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Shadow Point Deputy
Julie Anne Lindsey


One deputy wants to keep her safe. Another wants her dead. Rita Horn doesn’t know the identity of the uniform-wearing criminal targeting her. But Officer Cole Garrett vows to bring the rogue deputy to justice. Strong, sexy and determined to protect, the heroic cop sparks feelings in Rita that she can’t deny….







One deputy wants to keep her safe.

Another one wants her dead.

Rita Horn doesn’t know the identity of the uniform-wearing criminal targeting her. But Officer Cole Garrett vows to bring the rogue deputy—whoever he is—to justice. Strong, sexy and determined to protect, the heroic cop sparks feelings in Rita that she can’t deny, even as the danger swells around them.

Garrett Valor


JULIE ANNE LINDSEY is a multi-genre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Julie lives in rural Ohio with her husband and three small children. Today, she hopes to make someone smile. One day she plans to change the world. Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers and Sisters in Crime. Learn more about Julie Anne Lindsey at julieannelindsey.com (http://www.julieannelindsey.com).


Also by Julie Anne Lindsey (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)

Federal Agent Under Fire

The Sheriff’s Secret

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Shadow Point Deputy

Julie Anne Lindsey






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09352-1

SHADOW POINT DEPUTY

© 2018 Tyler Anne Snell

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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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dedicated to cat ladies.

You are my people.


Contents

Cover (#u0f507faf-533f-5d59-a055-67c77683d9d5)

Back Cover Text (#ubd8f60f2-5fc8-5958-be23-8d17f86c8fb0)

About the Author (#u2b824906-c683-526a-90ad-5d6e2f44e05b)

Booklist (#uf3451f22-15ea-5926-bf45-b3118e7f74fb)

Title Page (#u062c487b-f0c8-52c0-b614-1bcd979675fb)

Copyright (#u14dce097-5500-5476-ba0a-259964ab9d54)

Dedication (#ue07fafef-36d2-5f64-8714-5adc994e579d)

Chapter One (#udea84033-b876-5b3c-852c-688cec5cc4f4)

Chapter Two (#u41d096c6-b7ae-5149-abf8-4fda36d17863)

Chapter Three (#u5a115d66-d1cd-5b8d-99fb-335b067a95a2)

Chapter Four (#u42927851-d732-51f2-80db-12365990834d)

Chapter Five (#ufb2ad8e0-cab2-5381-8494-cca9e894188f)

Chapter Six (#u6e835131-5386-5db5-8230-ac2dabfcca82)

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)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Rita Horn parked her new pickup truck in the muddy gravel lot across from the docks. She dragged a bag of dry kibble from the bed and squinted at a dozen feline silhouettes framed by the sunset. It was a shame so many cats were homeless in Shadow Point. She’d take them all in if she could, but the three she already had were sure to protest.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” she called, shivering against the brisk autumn breeze. Feeding the strays seemed a decent compromise to adopting them all, but it didn’t minimize the guilt she experienced every time she stopped to check on them. If they had to be on their own, she supposed the abandoned factories along the waterfront made a decent haven. There was camaraderie, no natural predators and plenty of mice to sustain them when Rita worked late and missed her usual stop.

The cats swarmed her ankles as she rounded the building’s edge, mewling and climbing over one another to get to the food. She stopped at a line of cement bowls she’d purchased from a local landscaper when the pet store versions had insisted on blowing away.

“Who’s hungry?” She tipped the bag over the bowls, filling each to its rim. “Ah-ah-ah.” She nudged a growling pair apart. “No fighting. There’s plenty for everyone.”

The bag was nearly empty when a latecomer trotted into view. The little orange-and-white tabby had something smeared over its face and down one side.

“What is that?” Rita crouched for a closer look. Deep crimson streaks flattened the kitty’s fur into matted stripes. Rita clutched her chest. “My poor baby. What happened to you?” She reached for the tabby, but he jumped free with a hiss. It was easy to forget many of the cats were feral, not abandoned. It had taken weeks to get some to come out and see her at dinnertime. She clucked her tongue and extended a hand with the last of the kibble on her palm. The little guy wouldn’t survive long with an injury that had bled so much. He needed the wound cleaned, antibiotics and probably stitches.

“Kitty,” she cooed. The injured cat darted away, and Rita dashed after him, leaving the empty bag behind.

“Kitty, kitty, kitty.” Her sensible three-inch heels clicked and snapped against the cold ground as she gave chase. She stopped short at a fence marked NO TRESPASSING. The cat paused a moment beyond the chain- link barrier before screeching out of sight.

“Darn it.” She dropped the kibble from her palm and scanned the scene, debating the importance of her flawless, law-abiding record when that kitty needed a doctor.

A line of bloody paw prints knotted her tummy and propelled her to action. If she was caught, at least she could give a good explanation. Surely no one would fault a woman for trying to help an injured animal.

Rita shored up her nerve and tugged the gate where a thick chain and padlock held it loosely to the fence. There was enough space to slip inside if she held the gate and ducked beneath the chain, so she took a deep breath and went in. She followed the trail around the factory’s edge, admiring the soft cotton candy glow of a setting sun as it gave way to twilight. The cat stared down at her from a windowsill eight feet in the air. “Are you even hurt?”

She scanned the scene for another injured animal. Where had the blood come from, if not from the cat who was wearing it? A dark puddle drew her forward, toward a narrow object several yards away. The air seemed to sizzle with danger as she scooped an expensive-looking pen off the ground. An odd thing to find at an abandoned factory, unless developers had been here. Maybe the state was finally going to make good on the promise to renovate the area. She froze as the tip of her shoe slid against the slick cement and swallowed a scream when the puddle came clearly into view, red as the sun burning its last rays of daylight off the water.

Rita raked her cell phone from a coat pocket with trembling fingers. There was far too much blood to have come from a cat.

A sudden splash sent ice fingers down her spine, and the low murmur of voices pushed her back to the building’s edge. She closed her eyes to summon a thread of bravery, then peeked toward the sounds with caution.

The angle of the sunset reduced both figures to faceless silhouettes. They were clearly male with broad shoulders and strong gaits, but they were of strikingly different heights. Together, they strode beneath a cone of security light, revealing one man’s dress shirt and the other’s official-looking jacket, complete with patches she couldn’t read from that distance. Rita’s heart took off at a sprint as a dark stain down the front of the dress shirt began to look a lot like the puddle she’d just seen. The man with the stained shirt wiped his hands on a rag. A gun holster nestled safely against his side.

A black sedan seemed to manifest from the shadows, parked silently beside a line of blue barrels. The trunk popped open as the men approached, revealing what appeared to be more blood and a number of firearms. The man tossed the rag into the trunk, then dragged a suit jacket out. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and fastened two buttons over the broad crimson stain.

Rita swiped her phone screen to life. The little device rocked unsteadily in her sweat-slicked palm. Her breaths shortened and her heart rate spiked uncomfortably. There wasn’t enough air, and she couldn’t swallow. Rita gripped her phone tighter and fought the wave of panic quickly taking control. Not since she lost her mother had anxiety come on so quickly.

She pressed her back to the wall and returned the phone to her pocket. She needed to sit down before she fell over. Her eyelids slid shut for an internal pep talk, and she reopened them with purpose. She’d make the call from someplace safe. Someplace she could breathe. She forced the last ounce of bravery from her bones and tiptoed back through the shadows, along the building’s edge, careful not to let her heels smack against the ground.

The snick of a closing trunk and soft purr of an engine were behind her. A set of low growls rose before her near the food bowls. Rita’s muscles tensed. No fighting, she prayed. Not now.

The sound grew steadily into the familiar squawks of a feline brawl. A beam of light flashed over the ground before her, sweeping and narrowing as it drew nearer.

“Who’s there?” The man in the official-looking jacket moved in her direction. The familiar Cade County Sheriff’s Department logo was on his chest.

That could not be good.

Rita burst into motion, running as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her toward her truck, through the chained gate and across the gravel lot.

“Stop!” the man’s voice boomed behind her, punctuated by the echoes of heavy footfalls.

Not today, officer, she thought as she dived behind the wheel. Something bad had definitely happened at the docks tonight. She didn’t know what, and she wasn’t about to become another puddle on the concrete.




Chapter Two (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Rain poured over Deputy Cole Garrett’s hat and slicker. Heavy storm clouds had masked the sunrise, but Shadow Point was still in motion. The blue-collar town had risen with the sun for a hundred years. Farmers. Bus drivers. Factory workers. Somehow the body pulled from the river wore a watch worth more than Cole’s first truck.

He peered through the downpour at his older brother and current Cade County sheriff, West Garrett. “Recognize him?”

West’s frown deepened. “Nope.”

Dressed like he was, no one probably would. Folks with that kind of money drove right on through Shadow Point. “Maybe he was visiting family,” Cole suggested, “or was here on business.”

West shot Cole a look. “By the looks of the bullet hole in his forehead, business wasn’t good.”

Members of the local coroner’s office loaded the waterlogged body onto a gurney and covered it with a white sheet. The medical examiner presented West with a clipboard. “We’ll do our preliminaries and get back with you.”

West followed the coroner back to the van.

Cole flashed his light over the scene, seeking anything that might explain how a stranger wound up murdered and floating in the water before dawn. The river had surely stripped the body of any clues, but maybe the killer had left footprints or the shell casing on land.

He moved methodically upriver, toward a set of abandoned factories by the docks. The shielded space seemed a more likely location for an execution than the sodden, unobstructed field where the body had been pushed ashore.

He returned the flashlight to his belt as the storm peeled back its efforts. A swarm of cats came into view near the largest building, gathered beneath a broad metal awning. They cried at the sight of him, and Cole changed trajectories, drawn to the mass of complaining felines.

The coroner’s van motored away in the distance, rounding a bend and drifting out of sight. West’s cruiser rolled quietly into a muddy gravel lot near the factory.

The world grew brighter by the second, finally relieved of the relentless storm.

“A bit off the path, aren’t you?” West called, slamming the door behind him.

Cole stared at a line of cement bowls and a shredded cat food bag. “I don’t think so.” He nudged the soggy paper with his toe. “Someone fed the cats. Wasn’t the first time, either. They didn’t scatter when they saw me.”

West cast a glance at the crowd of furry spectators, then turned his attention to the cruiser. “There were some tire tracks where I parked. They’re washed out. Tread marks are gone.”

“Let’s measure them,” Cole suggested. “Could be something. Might be how they brought the body here.” Cole moved toward the cats, shooing them and scrutinizing the only patch of dry ground for miles.

“West.” A set of bloody paw prints and the pointy outline of one shoe appeared beneath a broad awning. A white slip of paper clung to the sheet-metal door. A receipt dated the night before. The rest of the print was blurred away but he was certain it said cat food. “We’ve got a witness out there somewhere.”



RITA STARED AT the clock above her fireplace and debated leaving for work an hour early. She’d been dressed since dawn, having given up on sleep hours before. The raging storm had rattled her windows and her mind. Each time her lids had grown heavy, she imagined the man from the docks trying to break down the door, only to wake again with the realization it was just the wind.

The same carousel of questions ran endlessly around her mind. What had she really seen? What sort of thing would involve so much blood, the docks and the local sheriff’s department? Did the man giving chase recognize her? If so, what would happen next?

She’d watched the news on the edge of her seat, waiting for reports of whatever had happened at the docks, but there were none. Nothing in the morning paper, either.

A sharp pounding on the front door nearly sent her out the back. She inched across the living room and peeked through the curtains. Her little brother, Ryan, stood on the porch rubbing his palms together and puffing into his hands. The temperature must’ve dropped after she’d left the docks.

She opened the door with a forced smile, then jerked him inside. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She secured the door behind him and flipped the lock, hoping to look more normal than she felt.

He dragged his gaze from the locked door to her. “You said I could borrow your truck. My new roommate is moving in.” He tented his dark brows, green eyes flashing in suspicion. “Are you okay?”

Ryan was nineteen and a sophomore at the university one town over. He was a full seven years her junior, with a misplaced big brother attitude. She’d helped raise him, and not the other way around.

“Yep.” She tugged her ear and hefted a passing cat into her arms. The sight of her feline family usually brought her great comfort, but today they only delivered flashbacks of the docks.

“I thought you didn’t have to be at work for an hour,” Ryan said.

“I don’t.”

He scanned her freshly straightened living room, the result of too much time and anxiety with zero sleep. “Since when are you up and dressed by now, and why is your place so clean? What’s going on?”

Rita’s cheeks ached from the forced congeniality. What she wanted to do was cry. “Nothing.” She dropped the act and pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand while cradling her kitty with the other. “I had trouble sleeping. Can I get you some coffee? Are you hungry?” Her gaze jumped again to the hands of the clock that never seemed to move. Going to work early wasn’t a bad thing. It was normal, really. Not for her, but lots of other people did it. Maybe she could finally make some headway with the files on her desk, and the distraction would keep her mind off the slew of questions that she had no way of answering.

Ryan’s hand danced before her. A US Army key ring swung from one finger. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“What?”

He cocked a hip and dropped his arm. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No. Of course not.” That was funny. Self-defense was a mandatory course of education in the Horn family, had been even before they’d lost their mother. Though no amount of self-defense training could’ve saved her from the drunk driver who’d taken her from them.

Rita dropped the cat on the couch. “Let me grab my purse.” Her breath caught as she pulled back the zipper, revealing the pen she’d found at the docks inside. She’d considered throwing it away when she found it in her coat pocket, but decided to keep it until she knew what had happened. Maybe it was evidence.

“Give me one more minute,” she called into the living room.

Rita grabbed a sandwich bag from the lazy Susan and wrapped the pen in tissues before stuffing it inside. If being trampled by thirty cats at an abandoned dock wasn’t contamination enough, one night in her disaster of a handbag had surely ruined the pen’s chances of being useful. But with technology these days, maybe someone could do something with it. If only she knew who to give it to or if she should. She rubbed her forehead and swallowed a lump of emotion. Was it evidence? Was she crazy? Maybe both. She sealed the bag and stuffed it back into her purse.

“Found it.” She dropped the bag on the couch beside her white Himalayan rescue. The other two cats leaped onto the sofa and stuck their noses into her bag.

She presented the key to her new truck on one palm. “Take care of my baby.”

He made the trade with enthusiasm, dropping the key to his twenty-year-old yellow hatchback into her newly empty hand. “And you take care of Suzie Sunshine.”

Rita snorted and dragged one finger in a small X shape over her heart. “Do you need money for gas or lunch? How are your grades?”

Ryan backed toward the door. “I’m good. Grades are fine. I am meeting the guys for a cram session, though. So I should get going. I’ve got two morning exams. All those professors want me to learn things.” He pretended to choke himself.

Rita clapped slowly, and a genuine smile formed on her lips. “The future of America, ladies and gentlemen.” Education had always been high on Rita’s priority list, but never on Ryan’s. It had been all she could do to convince him to get a degree before enlisting in the army alongside their father. With a degree he could at least enter the service as an officer and be prepared for a career afterward.

He turned for the door.

“Wait.” Rita pried the pile of cats from her handbag and set them aside. “I’ll walk you out.” She stroked the kitties’ heads and scratched their chins. “Try to behave.”

A thick fog had settled in after the night’s heavy rains, making it impossible to see the stop sign at the end of the block and adding a Hitchcockian feel to her already pear-shaped world.

Ryan angled her silver Ford smoothly out of the driveway.

She coaxed his rusty hatchback to life. The stench of exhaust bit her nose and the air.

Ten minutes later, she set her purse on the municipal building’s security scanner and nodded at the guards. She collected her things on the other side and walked quickly away, feeling irrationally conspicuous, knowing the pen lay inside.

Her heels snapped and cracked against polished marble as she crossed the cavernous foyer and climbed the wide, sweeping staircase. Cade County wasn’t small, but it was rural, and the population was low, making one grand building a sufficient hub for the courthouse and local government offices, including hers at the County Treasurer. Oil paintings of the governor, senator and US presidents lined the second-floor hallways.

Rita ducked into her office and dropped onto her rolling chair with determination. Once she cleared the clutter from her head and desk, she’d give the sheriff’s department a call. Anonymously. She’d been trespassing, after all, and she wouldn’t be in this predicament if she’d obeyed the law and heeded the sign. She dropped her head into waiting palms. What would she say? She suspected that something bad happened? The storm had surely erased any evidence, and hadn’t a deputy been there last night?

Why, yes. He had. And she’d run from him. A groan escaped her lips.

“Good morning, Rita!” A perky voice split the silence.

Rita jerked upright. “Hello.”

The receptionist stared expectantly. “You’re here bright and early.” She fluffed giant blond hair and straightened a spray of stiff bangs.

“Hoping to catch up.” Rita motioned to the pile of folders on her desk.

“Any luck?”

“Not really.” She shouldn’t have come in today. The office didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like a prison. “I think I’m going to make a coffee run before I get started.” Maybe a little fresh air would help. “Can I get you something?”

The woman raised her steaming mug higher. “Kinda got that covered.”

“Right. Sorry.” Rita grabbed her coat and purse. “I won’t be long.” She straightened her white silk blouse and black pencil skirt, then hustled downstairs, taking the side exit into a public garden to catch her breath.

A slight drizzle forced her to stay near the door, where a small overhang served as shelter. The benches were wet. The ground waterlogged. Narrow puddles filled the spaces between walkway paving stones. She inhaled the cool, misty air and shook her hands out at the wrists. She didn’t need fresh air or caffeine. She needed answers, and the only way she’d get them was to call the police like she should have done last night. It was better to report something that turned out to be nothing than to not speak up and find out later that her call could have helped someone.

She marched back inside with resolve and climbed the stairs to her office. Her steps slowed at the sight of a deputy speaking with the receptionist inside her glass office doors. If she truly planned to report what she’d seen, this was the time, but her muscles seemed to atrophy at the thought. There was something unsettling about his stance. She hadn’t seen the faces of the men at the docks, but this deputy seemed familiar in a way that raised the hair on her arms.

She slipped into an alcove and waited. When the deputy reappeared on the steps to the building’s front doors, she dialed the main line to the receptionist.

“Cade County Treasurer. This is Cyndi.”

“Hi, Cyndi, this is Rita.”

“Rita? Talk about timing! A deputy sheriff was just in here looking for you. Did he find you? I told him you went for coffee. Probably at that diner around the corner. Is that where you went?”

A cold sweat broke over Rita’s brow. “Yes. Did he say what he wanted?”

“No. Only that he’d hoped to catch you.”

“Did you get his name?”

Cyndi paused. “No. Honey, are you in some kind of trouble?”

Rita moved double time down the rear staircase. “No. Not at all. I’m feeling sick, though. I think that’s why I was so distracted earlier. It’s really hitting me now.”

“Oh, well, then you should go home. I can’t afford to get sick. Remember when I got that stomach flu last spring?”

How could she forget? Anytime anyone complained about so much as a headache in Cyndi’s presence, they were reminded of her personal near-death experience in March. “Mmm-hmm. You know what? I think I have that.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yep. I’m going to head home. Rest.” Rita jogged through the door and across the employee lot toward Ryan’s decrepit compact. “Cyndi? I’ve got to go. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You need lots of fluids.”

“Okay.” She dropped behind the steering wheel and gunned the little engine to life. What she really needed was to go home and pull herself together. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

The phone rang in her hand, and she tossed it aside. The only person she’d answer for today was Ryan, and that wasn’t his number. Everyone else could get in line.

She made a bunch of paranoid and probably unnecessary turns before arriving on her street almost twenty minutes later. Several neighbors stood on her lawn beside a cruiser in the driveway. Fear and panic bubbled in her core.

She cranked Ryan’s window down and hooked an elbow over the frame. “Mrs. Wilcox,” she stage-whispered. An elderly woman turned to face her. The woman hustled in her direction.

“What’s going on?” Rita asked, sinking low in the driver’s seat. Her tummy bubbled with anxiety at the sight of a cruiser at her home.

“Betty was jogging past and saw the cats in your yard.” She pointed to a woman in hot pink running gear and a matching sun visor. “She recognized them because they spend so much time in your window.”

“My cats were outside?” Rita gasped. “Are they okay?”

“Well, yes,” she said, glancing back at Rita’s home. “Betty collected the little lovebugs, then knocked on your door and it opened. The whole place was a mess, so she dropped them inside, pulled the door shut, then came to me, and I called the cops.”

A rock formed in Rita’s throat. “My house is a mess?” she croaked.

The older woman bobbed her head. “Trashed. The deputy was here in minutes. Must’ve been in the area.”

Her heart hammered and her pulse beat in her ears. Someone had been in her home.

Anda deputy was in there now.




Chapter Three (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Cole had gritted his teeth and dragged his heels when the call came in from Dispatch about a possible B and E on Maple. Leaving West alone with an active murder investigation seemed irresponsible, but one of the problems in a department with only six deputies was coverage. The next man’s shift wouldn’t start for two hours unless West called him in sooner. Meanwhile, the homeowner on Maple had left work early and wasn’t answering her phone. Cole had reluctantly made the trip to check on things.

The front door was unlocked with no signs of tampering, but the place had been destroyed. The neighbors hadn’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary, but every item in sight was upended, overturned or partially disassembled. Bookshelves were emptied. Drawers were dumped. Yet the television and computer were completely untouched.

Not a very effective robbery. So why break in? And where was the homeowner? He double-checked the name on his notepad. Rita Horn. Maybe this was revenge. Something personal. Maybe the work of a jaded ex or wronged family member.

Whatever it was, it was weird.

He scrubbed a palm over his face. First a body had turned up in the river, and now there was a break-in east of the railroad tracks. In a neighborhood known for its distinct lack of crimes. His exhale was long and slow. What was going on with this day?

The tip of his boot nicked a fallen photograph, and he pulled the thick white frame off the floor. “Well, what do you know?” He grinned. He’d recognize those smart hazel eyes anywhere.

The jaw-dropping redhead worked at the municipal building. He’d taken notice of her last fall while delivering a criminal to court through the rear alley entrance. She’d been handing out homemade sandwiches and bottled water to a throng of homeless people at lunchtime. Her floral wrap dress and high heels had been a stunning contrast to the dirty and disheveled men and women in her care. If memory served him, she’d called several of the people by their names.

He set the frame on the fireplace mantel, feeling much better about leaving West at the docks.

“Here she is!” A voice called from the lawn. “She’s okay!”

Cole turned on his heel and went to save the day.

“Miss Horn?” He strode in the direction of a rusty yellow car. “I’m Deputy Cole Garrett. Can you please park your vehicle?”

She nodded behind the driver’s-side window.

Her white-knuckle grip and wide eyes worried him. Current circumstances aside, Rita was the poster child for calm and centered. He’d started noticing her every time he made a trip to the courts after that day in the alley. Unfortunately, they’d never made eye contact, and unlike most women in town, she didn’t seem to know he existed.

The car rolled slowly to the curb and idled several moments before the engine settled.

She got out, closed the door and moved cautiously in Cole’s direction. “What’s going on?” Her gaze darted nervously over the scene, catching on his cruiser, then the patch on his jacket.

A gray-haired woman popped up at her side. “I was scared when you didn’t answer the phone. Your office said you’d left, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m sorry, Doris.” Rita soothed the elderly woman. “I wasn’t feeling well. I’m not myself today.”

“I just thank my stars you weren’t home when this happened,” Doris said.

“What happened, exactly?” Rita asked again, moving her attention to Cole.

“Your neighbors reported a possible break-in about thirty minutes ago. When did you say you left the municipal building?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know I was at the municipal building?”

Cole put on his most charming smile, hoping to soothe the sudden alarm in her tone. “I’ve seen you there.”

Her cheeks darkened, but she didn’t comment.

It was none of his business, but Rita Horn didn’t look sick. In fact, she looked fantastic. Her skirt and blouse fit in all the right places, accentuating her curves without giving away the details.

Man, he would love to know her details.

She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing the silky material of her blouse tighter.

Dear Lord.

“I went in early.”

Cole swept a hand toward her front door and forced his gaze there, as well. “Would you like to see if anything is missing?” He moved onto the stoop, hoping she’d follow. Honestly, she looked like she might get back in her car and flee. “Any chance you forgot to lock the door this morning?”

“No.” Her sweet voice sounded behind him. “I even double-checked the knob.”

He angled himself for a look at her. “Do you always double-check or was something different today?”

She pursed her lips.

Cole imagined kissing them apart.

He leaned against the handrail to her porch, allowing her to pass. “I can’t help thinking about the fact there hasn’t been trouble like this in your neighborhood for quite some time, and it happened on a day when you got sick and left work early. Also on a day you felt compelled to double-check your lock.”

“Maybe you’re reading too much into this.”

He shrugged. “That’s possible. It’s certainly a side effect of the job.”

Rita slid past him into her home, and a zip of electricity snapped over his skin. “Can you think of anyone who might’ve done something like this, Miss Horn?”

She swept long auburn locks over her shoulder and bundled the strands in one fist. “No.” She lowered her arms to lock around her middle. “You can call me Rita.”



COLE UNZIPPED THE black duffel he’d left by the door.

“What are you doing?” The fear in her voice startled him.

He raised his palms in a show of innocence. “I’m going to dust the knob and jamb for fingerprints. Maybe replace this old dead bolt.”

She lifted a finger. “Can I see what’s in the bag?”

Cole felt his forehead pucker as he stretched the duffel wide for her inspection.

“Okay.” Her face flushed with the words. “I don’t use the dead bolt. It sticks.”

“Care if I put the new one on before I go? It won’t stop a professional from getting inside, but it’ll slow one down, and in this neighborhood, time is your friend. I have a feeling those people on your lawn don’t miss much.”

Her lips turned down slightly. “You just happen to have a spare dead bolt with you?”

“No. I’ve been planning to change mine for months but haven’t gotten around to it.”

She seemed to mull that over. “Can you leave the door open while you work?”

“Sure.” He applied the dusting powder to her knob and jamb. “You sure you can’t think of anyone who’d want to get in here?”

“Like who?” Rita lifted a fancy pillow from the floor and clutched it to her chest.

Cole split his attention between her and his work. “I don’t know. Maybe a rival or an ex. Maybe a lover’s significant other?”

Her shocked expression turned to disgust. “That’s awful.” She dropped the pillow onto her couch and lined it up with the others. Delicate stitching over a tiny yellow flower formed the words Suck it up Buttercup.

Cole smiled.

She frowned. “I don’t have any rivals or lunatic exes, and I certainly don’t get involved with men who have significant others.” She threw his final words back at him. “What kind of women do you normally deal with, Deputy Garrett?”

He smiled at the pleasant sound of his name on her tongue. “You can call me Cole.” He stretched to his feet and extended a hand her way.

She eyeballed his hand. “I recognize you from the courthouse.”

A smile spread over his lips. “Is that right?”

Rita blushed and slid her thin hand into his. “Can I make you some coffee?”

“That’d be nice.” He turned back to the door with a rush of satisfaction.

Rita righted furniture and photos while Cole finished his work on her door and the coffee brewed. The small, inviting space was magazine perfect when he packed up his things. The overall result was very sexy librarian. Claw-footed furniture, books by the boatload and more fancy pillows with goofy sayings like Hot Mess, Sassy,and Hell to the No.

Cole shook his head. “You might want to think about getting a new knob, too. Maybe something with a code.”

“Sure.” She rolled the vacuum into view, then wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “Coffee should be ready.”

“Care if I shut the door and test the lock?”

“No. It’s fine.” She returned a moment later with two fragile-looking cups and set them on the coffee table. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

Cole laughed. “No, but thanks.” He made a show of testing the door’s integrity and admiring his personal handyman skills. “I think this is all set. I’ll let you know about the prints.” He dropped the keys to her new dead bolt on the table, then helped himself to a seat in the narrow armchair. “You live here alone?”

“Yeah. For a couple years since Ryan moved out.”

Cole felt his jaw lock. “Ryan?” Maybe there was an angry ex out there somewhere who needed a swift kick in the ass. Cole adjusted his position in the little seat and hiked one foot onto the opposite leg. The idea of a man attempting to harm or frighten Rita set his teeth on edge.

“He’s my little brother.” She flipped the lid on a scrapbook beside his coffee. “There.”

A younger, masculine version of Rita centered every photo. Ryan was tall and gangly, like Cole used to be. At least eight inches taller than his big sister, who was tucked beneath his arm in many of the pictures. “You’re close. That’s nice. My family’s like that. Painfully so.”

She smiled.

“Did you say Ryan lived here?”

“Yeah. Until he moved into a dorm for freshman year. I was his legal guardian through high school.” Deep sadness swam in her hazel eyes.

Cole found himself leaning forward, suddenly eager to understand her burdens and lighten them.

“Our mother was hit by a drunk driver in Oklahoma. Ryan came to live with me after the funeral.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He couldn’t imagine losing a parent. Especially not in high school. And he surely couldn’t have raised a teenager when he was in his twenties. “Your dad’s not in the picture?”

She rolled her eyes and traced the gilded rim of her dainty cup with a fingertip. “No. He’s in Kuwait or Afghanistan or somewhere else where people need him.” There was no mistaking the disappointment in her tone. She set her cup aside and slid her palms up and down her thighs, then folded her fingers on her lap.

“Do I make you nervous?”

She looked at her feet. “No. Your presence is extremely comforting, actually, but I’ve had a long morning.”

“And you don’t feel well,” he reminded her.

“Right.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” he prompted.

Rita pressed her lips into a white line and shook her head.

He levered himself off the chair and went to fish a card from his bag, leaving his finished coffee where it stood. There was little left for him to do if she wasn’t talking, and West could use his help back at the docks.

She followed Cole to the door and opened it for him. Soft scents of vanilla and honey lifted from her skin and hair.

Cole scribbled his cell number across the back of his card. “If you need anything else or think of something you want to tell me, give me a call. I always answer, and I can be here quick. Meanwhile, I’ll add your street to the other deputies’ patrol routes.”

“No. Don’t.” Rita’s hand flashed up from her side, and curled around his wrist.

He waited for additional information that didn’t come. “That’s it? Just don’t?”

Her home had been ransacked, but she didn’t want to know the sheriff’s department was keeping watch?

Her face went slack as she released him. “I’m fine. There’s no need to send anyone else out. Thank you for coming.” She practically shoved him across the threshold, then cranked the new lock behind him.

Cole dropped behind the wheel of his cruiser and grabbed the radio to call in his whereabouts before shifting into gear.

In the distance, a high-end sedan pulled away from the curb and took an immediate turn out of sight. Cole set the radio aside and reversed down the drive. He hadn’t noticed the car when he went outside to walk Rita in, and it hadn’t been there while he’d worked on her open door. Maybe it was nothing, or his attraction to Rita making him crazy, but something told him he’d better follow that car.



RITA WATCHED FROM her window as the handsome deputy pulled away. Cole Garrett wasn’t the man from the docks and her office. She’d have recognized Cole anywhere. He was the one who settled fistfights outside the courtrooms and calmed criminals being loaded into vehicles destined for prison, and the one on his knees beside benches where folks cried over an unfair verdict. Cole Garrett was a peacekeeper and a hero.

When the coast was clear, Rita kicked off her heels and traded her pencil skirt for a pair of blue jeans. She stuffed bare feet into white, laceless sneakers and grabbed her laptop bag and purse.

Five minutes later, she parked Ryan’s car against the curb outside a crowded café and wandered inside. On television, people being hunted always went somewhere with witnesses. The café seemed a smart choice. Even if she wasn’t being hunted, it surely felt that way, and her home was too quiet. Too vulnerable. If someone got inside while she was there alone, the invader would have complete privacy to do anything he wanted.

Her stomach protested the thought. “A bottle of water, please,” she said to the barista.

“Three dollars.” He set her order on the counter.

Rita gave him a five and walked away. She chose a tall table near the back of the brightly lit room and climbed onto a seat with a view of the front door and window, and also of the muted television anchored near the ceiling. She should’ve told Cole her story. She had to trust someone, and every cell in her body said she could unequivocally trust him. It was stupid that she hadn’t. She dug his card from her bag and set it on the table. She needed to stop feeling overwhelmed and start figuring this mess out.

What would she say? Where should she begin?

The white noise of two dozen voices soothed her frayed nerves. She rubbed cold fingertips in small circles against her temples, plotting ways to open the disturbing conversation. Hello, this is Rita Horn. I know we’ve only just met, but I wanted you to know that I think one of the other deputies is a murderer.

She rolled her eyes as a silent peanut-butter commercial gave way to live coverage at the river.

She dropped her hands onto the table. Her heart leaped into her throat. She scanned the room full of oblivious people, all pecking at their phone screens or chatting with friends. Rita leaned across the table, wholly focused on the scrolling text beneath the coverage.

“Witnesses reported seeing members of the Cade County Sheriff’s Department and Coroner’s Office at this location early this morning. Crime scene tape and a number of road blocks have been put in place as the hours progress. Behind me you can see the continued presence of the CCSD. Our question is, why?”

The young reporter on-screen pressed her fingers against one ear and dropped her gaze. When she raised her face to the camera once more, her skin had gone ghost white.

“Sources have confirmed a body was pulled from the river just after sunrise.”




Chapter Four (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Rita rose on shaky legs as images of the coroner’s van crossed the communal screen, a turbulent Ohio River in the background. An old factory and a dozen feline silhouettes anchored the scene.

Her ears began to ring as she strode conspicuously to the door, bumping into people and chair legs while watching the television for any last-minute announcements.

The wind was brisk and nippy as she shoved free of the coffee shop’s warmth and safety onto the sidewalk where anyone could see her. Namely a nefarious deputy and the other man from the docks. The one who’d had blood on his dress shirt. She hurried to the little borrowed car and shoved her purse and laptop bag across the console. Rita locked the doors and checked her mirrors before dropping her forehead onto the steering wheel.

Think.

The men she’d seen at the docks had murdered someone. She’d heard the splash. Seen the blood.

And the men had seen her.

She raised her eyes to scan the street and sidewalks around her once more, begging her mind to focus. She couldn’t stay at the coffee shop without someone noticing her imminent breakdown. She couldn’t go home or back to work. The bad guys had already been there. She paused at the thought. Bad guys. Was this even her life?

“What do I do?” she whispered to her windshield. They know who I am. Where I work and live. What did they want? To kill her? Why? She hadn’t seen anything. Couldn’t even identify them. Though she had gotten a good look at the deputy who came to her office this morning and could give a rough description of the other guy—size, height, weight, but not much else. Her gaze traveled slowly to the bag on her passenger seat. The pen. What if it was evidence in a murder investigation, and she’d wadded it in tissues and stuffed it in a plastic baggie? There could be fingerprints or DNA evidence or an imperceptible thread. Forensics could find anything, and if the killers knew she had something linking them to the crime, they’d definitely want it back. So what should she do with it?

She considered tossing it out the window.

Her head spun as she pulled carefully into traffic. She should’ve told Deputy Garrett what had happened. Something in her gut said he had nothing to do with the man at her office or the crime scene. Deputy Garrett was trustworthy, and he would help her. There was no more doubt as to whether or not she’d been present for what she thought she’d been present for. She was a witness, albeit probably after the fact, to murder. And she was in danger.

It was time to do what she should’ve done all along.

She slowed at the traffic light and dug through her bag for the handsome deputy’s business card. She’d call him as soon as she got to wherever she was going. Where was that?

The light turned green, and Rita lowered her foot against the gas pedal. The sun-bleached hula girl on her brother’s dashboard bobbled. “Oh, no.” A new and terrifying realization slid like ice into her stomach. If the bad guys knew who she was, where she worked and lived, then they also knew what she drove. And her little brother was currently driving it!

Rita applied brute force to the narrow pedal, racing through downtown, then over the bridge and across the river. She dialed Ryan repeatedly from every traffic light and stop sign.

No answer.

Her mind conjured ghastly images of her new silver truck rolled onto its top or sinking in the river, Ryan trapped inside.

“Hi, Ryan,” she told his voice mail as calmly as possible. “It’s me. Listen. I’m sorry, but I completely forgot I had a thing today, and you can’t use my truck. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I finish my thing.” She cringed. Ryan would never accept her flimsy excuse without explanation, but she couldn’t offer him anything more. Bringing him in on her mess would put him in danger. “Anyway, I’m on my way to your place now. I’ll just trade you back real quick. Sit tight and I’ll be there in ten.”

She bit her lip, hating the lie. She’d promised Ryan long ago that he could always trust anything she said, and until now, she’d held tight to that promise. Hopefully he’d forgive her when she was able to explain the gruesome truth.

Rita switched to back roads as the campus came into view. Main routes and intersections were bogged with student traffic and puttering locals. The little hatchback took corners with ease as she cut through the rear entrance to Ryan’s neighborhood. Her much larger truck would’ve barely passed through the narrow alleyways with cars parked on both sides. If his car didn’t smell like a gym bag filled with burger grease, she’d agree to trade with him more often.

Finally, the home Ryan shared with two other students came into view.

The only vehicle in the driveway was another old compact.

“No.” Rita pulled up to the curb and stared. Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering her calls? Again, the scary images beat a path through her mind. Please, she sent up a silent prayer, don’t let anything happen to my baby brother.

Her phone buzzed against her lap and she jumped.

Ryan’s name appeared on the screen beside a tiny envelope. He’d sent her a text message.

She released a happy sob and swiped the screen to life.

Taking exam. Can’t talk.

He was at school. She wiped her eyes and pulled in long, thankful breaths. Everything was fine. Ryan was safe. She was safe. All she had to do now was switch the vehicles and report everything she’d seen last night to Cole Garrett.

No problem.

The drive though the campus was steeped in nostalgia. Fall was in the air. Mums were in bloom. Even the leafy green trees had begun to change into their pretty fall uniforms. Rita had made memories to last a lifetime on those same streets not too long ago.

Students filled the corners near streetlamps, watching the lights, waiting to cross. Probably headed to class or on another adventure they’d miss dearly someday too soon. College had been Rita’s only taste of freedom before becoming the surrogate parent to a grieving teenage brother just two months after graduation.

The main lot for student commuters was nearly full. She circled twice before spotting her truck among a pack of even larger pickups. She pulled Ryan’s car into an empty spot several spaces away and tucked his keys under the floor mat. Much as she hated to interrupt him again, especially knowing he was trying to take an exam, she sent a text to let him know his car was there and her truck was off-limits for the day.

Your car is in the lot with my truck. DO NOT take my truck. I’ll be back for it. Meeting a friend.

She frowned at the little screen and sent a happier follow-up.

Good luck on your tests!

Rita pocketed the phone and kneaded her shaky hands, then fumbled Deputy Garrett’s card into her grip. The sooner she unloaded the truth about what she thought she’d seen last night, and the possible murder evidence from her bag, the sooner she’d feel like herself again.

She double-checked for anyone who looked as if they might be following her, then began the trek across the giant lot toward a busier portion of campus. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered, bringing the phone into view and tapping the numbers against her screen.



COLE LEFT HIS cruiser in the middle of the road beside West’s and jogged around a line of news vans and local reporters. Crime scene officials tramped the soggy ground near the body recovery site, and a woman in a county coroner’s office jacket picked through the area blocked off by yellow tape.

Cole had lost track of the fancy black car after leaving Rita Horn’s place, but something in his gut told him the vehicle was significant. The timing of its appearance and haste of its departure were undeniably suspect, and given the break-in, Cole sensed a connection. Maybe Rita had been holding back about who could’ve wrecked her place, and maybe that certain someone owned a late-model black sedan. His hands curled into fists at his sides. The idea of someone intending her harm knotted his muscles and tightened his jaw.

West caught Cole’s arrival and left the quarantined area with an expectant look. “Everything okay with the house? Was it a B and E or false alarm?”

“B and E,” Cole grouched. He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, attempting and failing to dislodge the mound of frustration piling there. “It was Rita Horn’s place.”

West rocked back on his heels with a grin. “That so?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

West smiled. “I believe I do. That’s the redhead from the courthouse?”

Cole worked his jaw, unimpressed that his older brother knew Rita existed. Not that he was in the market for a date. West already had a stunning wife, a toddler and a new baby on the way. And he wasn’t the sort to have a wandering eye. Still, the conspiratorial look on his face was starting to tick Cole off.

“How well do you know her?” He had three brothers, and they were all known for their ability to get women into bed with a wink and a smile.

“Are you kidding?” West cocked a hip and crossed his arms. “Isn’t she the one you used to talk about all the time?”

Cole shot his brother a droll look. “I mentioned her once, months ago, and I didn’t know her name. I’d hardly call that ‘all the time.’”

“Compared to the vast number of other women you never mention, once is a lot. Did you get her number?”

“Yeah. From Dispatch, but she didn’t answer.”

West barked a laugh and shook his head. “All right. If you’re here, then everything must be fine there. So let’s figure this one out.” West led the way back to the river where the fog hovered like an apparition over the swollen waters, muting the view of a busy college town across the way.

“We know the victim’s name was Roger Minsk.” West pulled a notebook from his coat pocket and flipped the pages.

“Never heard of him.”

“He hasn’t been in town long. According to county records, he bought a big house upriver this summer. The maid called the station to report him missing three days ago. I haven’t had time to follow up.” He furrowed his brow. “She said he was a businessman who traveled.”

Cole shook his head. “No one’s blaming this on you. He’s a grown man. With a maid.” His nose wrinkled as the information settled in. Not a lot of folks in Shadow Point kept maids, even if they could afford it. “Who does that?”

West dropped his attention back to the notepad. “Well, this guy, for starters. She didn’t have access to his calendar or contacts, so I wasn’t in a hurry to worry. I knocked on his door that night and again yesterday. No answer. He was on our list of things to look into if he didn’t show up by today. I was hoping he was on vacation.”

“Did the maid say anything else?”

“She said she cleans for Minsk twice a week and nothing had changed since the last time she’d been there. It didn’t look as if he’d slept in his bed the night before.”

“So we don’t know when he went missing, but we have a window.”

West nodded. “The medical examiner will get us a time of death. I’d say we know the cause.”

Right. The gunshot wound to the head was hard to miss. Cole turned back toward his cruiser. “I’ll visit the maid, see what I can find out about the victim, then report back. Maybe I can even get her to let me into his place. Two birds.”

“Yep.” West agreed. “Do it. I’ll be here if you need me. Don’t forget to check in. We don’t know who we’re looking for or what this is about, and I don’t like it.”

Cole waved a hand overhead, making good time across the empty field, a list of questions for the maid solidifying in his mind.

“Deputy?” West called from the growing distance between them.

“Yeah?” Cole pivoted on his next step, for a look back at his brother, still standing sentinel at the river. He lifted his chin in question.

“Do me a favor and check in on Miss Horn while you’re out. See if she needs anything.”

“Yep.”

West raised one arm in his direction. “Maybe dinner and a movie.”

Cole turned away with a smile. “I’m keeping it professional,” he called over one shoulder.

Not like West and his wife. They’d reunited last year after a decade apart. One minute, she was involved in a crime spree, and the next thing Cole knew, he was standing witness in a rented tuxedo as the two said their vows.

Pass. Cole wanted all those things one day, but he had a lot of other things he wanted to do first. Find out who tossed that man in the river, for example.

He waved off a renegade reporter headed his way. “No comment.” And ducked behind the wheel of his cruiser. This was what held Cole’s interest. A puzzle. A mystery. Protecting the peace. These were the things that kept him up at night and got him out of bed in the morning.

He pulled slowly away from the crime scene, taking note of the smattering of faces in the gathering crowd. Had one of them seen something they weren’t willing to divulge? Had they been around last night, feeding cats and playing unwitting witness to murder? If his theory was right about another person being present, he could only hope they wouldn’t wash up on the riverbank like Roger Minsk.

Cole’s phone buzzed against his ribs, pulling his attention away from the crowd. He freed it from his inside jacket pocket. Rita Horn’s number lit the little screen. “Deputy Garrett,” he answered, already pointing his car in the direction of her home. A rush of anxiety tightened his grip. If she was in trouble...

“Hi, um, this is Rita Horn. From this morning. I had the ransacked house.”

An easy smile curved his lips. She was okay. His foot eased back on the gas. “I remember. How’s the lock working out?”

“Okay, I think. I’m not home, actually. I hoped we could talk somewhere in person.”

The background noise registered with him, then dozens of voices and...

“Is that a marching band?”

“Uh. I think. I can’t see it from here, but it’s football season, so I guess. I’m at the college in Rivertown. Can you meet me at the library near the square? Do you know it?”

Cole took the next left toward the bridge over the river. “Sure. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Wind crackled through the phone. Rita didn’t speak.

“Go on,” he urged. “You called for a reason. Let me have it.”

“Okay,” she began, then paused once more.

“Rita?”

“I was at the docks last night, and I think I’m being stalked by a murderer.”




Chapter Five (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Cole’s gut fisted. His fingers whitened on the steering wheel, and he rammed his foot against the gas pedal. Rita was the witness. She’d fed the cats. Of course she had. He shook his head as the cruiser raced across Memorial Bridge. Away from West and the crime scene. Directly toward the insanely captivating redhead who fed homeless cats and people, and raised a teenage brother when she was barely done being a teen herself. Toward a woman whose kind heart and good deeds had just gotten her into serious trouble.

If she was right about being followed, Cole had to reach her before the killer did.

Cole had no idea why Mr. Minsk was killed, but whatever had tainted his life should never have crossed paths with Rita Horn. Not now. Not ever.

Definitely not on Cole’s watch.

He eased his foot off the pedal as the small college town popped up around him with its spirit shops and mascot-logoed flags on every lamppost. The pounding of a marching band’s bass line thundered in the distance.

Hordes of distracted students took their sweet time jaywalking across the street in front of him, holding him up, keeping him from Rita. He tapped his thumbs against the wheel and considered using the siren, though it had no jurisdiction here. The water behind them had officially yielded his badge void. “Come on,” he growled, the fear in Rita’s voice still ringing in his ears.

The street cleared, and the light overhead turned red. “Dammit!”

Cole snatched his phone off the passenger seat where he’d tossed it and dialed West. He should’ve called him sooner. Told him about Rita’s confession. Asked where the library was. Now he was wasting precious time and growing unhappier by the second.

“Sheriff Garrett.” West answered on the first ring.

Cole rolled his eyes. “Hey. I’m over in Rivertown, meeting Rita. She called to tell me she was at the docks last night.”

The line was silent for a long beat before West cursed quietly under his breath. “She bought the cat food.”

“Looks like it. At least now we know why someone tossed her place this morning.” And why she’d been so on edge. It also explained why she’d left work feeling sick, but hadn’t looked it. “She thinks the killer’s stalking her.”

West swore again. Louder this time. “Why are you in Rivertown? Bring her to the station so we can talk.”

The light changed, and Cole inched into the intersection before another swarm of students could hold him up again. “I’m not clear on the why yet. She asked me to meet her at the library. I think her little brother is a student here. She could be checking up on him.”

“Was he with her last night?” West asked. “Did she tell you anything else?”

“No.” Cole scanned the crowded sidewalks. “Where is the library?” He could find it himself with a little more time. The campus wasn’t big, but time was something Cole didn’t have to spare. “I haven’t been here since high school. Were there always this many people?” He checked each passing face for the woman he longed to save, but she wasn’t among the crowds.

West gave him blow-by-blow directions to the center of campus.

A white marble fountain stood proudly outside the building marked Library, spraying crystal clear water into the cloudless blue sky. Cole took the last available parking spot and fed the meter a handful of quarters before jogging through the library’s front door.



RITA ORDERED A cup of hot tea and took a seat at the window inside a nearby café. The library had been uncomfortably silent and borderline terrifying. Not enough witnesses. She hadn’t been able to stay. Her imagination had wreaked havoc within seconds, and she’d darted back onto the crowded, familiar streets for a deep breath of air. A café with large window and view of the library seemed a smart compromise. From here, she’d see Cole’s arrival.

Rita pointed her chair at the window. Paranoia crawled over her skin like a thousand baby spiders. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t safe, not even in another town. As if the bridge and river weren’t enough distance to protect her from whatever was happening. She inhaled the aroma of her drink and willed the sweet steam to ease her jangled nerves. She also tried closing her lids and counting to ten.

Nothing helped.

Rita let her gaze make quick and continuous loops around the square between sips, checking the street and sidewalks in both directions. So far, no sign of Cole Garrett or any other Cade County deputies.

Good, evil or otherwise.

A clutch of women in blue-and-white hoodies crossed the street, leaving a black sedan in clear view. The vehicle crept along the street outside, dark tinted windows staring back at her, and disappeared around the corner.

Rita worked to swallow the mouthful of suddenly tasteless tea before she choked on it. Sedans are common, she told herself.

Breathe. Relax. Deputy Garrett is on his way.

Wasn’t he? Her gaze jumped to the library entrance across the street. Where was he?

She pushed the teacup aside and leaned over the table on her elbows, stretching for a look in the direction the sedan had gone.

The little bell over the café’s front door jingled, setting her back on her seat. A man strode inside. Too old to be a student. Too casual for a professor. He locked gazes with her, and Rita tilted her head to take him in. There was something in his stride that sent her heart into a fresh sprint. He lifted his brows, and Rita spun in her chair, fixing her eyes on the library outside once more.

It’s not him. It’s not him, she chanted mentally.

Rita kept the silent refrain going, but couldn’t bring herself to believe the words. How could she be sure? She hadn’t seen either man’s face clearly last night, but the sedan had just rolled by... Rita peeked over her shoulder at the man, now poised at the counter.

The long angles of his arms and lean cut of his waist drew itchy memories over her skin. Was this the same man from her office earlier today? If so, what had happened to the deputy jacket?

The memory of hushed footfalls echoed in her mind, making her breaths shudder.

Her tummy rocked, and an uncomfortable sheen of sweat broke over her goose-pimpled skin. She wasn’t built for this kind of life. She’d made herself sick many times with worry, always about her brother’s well-being or the health and safety of others. She worried about homeless and injured animals, her fledgling garden and whether or not she’d left the iron on. Those were problems she could deal with. This...

She imagined the man at the counter in a bulky deputy’s jacket, marching her way, chasing her through the night. What if he approached her discreetly and pressed a gun to her back? Then tossed her in the trunk and drove her to the river?

Nope.

She gathered the straps of her bags with hasty fingers and slid, nearly fell, off her chair, but the packed-up laptop case caught on the table’s edge. “Sorry,” she apologized to no one in particular, before stumbling over the table leg and ramming her shoulder into the café door on her way out. Cole or no Cole, Rita couldn’t stay. She ducked her head against the number of stunned faces still inside the café, now watching her as she passed the window outside.

The newcomer’s eyes were narrow, and his lips were turned down. He made a move for the door, but Rita didn’t wait to see where he was headed.

Her flying heart carried her through knots and clusters of students on street corners and outside shops. She darted around a lamppost and into a bookstore she knew had a back exit that opened into a brick courtyard with a gate to an alley. She’d used them both many times during her four-year tenure in Rivertown, perpetually running late to class, often the result of a novel she couldn’t put down.

Street noise filled her ears as she landed in the store’s rear courtyard. A sprinkle of quiet students in wooden lounge chairs glanced her way, then back to their phones or books, unconcerned by her sudden and probably wild appearance.

Rita followed the picket fence at a crouch. She peeked over the top once, after a strong internal pep talk to convince herself it was important to see the bad guy before he saw her.

She stopped at the rear gate and pressed her forehead to the cool wooden slats. Anxiety twisted her gut and paralyzed her limbs. Maybe she didn’t have to go out there again. Maybe Cole could meet here where she was.

She rubbed her sweat-slicked palms over her jeans, one by one, juggling the phone with each move. Then she hunched her shoulders over her cell phone and sent a text to Deputy Garrett.

Where are you?

Cole’s response was immediate. I’m at the library. Where are you?

Of course. He’d gone straight to their meeting place, like she should have. The silence and lack of bodies hadn’t frightened him the way it had her.

Rita pulled in a restorative breath and let it out with resolve. Everything was okay now. The library was just down the alley and across the street. She only needed to leave the safety of the fence and get on with it.

She nodded at her screen, then typed On my way.

The phone rang in her shaky hand as she shoved the creaky gate open, creating an escape hatch from the enclosed bookshop patio. Cole’s number appeared on her screen.

Her heart settled at the sight of it. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Cole’s voice was strong and steady. “I’m standing outside the library. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you. You don’t have to walk alone.”

“I appreciate that. I might be wrong, but I think one of the men I saw last night is here, too.”

“Where?”

“Possibly in the café across from the library. I got nervous and left. Now I’m leaving the bookshop on River Drive. I cut through when I thought I was being followed.” And if she made it to Cole fast enough, she might make it home without a nervous breakdown.

Rita rolled her shoulders back, borrowing from his confidence.

She stepped into the midday sun and examined the passing faces. “I don’t see him now. It was probably nothing. I might be losing my mind, actually.”

“You’re not.” Cole assured her. “You’ve been through a trauma. Give yourself some credit for brilliance.”

“Brilliance?”

“You called me for help.”

Rita snickered. “An ego to go with the face. Isn’t that always the way?”

“You like my face?”

She smiled against the receiver, enjoying the sudden and blatant curiosity in Cole’s voice. He had to know he was handsome. According to the rumors, not that she listened, there were four Garrett brothers, all gorgeous, all lawmen, and all terminally single until recently. But that was fine. She didn’t need a date. She needed a protector, and the rumors about the Garretts being unstoppable forces of nature were repeated with as much fervor as those about their sexual prowess.

Those were the rumors she’d put her hope in.

She hurried away from the courtyard. Through a wall of ambling jocks and across the little street. The weight of her situation rolled away as the school’s library sign came into view. The door was only ten yards away, just around the next corner. Safety was so close she could throw a stone and hit it. “I see the fountain,” she said. “I’m almost...”

The sound of a revving engine cut through her words. A black sedan moved down the street in her direction.

Her mouth opened as the car bore down on her, but only a strangled sound emerged.

“Rita?” Cole barked through the receiver.

Her limbs were leaden as the car tore through the alley in her direction, increasing in speed and chasing students out of its way with a growl.

Her heart ached through to her backbone.

“Rita!” Cole hollered. “Move!” His voice echoed through the phone’s speaker and in the air. Cole appeared in the distance, running full speed from the café where she’d seen the creepy man. “Run!”

Adrenaline shot through her limbs like lightning bolts, propelling her suddenly away from the car, around café tables on the sidewalk outside a pizza shop and down the narrow street once filled with students. She pumped her arms and legs as the engine roared closer and lunged for the historic marble fountain moments later, tossing her phone and bags before colliding smartly with the fountain’s edge and soaring headlong into the recycled water. Her shins and palms were on fire from the collision before her head cracked against the carved angel’s feet.

Her face submerged and, for a moment, there was nothing but icy water everywhere.

She arose with a gasp, pulling in lungfuls of oxygen and scrambling around the fountain’s center.

The sound of squealing brakes and screaming people snapped her thoughts back into focus. The car!

“Stop!” Cole’s demand rang through the chaos, much closer now.

She wiped her eyes and spun in search of the voice she’d only known a short while, but could somehow pick out of a wailing crowd.

The engine revved once more as the car changed direction and roared softly into the distance.

She collapsed backward into the water, fighting an onslaught of tears. Her limbs trembled and her teeth chattered. She sat upright, knees pulled to her chest, overcome with panic and confusion.

Dozens of people stared openly, pointing their cell phones in her direction. Her brother was going to die of humiliation when he saw the footage and be infinitely angry she hadn’t opened up to him about what happened at the docks.

She dropped her head forward and begged her mind to think.

How could she possibly explain this away?

A set of strong hands wrapped around her elbows and hoisted her from the water with a whoosh.

Rita screamed. Her feet found purchase on the ground outside the fountain, and she locked her palms together on instinct to thrust against her assailant’s chest, sending him back several steps.

Cole relented, palms up as he widened his stance and waited. “Hey. It’s just me.” He watched silently as her scrambled brain put the pieces together.

“Cole!” Recognition hit, and Rita flung herself at him. She buried her face against his shoulder and exhaled the suffocating terror from her lungs. “I thought I was dead. I thought he’d kill me right here in front of everyone.”

Cole’s broad, warm hands found the small of her back and pressed her to him. “You’re okay, Rita.” His heart thrummed beneath her ear, chest rising and falling in quick bursts.

The sound of her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. The soft scents of spearmint, earth and aftershave that wafted off his heated skin didn’t help.

She peeled herself away with burning cheeks. “You’re soaked.” She brushed the sodden fabric of his uniform shirt with shaky hands. “I’m soaked and now... I’m so sorry.”

Rita locked her knees in frustration, and the tears began to flow.

“Hey.” Cole pulled her back against him and stroked her sopping hair. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Okay? But you’ve got to trust me.” He took her hands in his, and led her away from the wretched fountain and massive crowd. “First, let’s get you out of here. I need to call this in, and you need something dry to wear. I’ve got towels and a first aid kit in the gym bag in my cruiser. How hurt are you?”

“I’m not.”

He turned her palm up in his, both their hands now painted with her blood. “No?”

“Scrapes. From the marble.”

He nodded stiffly. “What else?”

Her legs were sore and her head was fuzzy. “Bruises. Ow.” Her vision blurred. “I think I hit my...” Rita’s knees buckled and the world went black.




Chapter Six (#ub3f5438b-1665-5899-846f-dd74f072bd4c)


Cole stroked wet hair from Rita’s face as he buckled her into the passenger seat of his car. This day had gone from strange to downright bizarre in a matter of hours. Luckily, Rita would be okay. “Hey.”

Her eyes flitted open then pulled shut.

“Rita?” Cole pressed a palm to her cheek. “You with me?”

She squirmed, apparently confused by the seat belt. Her eyes widened and her arms swung for him.

Cole dodged the blow. That wouldn’t happen again. He collected her wrists in one of his hands and put on his warmest smile. “You shouldn’t hit lawmen. There’s a law against that. Plus, it hurts.” He made a show of rubbing his chest where she’d landed the earlier hit.

Color rushed to her cheeks. “Sorry.” She squirmed to take in her new surroundings. “What happened?”

“You passed out. I carried you to my car.” Cole tugged her safety belt, making sure it was securely latched. “How’s your head?”

She groaned.

Cole flashed a penlight in her direction. “Can you follow the light?”

She squinted, but got the job done.

“Okay.” He lifted a finger before shutting her inside the cruiser and rounding the hood to the driver’s side. Behind the wheel, he twisted for a look in her direction. “You were chased by a lunatic in a black sedan. Tinted windows. No plates. Any chance you got a look at the driver?”

She shook her head.

“You would’ve been killed if you hadn’t dived into the fountain. You hit your head doing that. Then you hit me. Then you passed out. And here we are.”

She rubbed her eyes and groaned.

Cole pointed his cruiser toward the bridge, waving to a set of campus security officers. “Those guys showed up as I was hauling you off the street. I barely caught you before you hit your head again.” He chuckled. “You were right in the middle of telling me how well you felt.”

“I think I have a concussion.”

“You don’t.” He smiled, happy to know that was true. She was fine. Slightly banged up, but all things considered, Rita was stellar. “It wasn’t the head injury that knocked you out, but that goose egg is going to look a lot worse before it starts looking better.”

Rita dissolved against his passenger seat. Her fingers sought the wound. She winced when she found it.

“Shock will do that to people. The fainting, not the goose egg. Anyway, you’re fine now.”

“Except someone still wants to kill me.”

“Yeah.” There was that. He ground his teeth. He needed to fix that. “You’re having a bad day.”

She laughed humorlessly, eyes fixed on the world outside her window. “Very bad.”

“And you’re all wet.”

“I need to go home,” she said.

“Already on it.” Cole took the bridge back to Shadow Point at half the speed he’d used to arrive in Rivertown.

Rita closed her eyes. “Why are you so calm, and how do you know I’m okay?” Her teeth chattered.

Cole ached to stroke the curve of her clenched jaw. “You’re with me now. You’re definitely going to make it, Horn.”

She rolled her head in his direction, blinking through tear-filled eyes. “And how can you be sure I’m not concussed?”

“Medical school.”

Rita’s rosebud mouth pulled into a droll expression. “Of course.”

“I dropped out,” he said, “so I’m not a doctor, but I was a medic in the army, and I’ve been bandaging up my brothers all my life. My uncle’s an EMT, too, so that helped.”

Rita straightened in her seat. “Wait a minute. You quit medical school to be a deputy?”

“Law’s in the blood, I guess.”

“I guess,” she agreed. “Clearly also a hero complex.”

“Not the first time I’ve been accused of that. I guess we have something in common.”

Rita wrinkled her nose. “What?”

“The hero complex.” He watched for understanding that never came, then tried again. “What do you call what you do?”

“Paperwork?”

“No,” he corrected. “Feeding stray cats and making lunches for the homeless. You know all their names, and I don’t even know all the bailiffs. What do you call yourself, if not a hero?”

A wave of pink spread over her cheeks. “Nothing. I’m just...trying.”

Cole worked to redirect his thoughts from that blush and all the other ways he’d like to summon it.

A few creative images came immediately to mind.

Rita’s lips parted. She dropped her sweet hazel gaze to her lap before raising her eyes to him once more. “I try to make a difference.”

Her words hit Cole in the chest. So much kindness in one small package. How did a woman like Rita Horn go unattached? If Cole were looking for something serious, which he wasn’t, and she wasn’t an endangered civilian in his care, which she was, maybe there could have been something between them.

Like what? He chastised himself. Pull it together, Garrett.

Ten silent minutes later, Cole pulled into Rita’s driveway.

Rita unlocked the door and welcomed him inside.

The house was exactly as he remembered. No one had been back while Rita was out. Then again, he’d already known the person responsible for overturning her place was likely the same one driving the sedan across the river.

He helped himself to a seat on her couch while she went to change clothes.

Cole checked his texts and listened to the handful of messages that had collected during his drive back to town. Campus security had conveyed the details of the attack to their local authorities. Rivertown police were interviewing the mass of witnesses and would report to West on the matter.

The phone vibrated in his hand, and West’s face appeared on his screen.

“You got something?” Cole moved the phone to his ear.

“Yeah, a pair of empty seats across from my desk. Where are you?”

“Rita’s place. She’s cleaning up from her fall in the fountain.”

“Get her here as soon as you can. Meanwhile, tell me what you learned.” The sound of West’s creaky desk chair echoed in the quiet background. Cole could practically see his older brother rubbing the stress lines off his forehead.




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