Книга - Saved By The Sheriff

Saved By The Sheriff
Cindi Myers


He’ll protect her, but will he win her heart?Lucy Mulligan was wrongly imprisoned for murder, but now she has been exonerated and the man who put her behind bars, Travis Walker, needs to catch the real killer. Time is running out but the investigation ignites sparks of attraction neither expected…







He’ll protect her back.

But will he win her heart?

Sheriff Travis Walker doesn’t blame Lacy Milligan for hating him—he jailed her for murder. But now he’s exonerated her, and the handsome lawman needs her to find the real killer. Will she overcome her hatred to help? As she relents, violence explodes—someone wants her dead. With time running out, their investigation deepens...and ignites sparks of attraction neither ever expected.

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 (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

Murder in Black Canyon

Undercover Husband

Manhunt on Mystic Mesa

Soldier’s Promise

Missing in Blue Mesa

Stranded with the Suspect

Colorado Crime Scene

Lawman on the Hunt

Christmas Kidnapping

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


Saved by the Sheriff

Cindi Myers






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


ISBN: 978-1-474-07907-5

SAVED BY THE SHERIFF

© 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 Lucy


Contents

Cover (#u4ca27a40-94e5-5816-abda-707bf68e94ec)

Back Cover Text (#ue7e628b3-f031-55b5-a85b-caf1941eefa2)

About the Author (#u53891e7b-d0e4-5635-a6ec-7c79e3f7a3ef)

Booklist (#u840aeb25-cb0a-559d-b129-addbea71f9d1)

Title Page (#uda6fdb10-6dd0-5ee0-bf9e-74c6b3829327)

Copyright (#u5dcfb191-e53a-5a66-b585-88f275ad8041)

Dedication (#uaf776b5f-e006-54f6-b7e3-15349d679910)

Chapter One (#u752f6107-d926-5000-84f8-0d13d40dc5e6)

Chapter Two (#u2d28f8a7-6d59-51db-8baa-085873d88212)

Chapter Three (#ue0f297b1-b2f0-53c0-8682-03b754e95350)

Chapter Four (#udce88b99-9d6b-5489-b3b5-8a7010c7bded)

Chapter Five (#uc6067599-f28a-5241-848f-f360e5b10746)

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)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

Lacy Milligan flinched as the heavy steel door clanged shut behind her. After almost three years, that sound still sent a chill through her. She reminded herself she wouldn’t ever have to hear that sound again after today. Today she was a free woman.

She followed the guard down the gleaming tiled hallway, the smell of disinfectant stinging her nose. At the door to a reception room at the front of the building she stopped and waited while a second guard unlocked and opened the door. Her lawyer, Anisha Cook, stood on the other side, beaming. She pulled Lacy to her in a hug and Lacy stiffened. That was something else she would have to get used to—being touched. Touching wasn’t allowed in prison—even something as simple as a hug could lead to extra searches, even punishment. But those rules didn’t apply to her anymore, she reminded herself, and awkwardly returned the other woman’s embrace. Anisha, still smiling, released her, and Lacy noticed there were other people in the room—the warden, reporters, her parents.

“Lacy, what are your feelings, now that your conviction has been overturned?” A sandy-haired man shoved a microphone at her.

“I’m happy, of course,” she said. “Ready to go home.”

“Do you have anything to say to Rayford County Sheriff Travis Walker?” another reporter asked.

So Travis was the sheriff now. Putting a murderer behind bars had probably earned him points with the right people in town. Except he had arrested the wrong person. “I don’t have anything to say to him,” she said.

“Even though he’s the one who came forward with the evidence that cleared your name?” the reporter asked.

Travis had done that? She shot a look at Anisha, who nodded. Lacy would have to get the whole story from her later. “That doesn’t make up for the three years I spent behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit,” Lacy said. Three years of her life she would never get back.

“What are your plans now that you’re free?” the sandy-haired reporter asked.

Plans? Plans were something a person with a future made—something Lacy hadn’t had until yesterday, when word came down that she was to be released. She had been afraid to believe it was really going to happen until now. “I’m going to go home with my parents and consider my options,” she said.

She caught her mother’s eye across the room. Jeanette Milligan was openly weeping, tears running down her cheeks, while Lacy’s dad held her tightly.

“We need to be going now,” Anisha said. “We ask that you respect Lacy’s privacy as she settles in.” She put her arm around Lacy’s shoulders and guided her toward the door.

Outside, her mother’s green Subaru Outback waited—the same car she had had when Lacy had entered the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility three years before. Lacy’s dad embraced her and kissed her cheek, then it was her mother’s turn. “I have your old room all ready for you,” her mom said. “And we’re having steak for dinner, and chocolate cake.”

“Great, Mom.” Lacy forced a smile. Moving back home had seemed the best choice right now, since she had almost no money and no job. It would only be temporary, until she figured out what she was going to do with the rest of her life and got back on her feet. But it still felt like going back in time while the rest of the world moved forward.

“We’ll get together next week for coffee or something,” Anisha said. “If you need anything before then, just call.” She waved and headed for her own car, then Lacy slid into the back seat of her parents’ car and they were off.

They tried to make small talk for a while, but soon fell silent. Lacy rested her head against the window and stared out at the summer-browned city landscape, which quickly gave way to the green foothills, and then the Rocky Mountains. Only five more hours until she was home in Eagle Mountain, the little resort town where her family had settled when Lacy was fourteen. Once upon a time, she had thought she would stay in Eagle Mountain forever, but now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe there were too many bad memories there for her to ever be comfortable again.

Lacy slept, and woke only when her dad pulled the car into the driveway of the Victorian cottage just off Eagle Mountain’s main street that had been their home for the past ten years. A lump rose in Lacy’s throat as she studied the stone walkway that led up to the front porch that spanned the width of the house, with its white-painted posts and railings and lacelike gingerbread trim. The peonies under the railings were in full bloom, like big pink pom-poms filling the flower beds. A banner over the front steps declared Welcome Home Lacy!

She took her time getting out of the car, fighting the instinct to run up the steps and straight into her room. She was going to have to get used to facing people again, to dealing with their questions about what she had been through and what she planned to do next. She had never been good at that kind of thing, but she was going to have to find a way to cope.

She started up the walkway, but at the top of the steps, she noticed the uniformed man seated in the porch swing and froze. Travis Walker, all six feet of him, made even taller by the cowboy boots and Stetson he wore, stood and moved toward her. “What are you doing here?” Lacy asked, heart pounding madly. Had there been some mistake? Had he come to arrest her again?

Travis removed his hat, revealing thick brown hair that fell boyishly over his forehead. When Lacy had first met him in high school, she had thought he was the handsomest boy she had ever seen. Too much had passed between them for her to think that now. “I came to apologize,” he said. “I know it doesn’t make up for all I put you through, but I wanted to say I’m truly sorry. I’ve done what I can to make up for my mistakes.”

“Your mistakes cost me three years of my life!” Lacy hated the way her voice broke on the words. “You humiliated me in front of everyone I knew. In front of people I’ve never even met. You accused me of the most horrible crime anyone could commit.”

His face showed the strain he was feeling, his brown eyes pained. “I would give anything to take all of it back,” he said. “But I can’t. All I can do is say again that I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll find it in your heart one day to forgive me.”

“You don’t deserve my forgiveness,” she said, and rushed past him, tears stinging her eyes. She refused to break down in front of him.

She paused in the darkened living room, fighting for composure. Her father’s quiet voice drifted to her through the opened screen door. “Give it a few days. This is hard for her—for all of us.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude on your first day back together,” Travis said. “I just wanted her to know how I felt. It didn’t seem right to wait any longer to apologize. It doesn’t make up for anything, but it had to be said.”

“And we appreciate it,” her dad said. “We appreciate all you’ve done for her. It says a lot about a man when he’s willing to admit he was wrong.”

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Travis said. “You deserve your privacy and I have a lot of work to do.”

“Thank goodness there’s not a lot of crime in Rayford County, but I imagine the job has its challenges,” her dad said.

“It does,” Travis said. “But right now my priority is finding out who really killed Andy Stenson. I know now that Lacy didn’t kill him, but I have to bring to justice the person who did.”

* * *

TRAVIS WALKED AWAY from the Milligan home, down the street shaded by tall evergreens and cottonwoods, up a block to Main. He liked that the town of Eagle Mountain—the only incorporated town in Rayford County—was small enough, and the sheriff’s department centrally located enough, that he could walk almost anywhere. A big part of policing in a rural area like this was simply being a presence. Seeing uniforms on the street made people feel safer, and it made troublemakers think twice about acting up.

He passed under the large banner advertising Eagle Mountain Pioneer Days Festival, the biggest tourist attraction of the summer for the little town, with a parade and fireworks, outdoor concerts, crafts booths and anything else the town council could think of that would entertain people and induce them to stay a few days and spend money.

“Sheriff!”

He turned to see Mayor Larry Rowe striding toward him. Solidly built and energetic, Rowe was a relative newcomer to town who, after a year on the county planning committee, had spent a significant amount of money on his campaign for mayor two years ago—unusual in a town where most public officials ran unopposed. “Mayor.” Travis stopped and waited for the older man to catch up.

“Sheriff, I wanted to talk to you about security for the festival,” Rowe said.

“We’ll have plenty of officers patrolling,” Travis said. “I’m putting all of the reserves on duty, and as many of the full-time staff as possible.”

Rowe nodded. “We don’t want any trouble to detract from the festivities.” He stared down the street, in the direction Travis had come. “I understand Lacy Milligan is back in town.”

“Yes, I stopped by to see her.”

“Oh?” The lines on either side of Rowe’s mouth deepened. “How is she?”

“She’s still processing everything that’s happened, I think.”

“I hope she doesn’t have any plans to sue the city,” Rowe said. “I’ll have to consult our attorney, prepare for that possibility.”

“I don’t think she has any plans to sue,” Travis said.

“Do whatever you can to see that she doesn’t. I have to go now. You’ll keep me posted if any problems arise with the Milligans.”

“Yes, sir.”

The mayor moved on, and Travis resumed the walk to his office. Though he didn’t consider Rowe a friend, he appreciated that the mayor rarely involved himself in the operation of the sheriff’s department. Travis was free to do his job as he saw fit.

A ten-minute stroll took Travis back to the office. His office manager, sixty-eight-year-old Adelaide Kinkaid, who refused to even consider retiring—and was sharper than most thirty-year-olds—looked up from her computer screen. “How did it go?” she asked.

“About like I expected.” Travis hung his Stetson on the rack by the door. “She told me I’d ruined her life and tried not to let me see she was crying.” He shrugged. “In her place, I’d probably feel the same way. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t punch me.”

“You’re already beating yourself up enough,” Adelaide said.

“Why are you beating yourself up?” Deputy Gage Walker, Travis’s younger brother, emerged from his office. Taller than Travis by two inches and lighter than him by twenty pounds, Gage looked like the basketball forward he had been in high school, lean and quick.

“I went over to see Lacy Milligan,” Travis said.

Gage’s face sobered. “Ouch! That took guts.”

“It was the least she deserved. Not that she thinks so.”

“You did what you could,” Gage said. “Now the ball is in her court.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?” Gage asked.

“I mean, I still have to find Andy Stenson’s killer. And doing that will be easier with her help.”

“Wait a minute—you proved she was innocent—but you think she knows something?” Gage asked.

“She can at least walk me through Andy’s records, tell me about his clients. She was his only employee. She may have encountered his murderer, without knowing it.”

“What about Andy’s widow?” Adelaide asked.

“Brenda knows nothing about the business,” Travis said. “She’s told me everything she knows, but it’s not enough. I need Lacy to help me.”

“And I need a million dollars,” Gage said. “But I’m not going to get it.”

Travis moved into his office and dropped into his chair behind his desk, staring at the stack of papers in his inbox, thinking about Lacy. She was the first murderer he had ever arrested—the only one, actually. He was a deputy with only a few years on the force at the time, and murder was a rare crime in Rayford County. Sheriff’s department calls ran more toward theft, vandalism, domestic violence and what he thought of as tourist calls—lost hikers, lost wallets, lost dogs and people who had locked themselves out of their cars.

The murder of young attorney Andy Stenson had been a shock to everyone, but the chief suspect had been pretty clear. Lacy Milligan’s prints had been found on the murder weapon, she had been overheard arguing with Andy that afternoon and someone had seen a woman who matched Lacy’s description—from her build to her dark hair—outside the office shortly before the time of Andy’s death.

Travis hadn’t wanted to believe Lacy was a killer. She had always been the pretty, quiet girl in high school. After she had graduated high school and had gone to work for Andy, Travis had occasionally seen her downtown and they would say hello. He had even thought about asking her out, but had never gotten around to it.

But then Andy had died and the only evidence Travis could find pointed to Lacy. She hadn’t been able to produce anyone who could confirm her alibi—that she had been almost two hours away at her cousin’s basketball game. The cousin hadn’t seen her there, and no one else could remember her being there. And then the prosecutor had discovered funds missing from the law firm’s account, and a deposit in almost the same amount in Lacy’s account.

The jury had deliberated only a few hours before handing down a conviction. Travis had felt sick as he watched the bailiff lead Lacy from court, but he had been convinced he had done his job. He had found a murderer.

And then, only two months ago, he had been whiling away the time online and had come across a video someone had posted of a college basketball game—a game in which a promising young player—now a major NBA star—had made a series of free throws that hinted at his future greatness. Watching the video, Travis had recognized a familiar face on the sidelines. Lacy Milligan—a smiling, carefree Lacy—had stared out at him from the screen. A time stamp on the video corroborated her story of being at her cousin’s game. Further research backed this up. Here was her alibi. When Andy Stenson was stabbed in the heart, Lacy Milligan was two hours away.

From there, the rest of the evidence began to fall apart. Travis hired a former detective to review the case and the detective—who had retired to Eagle Mountain after a storied career with the Los Angeles Police Department—determined that what had looked like missing funds was merely a bookkeeping error, and the deposit in Lacy’s account was, as she had said, the proceeds from the sale of some jewelry she had inherited.

Travis had felt sick over the error. He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep as he worked feverishly to see that the decision in the case was vacated. He also did what he could to publicize his efforts to clear the name of the woman he had wronged. He wanted everyone to know that Lacy was innocent.

Now she was home. He didn’t blame her for hating him, though it hurt to see the scorn in her eyes. All he knew to do now was to work even harder to find the real killer.

The phone rang and he heard Adelaide answer. A moment later, his extension buzzed. “Sheriff, it’s for you,” Adelaide said. “It’s George Milligan.”

Lacy’s dad. Travis snatched up the receiver. “Mr. Milligan, how can I help you?”

“I think you need to come over here, Sheriff.” George Milligan’s voice held the strain of someone who had taken almost more than he could bear. “We’ve had a, well, I’m not sure how to describe it. An incident.”

Travis sat up straighter, his stomach knotting. “What’s happened? Is someone hurt? Is Lacy hurt?”

“Someone threw a rock through our front window.” George’s voice broke. “It had a...a note tied to it. Just one word on the note—murderer.”

“I’ll be right over,” Travis said. Hadn’t these people suffered enough? Hadn’t they all suffered enough?


Chapter Two (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

Lacy stared at the grapefruit-sized chunk of red granite that sat in the middle of the library table beneath the front window of her family home, shards of glass like fractured ice scattered about it. Strands of thin wire held the note in place, a single word scrawled crookedly in red marker, like an accusation made in blood.

Murderer! She had worn the label for three years, but she would never get used to it. Seeing it here, in the place she had thought of as a refuge, when she had believed her ordeal over, hurt more than she had imagined. Worse, the word hurt her parents, who had put their own lives on hold, and even mortgaged their home, to save her.

A black-and-white SUV pulled into the driveway and Lacy watched out the window as Travis Walker slid out of the vehicle and strode up the walkway to the door. Everything about him radiated competence and authority, from his muscular frame filling out the crisp lines of his brown sheriff’s uniform to the determined expression on his handsome face. When he said something was right, it must be right. So when he had said she had murdered Andy Stenson, everyone had believed him. Men like Travis didn’t make mistakes.

Except he had.

The doorbell rang and her father opened it and ushered Travis inside. Lacy steeled herself to face him. Travis hadn’t thrown the rock through her parents’ window, but as far as she was concerned, he was to blame.

“Hello, Lacy.” Ever the gentleman, Travis touched the brim of his hat and nodded to her.

She nodded and took a step back, away from the rock—and away from him. He walked over and looked down at the projectile, his gaze taking in the broken window, the shattered glass and the note. He leaned closer to study the note. “Has anything like this happened before?” he asked.

It took her a moment to realize he had addressed the question to her. She shrugged. “Not really. There were a few letters to the editor in the paper during my trial, and a few times when I would walk into a place and everyone would stop talking and stare at me.”

“But no direct threats or name calling?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“I can’t understand why anyone would do this now.” Her father joined them. Her mother was upstairs, lying down with a headache. “Lacy has been cleared. Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe not everyone.” Travis straightened. “I’ll get an evidence kit from my car. Maybe we’ll get some fingerprints off the note.”

Lacy doubted whoever threw that rock would be stupid enough to leave fingerprints, but she didn’t bother arguing. Travis went outside and stopped on the sidewalk to survey the flower bed. Maybe he was looking for footprints? Or maybe he liked flowers.

He returned a few moments later, wearing latex gloves and carrying a cardboard box. He lifted the rock and settled it in the box. “In order to hurl the rock through the window like this, whoever threw it would have to be close—either standing on the porch or in the flower beds,” he said, as he taped up the box and labeled it. “I didn’t see any footprints in the flower beds, or disturbed plants, so I’m guessing porch. Did you see or hear anyone?”

“We were all in the back of the house, preparing dinner in the kitchen,” her father said.

“I’ll talk to the neighbors, see if any of them saw anything,” Travis said. “After the window shattered, did you hear anything—anyone running away, or a car driving away?”

“No,” her father said.

Both men looked at Lacy. “No,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Who would do something like this?” her father asked. His face sagged with weariness, and he looked years older. Guilt made a knot in Lacy’s stomach. Even though she hadn’t thrown the rock, she was the target. She had brought this intrusion into her parents’ peaceful life. Maybe moving back home had been a bad idea.

“I don’t know,” Travis said. “There are mean people in the world. Obviously, someone doesn’t believe Lacy is innocent.”

“The paper has run articles,” her father said. “It’s been on all the television stations—I don’t know what else we can do.”

“You can help me find the real murderer.”

He was addressing Lacy, not her dad, his gaze pinning her. She remembered him looking at her that way the day he arrested her, the intensity of his stare making it clear she wasn’t going to get away with not answering his questions.

“Why should I help you?” she asked.

“You worked closely with Andy,” he said. “You knew his clients. You can walk me through his records. I’m convinced he knew his murderer.”

“What if you try to pin this on the wrong person again?”

He didn’t even flinch. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Honey, I think maybe Travis is right,” her father said. “You probably know more about Andy’s job than anyone.”

“What about Brenda?” Lacy asked. “She was his wife. He would have told her if someone was threatening him before he told me.”

“He never said anything like that to her,” Travis said. “And she doesn’t know anything about his law practice.”

“I’m pretty sure all the files from the business are still in storage,” she said. “You don’t need my help going through them.”

“I do if I’m going to figure out what any of it means. You can help me avoid wasting time on irrelevant files and focus on anything that might be important.”

His intense gaze pinned her, making her feel trapped. She wanted to say no, to avoid having anything to do with him. But what if he was right and he needed her help to solve the case? What if, by doing nothing, she was letting the real killer get away with murder? “All right,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you. I’ll call you tomorrow or the next day and set up a time to get together.” He picked up the box with the rock, touched the brim of his hat again and left.

Lacy sank into a nearby arm chair. This wasn’t how she had envisioned her homecoming. She had hoped to be able to put the past behind her once and for all. Now she was volunteering to dive right back into it.

* * *

TRAVIS CRUISED EAGLE MOUNTAIN’S main street, surveying the groups of tourists waiting for tables at Kate’s Kitchen or Moe’s Pub, the men filling the park benches outside the row of boutiques, chatting while they waited for their wives. He waved to Paige Riddell as he passed her bed-and-breakfast, drove past the library and post office, then turned past the Episcopal Church, the fire station and the elementary school before he turned toward his office. The rock someone had hurled through Lacy’s front window sat in the box on the passenger seat, a very ordinary chunk of iron-ore-infused granite that could have come from almost any roadside or backyard in the area.

Who would hurl such a weapon—and its hateful message—through the window of a woman who had already endured too much because of mistakes made by Travis and others? Eagle Mountain wasn’t a perfect place, but it wasn’t known for violent dissension. Disagreements tended to play themselves out in the form of letters to the editor of the local paper or the occasional shouting match after a few too many beers at one of the local taverns.

When Travis had arrested Lacy for the murder of Andy Stenson, he had received more than one angry phone call, and a few people had refused to speak to him ever since. When he had issued a public statement declaring Lacy’s innocence, most people had responded positively, if not jubilantly, to the news. He couldn’t recall hearing even a whisper from anyone that a single person believed Lacy was still a murderer.

On impulse, he drove past the police station and two blocks north, to the former Eagle Mountain Hospital, now home to the county Historical Society and Museum. As he had hoped, Brenda Stenson was just locking up for the day when Travis parked and climbed out of his SUV. “Hello, Travis,” she said as she tucked the key into her purse. A slender blonde with delicate features and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose, Brenda seemed to be regaining some of the vivacity that had all but vanished when her husband of only three years had been murdered. “What’s up?”

“Lacy came home today,” he said. “I was just over at her folks’ place.”

“How is she? I saw her mom yesterday and told her to tell Lacy I would stop by tomorrow—I thought maybe the family would like a little time alone before the crowds of well-wishers descend.”

“So you don’t have any problem with her being out?” Travis asked, watching her carefully.

She pushed a fall of long blond hair out of her eyes. “Lacy didn’t kill Andy,” she said. “I should have spoken on her behalf at the trial, but I was so torn up about Andy—it was all I could do to get out of bed in the morning. Later on...” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think. I’m glad she’s out.”

“Except that now we don’t know who is responsible for Andy’s death,” Travis said.

“No, we don’t. It makes it hard to move on, but sometimes these things never get solved, do they? I hate to think that, but I’m trying to be realistic.”

“I want to find the real murderer,” Travis said. “I feel like I owe it to you and Andy—and to Lacy.”

“You didn’t try and convict her all by yourself,” Brenda said. “And you fought harder than anyone to free her once you figured out the truth.”

“But I started the ball rolling,” he said. “And this isn’t really going to be over for any of us until we find out what really happened that day.”

She sighed. “So what’s the next move?”

“I know we’ve been over this before, but humor me. Do you know of anyone who was angry or upset with Andy—about anything? An angry husband whose wife Andy represented in a divorce? A drunk driving case he lost?”

“Andy hadn’t been practicing law long enough to make enemies,” Brenda said. “And Eagle Mountain is a small town—I know pretty much everyone who was ever a client of his. None of them seem like a murderer to me.”

“I think the odds that the killer was a random stranger are pretty low,” Travis said. “So one of those nice local people is likely the murderer.”

Brenda rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if trying to warm herself. “It makes me sick to think about it,” she said.

“If I can convince Lacy to help me, would you mind if we go through Andy’s case files?” Travis asked. “I figure she would have known his clients almost as well as he did.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Everything is in storage. I haven’t had the heart to go through anything myself.”

“I don’t know if it will help, but it seems like a good place to start,” he said.

“Stop by whenever you’re ready and I’ll give you the key to my storage unit,” she said.

They said good-night and Travis returned to his SUV. He had just started the vehicle when his cell phone buzzed. “Hello?”

“Sheriff, Wade Tomlinson called to report a shoplifter at their store,” Adelaide said. “He said he saw you drive past a few minutes ago and wondered if you could swing by.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” Travis ended the call and turned the SUV back toward Main, where Wade Tomlinson and Brock Ryan operated Eagle Mountain Outfitters, a hunting, fishing and climbing store that catered to locals and tourists alike. Technically, a call like this should have been routed through the countywide dispatch center. The dispatcher would then contact the appropriate department and the officer who was closest to the scene would respond. But locals were just as likely to call the sheriff department’s direct line and ask for Travis or Gage or one of the other officers by name.

Wade Tomlinson met Travis on the sidewalk in front of their store. “Thanks for stopping by, Sheriff,” he said. He crossed his arms over his beefy chest, the eagle tattoo on his biceps flexing. A vein pulsed in his shaved head. “Though I guess we wasted your time.”

“Adelaide said you had a shoplifter?”

“Yeah, but he got away, right after I called.” He led the way inside the shop, which smelled of canvas, leather and rope. Climbing rope in every color of the rainbow hung from hooks along the back wall, while everything from stainless-steel coffee mugs to ice axes and crampons filled the shelves.

Wade’s business partner, Brock Ryan, looked up from rearranging a display of T-shirts. The one in his hand, Travis noted, bore the legend Do It In the Outdoors. “Hey, Travis,” he said. “You didn’t pass a skinny teenager in a red beanie on your way over here, did you?”

“No,” Travis said. “Was that your shoplifter?”

“Yeah. I caught him red-handed shoving a hundred-dollar water filter down his pants. I sat him down up front by the register and told him we would wait until you got here before we decided whether or not to file charges.”

Unlike Wade, who was short and stocky, Brock was tall and lean, with the squinting gaze of a man who had spent long hours in the sun and wind.

“What happened after that?” Travis asked.

“I turned my back to get a tray of fishing flies out of the case for a customer and the kid took off,” Brock said, his face reddening.

“Did the kid give you a name?” Travis asked. “Did you recognize him?”

Both men shook their heads. “He wasn’t from around here,” Wade said. “He wouldn’t say anything to us, so we figured we’d let you see if you could get anything out of him.”

“Maybe you two scared him enough he won’t come back,” Travis said.

“Burns me up when somebody comes in here and tries to take what we’ve worked hard for,” Brock said. He punched his hand in his fist. “If that kid ever shows his face here again, I’ll make sure he never tries to steal from me again.”

Travis put a hand on the tall man’s shoulder. “Don’t let your temper get the best of you,” he said. “If the kid comes back, call the office and one of us will take care of it.”

Brock hesitated, then nodded. “Right.”

A third man emerged from a door at the back of the shop—a lean, broad-shouldered guy in a black knit beanie. He looked as if he had been carved from iron—all sharp angles and hard muscle. He scanned Travis from head to toe, lingering a moment on the badge on his chest, and Travis wouldn’t have called his expression friendly. “Do you have a new employee?” Travis asked, nodding toward the man.

Brock glanced over his shoulder. “That’s Ian,” he said. “A friend of mine.”

Ian nodded, but didn’t offer to shake hands. “I’ll wait in back,” he said to Brock, and exited the way he had come.

“Your friend got a problem with cops?” Travis asked.

“He’s not comfortable with new people,” Wade said. “He did four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. He has trouble sometimes with PTSD.”

Travis nodded. Maybe that explained the hostility he had felt from the guy. Or maybe Travis was more suspicious than most people. A hazard of the job, he supposed. “I doubt you’ll have any more trouble from your shoplifter,” he said to Wade and Brock. “You probably scared him off. But I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“Thanks.”

Travis returned to his SUV and climbed in. He started the vehicle and was about to pull out of his parking spot when he glanced over at the passenger seat and slammed on the brakes. The box and the rock that had been thrown through Lacy’s window were gone.


Chapter Three (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

“Why would someone steal the rock?” Lacy folded her arms over her chest and took a step back from Travis. He had shown up at her house this morning—supposedly to “check on” her and her family. But then he had come out with this crazy story about someone taking the rock that had been thrown through her window. “Do you think I took it or something?”

“No!” He put up his hands, as if he wanted to reach for her, then put them down. “I wanted you to know because you’re the victim in this case, and you have a right to know what’s going on.”

She unfolded her arms, relaxing a little. She had insisted on talking with him on the front porch—mainly so her parents wouldn’t overhear. Her mom and dad meant well, but they tended to hover now that she was back home. “So someone just opened the door of your sheriff’s department vehicle and took the evidence box?” she asked. “How does that happen? Wasn’t your door locked?”

“No one locks their car doors around here.” He looked sheepish—an endearing expression, really—and she didn’t want to feel anything like that for him. “Besides, it’s a cop car. Who breaks into a cop car? And to steal a rock?”

“Maybe they didn’t know what was in the box?” she said. “Or maybe somebody is pranking you—wants to give you a hard time.”

“Maybe.” He put one booted foot up on a metal footlocker her mom used as a side table on the porch, and she tried not to notice the way the khaki fabric stretched over his muscular thigh. She didn’t like being around Travis, but apparently her body couldn’t ignore the fact that he was the sexiest guy she’d been near in three years. “Or maybe whoever threw the rock took it because they thought I could use it somehow to link them to the crime,” he added.

She forced her mind away from ogling the sheriff’s hot body to what was surely a more important matter. “Can you do that?” she asked. “Would a rock have fingerprints on it or something?”

“The surface was too rough to give good latent prints, and it looked like a common enough rock.”

“What about DNA?” she asked.

He laughed. “No offense, but no one does DNA testing for an act of vandalism. It’s expensive, and the results take a while to come back.”

She lowered herself to the cushioned rattan love seat. Her mother had made the cushions out of flowered chintz, faded now by the summer sun, but all the more comfortable and homey for it. “If the person who threw the rock stole it out of your SUV, that means they knew you had it. They must have been watching and seen you come to the house to get it.”

Travis sat beside her, the cushion dipping under his weight. She caught the scent of soap and starch and clean man, and fought to keep from leaning toward him. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe they knew your family would call my office to report the threat, they saw my SUV and decided to take a look inside.”

“Either way, I’m completely creeped out.” She gripped the edge of the love seat. She had thought when she walked out of prison that she would feel free again, but she still felt trapped. Watched.

“I talked to Brenda Stenson yesterday,” Travis said. “She’s okay with us going through Andy’s files.”

Lacy nodded. “I’m not looking forward to that, you know.”

“I understand. But I’m hoping coming at the files cold after a few years away, you’ll spot something or remember something that didn’t seem relevant before.”

“What about the other evidence from the crime scene?” she asked. “Wasn’t there anything that pointed to someone besides me as the murderer? Or did you conveniently overlook that?” She didn’t even try to keep the sharp edge from her voice.

“I guess I deserved that,” Travis said. “But no—there wasn’t anything. Wade Tomlinson reported seeing a woman who looked like you near the office shortly before Andy would have died. Obviously, that wasn’t you. It might help if we could find this woman, but we don’t have much to go on—Wade admitted he only saw her from the back, and only for a few seconds, before she entered the office. I’ll question him again, but I doubt he’ll have anything useful to add.”

“Right. Who remembers anything very clearly that happened three years ago?” Lacy sighed.

“I think Andy’s files are the best place for us to start,” Travis said.

“Andy hadn’t been in practice very long,” Lacy said. “Still, he had a couple of big cabinets full of files. Everything was backed up on the computer, too, but he had been trained by a man who liked to keep paper copies of everything, and Andy was the same way. It will take a while to go through everything.”

“We can do a couple of boxes at a time. You could even bring them back here to look through.”

“Do you trust me to look through them by myself?” she asked.

“It would look better in court if we went through them together,” Travis said. “Otherwise, a good defense attorney would point out that you had a strong motive to make people believe someone else murdered Andy. They could suggest you planted evidence in the files.”

She fought against her inclination to bristle at what sounded to her ears like an accusation. After all, she knew all too well how attorneys could twist the most mundane events to make someone look guilty to a jury. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted. She stretched her legs out in front of her. “So how do you want to do this?”

“I’ll get together with Brenda this afternoon and go over to the storage unit with her. I’ll select a couple of boxes to go through first, seal them in her presence, get her to sign off on them, then bring them here. We’ll open them together and start going through the contents. Maybe I’ll even video everything, just in case there’s any question.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“I’m determined not to make any mistakes this time.”

And I’m determined not to let you, she thought.

* * *

ANDY STENSON’S STORAGE unit was located in a long metal shed at the end of Fireline Road on the edge of town. Weedy fields extended beyond the chain-link fence that surrounded the shed on all sides, the land sloping upward from there toward Dakota Ridge and the mountains beyond. With no traffic and no neighbors, the location was peaceful, even beautiful, with the first summer wildflowers blooming in the fields and a china blue sky arching overhead. But there wasn’t anything beautiful about Travis’s errand here today.

Brenda agreed to meet him, and when he pulled into the rutted drive, he found her waiting at the far end, key in hand. “You open it,” she said, pushing the key at him. “I haven’t been in here since before Andy died. I paid a cleaning company to move all his stuff out here.”

“Are you okay being here now?” Travis asked, studying her face. Tension lines fanned out from her mouth, but she didn’t look on the verge of a breakdown.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I just want to get this over with.”

He unfastened the padlock and rolled up the metal door of the unit. Sunlight illuminated jumbled stacks of file boxes. Furniture filled one corner of the unit—several filing cabinets and some chairs and Andy’s desk, scarred and dusty. The chair he had been sitting in when he died, stained with his blood, was in a police storage unit, logged as evidence.

Brenda traced a finger across the dust on the desktop. Was she thinking about her young husband, who had been taken from her when they were still practically newlyweds? She squared her shoulders and turned to study the file boxes. “There’s a lot of stuff here,” she said. “Do you know what you want?”

“I want to look at his case files.” Travis studied the labels on the boxes, then removed the lid from one with the notation Clients, A through C. “I know you said you didn’t know much about his work, but who would you say was his biggest client at the time he died?”

“That one’s easy enough. Hake Development.” She pointed to a box on the bottom of the pile, with the single word HAKE scrawled on the end. “Andy couldn’t believe his luck when Henry Hake hired him instead of one of the big-city firms. Mr. Hake said he wanted to support local business.” She chuckled. “He did that, all right. Hake Development accounted for a big percentage of Andy’s income that year.” Her voice trailed away at these last words, as if she was remembering once more the reason the good fortune had ended.

“All right, I’ll start with this one.” Travis moved aside the stack of boxes to retrieve the Hake files, and found a second box, also marked Hake, behind it.

He set the boxes on the desk, then went to his car and retrieved the evidence tape and seals. “You’re verifying that I haven’t opened the boxes or tampered with them in any way,” he said.

“I am.” He ran a strip of wide tape horizontally and vertically across each box, sealing the tops in place, then asked Brenda to write her name across each piece of tape.

“I’ll video opening the boxes,” he said. “With Lacy’s parents as witnesses. That ought to satisfy any court that we aren’t up to anything underhanded.”

Brenda watched him, arms folded across her chest. “I hope you find something useful in there,” she said. “Though I can’t imagine what.”

“What was Andy doing for Hake, do you know?” Travis asked.

“Just the legal paperwork for the mining claims Henry Hake had bought and planned to develop as a vacation resort. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that environmental group got an injunction against the development and Andy was fighting that.”

“I remember a little about that,” Travis said. “They had a Ute Indian chief speak at a council meeting or something like that?”

“He wasn’t a chief, just a tribal representative—a friend of Paige Riddell’s. She was president of the group, I believe.”

“Maybe someone who didn’t want the development thought taking out Hake’s lawyer would stop the threat of the injunction being overturned,” Travis said.

“If they thought that, they were wrong. Hake hired another firm to represent him—someone out of Denver this time. I don’t know what happened after that, though I guess he hasn’t done anything with the property yet.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” Travis said.

He picked up the first box as his phone beeped. Setting it down, he answered the call. “A car just crashed through the front window of the Cake Walk Café.” Adelaide sounded out of breath with excitement. “Gage is headed there. Dwight and Roberta are in training today. I can call someone from another shift in if you want me to. The ambulance is en route from Junction.”

“I’ll handle it. I’m on my way.” Travis hung up the phone and studied the boxes. He could take them with him, but after what happened yesterday, he didn’t want to risk someone trying to get hold of them. He returned the keys to Brenda. “Lock up after I’ve left. I’ll have to send someone to retrieve these later.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Apparently, someone crashed into the café.”

Brenda covered her mouth with her hand. “I hope no one was hurt.”

“Me, too.”

In the car, he called Lacy. “I picked out two boxes of files from Andy’s storage and got them sealed, but now I have to go on a call. It will be a while before I can get back to them.”

“I can pick them up,” she said. “If they’re already sealed, it shouldn’t make any difference, should it?”

He debated as he guided his SUV down the rutted dirt road leading away from the storage facility. “Ride out here with Brenda and have her deliver you and the boxes back to your house.” Before she could protest, he added, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t want to give any lawyers the opportunity to object.”

“All right. I’d like to visit with Brenda, anyway.”

“I’ll get back with you to set a time for the two of us to get together,” he said, and ended the call. As much as he wanted to find the person who had killed Andy Stenson, his job wouldn’t allow him to focus all his attention on one case. Right now he had a mess to clean up at the café.

* * *

LACY ENDED THE call from Travis and looked out the front window. The glass company had been out this morning to replace the broken pane and she had a clear view of the street. The car she had noticed earlier was still there—a faded blue sedan that had been parked in front of a vacation cottage three doors down and across the street from her parents’ house. The cottage had a For Sale sign in front, but Lacy was pretty sure no potential buyer had been inside the cottage all this time.

She retrieved her mother’s bird-watching binoculars from the bookcase by the door and returned to the window, training the glasses on the car. A man sat behind the wheel, head bent, attention on the phone in his hand. He was middle-aged, with light brown hair and narrow shoulders. He didn’t look particularly threatening, but then again, looks could be deceiving. And it wasn’t as if it would have taken that much brawn to throw that rock through the window yesterday afternoon.

She shifted the binoculars to the license plate on the car. BRH575. She’d remember the number and think about asking Travis to check it out. He owed her more than a few favors, didn’t he? She had almost mentioned the car to him while they were talking just now, but she didn’t want to give him the idea that she needed him for anything. She didn’t like to think of herself as hardened, but three years in prison had taught her to look out for herself.

She brought the glasses up to the man in the car and gasped as it registered that he had raised his own pair of binoculars and was focused on her. She took two steps back, fairly certain that he couldn’t see her inside the house, but unwilling to take chances. What was he doing out there, watching the house? Watching her? She replaced the binoculars on the shelf and headed toward the back of the house. As she passed her mother’s home office, Jeanette looked up from her computer. A former teacher, she now worked as an online tutor. “Who was that on the phone?” she asked.

Lacy started to lie, but couldn’t think of one that sounded convincing enough. “Travis canceled our meeting to go over Andy’s files,” she said. “He had to go on a call.”

“I hope everything’s all right.” Jeanette swiveled her chair around to face her daughter. “You’re okay, working with Travis?” she asked. “I know you don’t have the warmest feelings toward him, and I’ll admit, I had my doubts, too. But when I saw how hard he worked to clear your name...” She compressed her lips, struggling for control. “I really don’t think you’d be standing here right now if it wasn’t for him.”

“I wouldn’t have been in prison in the first place if it wasn’t for him, either,” Lacy said.

Jeanette said nothing, merely gave Lacy a pleading look.

“I’m okay working with him,” Lacy said. “I don’t know how much good going through those old files will do, but I’m willing to help.” She turned away again.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked.

“I thought I’d take a walk.”

“That’s nice.”

Lacy didn’t wait for more, but hurried toward the back door. All the houses on this street backed up to the river, and a public trail ran along the bank. She let herself out the back gate and followed this trail up past four houses, then slipped alongside the fourth house, crossed the street behind the blue sedan, and walked up to the passenger side of the vehicle. The driver had lowered the front windows a few inches, so Lacy leaned in and said, loudly, “What do you think you’re doing, spying on me?”

The man juggled his phone, then dropped it. “You—you startled me!” he gasped.

“I saw you watching me,” Lacy said. “I want to know why.”

“I didn’t want to intrude. I was merely trying to get a feel for the neighborhood, and see how you were doing.”

“Who are you, and why do you care how I’m doing?” She was getting more annoyed with this guy by the second.

“I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. Alvin Exeter. I’m a writer. I specialize in true-crime stories.” He leaned across the seat and extended his hand toward her.

She ignored the outstretched hand. “I didn’t commit a crime,” she said. “Or don’t you read the papers?”

“No, of course. And that’s what I want to write about,” he said. “I’m planning a book on your wrongful conviction and its aftermath.”

“And you were planning to write about me without telling me?”

“No, no, of course not. I would love to interview you for the book, get your side of the story. I was merely looking for the right opportunity to approach you.”

“Get lost, Mr. Exeter,” she said. “And if you try to write about me, I’ll sue.”

“You could try,” he said. “But you’re a public figure now. I have every right to tell your story, based on court documents, news articles and interviews with anyone associated with you. Though, of course, the story will be more complete if you agree to cooperate with me.”

“No one I know will talk to you,” she said. Though how could she be sure of that, really?

“That’s not true. Sheriff Travis Walker has already agreed to speak with me.”

“Travis is going to talk to you about my case?”

“We have an appointment in a couple days.” Alvin leaned back in his seat, relaxed. “What do you think the public will make of the man who sent you to prison speaking, while you remain silent?”

“I think you can both go to hell,” she said, and turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her all the way back to the house, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn around. She marched onto the porch and yanked at the door—but of course it was locked, and she didn’t have her key. She had to ring the doorbell and wait for her mother to answer.

“Lacy, where is your key?” Jeanette asked as she followed Lacy into the house.

“I forgot and left it in my room.” Lacy stalked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water.

“What’s wrong?” Jeanette asked. “You look all flushed. Did something happen to upset you?”

“I’ll be fine, Mother.” She would be fine as soon as she talked to Travis, and told him what he could do with Andy’s client files. Travis Walker was the last person she would ever help with anything.


Chapter Four (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

Travis waited while Tammy Patterson snapped another photo of the red Camry with its nose buried in the pile of crumbling brick that had once been the front wall of the Cake Walk Café. She stepped back and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sheriff. This is going to look great on the front page of the next issue.”

“I’ll want a copy of those pictures for my insurance company.” Iris Desmet, owner of the Cake Walk, joined Tammy and Travis on the sidewalk.

“Sure thing, Ms. Desmet,” Tammy said. “And I’m really sorry about the café. I didn’t mean to sound like this accident was good news or anything.”

“I know you didn’t, dear.” Iris patted Tammy’s shoulder. “I’m just relieved no one was hurt. It was our slow time of day and I didn’t have anyone sitting up front.”

Tammy pulled out her notebook and began scribbling away. Twenty-three but looking about fifteen, Tammy was working her very first job out of college for the tiny Eagle Mountain Examiner. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. “The paramedic told me they think the driver of the car is going to be okay, too. They think he had some kind of episode with his blood sugar.”

“Better confirm that with the hospital before you go printing it,” Travis said.

“Oh, yes, sir. I sure will.” She flashed another smile and hurried away, no doubt thrilled to have something more exciting to write about than the town council’s budget meeting or the school board’s decision to remove soda machines from the lunchroom.

Iris moved closer to Travis. “Do you think the guy will lose his license over this?” she asked, nodding toward the pile of rubble.

“I don’t know,” Travis said. “Maybe. Either way, he’s probably going to have trouble finding someone to insure him.”

“I hope he’s got good insurance,” Iris said.

“I guess you’ll have to close the café for a while, to remodel,” Travis said.

“I imagine so. Then again, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to visit my sister for a few days. She and her husband live up on Lake Coeur d’Alene, in Idaho. Pretty country up there. Still, it’ll be hard on my employees.”

“I’ll keep my ears open, let you know if I hear of anyone looking for short-term help, until you can get open again.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.” She looked him up and down. “And how are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“I guess it’s a load off your mind, with Lacy Milligan being home again, out of prison.”

“I’m glad she’s home,” he said, cautious.

“But now you’re back to the question you started with—who killed Andy Stenson?”

“I’m working on that,” he said. “Do you have any ideas?”

“No. But I’ve been thinking, the way you do when you live alone and wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep. I’ve always wondered about that woman.”

“What woman?” Travis asked.

“The dark-haired one Wade testified he saw going into Andy’s office shortly before Andy was killed,” Iris said. “If it wasn’t Lacy—and I guess it wasn’t, since she was at that basketball game—but if it wasn’t her, who was it?”

“Maybe it was Andy’s killer,” Travis said. “Or someone who saw the killer. But again—we don’t know who it was. Do you have any ideas?”

“Maybe look for a client of Andy’s who fits that description?” Iris shook her head. “I know I’m not helping, I just like to think about these things.”

“Well, if you think of anything else, let me know,” Travis said.

He walked back to his SUV and drove to the office. Adelaide rose to meet him. “Sheriff—”

“Not now, Adelaide,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“But, Sheriff—”

He walked past her, into his office, and collided with Lacy Milligan.

As collisions went, this one was more pleasurable than most, he thought, as he wrapped his arms around Lacy to steady them both. She squirmed against him, giving him plenty of opportunity to enjoy the sensation of her soft curves sliding against him. But he wasn’t the kind to take advantage of the situation. As soon as he was certain neither of them was going to fall, he released his hold on her. “What can I do for you, Lacy?” he asked.

“Do for me? You’ve done enough for me,” she said, voice rising along with the flush of pink to her cheeks. “I want you to stop. I want you to leave me alone.”

Aware of Adelaide’s sharp ears attuned to every word, Travis reached back and shut the door to his office. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me what this is about. Is there something specific I’ve done that has you so upset?”

He lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, but she remained mobile, prowling the small office like a caged animal. “Alvin Exeter,” she said. “How could you even think of talking to that man about me?”

Travis squinted, thinking. “Who is Alvin Exeter?”

“He’s a horrible man who says he’s writing a book about me—about what happened to me. He said he has an appointment to talk with you.”

Travis picked up his phone and pressed the button to ring Adelaide. She picked up right away and he put her on speaker. “Do you want me to bring in coffee for you and your guest?” she asked.

“No. Do I have an appointment with someone named Alvin Exeter tomorrow?”

“Two days from now, 9:30 a.m.”

“So you asked me if I wanted to talk to this Exeter guy and I said yes?”

He could picture her scowl as she assumed her chilliest schoolmarm tone. “I didn’t have to ask you. You have a stated open-door policy for citizens who want to speak to you.”

So he did. “What does he want to talk to me about?” Travis asked.

“He said he’s writing a human interest story on rural law enforcement.”

“Thanks.” Travis hung up the phone and looked at Lacy. “Did you get all that?”

“You really didn’t know you had an appointment with him?”

“No.” Which perhaps made him look like a poor manager in her eyes, but better than looking like a traitor. “And, apparently, Adelaide didn’t know the real reason behind the appointment. He lied about his purpose in wanting to see me.”

“Are you still going to talk to him?”

“Only to tell him to leave you alone. That’s really all I can do. I can’t keep him from approaching other people and asking them questions. Though if he bothers you again, I can arrest him for harassment.”

She dropped into a chair and glared at him. The memory of her warmth still clung to him, making him conscious of the short distance between them, of how beautiful and prickly and vulnerable she was—and how mixed up and charged his feelings for her were.

“You really are making this difficult, you know?” she said.

“Making what difficult?”

“For me to hate you. I spent the last three years building you up in my mind as this horrible monster and now that you’re here, in front of me, you insist on being so...so decent!”

He told himself he wouldn’t laugh. He wouldn’t even smile. “If anyone bothers you—Exeter or anyone else—let me know,” he said. “I’ve got your back.”

“I don’t need you to be my bodyguard,” she said.

“My job is to protect the citizens of this county, and you’re one of them.”

“So that’s what I am to you, then? Your job?”

“No.” She was his biggest regret. His responsibility, even. He’d helped ruin her life and now he felt obligated to help her put it back together. If she had asked he would have found her a job or given her money, but she wouldn’t ask for those things—she wouldn’t take them if he offered. But he could do everything in his power to protect her—to shield her from the aftereffects of the damage he’d done to her. He couldn’t tell her any of that, so instead, he tapped the badge on his chest. “You’re someone I hurt and I want to make that up to you, but mostly, I want to make sure you aren’t hurt again.”

She looked away, cheeks still flushed, then shoved out of the chair. “I’d better go. I...I’ll look at those files whenever you’re ready.”

“Iris Desmet over at the Cake Walk said something interesting to me this afternoon,” Travis said. “She said we should look for any client of Andy’s who matched the description Wade Tomlinson gave of the woman whom he saw at Andy’s office about the time Andy would have been killed.”

“I don’t remember any clients who looked like me,” she said.

“Think about it. Maybe a name will come to you.”

“So that’s your new theory about who killed Andy—this mysterious woman?”

“Not necessarily. But if she was around near the time when Andy was killed, maybe she saw something or remembers something.” He frowned. “I should have followed up on that when Wade first mentioned her.”

“But you didn’t, because you thought he was talking about me,” she said.

“That was a mistake. A big one on my part.” One he wouldn’t make again.

She turned to leave. “Let me know how it goes with Alvin Exeter,” she said. “I’m curious to know what he has to say.”

He walked her to the door. Even with her bad prison haircut and too-pale skin she was beautiful. The kind of woman a lot of men might underestimate, but not him. He would never underestimate Lacy Milligan again.

* * *

“IT’S SO GOOD to see you.” Brenda greeted Lacy on the front porch of the Milligans’ house the next morning with these words and a hug that surprised her with its fierceness. When Brenda pulled away, her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “I’m sorrier than you can know that I didn’t contact you while you were in prison,” she said. “I started to write more than once, but I just couldn’t think what to say.”

“I wouldn’t have known what to say, either,” Lacy said. After all, she had been convicted of murdering Brenda’s husband. That went far beyond merely awkward. “I’m just really glad you don’t have any hard feelings now.”

“I’m thrilled you’re home,” Brenda said. “I could never accept that you had anything to do with Andy’s death. When Travis told me he had found evidence that proved you were innocent, I was so relieved.”

“Even though it means the real killer is still out there?” Lacy asked.

“I didn’t think of that until later.”

“So Travis told you he was going to try to free me?” Lacy asked.

“He told me before he told the press. He wanted to make sure I was prepared.” Brenda touched Lacy’s arm. “He told me you still have bad feelings toward him, and I don’t blame you. But he really is a good man—one of the best men I know.”

Lacy nodded. She might not be ready to forgive Travis Walker for stealing three years of her life, but she was woman enough to see the good in him, in spite of his mistakes. “I guess he told you why we’re looking through Andy’s files,” she said.

“Yes. I don’t think you’ll find anything useful, but I guess we can hope.” She pulled her keys from her purse. “Are you ready to go get the boxes? I would have swung by the storage unit and picked them up myself, but Travis said it was better to do things this way.”

“After the mistakes he made at my trial, I guess he’s being extra cautious,” Lacy said.

“I can’t help but hope that this time he finds the real murderer,” Brenda said. “I think it would help all of us put this behind us.” She climbed into the driver’s seat of her car, while Lacy slid into the passenger seat.

“I do want to put this behind me,” Lacy said. “I’m still adjusting to the idea that I’m really free.”

“Do you think you’ll stay in Eagle Mountain?” Brenda asked.

“I don’t know,” Lacy said. “This is my home, but even in three years, things have changed.”

“Not that much, surely,” Brenda said. She turned the car onto Main.

“There are new houses, new businesses, new people I don’t know. We even have a new mayor.” Lacy gestured toward the banner that hung over the street. “And what’s this Pioneer Days Festival?” she asked. “That wasn’t around when I left.”

“It’s a whole weekend of events celebrating local history,” Brenda said. “Jan came up with the idea when she was mayor and it’s really been a boon for the town coffers.” Jan Selkirk had been mayor when Lacy had left town, and, after leaving office, had taken over management of the history museum where Brenda worked.

“I guess I remember some talk about a local celebration to commemorate the town’s founding,” Lacy said. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“I guess it morphed over time into a really big deal,” Brenda said. “Tourists come and stay all weekend. All the local motels and inns are sold out, and we have all kinds of special events at the museum.”

“Sounds like fun.” Lacy swiveled in her seat as they passed a pile of wreckage. “What happened to the Cake Walk?” she asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Brenda slowed as they passed the rubble, which was cordoned off with orange tape. “That was why Travis had to leave without picking up the file boxes. A guy ran his car right into it yesterday afternoon. Jan told me she heard the poor man had a stroke. They ended up taking him to the hospital. Fortunately, no one inside was hurt.”

“I was at the sheriff’s office yesterday afternoon and Travis never said a word about it,” Lacy said.

“Oh? Why were you at the sheriff’s office?” Brenda didn’t try to hide her curiosity.

Lacy leaned back in the seat and sighed. “There’s a man in town who says he’s writing a book about me. I complained to Travis about him.” No point in going into her accusations that Travis was selling her out to this writer.

“Oh, dear. I suppose that was bound to happen,” Brenda said.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten in touch with you yet.”

“When he does, I’ll tell him what he can do with his book project,” Brenda said.

“He said he was going to write about me, whether I cooperate or not. I guess I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing. He said I was a public figure now.”

“Oh, Lacy.” Brenda reached over and rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

Lacy straightened and forced a smile onto her lips. “It’ll be okay. What’s one lousy book in the scheme of things?”

For the next twenty minutes, the two friends discussed the Pioneer Days Festival, new businesses that had moved to town in Lacy’s absence and a new television series they were both watching. By the time they reached the storage facility, they had relaxed into the easy banter of old friends.

“I remember this place,” Lacy said as she climbed out of the car at the storage unit. “I used to give Andy a hard time about it being so far out here on the edge of town.”

“I guess nobody really wants a place like this in their backyard,” Brenda said. “Plus, the land is cheaper out here.” She undid the lock and pulled up the door.

The first thing Lacy spotted was a Victorian lamp that had sat on her desk in the front office of Andy Stenson’s law practice. Seeing it now, shade crooked and grayed with dust, gave her a jolt. Her gaze shifted to the big walnut desk where Andy had sat. It had usually been covered in papers, but she recognized the lovely dark finish. So odd to see these familiar things out of context.

“After Andy died, I was such a wreck,” Brenda said, as if reading Lacy’s mind. “I hired a couple of guys to clean out the office and put everything here. I hadn’t even looked at any of it until I was out here with Travis yesterday.”

“There was no reason you should have had to look at it,” Lacy said. “I hope Travis is right, and we find something useful in all these papers.”

“These are the two boxes he wants to start with.” Brenda pointed to two white file boxes, their tops crisscrossed with red and white tape. “All the files for Hake Development.”

“I was surprised when my mom told me Mr. Hake still hasn’t done anything with that property,” Lacy said. “I remember he had big plans for a bunch of luxury homes—even a golf course.”

“An environmental group successfully got an injunction to delay construction,” Brenda said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with it now. Maybe Henry Hake changed his mind.”

“Maybe.” Lacy picked up one box, while Brenda carried the other to the car. Boxes safely in the back seat, Brenda locked up again and the two friends set out once more.

“They haven’t done much to fix this road,” Lacy said as they bumped over a series of ruts on the gravel track that led away from the storage units.

“I guess with no one living out this way, it’s not a priority,” Brenda said.

“Right.” Lacy looked over her shoulder to make sure the file boxes hadn’t slid off the seat, and was surprised to see a pickup truck following them. “If no one lives out here, I wonder who that is?” she asked.

Brenda glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t recognize the truck,” she said.

“Maybe it’s a tourist,” Lacy said. “He could be looking for somewhere to hike. Or maybe it’s someone else with a storage unit.”

“It looks like a ranch truck, with that brush guard on the front.” The heavy pipe, gate-like structure attached to the front bumper would protect the headlights and grill from being damaged by brush when a rancher drove through the fields.

“I didn’t see any other vehicles there,” Lacy said. “And we didn’t pass anyone on our way out here.”

“Whoever he is, he’s driving way too fast for this road,” Brenda said.

Lacy glanced over her shoulder again. The truck was gaining on them, a great plume of dust rising up in its wake. “He’s going to have to slow down,” she said. “Or run us off the road.”

Even as she spoke, the truck zoomed up, its front bumper almost touching the rear bumper of Brenda’s car. The lone occupant wore a ball cap pulled low on his forehead, a black bandanna tied over his mouth and nose.

“What does he think he’s doing?” Brenda’s voice rose in alarm. The car lurched as she tapped the brakes and Lacy grabbed on to the door for support. The screech of metal on metal filled the vehicle, which jolted again as the bumpers connected.

Brenda cursed, and struggled to hold on to the wheel. Lacy wrenched around to stare at the driver once more, but she could make out nothing of his face. He backed off and she sagged back into her seat once more.

“He’s crazy,” Brenda said. The car sped up, bumping along the rough road. “As soon as I can, I’m going to pull over and let him pa—”

She never finished the sentence, as the truck slammed into them once again, sending them skidding off the road and rolling down the embankment.


Chapter Five (#u77305aa9-39a1-57c3-b723-54bec358ecce)

“All units report to Fireline Road for a vehicular accident with possible injuries.” The dispatcher’s voice sounded clear on the otherwise quiet radio. Travis, on his way to lunch, hit the button to respond. “Unit one headed to Fireline Road,” he said. He switched on his siren and headed out, falling in behind Gage, an ambulance bringing up the rear of their little parade.

As he drove, he checked the GPS location the dispatcher had sent over. The accident looked to have occurred about two miles this side of the storage units, an area with a sharp curve and a steep drop-off. He slowed as the screen on his dash indicated they were nearing the site. Gage pulled to the side of the road and Travis parked behind him. He joined his brother on the rough shoulder, and stared down at a white Subaru Outback, resting on its side on the steep slope, wedged against a solitary lodgepole pine tree.

Gage raised binoculars to his eyes. “Looks like there’s at least one person in there—maybe two,” he said.

Two EMTs joined them—a freckle-faced young guy Travis didn’t know, and Emmet Baxter, a rescue service veteran. “OnStar called it in,” Baxter said, nodding to the wrecked Subaru. “They tried to contact the driver but no one responded. Since the airbags had deployed, it triggered an automatic call.”

“I’ll call in the plate,” Gage said. “See if we can get a possible ID on the driver.”

“Go ahead, but I know who it is,” Travis said, the tightness in his chest making it difficult to take a full breath. “That’s Brenda Stenson’s car. And the passenger is probably Lacy Milligan. The two of them were supposed to drive out here to pick up some of Andy Stenson’s files from storage.” He pulled out his phone and punched in Brenda’s number. It rang five times before going to voice mail. He got the same results with Lacy’s number. He swore and stuffed the phone back in the case on his hip, then stepped down off the edge of the road.

Gage grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going down to them. They could be hurt.”

“Yeah, and one wrong move could send the vehicle the rest of the way down the slope and you with it,” Gage said.

Travis studied the car and realized Gage was right. “Get Search and Rescue out here. And a wrecker. We’ll have to stabilize the car, then get the women out.”

Gage made the call and then there was nothing to do but wait. Travis walked the roadside, studying the surface for clues to what had happened. Soon, Gage joined him. “You can see the skid marks where they went off here,” Travis said, pointing to the long tracks in the gravel.

“Doesn’t really look like an overcorrection, or like she was going too fast and missed the curve,” Gage said.

Travis shook his head. “Brenda’s not that kind of driver. Anyway, look at this.” He pointed to another set of skid marks behind the first, these veering away from the edge of the road.

“Another vehicle?” Gage asked.

“Yeah.” Travis walked a little farther and squatted down at a place where broken glass glittered amid the gravel in the road. “This is probably where it struck her car—broke the rear headlights.” He glanced back as the first of the Search and Rescue team arrived.

“Accident or deliberate?” Gage asked.

“They left the scene. That’s a crime, even if the collision itself was an accident. But this feels deliberate to me. The weather’s good, light’s good. No way a person traveling behind Brenda’s car wouldn’t have seen her.”

“Maybe the other driver’s brakes failed?”

Travis straightened. “How often does that really happen?”

He and Gage walked back to meet the SAR volunteers. Travis was relieved to see an orthopedic doctor who worked weekends at the emergency clinic in Gunnison, as well as a local mountain guide, Jacob Zander. “You remember Dr. Pete, right?” Jacob said.





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