by Rita Herron
“Kat, I want to help.” His voice cracked. “Please let me.”
“You did help,” she said, her resolve strengthening.
His fingers softened around her arms, his gaze latching with hers. She was suddenly drowning in his bedroom eyes. Seduced into safety by his touch.
Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers, and she lost herself in his kiss.
CECE CURLED UP WITH HER DOLL AND CLOSED HER EYES, BUT she kept seeing that ditch coming for her and her mommy, and she wanted to scream again.
She bit her tongue though. She didn’t want to scare her mommy. And she didn’t want Mr. Mitch to think she was a big fat cry baby.
She wasn’t no cry baby, but she was scared whoever hitted her and Mommy would come back and hit them again, or shoot them like that bad man shot her daddy.
Her stomach hurt, and she opened her eyes and looked up at the window. The moon glowed like a big orange ball through the window.
Maybe Mommy would make those curtains tomorrow so the moon couldn’t see inside. So nobody could.
Cause if the bad man looked through the window, he’d find her, and then she’d be bloody and dead like daddy.
Tears pushed at her eyes. She missed her daddy somethin’ awful.
’Cept she liked Mr. Mitch and that made her feel good and bad at the same time. It felt good when he wrapped his big arms around her and Mommy, like nothing could hurt them as long as Mr. Mitch held them.
But she shouldn’t like him so much, not when he wasn’t her daddy. Would Daddy be mad that she liked Mr. Mitch?
She liked his horsie and the ranch here, and she liked Todd. He was her new best friend. He told her secrets about the rocks he and his daddy used to pick out of the creek. He showed her some special toys under the bed and said she could play with them. There were farm animals and a stable and horses.
She didn’t want to leave. But on the way home Mommy said they’d have to after Santa Claus came.
She wanted Santa to bring her that kitty cat so bad. And maybe a horsie like Horseshoe.
And maybe even a new daddy like Mr. Mitch . . .
She missed her own one ’cept there were things she hadn’t told her mommy, like about the big, fat mean man who came to see her daddy when her mommy was out buying chicken to fry one day, and the time she heard her daddy cussing on the phone with someone.
Then he’d strung that key on a ribbon and made a necklace for her dollie with it and said she had to keep the key safe for him. He’d hidden some money in a bag and made her promise not to tell or else he’d give her a spanking.
She wondered if Mr. Mitch kept secrets or if he’d spank his little girl if he had one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MITCH DEEPENED THE KISS, HIS BODY HUMMING TO LIFE AS IF IT had been asleep for decades.
Kat tasted sweet and delicious, and he sensed a hunger inside her that rivaled his own.
Except she had just been shaken by an accident, and he was taking advantage of her vulnerability.
Still, he liked the way she felt in his arms. The soft purr of her breath as she leaned into him. The way her body fit against his .
The feminine scent that heated his blood and reminded him that he was alive.Guilt slammed into him. How could he enjoy kissing another woman, taking pleasure from her, when his wife and son had died because of him?
He pulled away, his breath heaving out as he released Kat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Kat looked just as stricken as he felt. “Just go, Mitch. Please go.”
The quiver in her voice alarmed him. Was she afraid of him physically?
Or afraid of what she felt? Because she had felt the heat between them just as he had. That was obvious from the way she’d dug her fingers into his back and pulled him closer.
“Kat?”
“Please, Mitch. I need to check on CeCe.”
He gave a clipped nod and let her go, although he realized she was making an excuse to put some distance between them.
That was fine. He needed distance himself.
She disappeared up the steps, and he turned to leave. But the sight of the clean house with the placemats and decorations caught him off guard again.
Kat had turned the farmhouse into a home. Not just a house, but it felt warm and inviting. For a brief second, he saw Todd racing through the hallway chasing CeCe and laughing.
Pain seared him, and he threw open the front door and rushed outside. He leaned over the porch rail, gulping in a breath to relieve the nausea building inside him as he looked across the ranch.
Moonlight streaked the horizon, a cool breeze stirring the trees and tossing dried leaves across the land. Maybe he’d visit Jack Daniels tonight.
Distract himself from thinking about the gorgeous blonde who was turning him inside out with her sweet smile and homemaking, and her cherub daughter who laughed like an angel.
Even more disturbing, he sensed neither of them had laughed for a while just as he hadn’t.
In the distance, headlights flickered along the dusty road leading to the ranch.
Mitch squared his shoulders and focused on the vehicle. It slowed as if it might turn, then went on, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
No Jack for him tonight. He had to remain alert.
Was the driver looking for something? Could he have been the one who’d hit Kat and driven her and CeCe off the road?
If he was, what did he want?
KAYLIE WAS SO SHAKEN BY THE KISS SHE LOCKED HERSELF IN THE bedroom, slipped on her pjs, turned on the television and crawled in bed. A horror movie was playing so she switched channels and stumbled on the news.
“There is still a manhunt underway for Larry Buckham, a man convicted of murdering Joe Whittaker and two other families in Texas. Although Buckham was convicted, his attorney has filed an appeal citing new evidence that proves he is not the serial killer, the Family Man.”
The reporter turned to a woman dressed in a designer suit with lacquered red hair and square glasses. “Buckham’s attorney, Willa Barnaby, is here to discuss the case.”
“I regret that my client Larry Buckham escaped from prison when we were so close to his appeal being granted and his case being reexamined. Although Joe Whittaker’s wife testified against Mr. Buckham, the DA made a strong case that painted him as being the serial murderer who gunned down several families in their homes. This implication swayed the jury to convict him, and strongly influenced the judge’s decision in sentencing. However, the prosecutor supplied no concrete evidence to link Buckham to the other crimes. Based on that fact, I’m requesting a new investigation and Mr. Buckham’s case to be reopened.
“This morning, I spoke with police who confirm that they are looking into Mr. Whittaker’s finances and the fact that he might have been laundering money. With that information at hand, investigators may focus on enemies Whittaker made through his business.”
The newscaster held up a finger. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ms. Barnaby, but news has just come in regarding the murder of another Texas family.”
Kaylie sat up straighter, glued to the television. First of all, she knew Larry Buckham had killed Joe. She had heard his gravelly voice.
Hadn’t she?
And what was that business about Joe laundering money? Joe would never . . .
Snippets of conversations spoken in hushed voices, of late night phone calls, of weekend business trips, taunted her, and a cold chill engulfed her.
Had Joe somehow gotten himself in trouble?
“This late breaking story in,” the reporter said as the camera focused on the outside of a Texas stucco home in a small town called Bend Creek. “A woman, man, and their two teenage sons were murdered in their home tonight. Neighbors reported hearing a commotion at the house a half hour ago, and someone called 911. By the time the police arrived, the family was dead, the killer gone.”
The camera showed the police surrounding the house, blue lights swirling,
officers combing the property.
“While police can’t confirm that the killer is the same man who murdered the other families, they have admitted that the MO is the same. If you have any information regarding this crime, please call the police.”
Kaylie worried her lower lip with her teeth. First, Buckham’s lawyer was trying to convince people he was innocent.
But no other families had been murdered while he was in prison suggesting he was guilty.
But now he was on the loose, another family had died. A family from Bend Creek. Bend Creek was only twenty miles from Twin Branches.
She clenched the sheets with clammy hands.
Had Buckham killed them? And if so, why Bend Creek? Was he trying to let her know that he was close by? That he knew where she was hiding?
She slid off the bed and paced the room, then checked out the window. The ranch looked quiet. Serene.
But she felt anything but peaceful.
She was tempted to call Mitch and ask him to stay the night.
And kiss her again.
But that would be stupid and dangerous.
For CeCe’s sake, she had to play it smart and not allow her emotions to rule her decisions.
The reporter’s comment about Joe and money laundering hacked at her conscience. Joe had handled other people’s money, wealthy people.
When he first died, the police had searched his files looking for motive and found nothing.
But Buckham’s lawyer suggested otherwise.
The detective had asked questions about Joe’s clients, but she hadn’t been able to tell them much. Joe rarely shared information about work because he respected his client’s confidentiality.
He hadn’t made a fortune, but he’d managed their money pretty well, and they’d been comfortable. Although one of the officers who’d questioned her had mentioned some discrepancies in Joe’s accounting.
Dammit, she wished she had a computer so she could review all their past bank statements and Joe’s portfolio. But the police had confiscated that, and for her own safety, she’d been warned about touching their accounts or contacting anyone associated with Joe. A killer could track her if she left a paper trail.
But the cash she had was running out. If Buckham wasn’t found soon, she didn’t know what she’d do.
She opened the envelope that she’d found hidden in the back of one of Joe’s gym bags when she’d packed up his clothes for Goodwill. At the last minute, she’d tucked it inside the overnight bag she kept for a quick getaway, deciding she might need the information about the accounts at some point. But she’d forgotten about it during the stressful months. She’d been too busy running and trying to appease her daughter.
Hoping to find something to clear Joe, she skimmed through the paperwork, looking for anything her husband might have hidden from her. The normal bills and deposits from clients, although about six months before he died she noticed a definite spike in their income.
Income that he’d deposited into a separate account.
Why had he hidden it from her? Was he building a nest egg for their retirement or for a trip to surprise her?
Or . . . what if the police were right? Joe had acted strange, distant, worried the last few months.
Had Joe crossed the line and skimmed money from a client, or accepted payment for illegal business activities?
And if he’d hidden money from her, what else had he been hiding?
MITCH PACED THE CABIN ALL NIGHT, UNABLE TO SLEEP. THE tortured emotions the kiss stirred in him made him want to run from Kat. But she and CeCe needed help.
And he had never walked away from a woman or child in need.
He kept vigil from his porch till dawn, looking for that vehicle to reappear and watching for trouble. But only the quiet of the ranch and the night sounds surrounded him.
Finally he showered, had coffee and slipped back into the farmhouse. Kat was in the shower so he eased into her room and found the fake IDs in her bag. He lifted one of the driver licenses, then tiptoed down the steps, hurrying when he heard the shower water kick off.
Dammit, he’d like to join her in there. He envisioned the silhouette of her sexy, naked body beneath the warm spray of water with soap bubbles beading on her golden skin.
Frustrated at the effect the images had on his body, he plowed out the front door, but paused to close it quietly. The last thing he wanted was for Kat to know he was snooping around, investigating her.
He crossed the grass to his cabin on the hill, climbed in his truck and drove toward the Ranger office. He bypassed his boss’s office, not ready to be back at work.
His buddy Micah Hardin loped in wearing a shit-eating grin. A few weeks ago, he’d helped Micah catch one of the prison escapees who’d stalked a woman named Lenora Lockhart. Apparently Micah was in love with Lenora now.
“Good to see you here at work, Mitch.”
Mitch made a harrumph sound. “I’m not. I just needed to use one of the computers.”
Micah arched a brow. “What’s going on?”
Mitch had already told Jonas more than he’d meant to. But he and Micah had been partners, and if he could trust anyone, it was Micah.
He motioned for Micah to follow him, and they ducked into the office they shared. “I need to run a photo ID through the DMV records.”
“Whose ID?”
Mitch quickly explained about the situation with Kat, although he omitted the part about her turning his farmhouse into a cozy home, and that he’d kissed her.
“Let me see it.” Micah studied the photo. “Her hair looks dyed in this picture. It’s an unnatural black.”
“Yeah, she’s a blonde now. I know it’s a fake ID,” Mitch said. “She had a couple of others in her bag.”
Mitch scanned the photo and watched the computer program run. Five minutes later, a positive ID popped up.
“Kaylie Whittaker, age 29, home address Austin.”
“Shit,” Micah said. “I thought her face looked familiar.”
“What do you mean?”
“You obviously haven’t watched the news.”
No, he hadn’t. He’d been too busy feeling sorry for himself, drowning his sorrows in booze. “I guess I dropped off the earth for a while.” He gestured toward the photo. “So what do you know?”
“Kaylie Whittaker’s husband Joe, a financial planner in Austin, was murdered in her home one night.”
“By the serial Family Man killer?”
“That’s what the police thought. Although the killer wore a mask, Kaylie Whittaker identified the man as Larry Buckham and testified against him.”
Dread surged through Mitch. “He escaped in the prison break, didn’t he?”
Micah nodded. “The only one who hasn’t been caught yet.”
“Dammit, that’s why she’s running scared.”
“There’s more,” Micah said. “Apparently Buckham’s lawyer has been working on an appeal, and claims that Buckham is not the Family Man killer, that the two cases aren’t related. That Joe Whittaker was laundering money and his illegal activities might have had something to do with his death. His wife is wanted for questioning.”
Sweat beaded on Mitch’s neck. “They think she killed her husband?”
“The theory is that she discovered his illegal business affairs, shot him, then pinned the blame on Buckham.”
“I don’t believe it,” Mitch said. “She’s not a killer.”
Micah narrowed his eyes. “You know her that well?”
Yes. No. She’d lied to him.
But images of her sewing those damn placemats and braiding CeCe’s hair, and making homemade chicken and dumplings, in his kitchen taunted him. “I’ve seen her with her little girl. She’s not a killer.”
“Jesus, Mitch, if she’s at your place, you need to turn her over to the sheriff and let them sort this out. If she’s innocent, they’ll get to the truth.”
But in the meantime, CeCe would be taken away from her mother, placed in foster
care, have to listen to accusations about her mother killing her father. The investigation might take months.
And sometimes the system failed.
“Although there’s one thing working in her favor,” Micah said.
“What’s that?”
“Last night the Family Man killer struck again. He killed a man, woman and their two teenage sons in Bend Creek.”
Mitch swallowed hard. Bend Creek. Jesus, that was close to Twin Branches. “So Buckham could be the serial killer?”
Micah shrugged. “Could be.”
Although if Buckham was the serial killer and his lawyer was about to get his sentence overturned and a new trial, breaking out of prison and killing another family was stupid on his part.
Of course, most of the criminals Mitch had met weren’t exactly genius material.
Kat’s—no, Kaylie’s—accident the night before took on a more ominous feeling. Just what kind of evidence did Buckham’s attorney have against Joe Whittaker and Kaylie?
Was she running from guilt, or because a man was trying to kill her?
CHAPTER NINE
KAYLIE CLEANED UP THE BREAKFAST DISHES WHILE CECE drew a Dear Santa card at the table.
Her heart squeezed at the picture of a yellow kitten.
“We gots to get a tree,” CeCe said. “And stockings for the fireplace.”
Kaylie smiled, although guilt nagged at her for using a stranger’s home and making it her own. If she could figure out a way to buy the ranch, she would.
But after looking at her finances, that was impossible. And even if she did have the money, they couldn’t stay here, not with Larry Buckham hunting for them.
What if he’d been driving the car that hit them the night before?
CeCe colored the kitten yellow. “Can we get a tree today, Mommy?”
“I don’t know,” Kaylie said, hesitant to make a promise she might not be able to keep.
“But we gots to,” CeCe said. “Or Santa won’t know where to leave the presents.”