Murder and Mistletoe

by Barb Han

  A killer has struck again in this small Texas town

  this time at Christmas...

  For fourteen years, Dalton Butler has believed his high school sweetheart’s death was murder, not suicide. So when another young girl is killed in the same manner, the handsome rancher partners with beautiful and determined detective Leanne West. Together, they work to expose the predator in their midst. Then their investigation takes an even nastier turn. Can they bring this killer to justice before Christmas is ruined—for good?

  “I know it was murder.” His tone was finite and his jaw muscle ticked.

  “How can you be so sure?” She wanted to hear those words so badly.

  “The knot,” he supplied.

  There was more to the story based on how much he seemed to care. There was something else present behind his eyes, too. Hesitation? Lack of trust? Her investigative experience had taught her when to press and when to back off. This was time for the latter.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  The cowboy nodded.

  “Why do you care about what happened to my niece?” And then she thought about what else her police training had taught her. Actions were selfish. People were motivated by their own needs and rarely put anyone else’s first. She’d seen it time and time again through her work as a detective in a major city. The only reason he’d care about Clara was if her death was connected to something important to him.

  He glanced at her, and that one look spoke volumes.

  And then she realized that he’d said the word they and not her.

  “How many others have there been?”

  MURDER AND MISTLETOE

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Barb Han

  USA TODAY bestselling author Barb Han lives in north Texas with her very own hero-worthy husband, three beautiful children, a spunky golden retriever/standard poodle mix and too many books in her to-read pile. In her downtime, she plays video games and spends much of her time on or around a basketball court. She loves interacting with readers and is grateful for their support. You can reach her at barbhan.com.

  Books by Barb Han

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Crisis: Cattle Barge

  Sudden Setup

  Endangered Heiress

  Texas Grit

  Kidnapped at Christmas

  Murder and Mistletoe

  Cattlemen Crime Club

  Stockyard Snatching

  Delivering Justice

  One Tough Texan

  Texas-Sized Trouble

  Texas Witness

  Texas Showdown

  Mason Ridge

  Texas Prey

  Texas Takedown

  Texas Hunt

  Texan’s Baby

  The Campbells of Creek Bend

  Witness Protection

  Gut Instinct

  Hard Target

  Rancher Rescue

  Harlequin Intrigue Noir

  Atomic Beauty

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

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  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Leanne West—This Dallas detective blames herself for her niece’s death.

  Dalton Butler—This Butler twin can’t let go of the memory of the girlfriend who supposedly took her own life fourteen years ago as a teen. A similar death stirs up old feelings, and he won’t rest until the case is solved.

  Mila West—This baby is Leanne’s pride and joy.

  Alexandria Miller—Her death fourteen years ago changed Dalton’s life forever.

  Clara Robinson—Could her recent death be linked to Alexandria Miller’s?

  Bethany Schmidt—Clara’s mother isn’t telling everything she knows.

  Gary Schmidt—He had a hostile relationship with Clara, his stepdaughter.

  Hardy Santana—Does this tree-farm worker know more than he’s letting on?

  Christian Woods—How much does Clara’s boyfriend really know about what she was doing?

  Sheriff Clarence Sawmill—This sheriff might be in over his head with a high-profile murder to solve and a town in chaos.

  Maverick Mike Butler—Even in death this self-made Texas rancher has a few cards left to play.

  To my editor, Allison Lyons, for being my dream editor for twenty books now (wow!). Thank you!

  To Brandon, Jacob and Tori for being my greatest loves, inspiration and encouragement.

  To Babe, my hero, for being the great love of my life.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Excerpt from Delta Force Defender by Carol Ericson

  Chapter One

  The normally pitch-black night was lit up with swirling red-and-white bursts. At half past midnight, the normally empty gravel lot teemed with law enforcement and emergency personnel. Dalton Butler’s heart fisted as he approached the scene in his sport utility, thinking how much of a contrast the activity was to the normally sleepy town of Cattle Barge. An ominous feeling settled over him. This was the spot where his high school girlfriend’s life had ended on a cold winter night fourteen years ago.

  As Dalton drove toward the scene, the air thinned and his chest squeezed. A rope hanging from the same tree came into view. Emotions he’d long ago buried stirred, as the unsettled feeling of history repeating itself enveloped him. A shot of anger surfaced and then exploded with rage inside his chest. He white-knuckled the steering wheel as he navigated onto the side of the lot, watching the flurry of activity in disbelief. Why this spot? Why this night?

  He parked, lowered his gray Stetson on his forehead and turned up the collar of his denim jacket to brace against the bitter temperatures. A cold front had blown in during the last hour, welcoming the month of December with a blast of frigid temperatures and freezing rain.

  Dalton blocked out the image of a young life hanging from that rope as he shouldered his door open against the blazing winds. A gust blew his hat off before he could react. He retrieved it and held it in his hands. The entire scene unfolding before him tipped him off balance as memories crashed down around him like an angry wave tackling a surfer, holding him under and twisting his body around until he didn’t know up from down anymore.

  A foreboding feeling settled around his shoulders, his arms, tightening its grip until his ribs felt like they might crack. Not even a sharp intake of air eased the pressure. Fourteen years was a long time to hold on to the burden of guilt that he could’ve saved her if he’d shown up to this spot.

  The sheriff stood inside the temporary barricade that had been set up around the perimeter of the tree, a somber expression on his face. Sheriff Sawmill’s shoulders were drawn forward as he listened to one of his deputies. Cattle Barge had been overrun with news crews since the end of summer when Dalton’s father—the wealthiest man in the county—was murdered on the successful cattle ranch he’d built from scratch. M
averick Mike Butler’s rise to riches was legendary. He’d won his first cattle ranch in a gambling match, lost his first wife to alcohol and his bad luck ended there. In death as it was in life, the man always seemed to have another card up his sleeve.

  “Sir, you can’t be here,” Deputy Granger said, extending his arms to block Dalton.

  “I need to speak to the sheriff.” He had every intention of walking past the man, and there wasn’t anything Granger could do to stop him short of arresting him.

  Granger seemed to know it, too. He called for Sawmill but kept his arms outstretched.

  The sheriff glanced over and did a double take. Stress shrouded him as he made a beeline toward Dalton, stopping behind Granger’s arms.

  “I appreciate what you’re going through and how personal this may seem, but I can’t let you walk onto my crime scene and destroy evidence.” The middle-aged man looked like he hadn’t slept in months. His eyes had the white outline of sunglasses on tanned, wrinkled skin. Hard brackets bordered his mouth and deep grooves lined his forehead. The tight grip he had on his coffee mug outlined the man’s stress level. He was on high alert and had been since Maverick Mike’s murder, a high-profile case he had yet to solve.

  “Tell me what happened.” Dalton needed to know everything.

  “We haven’t established cause of death.”

  Most of his family might get along with the sheriff now but Dalton would never forget the way he’d been treated after Alexandria Miller’s death. He’d barely been seventeen when he’d been picked up in the middle of the night and hauled to the sheriff’s office. Sawmill had spent the next twenty-two hours interrogating Dalton, suspecting him of murder and treating him like a criminal.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you found her hanging from that tree.” Dalton bit back the frustration that was still so ready, so available. He’d go through it all again willingly if Alexandria’s murderer would be brought to justice. If her family could have answers. If there could be closure.

  Sawmill tilted his head. “Doesn’t mean it was the cause of death, and I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation with a civilian and you know it.”

  “Who is she?” Dalton asked anyway.

  “I didn’t say the victim is a woman.” The sheriff was trying to sell the idea that this had no connection to the past. Without proof, Dalton wasn’t buying it.

  “No. You didn’t. She’s a girl, not a woman.” Déjà vu struck as Dalton glanced at his watch. At around the same time fourteen years ago, Alexandria was being cut down from that exact tree.

  “Out of respect for you and your family, for what you’re going through, I won’t threaten to arrest you, Dalton. But make no mistake that you’re interfering with an ongoing investigation and I can’t allow that, either,” the sheriff warned.

  Again, Dalton noticed the sheriff’s word choice. He didn’t mention murder.

  “Another suicide in that tree fourteen years to the day and around the same time?” Dalton folded his arms and planted his boots in the unforgiving earth. “What are the odds?”

  “They’re high, actually.” The sheriff blew out a sharp breath and threw his hands up. “All these reporters drudging up the past, digging into everyone’s personal lives. Every story they run increases the odds of a copycat from some crime in the past.” There hadn’t been many criminal acts in Cattle Barge leading up to this past summer. “There’s no respect for the families involved. The people who suffered through losing a loved one and now are being forced to relive the pain as news is being blasted across the internet. They deserve peace, not this.”

  “There can be no peace without justice. I think we both know that,” Dalton shot back. From his peripheral, he saw a woman stalking toward them, so he turned to look. Her face was set with determination, her gaze intent on the sheriff. She had on dark jeans and a blazer. She was tall and beautiful with chestnut wavy hair loosely pulled back in a ponytail that swished back and forth as she walked. An inappropriate stir of attraction struck. Dalton shoved it to the back burner. Charging toward them, she took the kind of breath meant to steel nerves. She clutched something tightly in her left hand as her right fisted and released a couple of times. She was young, early thirties if Dalton had to guess. As she neared, he could see concern lines ridging her forehead.

  The sheriff followed Dalton’s gaze, which admittedly had been held a few seconds too long toward the object of his attention.

  Sheriff Sawmill immediately spun around to address the stalking female, who was only a couple of feet away from them by now. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a restricted area. Only law enforcement personnel are allowed beyond—”

  The woman cut him off by holding up the item clenched in her left fist, a badge.

  “My name’s Detective Leanne West. Tell me exactly what went down here, Sheriff,” she demanded, with an intensity that made Dalton believe her interest in this case extended beyond official duty. She wore a white button-down oxford shirt under the blue blazer and low heels, which also told him that she wasn’t from around these parts. The butt of a gun peeked out from her shoulder holster. If he had to guess, he’d say it was a SIG Sauer. His first thought would’ve been FBI if she hadn’t already identified herself.

  “I’ll have my secretary issue a full report to your supervising officer when we’ve concluded our investigation.” Sheriff Sawmill crossed his arms and dug his heels in the hard dirt.

  “My SO? Why not tell me? I’m standing here in front of you—he’s not.” Her determined voice had a musical quality to it that reached inside Dalton. This wasn’t the time to get inside his head about why. He wanted information as badly as she did and, at least for now, nothing was more important. If he had a chance to put his demons to rest and give peace to the Miller family, there were no walls too high to climb.

  She was getting further with Sawmill than he had been, so, if necessary, he would be her shadow from now on.

  With the sheriff’s back to Dalton as he was being distracted by the detective, Dalton turned toward the hanging rope and palmed his phone. He angled his cell toward the rope as anger stirred in his gut, remembering the specific knot used in Alexandria’s hanging, The trucker’s knot. Alexandria would have had no idea what that knot was. She hadn’t had a brother or male cousin who she spent time with and she wore more skirts than jeans. Furthermore, every Boy Scout knew that the whole conglomeration could be untied with only four pulls in the right places, meaning she could’ve freed herself at any time if she’d known. And anyone who knew how to use the knot would know how it worked.

  With a quick swipe across the screen, Dalton blew up the focal point, zeroed in on the spot and snapped a pic. The knot could tell him a lot about whether these two crimes were related. All his warning flares were firing, but he couldn’t ignore the sheriff’s argument. A lot of time had passed. News stories had been drudging up the past. There was a possibility that this incident wasn’t related, other than someone being a copycat or inspiring a young person to imitate what she thought was a suicide in the same spot.

  “Because I’m not ready to risk details of this case leaving this lot and being broadcast across the state.” Sawmill’s normally steady-as-steel tone was laced with frustration. “In case you haven’t noticed, this town has had its fair share of exploitation for the sake of ratings in the past three months.”

  “I can assure you that won’t happen.” The detective’s shoulders straightened and her chest puffed out a little at the suggestion she’d bring in the media. The words had the sharp edge of a professional jab.

  Sawmill tipped his head to one side. “Forgive my being blunt, but so can I.”

  * * *

  LEANNE WOULD’VE HANDCUFFED the good-looking cowboy for taking a picture of the hangman’s rope herself if the sheriff was cooperating. Since he wasn’t and she figured the two were in the same boat with Sawmill, she’d let it slide and
figure out a way to find out what he was so interested in.

  The cowboy was hard to miss at six-four and he was using her as a distraction, which had her mind spinning with even more questions. Did the man, who was professional-athlete tall with a muscular build and grace to back it up, know Clara? His hair was a light brown with blond mixed in and his eyes were a serious blue. Under different circumstances, she’d have enjoyed the view. But her niece had been taken down from that tree...

  Leanne’s heart nearly burst thinking about it. As difficult as it was, she had to keep her emotions in check and focused. Keeping a tight grip on her sentiments was proving more difficult than expected, and she’d put the sheriff on the defensive already because she wasn’t restraining those very feelings.

  For the sake of finding Clara’s killer, she would do almost anything and that included swallowing her pride. The last thing she wanted to do was cut off her best source of information.

  She softened her approach. “I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, this case needs my full attention.”

  Sheriff Clarence Sawmill was much older than Leanne and he had more experience. She was a solid detective, but her emotions were getting in the way and she was blowing it big-time. The sheriff was already on high alert and, from the looks of him, had been since his town had gone crazy following the news of Maverick Mike Butler’s death. Leanne had read about the famous murder that was still an open investigation and she worried that her niece’s case would get swept under the rug.

  “In the spirit of cooperation, I’d like to offer my assistance,” Leanne said, hoping the softer tact would sway him. She didn’t care how she managed to get the sheriff’s agreement. Only that she got it.

  “Again, with all due respect, we have this covered.” His tone was final as he walked her toward the temporary barricade that had been set up to cordon off the scene. He seemed to realize the cowboy wasn’t following when he stopped and turned. “Dalton.”