“Not yet.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
He walked away to continue his investigation while Sam went outside, carrying the horrifying images with her as she took greedy breaths of fresh air. As she reached the curb, the medical examiner’s truck arrived. She waited for a word with Dr. Lindsey McNamara.
The tall, pretty medical examiner gathered her long red hair into a ponytail as she walked over to Sam.
“Fire victims,” Sam said, shuddering.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Hands and feet bound with zip ties.”
“Here we go again,” Lindsey said with a sigh. “Looks like it was quite a house.”
“Ten thousand square feet, according to the fire marshal.”
“I’ll get you an ID and report as soon as I can.”
“Appreciate it.” Sam opened her phone and placed a call to Malone. “I’m at the scene of the fire in Chevy Chase.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Two DOA, bound at the hands and feet, leading me to believe this was a home invasion gone bad. I need Crime Scene here ASAP.”
“I’ll call Haggerty and get them over there.”
“I want them to comb through anything and everything that wasn’t touched by the fire, and they need to do it soon before the scene is further compromised. We’ve got firefighters all over the place.”
“Got it. What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to talk to the neighbors and find out what I can about the people who lived here while I wait for Lindsey to confirm their identities.”
“Keep me posted.”
Sam slapped the phone closed and headed for her car to begin the task of figuring out who Jameson and Cleo Beauclair had been and who might’ve bound them before setting their house on fire. If the bodies were even those of the Beauclairs. Cases like this were often confounding from the start, but they would operate on the info they had available and go from there.
Her partner, Detective Freddie Cruz, arrived as Sam reached her car, which she had parked a block from the scene.
“I guess it was too much to hope our homicide-free streak would last until after the wedding,” he said.
“Too much indeed. We’ve got two deceased on the first floor of the west side of the home, hands and feet bound.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“We know who owns the house, but we’re not a hundred percent sure the owners are our victims,” she said, passing along the names the fire marshal had given her. “Let’s knock on some doors and then go back to HQ to see what Lindsey can tell us.”
“I’m with you, LT.”
“Any word from Gonzo?”
“Not that I’ve heard yet.”
“He can catch up.”
Don’t miss Fatal Invasion by Marie Force,
available now from HQN Books.
Copyright © 2018 by HTJB, Inc.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Covert Christmas by Beth Cornelison.
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Rancher’s Covert Christmas
by Beth Cornelison
Prologue
He needed to be free of his blackmailer once and for all.
A cut brake line should do the job.
One last time, he’d do the man’s bidding, but then, no more.
He made his way into the garage where the Double M owners parked the large pickup truck used to tow their cattle trailer. No overhead light. The light might draw attention, he decided, and dropped the hand that hovered near the switch. He fumbled in the dark until he found the snake-necked flashlight on a shelf on a sidewall. Shuffling slowly, his path lit only by the thin moonlight that filtered through the high window, he made his way past the family’s personal vehicles. He stopped at the Ford F-350 that would haul the trailer with the largest part of this year’s herd to market. Or not.
His goal was to strand the family long enough that they missed the best sales days. If they didn’t make it to market, didn’t get top dollar for the cattle, the financial setback would devastate the struggling ranch. And he could finally be finished with the plot to ruin the Double M.
Raising the hood, he stepped up on a stool to lean over the engine. He used the flashlight to locate the main brake line, then centered an empty coffee can beneath the reservoir.
Unfolding his pocketknife, he sliced a thin line in the tube that fed fluid to the brakes. A slow leak of yellow-tinged liquid seeped from the cut. He bent the tube slightly, accelerating the flow into the can. The rapid drip, drip, drip of liquid into the aluminum can synced with the anxious drumming of his heart. He needed to hurry. His absence would be noticed soon, and someone might come looking for him.
He considered allowing a small telltale puddle of the brake fluid to collect on the garage floor. He wanted the damage to be discovered before the trip over the mountains, just not soon enough to repair the damage before the scheduled departure. His goal was to prevent the trip to the cattle market, not to cause an accident.
He heard a noise, a scuff of feet, and he jerked his head up. The overhead light came on, and he blinked in the bright fluorescent glow.
“Oh, hi,” the woman at the door said.
He swallowed hard as she approached and, squeezing the pocketknife handle, his gaze locked on hers.
“I didn’t realize anyone was in h—” She stopped abruptly when her gaze fell to his handiwork.
The dripping of fluid continued, like gunshots in the still garage. The knife in his hand screamed his guilt.
“What are you doing?” Her tone was sharp, accusing. Her eyes narrowed on him, as understanding and outrage hardened her face. “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been sabotaging the ranch!”
Bile rose in his throat, knowing he’d been found out, knowing what awaited him when she told what she’d seen tonight. His heartbeat stuttered. Unless...
“It’s not what it looks like.” He rose and moved toward her.
She took a stumbling step back, shaking her head. “I know what I’m looking at. It explains so much. I won’t let you get away with this!”
Panic swelled in him. A survival instinct. He lunged toward her, grabbing her arm. “No! You can’t say anything!”
“Ow! Let go. You’re hurting me!”
He squeezed tighter, shaking her. “You can’t say anything!”
“Let go, or I’ll scream!”
If he let go, she’d run straight to the main house, tell the family what she’d seen. If she screamed, someone would hear her and come investigate. Neither could happen. He had to make sure she didn’t talk. He narrowed his eyes and snarled, “You can’t say—”
She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth.
Before she could loose the shriek, he snaked his arm around her, still clenching the small knife. He clapped his hand firmly over her mouth and nose. A muffled grunt of surprise rumbled in her throat, and she struggled to free herself from his grip. Between tightening his grip and her thrashing, the pocketknife managed to cut her, slicing through her sleeve and gashing her arm. He shifted his grip, only to accidentally jab her belly when she flinched.
Her accelerated pulse meant that she bled faster and droplets began to make the floor slick as they struggled. Finally he dropped the knife with a clatter. With his hand now free, he wrapped his arm across her sternum and dragged her up against his chest. “Be still!”
His fingers dug into her cheek and chin as he smothered her distressed cry.
Damn, damn, damn! What was he supposed to do with her? How could he shut her up?
Her fingers scrabbled feebly at the hand he had over her mout
h. But having pinned her arms at her sides with his other arm, she barely reached his palm. Her efforts did little other than anger him. Why did she have to fight? Why couldn’t she have just promised her silence and left him alone?
Despite the freezing temperatures, sweat popped out on his brow. His heart thumped hard enough that he would have sworn the whole ranch would hear it. Do something! his brain screamed. But the harder she fought, the more rattled he became. The madder, the more desperate.
“Stop it!” He shook her and stumbled when she raised a foot to kick backward at him. His grip tightened as his frustration and fury grew. “I said stop!”
A whimpering mewl escaped from beneath his muffling hand. Her tears dripped from her cheeks to his fingers. Blood continued to leak from her wounds, saturating her clothes and dripping on the floor. Guilt sawed his gut, adding a bitter bite to his agitation. He could feel himself losing the tenuous hold he had on his temper.
When she tried again to break free, twisting her hips, bucking, he gave her another hard shake. “Stop it!” He gritted his teeth, growling, “Stop, stop, stop!”
She wrenched to the left, and he jerked hard back to the right. And heard a crack. Felt the give in her neck. Her body went limp and heavy in his arms.
He stilled. Stunned. An icy terror crawled through him. Slowly he peeled his fingers away from her mouth.
Her head lolled to the side, and when he relaxed the arm across her chest, her legs buckled. She slid to the ground. Inert. Silent.
His breath rasped in shallow gasps as he dropped to his knees to feel for a pulse.
OhGodohGodohGod! What had he done?
Her sightless eyes stared up at him, and acid pooled at the back of his throat. A numb stupor settled over him.
She was...dead.
He’d...murdered her.
Dazed, he slogged through the horrible truths, his sins, which flashed like slides on a screen. A review of all his transgressions. Lies. Arson. Betrayal.
And murder.
He’d killed an innocent woman.
Again.
Copyright © 2018 by Beth Cornelison
ISBN-13: 9781488093289
Colton’s Fugitive Family
Copyright © 2018 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Jennifer Morey for her contribution to the Coltons of Red Ridge miniseries.
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