by Rita Herron
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?
Kaylie cleaned up thebreakfast 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.”
Oh, good grief. Presents. She’d been so busy worrying about their safety that she hadn’t done any shopping. She had nothing to give her daughter. Not a toy or surprise. Nothing.
She couldn’t very well go into town and shop either, not and leave her five-year-old alone.
Maybe she could find something in the attic to make CeCe a gift. A new doll or stuffed toy. She’d be disappointed not to find a kitten under the tree, but Kaylie would explain that a kitten would come later.
When they were settled and safe again.
CeCe drew a tree by the kitten and colored balls as decorations, then added a yellow star at the top. “There. Now let’s find a real tree.”
“Honey, I need to look around in the attic first. Maybe when we take that ride later, we can ask Mitch to show us a good spot to cut down one.”
“Yippee!” CeCe shouted. “I can’t wait to ride Horseshoe.”
Emotions welled in Kaylie’s throat as they climbed the steps to the attic, and she flipped on the light. The trunk she’d pulled the fabric scraps from had been a treasure trove. A second trunk sat beside it, and she and CeCe opened it and rummaged through the contents.
“Look, Mommy.” CeCe pulled a toy pony from a box. “He looks like Horseshoe.”
Kaylie smiled as CeCe began bouncing the toy across the floor as if it was galloping in the pasture. Beneath a box of costume jewelry, she found an old worn quilt, a nine patch made with squares of horses appliqued on each square. CeCe might like some of the jewelry, but she had no right to take anything from this house, so she put the box back in place.
“Look, CeCe, isn’t this quilt beautiful?” Kaylie unfolded it, admiring the delicate handmade stitches. “I wonder who made it.”
CeCe ran over to trace her finger over the outline of a black stallion. “Can we put it on my bed?”
Kaylie hesitated. What would the owner of the ranch think if he knew she’d been plundering through his belongings? If he saw what she’d done in his house?
He wouldn’t, she silently vowed. He’d hired Mitch to paint the inside to fix it up to sell. She’d pack up all the things she’d used before she and CeCe left.
“I guess that would be all right,” Kaylie said. “But I’m going to wash it first. It’s been packed up for a while.” She’d hand wash it to preserve the handwork.
She spied other fabric in the bottom of the trunk as well and decided she could make new doll clothes for CeCe’s doll and fashion a baby carriage and blanket from the scraps.
Satisfied, she carried the quilt down the steps while CeCe took the pony to her room. Kaylie hand washed the quilt and put it in the dryer on low, then found CeCe lying on her belly in the bedroom playing.
“Look, Mommy,” CeCe said. “My friend showed me the toys under the bed.”
“Your friend?”
CeCe nodded. “I told you about him. Todd. He loves the ponies best.”
Kaylie worried her bottom lip with her teeth, wondering if she should comment on CeCe’s imaginary friend but decided to play along with her for now.
So she simply smiled as CeCe arranged the small toy ponies around the stable, then added the farm animals and horses, setting them around as if they were grazing in the pasture.
The owner of the ranch must have had children. Why had he left the toys behind?
Mitch stewed over the situation with Kat—no, Kaylie—and her daughter as he drove back to the ranch.
He had done more research on the Whittakers and discovered that Kaylie did indeed work as a real estate agent and her daughter’s name was CeCe.
But she’d omitted the part about being wanted for questioning as a suspect in her husband’s murder.
She had also been in protective custody under an officer named Arnold Pinter, but he’d been found shot to death the night she disappeared.
One report suggested that she’d killed the man because she felt like Buckham’s attorney was going to clear him and prove that she murdered her husband.
But the other scenario, which sounded more reasonable after having met her, was that Buckham or someone working for him had found the safe house, had shot Kaylie’s guard, so she’d fled to save herself and CeCe.
By the time he reached the ranch, he was ready to confront her.
But when he saw Kaylie and CeCe decorating Christmas cookies, his heart tugged, and he put the questions on hold.
He’d wait until they were alone to discuss the situation. No sense upsetting the sweet little girl. Besides, Christmas music played in the background, and CeCe was humming Here Comes Santa Claus as she spread icing on the cookies.
“Look, Mr. Mitch, I made trees and a stocking and a star,” CeCe said. “And we made teddy bears and ornament cookies, too!”
“I see.” He couldn’t resist. He wiped a dollop of icing from her cheek and licked his finger. “Yum.”
CeCe giggled and shook the sprinkles over the ornament cookies. “I made Santa a card today to tell him about the kitty cat I want.”
“You want a kitten?”
“Yep, an orange one,” CeCe said. “Kitties like to live on ranches, don’t they?”
“Yes, they do,” Mitch said his gut tightening. Did Kaylie really plan on staying?
She had to realize that her lies would be revealed sooner or later, that the owner would eventually show up.
How would she react when she learned he was that owner?
“Does Santa have kitty cats at the North Pole?” CeCe asked.
Kaylie’s gaze met his, a small smile curving her mouth. She had icing on her nose and fingers, too, and white powdered sugar dotted her shirt. The two of them looked adorable and so vulnerable that he immediately dismissed the idea that Kaylie could have shot her husband or been involved in anything illegal.
Foolish to judge her based on emotions, but the little girl’s holiday spirit was contagious.
“I think Santa has kitties for special little girls,” Mitch said.
“I’m special,” CeCe said as she placed two raisins on the bear cookies for eyes. “My mommy says so. And my daddy said so, too.”
“I’m sure he thought you were very special,” Mitch said, wishing he knew more about the man who’d married Kaylie.
And about his killer.
Maybe he should talk to Buckham’s lawyer and find out exactly what evidence she had that would exonerate Buckham from the crime.
And if Buckham hadn’t killed Joe Whittaker, who had?
Kaylie had no idea what she was going to do about the kitten.
Or about Mitch.
He was starting to get under her skin in a serious way. The fact that he was so kind and gentle with CeCe only intensified the draw she felt toward him.
She stood by the horse pen and watched as he showed CeCe how to mount Horseshoe. “He’s the tamest horse I’ve ever worked with,” Mitch said.
“He does seem like he’s good with kids,” Kaylie said.
That pained look darkened his eyes for a second, then he gave a short nod. “H
e is.” He turned back to CeCe. “Like I told you before, sweet pea, animals sense when people like them. You have to be kind to him, but also show him you’re in control.”
He showed her how to use the reins to guide Horseshoe, and how to nudge him gently with her feet as she gave him commands. “When you want him to slow down or stop, pull back on the reins so he feels pressure against his neck and say, ‘whoa.’”
CeCe giggled and patted the horse’s neck. “I luvs you, Horseshoe.”
Kaylie’s heart swelled with love at the smile on her daughter’s face. The past few months had been hell, but she was thankful for the brief reprieve they’d enjoyed these last few days.
CeCe would have her Christmas and Santa if it was the last thing she ever did.
Then she’d find someone to help them out of this mess and protect them from Larry Buckham.
Running was no way for her child to live.
“Let’s practice around the stable first,” Mitch said. “Then maybe we’ll saddle a horse for your mother and ride out to the pond.”
“Can we pick a Christmas tree?” CeCe asked.
Kaylie held her breath, hoping Mitch would agree. If not, she and CeCe would go hiking and find one themselves.
“Sure,” Mitch said. “You can pick it out, CeCe.”
Her daughter beamed with joy at the idea. The temperature had fallen near freezing the night before but had risen to the fifties now. The wind tossed Kaylie’s hair around her face, and she tied it back with a scarf as Mitch led Horseshoe around the inside of the pen.
Her daughter was a natural and, within minutes, had taken charge of the animal. Mitch was right—Horseshoe was gentle and followed CeCe’s commands as if he’d lived with a child on his back.
“Do you know how to ride, Kat?”
“Yes,” she said. “I worked on a horse farm during the summers during high school.”
“Good. I’ll saddle horses for us so we can ride out to the pond.”
She nodded, opened the gate and stepped into the pen, then walked over and petted Horseshoe.
“You’re doing great up there, CeCe.”
CeCe formed a little pout with her mouth. “I wish he was mine.”