keep the most valuable items in our collection in locked cases. But we don’t really have much that most people would find valuable. I mean, antiques and historical artifacts aren’t the kind of thing a person could easily sell for quick cash.”
“But this book is different,” Dwight said. “It’s worth a lot of money. I think you had better put it somewhere else for now. Somewhere more secure.”
“I was thinking of moving it to a safe at my house.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” He stood. “Let’s go do that now.”
“Oh.” She rose, clearly flustered. “You don’t have to do that. I can—”
“I’d like to see this book, anyway.” He gestured to the door, and she moved toward it.
“I’ll meet you at the museum,” he said when they reached the parking lot.
She nodded and fished her car keys out of her purse, then looked at him again, fear in her hazel eyes, though he could tell she was trying hard to hide it. “Do you think I’m really in danger?” she asked.
He put a hand on her arm, a brief gesture of reassurance. “Maybe not. But there’s no harm in being extra careful.”
She nodded, then moved to her car. He waited until she was in the driver’s seat before he got into his SUV, suppressing the urge to call her back, to insist that she ride with him and not move out of his sight until he had tracked down the person who threatened her. He slid behind the wheel and blew out his breath. This was going to be a tough one—not because they had so little to go on to track down the person who had made the threat, but because he was going to have to work hard to keep his emotions out of the case.
He started the vehicle and pulled out onto the street behind Brenda’s Subaru. He could do this. He could investigate the case and protect Brenda Stenson without her finding out he’d been hopelessly in love with her since they were both seventeen.
Chapter Two (#ubcc0dd40-8b26-5323-8cf0-fdbaeabcaf0b)
Brenda had come so close to asking Dwight if he would drive her to the history museum in the sheriff’s department SUV. She felt too vulnerable in her own car, aware that the person who wrote that awful note might be watching her, maybe even waiting to make good on his threat. She shuddered and pushed the thought away. She was overreacting. Dwight hadn’t seemed that upset about the note. And really, who could take it seriously, with the yellow paper and cartoon flowers?
She had always admired Dwight’s steadiness. When they had been in high school, he was one of the stars on the basketball team. As a cheerleader, she had attended every game and watched him lope up and down the gym on his long legs. She had watched all the players, of course, but especially him. He had thick chestnut hair and eyes the color of the Colorado sky in a ruggedly handsome face. There was something so steady about him, even then. Like many of her classmates, he was the son of a local rancher. He wore jeans and boots and Western shirts and walked with the swaggering gait that came from spending so much time on horseback.
A town girl, she didn’t have much in common with him, and was too shy to do more than smile at him in the hall. He always returned the greeting, but that was as far as it went. He’d never asked her out, and after graduation, they’d both left for college. She had returned to town five years later as a newlywed, her husband, Andy, anxious to set up his practice in the small town he had fallen in love with on visits to meet her family. Dwight returned a year later, fresh from military service in Afghanistan. Brenda would have predicted he would go to work on the family ranch—the choice of law enforcement surprised her. But the job suited him—the steadiness and thoughtfulness she had glimpsed as a teen made him a good cop. One she was depending on to help her through this latest crisis.
When they entered the history museum, Lacy was talking to a wiry young man with buzzed hair and tattoos covering both forearms. “Brenda!” Lacy greeted them, then her eyebrows rose as Dwight stepped in behind her. “And Dwight. Hello.” She turned to the young man. “Brenda is the person you need to talk to.”
“Hello, Parker,” Dwight said.
“Deputy.” The young man nodded, his expression guarded.
“This is Parker Riddell,” Lacy said. “Paige Riddell’s brother. Parker, this is Brenda Stenson, the museum’s director.”
Paige ran the local bed-and-breakfast and headed up the environmental group that had stopped Henry Hake’s development. Brenda couldn’t recall her ever mentioning a brother. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand. “How can I help you?”
Parker hesitated, then took it. “I was wanting to volunteer here,” he said.
“Are you interested in history?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah. And my sister said you could use some help, so...” He shrugged.
“Well, yes. I can always use help. But now isn’t really a good time. Could you come back tomorrow?”
“I guess so.” Parker cut his eyes to Dwight. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Deputy Prentice is here to discuss security for our auction.” Brenda forced a smile. That sounded like a reasonable explanation for Dwight’s presence, didn’t it? And not that far from the truth.
“Okay, I guess I’ll come back tomorrow.” Keeping his gaze on Dwight, he sidled past and left, the doorbells clanging behind him.
“What was that about?” Lacy asked Dwight. “He was looking at you like you were a snake he was afraid would strike—or a bug he wanted to stomp on.”
“Let’s just say Parker has a rocky history with law enforcement. I’d be careful about taking him on as a volunteer.”
He sounded so serious. “Do you think he’s dangerous?” Brenda asked.
Dwight shifted his weight. “I just think he’s someone who should be watched closely.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Brenda turned to Lacy. “Thanks for looking after things here while I was gone. You can go home now. I’m going to go over some things with Dwight, then close up for lunch.”
Lacy gave her a speculative look, but said nothing. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then collected her purse and left.
Brenda crossed her arms and faced Dwight. “What’s the story on Parker Riddell?” she asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”
“This is a very small town—you know I’ll find out eventually. If anyone links the information back to you, you can tell them I was doing a background check prior to taking him on as a volunteer. That’s not unreasonable.”
“All right.” He leaned back against the counter facing her. “He got into trouble with drugs, got popped for some petty theft, then a burglary charge. He did a little jail time, then went into rehab and had a chance at a deferred sentence.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means if he keeps his nose clean, his record will be expunged. I take it he came to live with Paige after he got out of rehab to get away from old friends and, hopefully, bad habits. And I hope he does that. That doesn’t mean I think it’s the best idea in the world for you to spend time alone with him, or leave him alone with anything around here that’s valuable.”
“Do you think he might have sent the note?”
He frowned. “It doesn’t fit any pattern of behavior he’s shown before—at least that I know of. But I can look into it. I will look into it.”
“I can’t think of anyone who would do something like that,” she said. “I mean, anonymous notes—it’s so, well, sleazy. And over a stupid book.”
“Show me the book.”
“It’s back here.” She led the way into the workroom, to a file drawer in the back corner. She had placed The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado inside an acid-free cardboard box. She opened the box and handed the book to Dwight.
He read the title on the front, then opened it and flipped through it, stopped and read a few lines. “It’s a little dry,” he said.
“Some parts are better than others,” she said. “Collectors are mainly interested because of the subject matter and its rarity.”
He returned the book to her. “Maybe someone is upset that this top-secret information has been leaked,” he said.
“The whole thing happened seventy years ago,” she said. “As far as I can determine, most of the details about the project are declassified, and all the people who took part are long dead.”
“A relative who’s especially touchy about the family name?” Dwight speculated. “Someone related to the author?” He examined the spine of the book. “S. Smith.”
“The research I did indicated the name is probably a pseudonym,” Brenda said. “In any case, since the author was supposedly part of the project, he would most likely be dead by now. Since his real identity has never been made public, what is there for the family to be upset about?”
“Someone else, then,” Dwight said.
“Are there any new suspicious people hanging around town?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No one who stands out.”
“Except Parker,” she said.
“I’ll check into his background a little more, see if I can find a connection,” he said. He turned to survey the long table that took up much of the room. “Are these the items for the auction?”
“Everything I’ve collected so far,” she said. “I still have a few more things people have promised.”
He picked up a set of hand-braided reins and a silver-trimmed bridle. “You’ve got a lot of nice things. Should net you a good bit of money.”
“I hope it’s enough,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have any hope of finding Henry Hake alive and well and enjoying an island vacation, have you? He was our biggest donor.”
Dwight shook his head. “I don’t expect any of us will be seeing Henry Hake again,” he said. “At least not alive.”
“I figured as much. So all we need is another wealthy benefactor. I’m hoping that rare book will attract someone like that—someone with money to spare, who might enjoy getting credit for pulling us out of the red.”
“What will happen if that benefactor doesn’t materialize?” he asked.
She straightened her shoulders and put on her brave face—one she had had plenty of practice assuming since Andy’s death. “I’ll have to find another job. And this town will lose one of its real assets.”
“I hope we won’t lose you, too,” he said.
The intensity of his gaze unsettled her. She looked away. “Sometimes I think leaving and starting over would be a good idea,” she said. “But I love Eagle Mountain. This is my home, and I’m not too anxious to find another one.”
“Then I hope you never have to.”
The silence stretched between them. She could feel his eyes still on her. Time to change the subject. “Lacy was telling me Eddie Carstairs has been mouthing off to people about his getting fired, trying to stir up trouble.”
“Eddie’s sore about losing his job, but Travis did the right thing, firing him. Any other department would have done the same. The fact that he’s making such a fuss about something that was his own fault shows he doesn’t have the right temperament for the job. You can’t be hotheaded and impulsive and last long in law enforcement.”
Dwight had never been hotheaded or impulsive. He was the epitome of the cool, deliberate, hardworking cowboy. She replaced the book in the box and fit the lid on it. “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I’ll close a little early for lunch and you can follow me to the house—though that probably isn’t necessary.”
“No harm in taking precautions.” He followed her into the front room, where she collected her purse, turned down the lights, then turned the sign on the front door to Closed. “After we secure the book in your safe, maybe I could take you to lunch,” he said.
The invitation surprised her so much she almost dropped the book. Was Dwight asking her out on a date? You’re not in high school anymore,she reminded herself. He was probably just being friendly. Her first instinct was to turn him down. She had too much to do. She wasn’t ready to go out with another man.
Andy’s been dead three and a half years. When are you going to be ready?
“Thanks,” she said. “That would be nice.”
He walked her to her car, and when his arm brushed hers briefly as he reached out to open the door for her, a tremor went through her. Why was she acting like this? She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore, swooning over a crush—but that’s what being with Dwight made her feel like all of a sudden.
She murmured, “Thanks,” as she slid past him into the driver’s seat and drove, sedately, toward her home. She laughed at herself, being so careful to keep under the speed limit. Did she really think Dwight would suddenly switch on his lights and siren and give her a ticket?
The house she and Andy had purchased when they moved back to Eagle Mountain had undergone extensive remodeling, expanding from a tiny clapboard-sided bungalow to a larger cottage trimmed in native rock and including a detached two-car garage with an apartment above. Only recently, Brenda had learned that those renovations had been financed not by Andy’s law practice, as she had thought, but with money he received from people he blackmailed, including her former boss, Jan Selkirk. The knowledge had made her feel so ashamed, but people had been surprisingly kind. No one had suggested—at least to her face—that she had been guilty of anything except being naive about her husband’s activities.
She pulled into the driveway that ran between the house and the garage and Dwight parked the sheriff’s department SUV behind her. That would no doubt raise some eyebrows among any neighbors who might be watching. Then again, considering all that had happened in the past three and a half years, from Andy’s murder to the revelations about his blackmail and Jan’s attempts to steal back evidence of her involvement in the blackmail, everyone in town was probably used to seeing the cops at Brenda’s place.
Dwight met her on the walkway that led from the drive to the front steps. “You haven’t had any trouble around the house, have you?” he asked. “No mysterious phone calls or cars you don’t recognize driving by? Any door-to-door salesmen who might have been casing the place?”
“If door-to-door salesmen still exist, they aren’t in Eagle Mountain.” She led the way up the walk, keys in hand.
He smiled at her, and her heart skipped a beat again. He really did have the nicest smile, and those blue, blue eyes—
The eyes hardened, and the smile vanished. She realized he wasn’t focused on her anymore, but on her front door. She gasped when she saw the envelope taped there—a bright yellow envelope. Like a birthday card, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Her name, printed in familiar bold black lettering, was written on the front.
Dwight put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait before you touch it. I want to get some photographs.”
He took several pictures of the note taped to the door, from several different angles, then moved back to examine the steps and the porch floor for any impressions. He put away his phone and pulled on a pair of thin gloves, then carefully removed the note from the door, handling it by the edges and with all the delicacy one would use with a bomb.
Meanwhile, Brenda hugged her arms across her stomach and did her best not to be sick in the lilac bushes. Dwight laid the envelope on the small table beside the porch glider and teased open the flap.
The note inside was very like the first—yellow paper, dancing cartoon flowers. He coaxed out the sheet and unfolded it. Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. Taped to the top of the paper was a photograph—a crime scene photo taken of Andy at his desk, stabbed in the chest, head lolling forward. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she had seen the words written below the photograph. THIS COULD BE YOU.
Chapter Three (#ubcc0dd40-8b26-5323-8cf0-fdbaeabcaf0b)
Dwight could feel Brenda trembling and rushed to put his arm around her and guide her over to a cushioned lounge chair on the other side of the porch, away from the sick photo. He sat beside her, his arm around her, as she continued to shudder. “Take a deep breath,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She nodded, and gradually the trembling subsided. Her eyes met his, wet with unshed tears. “Why?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. I’m going to look at the note again. Will you be okay if I do that?”
“Yes.” She straightened. “I’m fine now. It was just such a shock.” She was still pale, but determination straightened her shoulders, and he didn’t think she would faint or go into hysterics if he left her side.
He stood and returned to the note on the table. The image pasted onto the paper wasn’t a photograph, but a photocopy of a photograph. Dwight couldn’t be sure, but this didn’t look like something that would have run in the newspaper. It looked like a crime scene photo, the kind that would have been taken before Andy Stenson’s body was removed from his office and then become part of the case file.
“Have you ever seen this photograph before?” he asked Brenda.
“I think so,” she said. “At Lacy’s trial.”
Dwight nodded. Lacy Milligan had been wrongfully convicted of murdering her boss. At the trial, the prosecution would have shown crime scene photos as evidence of the violence of the attack.
“Who would have had access to those photos?” Brenda asked. “Law enforcement, the lawyers—”
“Anyone who worked at the law offices or the courtroom,” Dwight said. “Maybe even the press. This isn’t one of the actual photos—it’s a photocopy. The person who wrote the note included it to frighten you.”
“Well, they succeeded.” She stood and began pacing back and forth, keeping to the side of the porch away from the note and its chilling contents. “Dwight, what are we going to do?”
He liked that “we.” She was counting on him to work with her—to help her. “You could burn the book,” he said.
She stopped pacing and stared at him. “And give in to this creep’s demands? What’s to stop him from demanding something else? Maybe next time he’ll suggest I burn down my house, or paint the museum pink. Maybe he gets off on making people do his bidding.” Her voice rose, and her words grew more agitated—but it was better than seeing her so pale and defeated-looking.
“I’m not saying you should burn the book, only that it was one option.”
“I’m not going to burn the book. We need to find out who this person is and stop him—or her.”
She was interrupted by a red car pulling to the curb in front of the house. Lacy got out and hurried up the walk, smiling widely. “Hey, Dwight,” she said. “Still discussing security issues?” She laughed, then winked at Brenda.
Brenda’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “You’re certainly in a good mood,” she said.
“I’ve been out at the ranch. The wedding planner needed me to take some measurements. It’s such a gorgeous place for a wedding, and Travis’s mom is as excited about it as I am.” She sat in a chair near Brenda. “So what are you two really up to?” she asked.
“I’ve received a couple of disturbing letters,” Brenda said. She glanced at Dwight. “Threatening ones.”
“Oh no!” Lacy’s smile vanished and her face paled. “I thought you were a little distracted this morning, but I assumed it was over the auction. I’m sorry for being so silly.”
“It’s all right,” Brenda said. “The first note was taped to the door of the museum when I arrived this morning. We just found a second one here at the house.”
“Threats?” Lacy shook her head. “Who would want to threaten you? And why?”
“The first note told me I should burn the rare book that’s up for auction—or else,” Brenda said.
“What did the second note say?” Lacy asked.
Brenda opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and shook her head. Lacy looked to Dwight. “You tell her,” Brenda said.
“The second note contained a crime scene photo from Andy’s murder, and said ‘this could be you.’”
Lacy gasped, then leaned over and took Brenda’s hand. “That’s horrible. Who would do such a thing?”
“We’re going to find that out,” Dwight said.
“What are you going to do until then?” Lacy asked.
“Until this is resolved, I think you should move back in with your parents—or with Travis,” Brenda said.
“You can’t stay here by yourself,” Lacy said.
Dwight was about to agree with her, but Brenda cut him off. “I’m not going to let this creep run me out of my own home,” she declared. “I’ve been manipulated enough in my life—I’m not going to let it happen again.”
Was she saying her husband had manipulated her? Dwight wondered. Certainly, Andy Stenson had kept her in the dark about his blackmailing activities and the real source of his income. “We’ll put extra patrols on the house,” Dwight said. If he had to, he’d park his own car on the curb and stay up all night watching over her.
“Thank you,” Brenda said. “In the meantime, I’m going to contact the paper and let them know what’s going on. I want whoever is doing this to see that I’m not afraid of him. Besides, if everybody knows what’s going on, I’ll feel safer. People complain about how nosy everyone is in small towns, but in a situation like this, that could work to my advantage.”
“That’s a good idea.” He turned to look at the letter and envelope still lying on the table. “Let me take care of these, and I’m going to call in some crime scene folks to go over the scene and see if we missed anything. Come with me and we’ll call the paper from there.”
“All right,” she said.
“I’ll come with you, too,” Lacy said. “Travis should be back from his class soon.”
“Give me a minute,” Dwight said. He walked out to his SUV to retrieve an evidence pouch. The women huddled on the porch together, talking softly. Brenda was calm now, but he could imagine how upsetting seeing that photograph had been for her. The person who had left that note wasn’t only interested in persuading her to destroy the book. He could have done that with another death threat, or even a physical attack.
No, the person who had left that photo wanted to inflict psychological harm. The man—or woman—had a personal dislike for Brenda, or for women in general, or for something she represented. Or at least, that was Dwight’s take, based on the psychology courses he’d taken as an undergraduate. He’d have to question her carefully to determine if there was anything in her background to inspire that kind of hate. With that photograph, the note-writer had gone from a possible annoying-but-harmless prankster to someone who could be a serious danger.
* * *
BRENDA RODE WITH Lacy to the sheriff’s department, grateful for the distraction that talk about the upcoming wedding provided—anything to block out the horrible image of her dead husband on that note. The photo, more than the threat beneath it, had hit her like a hard punch to the stomach, the sickening pain of it still lingering. Dwight had been shocked, too, though, typical for him, he hadn’t shown a lot of emotion. Somehow, his steadiness had helped her step back from the horror and try to think rationally.
Whoever had sent that note wanted to shock her—to terrify her and maybe, to make her reluctant to dig into the reason behind the threat. The letter writer mistook her for a weak woman who would do anything to make the pain go away.
She had been that person once. When Andy dismissed her questions about all the money he was spending on remodeling their home with an admonishment that she didn’t need to worry about any of that, she had backed off and accepted his judgment. The idea made her cringe now, but she had been so young, and unwilling to do anything that might mar her happiness.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again. Turning away from things that hurt or frightened her only made them more difficult to deal with later. Now she faced her problems head-on, and in doing so had discovered a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.
Paige Riddell was waiting in the lobby of the sheriff’s department, and confronted Dwight as soon as he walked in. “How dare you treat my brother the way you did this morning,” she said before the door had even shut behind Dwight and the two women. “He was trying to help—to do something good—and you shut him down as if he were trying to rob the place. You wouldn’t even give him a chance.” Her voice shook on the last words—Paige, who to Brenda was the epitome of a tough woman. Paige, who had taken on Henry Hake’s money and position and defeated his plans to build a luxury resort in an environmentally fragile location. Now she seemed on the verge of tears.
“Why don’t we go into my office and talk about this?” Dwight gestured down the hallway.
“You didn’t have any problem with confronting Parker in public, so we’ll do this in public.” Paige glanced at Lacy and Brenda. “I’m sure Dwight has already informed you that my brother has been arrested before. He’s not trying to hide that. He made a mistake and he paid for it. He went through rehab and he’s clean now, and trying to start over—if people like the deputy here will let him.”
Dwight frowned, hands on his hips. “If Parker has a problem with something I said, he should come to me and we’ll talk about it,” he said.
“Parker doesn’t want to talk to you. He didn’t want to talk to me, but I saw how down he was when he came back from the history museum this morning, so I pried the story out of him. He said you looked at him like you suspected him of planning to blow up the building or something.”
Dwight’s face reddened. Brenda sympathized with him—but she also related to Paige’s desire to protect her brother. Dwight clearly hadn’t liked the young man, and his dislike had shown in the encounter this morning. “Paige, does Parker know you’re here?” she asked.
Paige turned to her. “No. And when he finds out, he’ll be furious. But he’s been furious with me before. He’ll get over it.”
“Why was Parker at the history museum this morning?” Dwight asked.
“Because he’s interested in history. It’s one of the things he’s studying in college. I told him the museum was looking for volunteers and he should apply.”
“That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?” Dwight said. “A guy his age being so interested in the past.”
“Tell that to all the history majors at his school,” Paige said. “Parker is a very bright young man. He has a lot of interests, and history is one of them.”
“Any particular type of history?” Dwight asked. “Is he, for instance, interested in the history of World War II? Or local history?”
Brenda held her breath, realizing where Dwight was headed with this line of questioning.
Paige shook her head. “I don’t know that it’s any particular kind of history. American history, certainly. Colorado and local history, probably. Why do you ask?”
“Does your brother have any history of violence? Of making threats?”
“What? No! What are you talking about?”
“I can check his record,” Dwight said.
“Check it. You won’t find anything.” She turned to Brenda and Lacy. “Parker was convicted for possession of methamphetamine and for stealing to support his drug habit. He was never violent, and he’s been clean for three months now. He’s going to stay clean. He moved here to get away from all his old influences. He’s enrolled in college and he has a part-time job at Peggy’s Pizza.”
Brenda wet her lips, her mouth dry. “Do you have any yellow stationery at your place?” she asked. “With dancing cartoon flowers across the bottom?”
Paige’s brow knit. She looked at Dwight again. “What is going on? If you’re accusing Parker of something, tell me.”
“Brenda received a threatening note at the museum this morning,” Dwight said. “It was written on distinctive stationery.” Brenda noticed that he didn’t mention the note at her home.
“The only stationery I use is made of recycled paper,” Paige said. “It’s plain and cream-colored. And Parker didn’t write that note. He wouldn’t threaten anyone—much less Brenda. He doesn’t even know her.”
“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Dwight said.
“Right.” Paige didn’t roll her eyes, but she looked as if she wanted to. “I bet you’re asking everyone in town about their stationery.” She turned to Brenda again. “I know Parker would hate me if he knew I was asking this, but please give him a chance at the museum. He needs constructive things to fill his spare time, and he’s a hard worker. And while he’s not the biggest guy on the block, he knows how to take care of himself. He would be good protection in case the real person who’s making these threats comes around.”
Paige’s concern for her brother touched Brenda. And she had always had a soft spot for people who needed a second chance. “Tell him to come around tomorrow and fill out a volunteer application. Most of my volunteers are older women—it will be nice to have a young man with a strong back.”
“Thank you. You won’t regret it, I promise.” She squeezed Brenda’s hand, then, with a last scornful look at Dwight, left.
Dwight crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to take on a new volunteer,” he said. “Not until we know who’s threatening you.”
“I know you don’t, but I trust Paige’s judgment,” Brenda said. “She’s not a pushover.”
“People often have blind spots for the people they love,” he said.
She couldn’t help but flinch at his words. She had certainly had a blind spot when it came to Andy. Her dismay must have showed, because Dwight hurried to apologize. “Brenda, I didn’t mean...”
“I know what you meant,” she said. “And I’ll be careful, I promise.”
The door opened again and Travis strolled in. The sheriff looked as polished and pressed—and handsome—as ever. If he was surprised to see them all standing in the reception area, he didn’t show it on his face. “Hey, Brenda,” he said. “What happened to the banner advertising the auction that was hung over Main Street at the entrance to town?”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “It was fine the last time I checked—just yesterday.”
“It’s not fine now,” he said. “It’s gone.”
Chapter Four (#ubcc0dd40-8b26-5323-8cf0-fdbaeabcaf0b)
“What do you mean, the banner is gone?” Lacy was the first to speak. “Did someone steal it?”
“I don’t know,” Travis said. “It was there when I left for my training this morning and it isn’t there now.”
“Maybe the wind blew it away,” Lacy said.
“We haven’t had any high winds,” Brenda said. “And I watched the city crew hang that banner—it was tied down tight to the utility poles on either side of the street. It would take a hurricane to blow it away.”
“Do you think this has anything to do with those nasty letters you received?” Lacy asked.
“What letters?” Travis was all business now.
“Let’s take this into your office,” Dwight said. “I’ll fill you in.”
They all filed down the hall to Travis’s office. He hung his Stetson on the hat rack by the door and settled behind his desk. Lacy and Brenda took the two visitors’ chairs in front of the desk, while Dwight leaned against the wall beside the door. “Tell me,” Travis said.
So Brenda—with Dwight providing details—told the sheriff about the two threatening letters she had received: the cheerful yellow stationery, the black marker, the photocopy of the horrible crime scene photo and all about the book the letter writer wanted her to destroy. Travis listened, then leaned back, his chair creaking, as he considered the situation. “What’s your take on this, Dwight?” he asked.
Dwight straightened. “I think this guy has a real mean streak, but he isn’t too smart.”
Brenda turned in her chair to look at him. “Why do you think he isn’t smart?” she asked.
“Because if he really wanted to get rid of the book, why not try to steal it? Get rid of it himself?”
“Maybe he knew I’d keep something so valuable locked up,” Brenda said.
“Maybe. I still would have expected him to try to get to it before resorting to these threats. There’s a lot of risk in writing a note like that—the risk of being seen delivering the notes or of someone recognizing that stationery.”
“He—or she—I’m not going to rule out a woman,” Travis said, “must think there’s a good chance he won’t be noticed. Maybe he thinks people wouldn’t be surprised to see him around the museum or your house, or he’s good at making himself inconspicuous.”
“So someone who looks harmless,” Lacy said. “That could be almost anyone.”
“Where is this book now?” Travis asked.
“It’s in my purse.” Brenda opened her handbag and took out the small cloth-bound volume and handed it across the desk. “After we found that second letter, we never made it inside to put it in my safe.”
Travis opened the book and flipped through it. “I think you’re right that this guy isn’t very smart,” he said. “By demanding you destroy this book, he’s focused all our attention on it.”
“Or maybe he’s really smart and he’s trying to divert our attention from what’s really important,” Dwight said.
Travis closed the book. “I think it would be a good idea to keep this here at the sheriff’s department until the auction,” he said.
“Fine,” Brenda said. “I’ll sleep better knowing it isn’t in my house.”
“You can’t go back to your house,” Dwight said.
He was giving an order, not making a request, and that didn’t sit well with her. “I won’t let some nut run me out of my home,” she said.
“Someone who would threaten you with that crime scene photo might be serious about hurting you,” Travis said. “We can run extra patrols, but we can’t protect you twenty-four hours a day. We don’t have the manpower. You need to go somewhere that will make it harder for this guy to get to you.”
“And where is that?” she asked. “A hotel isn’t going to be any safer than my home.”
“We can try to find a safe house,” Travis said.
“Sheriff, I have a job that I need to do. I can’t just leave town and hide out—if I do, then this jerk wins. I won’t let that happen.”
The two men exchanged a look that Brenda read as Why do women have to be so difficult? She turned to face Dwight. “If someone were threatening you like this, would you run away?” she demanded.
He shook his head. “No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But what about a compromise—somewhere near town where you would be safer, but still be able to work at the museum?”
“Do you know of a place?” Lacy asked.
“I do.”
“Not with you,” Brenda said. “No offense, but if you want to really start wild rumors, just let people find out I’ve moved in with you.”
Something flashed in his eyes—was he amused? But he quickly masked the expression. “I don’t want to start any rumors,” he said. “And I’m not talking about moving in with me. But my parents have plenty of room at the ranch, and I know they’d love to have you stay with them. There are fences and a locked gate, plus plenty of people around day and night. It would be a lot more difficult for anyone to get to you there.” He let a hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “And my cabin isn’t that far from the main house, so I can keep an eye on you, too.”
Brenda recalled Bud and Sharon Prentice as a genial couple who had cheered on their son at every basketball game and helped out with fund-raisers and other school functions. They were the kind of people who worked hard in the background and didn’t demand the spotlight.
Lacy leaned over and squeezed Brenda’s arm. “You don’t really want to go back to your house alone, do you?” she asked.
“Where are you going to be?” Brenda asked.
Lacy flushed. “I think I’ll be staying with Travis until this is settled. I’m no hero.”
Brenda didn’t want to be a hero, either—especially a foolhardy one. “All right,” she said. “I’ll take you up on your offer. But only for a few days.”
“Let’s hope that’s all it takes to find this guy,” Dwight said.
* * *
DWIGHT RODE WITH Brenda to his family’s ranch west of town. He wasn’t going to risk her wrath by coming right out and saying he didn’t want her alone on the road, so he made an excuse about having to get his personal pickup truck and bring it into town for an oil change. He wasn’t sure if she bought the explanation, but she didn’t object when he left his SUV parked in front of her house and slid into the passenger seat of her Subaru. She had packed up her laptop and a small suitcase of clothes—enough for a few days at the ranch. “Do you remember visiting the ranch when we were in high school?” he asked as she headed out of town and into the more open country at the foot of the mountains.
“I remember,” she said. “Your parents threw a party for the senior class. I remember being in awe of the place—it seemed so big compared to my parents’ little house in town.”
“As ranches go, it’s not that big,” Dwight said. “To me, it’s just home.” The ranch had been the place for him and his brothers and sister to ride horses, swim in the pond, fish in the creek and work hard alongside their parents. For a kid who liked the outdoors and didn’t enjoy sitting still for long, it was the perfect place to grow up. He had acres of territory to roam, and there was always something to do or see.
Brenda turned onto the gravel road that wound past his parents’ property, the fields full of freshly mown hay drying in the sun. Other pastures were dotted with fat round bales, wrapped in plastic to protect them from the elements and looking like giant marshmallows scattered across the landscape. She turned in at the open gate, a wrought iron arch overhead identifying this as the Boot Heel Ranch.
“The house looks the same as I remember it,” Brenda said. “I love that porch.” The porch stretched all across the front of the two-story log home, honeysuckle vines twining up the posts, pots of red geraniums flanking the steps. Dwight’s parents, Sharon and Bud, were waiting at the top of the steps to greet them. Smiling, his mother held out both hands to Brenda. “Dwight didn’t give any details, just said you needed to stay with us a few days while he investigates someone who’s been harassing you,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through that, dear.”
“Thank you for taking me in,” Brenda said.
“I’m sure your mother would have done the same for Dwight, if the shoe had been on the other foot,” Sharon said. “I remember her as the kind of woman who would go out of her way to help everyone.”
Dwight remembered now that Brenda’s mother had died of cancer while Brenda was in college. Her father had moved away—to Florida or Arizona or someplace like that.
“Thank you,” Brenda said again. “Your place is so beautiful.”
“I give Sharon all the credit for the house.” Bud stepped forward and offered a hand. “I see to the cows and horses—though she has her say with them, too. Frankly, we’d probably all be lost without her.”
Sharon beamed at this praise, though Dwight knew she had heard it before—not that it wasn’t true. His mother was the epitome of the iron fist in the velvet glove—gently guiding them all, but not afraid to give them a kick in the rear if they needed it.
“Let me show you to your room,” Sharon said.
“I can do that, Mom,” Dwight said. He had retrieved Brenda’s laptop bag and suitcase from the car and now led the way into the house and up the stairs to the guest suite on the north side of the house. The door to the room was open, and he saw that someone—probably his mother—had put fresh flowers in a cut-glass vase on the bureau opposite the bed. The bright pink and yellow and white blossoms reflected in the mirror over the bureau, and echoed the colors in the quilt on the cherry sleigh bed that had belonged to Dwight’s great-grandmother.
“This is beautiful.” Brenda did a full turn in the middle of the room, taking it all in.
“You should be comfortable up here.” He set both her bags on the rug by the bed. “And you’ll have plenty of privacy. My parents added a master suite downstairs after us kids moved out.”
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“My cabin is on another part of the property. You can see it from the window over here.” He motioned, and she went to the window. He moved in behind her and pointed to the modest cedar cabin he had taken as his bachelor quarters. “Years ago, we had a ranch foreman who lived there, but he moved to a bigger place on another part of the ranch, so I claimed it.”
“Nice.”
The subtle floral fragrance of her perfume tickled his nostrils. It was all he could do not to lean down and inhale the scent of her—a gesture that would no doubt make her think he was a freak.
“I hope you didn’t take what I said wrong—about not wanting to move in with you,” she said. “It’s just—”
He touched her arm. “I know.” She had been the center of so much town gossip over the years, first with her husband’s murder, then with the revelations that he had been blackmailing prominent citizens, that she shied away from that sort of attention.
“I had the biggest crush on you when I was a kid,” he said. “That party here at the ranch—I wanted to ask you to dance so badly, but I could never work up the nerve.”
She searched his face. “Why were you afraid to ask?”
“You were so beautiful, and popular—you were a cheerleader—the prom queen.”
“You were popular, too.”
“I had friends, but not like you. Everyone liked you.”
She turned to look out the window once more. “All that seems so long ago,” she said.
He moved away. “I’ll let you get settled. We usually eat dinner around six.”
He was almost to the door when she called his name. “Dwight?”
“Yes?”
“You should have asked me to dance. I would have said yes.”
* * *
SEEING THE ADULT Dwight with his parents at dinner that evening gave Brenda a new perspective on the solemn, thoughtful sheriff’s deputy she thought she knew. With Bud and Sharon, Dwight was affectionate and teasing, laughing at the story Bud told about a ten-year-old Dwight getting cornered in a pasture by an ornery cow, offering a thoughtful opinion when Sharon asked if they should call in a new vet to look at a horse who was lame, and discussing plans to repair irrigation dikes before spring. Clearly, he still played an important role on the ranch despite his law enforcement duties.
Watching the interaction, Brenda missed her own parents—especially her mother. Her mother’s cancer had been diagnosed the summer before Brenda’s senior year of college. Her parents had insisted she continue her education, so Brenda saw the toll the disease took only on brief visits home.
She had met Andrew Stenson during that awful time, and he had been her strongest supporter and biggest help, a shoulder for her to cry on and someone for her to lean on in the aftermath of her mother’s death. No matter his flaws, she knew Andy had loved her, though she could see now that he had assumed the role of caretaker in their relationship. By the time they married, she had grown used to depending on him and letting him make the decisions.
But she wasn’t that grieving girl anymore. And she didn’t want a man to take care of her. She wanted someone to stand beside her—a partner, not just a protector.
After dinner, she insisted on helping Sharon with the dishes. “That’s my job, you know,” Dwight said as he stacked plates while Brenda collected silverware.
“The two of you can see to cleanup,” Sharon said. “I think I’ll sit out on the porch with your father. It’s such a nice evening.”
“You don’t have to work for your room and board,” Dwight said as he led the way into the kitchen. “I could get this myself.”
“I want to help,” she said. “Besides, we need to talk. I never got around to notifying the paper this afternoon.”
“You can do it in the morning,” he said. “The deadline for the weekly issue is the day after tomorrow.” He squirted dish soap into the sink and began filling it with hot water.
Brenda slid the silverware into the soapy water. “I’ve been racking my brain and I can’t come up with anyone who would want to harm me or the museum.”
“Maybe one of Andy’s blackmail victims has decided to take his anger out on you,” Dwight said as he began to wash dishes. “We don’t know who besides Jan he might have extorted money from, though the records we were able to obtain from his old bank accounts seemed to indicate multiple regular payments from several people.”
“Why focus on the book?” She picked up a towel and began to dry. “Part of me still thinks this is just a sick prank—that we’re getting all worked up for nothing.”
“I hope that’s all it is.” He rinsed a plate, then handed it to her. “I want to dig into Parker Riddell’s background a little more and see if I can trace his movements yesterday.”
“Why would he care about me or a rare book?” Brenda asked. “He’s a kid who made some mistakes, but I can’t see how or why he’d be involved in this.”
“I have to check him out,” Dwight said.
“I know. I just wish there were more I could do. I hate waiting around like this.” She hated being helpless.
“I know.” He handed her another plate. They did the dishes in companionable silence for the next few minutes. The domestic chore, and the easy rhythm they established, soothed her frayed nerves.
Dwight’s phone rang. He dried his hands and looked at the screen. “I’d better take this,” he said. He moved into the other room. She continued to dry, catching snippets of the conversation.
“When did this happen?”
“Who called it in?”
“What’s the extent of the damage?”
“I see. Yes. I’ll tell her.”
She set the plate she had been drying on the counter and turned to face him as he walked back into the room. His face confirmed her fears. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“There was a fire at your house. A neighbor called it in, but apparently there’s a lot of damage.”
She gripped the counter, trying to absorb the impact of his words. “How did it start?” she asked.
“They think it’s probably arson.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “We aren’t dealing with a prankster here. Someone is out to hurt you, and I’m not going to let that happen.”
Chapter Five (#ubcc0dd40-8b26-5323-8cf0-fdbaeabcaf0b)
The smell of wet ashes stuck in the back of Dwight’s throat, thick and acrid, as he stood with Travis and Assistant Fire Chief Tom Reynolds in front of what was left of Brenda Stenson’s house the morning after the fire. The garage and apartment where Lacy lived were unscathed, but the main house only had two walls left upright, the siding streaked with black and the interior collapsed into a pile of blackened rubble. If Dwight let himself think about what might have happened if Brenda had been inside when the fire was lit, he broke out in a cold sweat.
So he pushed the thoughts away and focused on the job. “We found evidence of an accelerant—gasoline—at the back corner of the house,” Tom said. “Probably splashed it all over the siding, maybe piled some papers or dry leaves around it and added a match—boom—these old houses tend to catch quickly.”
“Do you think the arsonist chose that corner because it was out of view of the street and neighboring houses, or because he wanted to make sure the rooms in that part of the house were destroyed?” Dwight asked.
Tom shrugged. “Maybe both. The location was definitely out of view—someone in the garage apartment might have seen it, but he might have known Lacy wasn’t in last night.”
“Maybe they knew Brenda wasn’t here last night, either,” Travis said. He scanned the street in front of the house. “If they were watching the place.”
“We’ll canvass the neighbors,” Dwight said. “See if they have any friends or relatives who have recently moved in, or if they’ve noticed anyone hanging around or anything unusual.”
“What’s located in this corner of the house?” Travis asked.
“I think it’s where Andy’s home office used to be,” Dwight said. “I remember picking up some paperwork from him not too long after I started with the department.” Brenda hadn’t been home, which had disappointed Dwight at the time, though he had told himself it was just as well.
“That’s probably where the safe was where Brenda wanted to stash that book,” Travis said.
“Probably,” Dwight said. “But safes are usually fireproof.”
“Maybe whoever did this didn’t know about the safe,” Travis said.
“Or destroying the book wasn’t even the point,” Dwight said. “Frightening Brenda into getting rid of the book on her own would be enough for him.”
“I guess I’d be frightened right now if I were her,” Tom said.
“Brenda’s not like that,” Dwight said. “I’m not saying she’s not afraid—but she’s not going to destroy the book, either. This guy’s threats are only making her dig her heels in more.”
Travis checked his watch. “Thanks for meeting with us, Tom,” he said. “I have to get back to the office.”
“Yeah, I’d better get going, too,” Tom said. “I’ll get a copy of the report to you and to Brenda for her insurance company.”
Dwight followed Travis to the curb, where both their SUVs were parked. “I’m supposed to meet with the DEA guy the Feds sent to deal with that underground lab we found out at Henry Hake’s place,” Travis said. “He’s had an investigative team at the site and has a report for me.”
“Mind if I sit in?” Dwight asked. “I’ve got a couple of questions for him.”
“Sure. I asked Gage to be there, too.”
Travis’s brother, Deputy Gage Walker, met them at the sheriff’s department. Two years younger and two inches taller than his brother, Gage’s easygoing, aww-shucks manner concealed a sharp intellect and commitment to his job. “Adelaide told me you two were out at the Stenson place,” Gage said as the three filed into the station’s meeting room. “I drove by there on my way in this morning. The fire really did a number on the place.”
“Tom says they’re sure it was arson,” Travis said.
“How’s Brenda taking it?” Gage asked.
“She’s stoic,” Dwight said.
“She’s been through a lot the past few years,” Gage said.
Brenda had been through too much, Dwight thought. And most of it pretty much by herself. She had friends in town, but no one she could really lean on. He got the sense that Andy’s betrayal had made her reluctant to depend on anyone. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to be so strong around him—but he didn’t want her to take the sentiment wrong.
The bell on the front door sounded, and all conversation stopped as they listened to Adelaide greet a male visitor. Their voices grew louder as they approached the meeting room. “This is Special Agent Rob Allerton.” Adelaide didn’t exactly bat her eyes at the dark-haired agent, who bore a passing resemblance to Jake Gyllenhaal, but she came close. Gage grinned, no doubt intending to give the office manager a hard time about it later.
Allerton himself seemed oblivious to her adoration—or maybe he was used to it. He shook hands with the sheriff and each of the deputies as they introduced themselves. “Is this your first visit to our part of the state?” Travis asked as they settled in chairs around the conference table.
“My first, but not my last.” Allerton settled his big frame into the metal chair. “You people are living in paradise. It’s gorgeous out here.”
“Don’t spread the word,” Gage said. “We don’t want to be overrun.”
“What can you tell us about your investigation of the underground lab?” Travis asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Allerton said. “So far our analysts haven’t found any illegal drug residue, or really any signs that the lab has been used recently.”
“What about World War II?” Dwight asked. “Could it have been used then?”
Allerton frowned. “Want to tell me how you came up with that time period?”
“The local history museum is having an auction to raise money,” Travis said.
“Right, I saw the banner the first day I arrived in town,” Allerton said.
The banner that had mysteriously disappeared—Dwight had almost forgotten about it in the flurry of activity since then. “One of the items up for auction—probably the most valuable item—is a book detailing a World War II project to produce chemical and biological weapons,” Travis said. “Supposedly, the work was done in underground labs in this part of the country.”
“No kidding?” Allerton shook his head. “Well, the equipment we found wasn’t old enough for that. In fact, some of it appears to have been stolen from your local high school, judging by the high school name stenciled on the glass. There are some indications—marks on the floor and walls—that other equipment or furnishings might have been in that space previously. There’s no way of knowing when they were moved. It would be an interesting historical artifact if that were true, but I can’t see anything illegal in it.”
“Somebody is upset about the book getting out there,” Dwight said. “They made threats against the museum director, and last night someone burned down her house.”
“That’s bad, but I don’t see any connection to this lab.”
“Seen anybody up there at the site while you were there?” Travis asked. “Any signs of recent activity?”
Allerton shook his head. “Nothing. I see why this guy, Hake, wanted to build a development up there—it’s beautiful. But the ghost town he ended up with is a little creepy.”
“Where do we go from here?” Travis asked.
“Me, I go back home to Denver,” Allerton said. “If you have questions or need more help, give me a call. I’d love an excuse to get back out here.”
He stood, and the four of them walked to the front again. Adelaide smiled up at them. Had she freshened her lipstick? Dwight forced himself not to react. “That didn’t take long,” she said.
“Short and sweet,” Allerton said. “Though I know how to take my time when the job calls for it.”
Adelaide blushed pink, and Dwight bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Allerton said goodbye and let himself out. When he was gone, Adelaide sat back in her chair, both hands over her heart. “Oh my! Did you see those eyes? He looked just like that movie star—what’s his name? You know the one.”
“Jake Gyllenhaal,” Dwight said.
“That’s him!” Adelaide crowed.
Travis and Gage stared at him. “You knew that?” Gage asked.
Dwight shrugged. “I like movies.”
“He didn’t find any signs of illegal activity in that underground lab on Henry Hake’s property,” Travis said. “That’s all I care about.”
“Mind if I go up there and take another look around?” Dwight asked. “I might take Brenda with me—she’s a historian, or at least, that’s her degree. I want to know if she sees anything that might link to the World War II labs that book talks about.”
“Fine by me,” Travis said. “Technically, it’s still a crime scene, since that’s where Gage and Maya and Casey were held after they were kidnapped, though I’m going to have to release it back to the owners soon.”
“Who are the owners?” Gage asked. “Isn’t Henry Hake’s name still on the deed?”
“Apparently, the week before he went missing, he signed the whole thing over to a concern called CNG Development. I found out last week when I tried one of the numbers I had for Hake Development. I got a recording telling me the company had been absorbed by CNG, but when I tried to track down the number for them, I couldn’t find anything. Then I checked with the courts and sure enough, the change was registered the day before Hake disappeared.”
“Coincidence?” Gage asked.
“Maybe,” Travis said. “But I’d sure like to talk to someone with CNG about it. The number listed on the court documents is answered by another recording, and the address is a mailbox service in Ogden, Utah.”
“Be careful when you head up there,” Gage said. “Allerton was right—that place is downright creepy.”
* * *
TAMMY PATTERSON, the reporter for the Eagle Mountain Examiner, agreed to meet Brenda at the museum the morning after the fire. Dwight had tried to persuade Brenda to stay at the ranch and not go in to work that day, but she had refused. Dwight had gone with her the night before to see the house, when the firefighters were still putting out the blaze, but she had wanted to see it herself this morning, alone. She had driven in early and made herself stop at the house and stare at the ruins. Her first thought was that this couldn’t really be her place—not the miner’s cottage that she and Andy had worked so hard to remodel, the dream home she had lovingly decorated and planned to live in forever.
She had allowed herself to cry for five minutes or so, then dried her eyes, repaired her makeup and driven to the museum. She couldn’t do anything about the fire right now, and crying certainly wouldn’t bring her house back. Better to go to work and focus on something she could control.

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