Ryan pressed his hands into the desk and stood. “We’re going to get this guy. I promise you that.” He took the bag holding the defaced photograph in hand. “Follow me.”
He strode out of his office and down the hall. Brett followed. They stopped in front of a partially open office door. Ryan gave a little wave through the glass, then entered. Brett hovered in the hall, reading the name plate next to the door. Detective Susan Howard—Forensic Investigator.
Detective Howard was sitting behind her desk, working on her computer. She didn’t look older than thirty, with blond hair pulled into a tight bun and a no-nonsense air about her that oozed competence and intelligence.
When she noticed Ryan, she rose. “Ryan. Hi. It’s nice to see you.” She rushed to stack files on her desk and toss some trash in the wastebasket. “I, um, wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
Once upon a time, Brett had fancied himself an expert on women, so he felt confident in his assessment that the good detective was flustered to see Ryan in her office. She also looked like the kind of woman Brett would’ve hit on in a heartbeat before his car accident, with a fit, curvy body that would make any man with a pulse do a double take, right up until he realized that she was armed and could probably kick his butt to Mexico, should she get it in her mind to.
“Hey. Yeah, sorry to bother you,” Ryan said. “I need a favor.”
She came around the side of her desk and propped a hip on the corner of it. “Everything okay?”
“Not sure. More trouble at my family’s ranch.”
She strummed her fingers on the desk. “You should let me help you more often, Ryan. It’s my job. Just because you and I didn’t—”
“Have you met my brother Brett yet? Brett, this is Detective Howard, our forensics investigator.” Ryan practically dragged Brett into the room by the arm.
A flash of surprise crossed the detective’s face, as though she’d assumed until that point that she and Ryan were alone. “Oh. Hello.”
Brett held his hand out in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Detective.”
“I’m sorry for all your family’s gone through lately.” All business now, she folded her arms in front of her, tapping her fingertip against her elbow. “What’s this favor that you need?”
Ryan held the photograph up. “A rush job on fingerprints.”
She took the bag from him and perused the photo. “This is your family?”
“It is. Hard to tell with the eyes scratched out, I know.”
She twisted to reach for a pair of reading glasses on the desk. Then, as Ryan had, she held the photograph up close to her face and studied it in silence. “Where did you find it? In a fire?”
“How’d you guess?”
“I see bits of ash.” Her eyes tracked from one end of the photograph to the other as though she were reading a book. “Am I going to find a police report about this fire?”
Ryan’s posture went stiff. “No. Not yet. It happened last night. But the fire marshal was sent to investigate today, so the report’s coming.”
She walked to a cabinet, unlocked the combination lock, then set the photograph inside and relocked it. “I’ve got another rush job to finish right now for that murder case that came in last week, but I’ll process the photograph for you tonight.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver. If I’m not here at the office, then text me the results.”
She tossed a notepad at him. “You’ll have to give me your number again, because it’s not in my phone anymore.”
Brett detected the slightest hint of a sharp edge to her tone and took a step back, deciding he might be better off waiting in the hall while Ryan finished up.
Ryan jotted on the pad and handed it back to her, then shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. He hooked his thumb toward the door. “Thank you. We should go. But, uh, thanks again.”
Back in Ryan’s office, Brett had planned on heading out to let Ryan get back to work, but then Ryan topped off Brett’s coffee cup, so Brett took a seat to enjoy it.
Ryan sat next to Brett and sipped from his own cup. “Hey, by the way, I like her.”
“Who? Detective Howard?”
A bit of coffee sloshed over the rim of Ryan’s mug when he jolted. “Huh? No, I mean. Susie’s great, and I...uh. I was talking about Hannah. Earlier, we got sidetracked talking about the fire, so I didn’t have a chance to tell you that. At the family meeting last week, you told us to wait until we met Hannah before casting judgment and you were right. She’s pretty great.”
The vindication felt good. He’d learned to endure their disappointment, but Hannah deserved better. “Thank you for saying so. You’re right. She’s incredible.” He felt a stupid smile coming on and let it shape his lips without a fight. “She’s got Dad wrapped around her little finger and he’s loving it. Edith and Maria, Hannah’s started calling those two her fairy godmothers because all they do is fuss over her, like the rest of us are chopped liver. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when the baby comes. We’re all going to be invisible to Edith and Maria.”
“You don’t look like you mind that so much.”
Brett shook his head. “It’s been a heck of a year for me. It seemed like everything that could go wrong did, except I’m excited about the baby—now that I’ve had time to adjust to the idea—and I like Hannah. A lot. Too much.”
Ryan’s lips twitched into a grin. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a great father.”
“Thank you. Seriously. It’s nice to inspire confidence for a change.”
But as Brett finished is coffee and stood, the truth came back to him about why he was at the police precinct that morning.
“You look like you’re plotting a murder. What’s going on inside your brain now?” Ryan said.
“It doesn’t matter how great of a father you think I’m going to be, or how blown away everyone is by Hannah. Because the fact remains that someone has it out for us and our ranch. Someone violent and ruthless, with inscrutable motives that are anyone’s guess. How do we catch a guy like that? With patrols and fingerprinting and constantly playing defense? That’s the best we can do to keep our family safe?”
Ryan squeezed his shoulder. “Like I told you, we’ll get this guy. I’ve got officers on the scene of the fire gathering evidence. With all the rain we’ve had lately, whoever did this had to have left tracks on the ground, coming and going. And the fire marshal is doing his thing, too. If he can pinpoint the accelerant the perp used, then maybe we have our first lead.”
Brett breathed through his frustration until he’d collected himself. “You should know that I’m going to do everything in my power to catch this guy myself.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Within the purview of the law, is what you meant, right? You’re not going to go vigilante on me, are you?”
Brett leveled a hard look at his brother. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the mother of my child safe, so if you’re worried about my methods, then I suggest you and the law find this bastard before I do.”
Chapter 11
Hannah woke from another restless night’s sleep. The baby’s flutters of movement had morphed into full-blown soccer matches in her belly, and he or she was quite fond of midnight game times—just in time for her to hear Brett arrive in his room after the nearly nightly patrols around the grounds that he continued to volunteer for.
She couldn’t decide if the ranch was really in that much danger or if he was trying to avoid her. Maybe he just loved riding around the ranch in the dark, for all she knew. Either way, the effect was the same: she was rarely ever alone with him anymore. But once she heard him enter his room after midnight each night, she couldn’t go back to sleep because she was too busy listening.
It was torture on her overactive libido to hear his
shower water start, and to imagine him stripping down, his muscles sore from a long night of riding. So many times, she’d knelt in her bed facing the wall, her fist up and ready to knock...right up until she thought better of it. Ever since their near-kiss that first night, he’d been polite and attentive, but emotionally distant. That was probably for the better because the more she’d gotten to know him, the more those same fears that Lori had guessed during their pros and cons game that first day at the ranch came rushing back to her in full force.
Not fears about Brett’s indiscriminate pantie-melting charm, because she knew better now that he was no longer a partying womanizer. She had complete trust in him and in his assertion that his priorities and attitude had permanently changed from the man she’d hooked up with in the club. True, her physical attraction to him was even more potent than the night they’d slept together, but beyond that, she genuinely liked him. And that, in a nutshell, was her fear. It would be so easy for her fall for Brett Colton—and fall hard and fast in a forever kind of way.
His bedroom was silent this morning, which probably meant he’d caught only a few hours’ sleep before rising to tackle the daily ranch chores. She pressed her palm to the wall, sending him a silent greeting, then emerged from her bedroom to find a tray holding a fresh biscuit, jam and a carafe of milk. Edith’s doing. Ever since Hannah’s first morning at the Lucky C and the terrible morning sickness she’d experienced, Edith had gone out of her way to make sure Hannah was comfortable and nausea-free.
No more eggs, ever, and coffee was now prepared on the front porch, which had turned out to be a welcome improvement for the ranch workers and Coltons, Edith had told her, because they no longer had to take off their boots to refill their mugs. And every morning, Hannah woke to find a tray of stomach-settling food in her sitting room. Whether it was from Edith and Maria’s ministrations, or because her morning sickness was finally subsiding as the pregnancy books professed, Hannah was feeling stronger and less sick with every passing morning. She could proudly say she hadn’t thrown up in a whole week, since her second day at the ranch.
As she nibbled the biscuit, she looked out over the ranch and watched the men and women work—cattle being moved, big machines moving alfalfa and feed. She gave a little gasp of surprise when Brett appeared in her field of view. Dressed in a black cowboy hat, a camo-green T-shirt and jeans, he strode over the grounds talking into a radio, a clipboard in his other hand and Rafe walking by his side, consulting his own clipboard.
She stood at the balcony door, eating jam right out of the jar, her eyes on Brett, studying, yearning. Probably, he was right that they should leave well enough alone. Sex and romance would overcomplicate their relationship, damage it, even, because relationship statistics weren’t on their side. The odds of them starting a romantic relationship that was lasting were minuscule. Who did that? Who met at a club, had wicked animal sex, didn’t bother exchanging phone numbers, got pregnant, and then ended up falling in love? That was crazy talk.
With her mind on Brett and their future, she emerged from her suite in search of breakfast. The door to Greta’s suite was open. She’d been staying at the ranch on weekends, to give her dad moral support. When Hannah passed her door, she saw Greta standing in the sitting room of her suite, holding a paper, a hand over her mouth and a worried expression weighing in her eyes.
Hannah paused midstep. “Greta? You okay?”
With a gasp, Greta jumped, her hands flying up and the envelope fluttering to the ground along with what looked like a newspaper clipping.
Hannah rushed forward to pick up the fallen papers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Greta swooped down and snatched up the papers before Hannah could. “It’s okay. I just... I got something in the mail that rattled me.”
Hannah angled her face to look at the newspaper clipping Greta held. It was a copy of Greta and Mark’s engagement announcement. The photograph was circled in a red pen and a large red X crossed out Greta’s face. Her eyes were gouged out.
“What the...” Hannah said.
Greta pressed the clipping to her chest, hiding it from view. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“This isn’t nothing, Greta. Are there any indications of who sent it?”
Greta walked to the sofa and sank onto it. “Probably one of Mark’s ex-girlfriends. He has a lot of them.”
Hannah wasn’t sure where to start—at the pain dripping from Greta’s admission that Mark had a lot of ex-girlfriends, or the fact that one of them might be crazy enough to send an anonymous threatening letter to Greta, despite how much she and the Coltons had gone through in the past month.
Hannah assumed a seat next to Greta. “Whoever did this, why would they send it here and not your apartment or Mark’s apartment?”
She gestured to a tall chest of drawers near the door where it looked like a stack of mail sat. “I still get a fair amount of mail here. Edith collects it and puts it in here for when I pass through. The postmark is the downtown Tulsa post office.”
“You should show Ryan. If someone has it out for you, then it’s best to start an official paper trail now.”
Instead of heeding Hannah’s advice, she crumpled the newspaper clipping up and tossed it in the wastepaper bin by the bed. “Like I said. It’s probably just a jealous ex-girlfriend.”
“Do you really believe that? I don’t think there are as many crazy ex-girlfriends floating around this world as television shows and movies make there out to be.”
At that moment, Mavis chose to walk by, a laundry basket on her hip. Could she have done this? After planting that Bible in Hannah’s room, she wouldn’t put it past Mavis to do something like this to Greta if she got it in her head that Greta was a sinner, too. The thought of it made Hannah spitting mad.
“Maybe not, but who else could it be?” Greta said. “Regardless, something this minor isn’t worth worrying my brothers or dad over. They have enough on their minds.”
After a deep breath, Greta gave a whole body shake, as if sloughing off her worry.
“You should at least talk to Mark,” Hannah said.
Greta winced. “Maybe. But until I decide what to do, don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Hannah gathered her in a hug. They hadn’t spent much time together or been able to bond since Hannah came to live at the ranch, but Greta was clearly rattled and a hug seemed like the perfect gesture to let her know she wasn’t alone. “If you want to talk more, I’m here. Even if it’s just about Mark and his exes. I mean, I can relate. Look at the man in my life right now. Brett and I aren’t even romantically involved and I still don’t want to know how many exes he has.”
A halfhearted smile spread on Greta’s face. “That’s an easy answer—zero. He never dated anyone long enough to consider them exes.”
Hannah chuckled. “Comforting. Thank you. I feel so much better now about the odds of convincing him to give a relationship with me a try.” Hannah’s face instantly heated. “I didn’t mean that. I mean, I did. I do, because he’s amazing, but—”
Greta braced her arms on Hannah’s shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me. And here’s some advice—give Brett some time. The accident he was in four months ago really scared him. He hasn’t been the same since. I know my dad and brothers are hard on him, but he’s trying his best to turn his life around. He’s a good man.”
“I agree. A very good man. Thank you.”
They shared a smile.
“No, thank you for poking your head in here,” Greta said. “We should go out together sometime. Maybe you’d like to go shopping one day? We could look at baby clothes, and maybe register for your baby shower.”
Hannah leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, goodness, I haven’t given any thought to that at all.”
“I’d love to plan one for you. It’d help take my mind off my worries
about Mom and postponing my wedding. Please say you’ll let me.”
Hannah hugged her again, because she looked as if she needed as many hugs as she could get. Hannah couldn’t imagine how difficult the past month had been on Greta. For as distant and strained as Brett’s relationship was with their mother, she and Greta had clearly been close.
“I’d love for you to do that. And I’d love to go shopping with you. Just name the day and time.”
Greta sniffed. “Thank you for giving me something to look forward to.”
After another round of hugs, Hannah gave an excuse of being hungry for breakfast, then stomped down the grand staircase, through the formal living room, through the servants’ wing and down the stairs to the basement where the laundry room was located.
“Mavis Turnbolt, are you down here?”
She was greeted with nothing but silence, save for the hums and rattles of the running washer and dryer from the laundry room tucked under the stairs. She poked her head around every corner of the basement, but found no one. Back up the stairs and through the house she went, room by room, angry and determined not to let Mavis get away with any more passive-aggressive threats.
Before today, Hannah hadn’t yet ventured into the wing of the house where Big J’s and Abra’s suites were, nor had she seen the crime scene yet, but that was exactly where she found Mavis—in the sitting room of Abra’s suite, threading a gauzy, pale fabric through a long white curtain rod and muttering to herself. Bible verses from the sounds of it.
Abra’s suite was awash in sand, cream and silver tones that could have graced a suite at a luxury resort in a desert oasis, from the simple, tight-looped pale rugs that looked as though they’d never been walked on to the elegant chaise lounge and potted palm tree near where Mavis was working.
Hannah surveyed the room, marveling at its beauty though it had been the scene of such a violent act a mere few weeks earlier. The family must have taken great pains to restore the room quickly, with the hope that Abra would return to it soon.
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