by Barb Han
“Anything you can do is appreciated,” Dalton said before escorting Leanne out of the building.
Neither spoke until they reached the safety of the sport utility.
“It’s obvious that you two have history. Do you plan on telling me what any of that was about?”
The doors were locked and the windows were up.
Dalton turned the key in the ignition. “I’d rather talk about our next step. You shouldn’t leave your car at the lot today.”
“What are the chances we can go back to get it unnoticed?” She wondered how much damage there’d be if her name was linked to the case.
“Slim. Especially now that the sun has come up.”
“Did he get my license plate?” Leaving her car there could pose a problem, too.
“Not that I could tell. I was a little preoccupied.” She could’ve sworn a small smirk dented the corner of his lips.
If it did, he suppressed it just as quickly.
She’d been thinking about that kiss, about the contrast of his hard, muscled chest and the tenderness he’d shown when he pressed his lips to hers. About how good he tasted, like coffee and mint...and she shouldn’t be thinking these destructive thoughts right now.
“Where should we go?” She bit back a yawn.
“I’ll drop you off anywhere you want,” he said.
“Can we talk through what happened while the details are fresh?” she asked.
“The ranch needs me,” he said.
What was he up to?
“I can drop you off at your sister’s,” he said.
“After the way we left things, I doubt it,” she responded. “And since I’ll be sticking around a few days, I’ll need a recommendation for a place to stay while my sister cools off.”
There was no way Bethany was going to give Leanne access to Clara’s room after everything she’d said to her half sister.
Besides, Gary had most likely torn it apart already.
* * *
THE BLACK COFFEE burned Dalton’s throat as he took a sip. It felt good. Reminded him that he was alive. He took another, still trying to figure out what he was doing with Leanne West when he should’ve dropped her off so he could examine the photos on his phone in privacy. But then a part of him realized she had a right to know if he found something there. Besides, with her trained eye, she could be useful in evaluating them.
“Thanks for not dropping me off and leaving,” the detective said. “And for everything you’ve been doing to help so far. I never would’ve gotten that far with the sheriff on my own.”
Dalton nodded.
The detective ran her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup. She took hers with cream and two packets of raw sugar. He didn’t want to notice those details about her. She wasn’t a date. And even the women he’d spent time with never stayed long enough for him to figure out their coffee habits. He knew very little about the woman sitting across the booth from him in the empty café off the highway.
There were other details he’d cataloged about her. The fact that she didn’t wear a wedding ring. He told himself the only reason he noticed was because of the kiss—a kiss so hot he didn’t need to think about it, either—and a necessary apology that would have gone to her husband if she’d had one.
Dalton set his cup down. He also noticed that she’d picked at the hem of her navy blazer four times since sitting down and figured she was nervous. Was it because she was with him?
“If we’re going to work together, we should probably know some basics about each other, Detective,” he started, figuring information might come in handy if they somehow separated.
The detective blew out a burst of air. “Okay. First things first, call me Leanne.”
He nodded.
“I’m from Dallas, but you already know that. I have a six-month-old daughter.” She paused long enough to pull out her cell phone and show him a pic of a partially toothed little girl. “Mila.”
“Cute kid,” he said. His newly found half brother, Wyatt, had a six-month-old kid.
“There’s no father,” she said with an awkward half smile. “I mean, there was a father, but he’s not...around.”
“He’s an idiot,” Dalton said before he could stop himself. He probably shouldn’t insult a man he didn’t know, but anyone who could walk out on a face like the one on the cell phone and not look back had to be a first-order jerk.
Leanne shot a warning look, which surprised him and told him there was more to the story. “My neighbor has been a gift. She loves kids, has more grandkids than I have fingers on one hand and she’s keeping Mila for a few days.”
“Sounds like a good setup.”
She nodded. “Other than that, there’s not much to tell. I worked my butt off to make detective before thirty. I’ve been on the job two years, so still earning my stripes to some.” And then turned the tables on him. “What’s your story?”
“You already know my name is Dalton Butler. I have a twin, Dade. We’re identical, so if you bump into someone who looks a helluva lot like me but says he’s not, he’s not lying.” He chuckled at her wide eyes. “What? You’ve never met twins before?”
She made a gesture. “I guess I have. Haven’t known a lot personally.”
“My father was fairly famous in Texas.” He paused before adding, “Infamous in some circles.”
“I heard a lot of good things about him,” she said casually, like it was common knowledge.
She obviously didn’t know the real man. But then, who really did?
“I’m one of six kids, unless someone else comes out of the woodwork before the reading of the Mav’s will on Christmas Eve.” He tried to suppress the anger in his voice and figured he wasn’t doing a great job based on the look she shot him. “Four of us grew up under one roof and had the same mother.”
“Do you work on the farm?” she asked.
“It’s a ranch. And the answer is yes,” he said indignantly, picking up a packet of sugar. He should’ve realized a Dallas detective wouldn’t know much about ranching but calling Hereford a farm was a lot like calling a horse a cow. “All of us do in some capacity, including the new ones.”
A moment of silence passed between the two of them before Leanne’s gaze intensified.
“Why do you care so much about this case?” She pinned him with her stare, and he couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or through him. “Who did you lose?”
“It’s been fourteen years, so the number fourteen might be important,” he said, redirecting the conversation. He tossed the sugar packet on top of the table.
Leanne sat there for a long moment, like she was expecting—hoping?—he’d return to the original conversation thread. She’d have to figure it out as they went along. He had no plans to rush. Drudging up that pain held no interest to Dalton.
On a resigned-sounding sigh, she pulled a small notepad and pen out of her purse.
“Fourteen,” she parroted as she jotted the number down. “The date might be significant.”
She wrote, December 7.
“Also, the digital date of twelve-seven,” he added.
“Right. The tree is oak.” She twirled the pen around her fingers and shot an anxious look at Dalton. “He put them on display.”
He could see that she was trying to hold back a flood of emotions.
“He likes to show his work,” Dalton ground out through clenched back teeth.
“Because he wants the bodies to be found.” Leanne gripped the pen and removed the cap before replacing it. Nervous tick? Or was this one of her little habits when she concentrated?
Dalton broke eye contact and focused on the black liquid in his cup. Anger was an out-of-control tide rising inside him. One he needed to get under control.
“He likes young girls,” Leanne said. “Was your friend in high
school?”
A sharp sigh issued. If the two of them were going to come up with a profile of the killer, he needed to talk about her. Although, nothing inside him wanted to. Do it for Alexandria, a little voice in the back of his mind said.
“A junior,” he said and those two words were harder to say than he figured they would be.
“So was Clara. She was already making plans for senior year,” she said, and her voice was anguished.
There was a pull toward it, maybe because it mimicked his own pain.
“Your niece. Was she blonde, like her mother?” he asked. “And alone on the night of the seventh?”
“Yes and yes, but everything about Clara was full of life. My sister—” she paused long enough to look up at him “—half sister used to look more like her daughter based on the pictures I’ve seen of her. Now, she’s just faded, washed-out. Exhausted.”
“The two of you didn’t grow up in the same house?” he asked.
“No. We have different mothers. Our father was some piece of work.” She rolled her eyes and embarrassment flushed her cheeks.
“How’d the two of you meet?”
“I tracked her down after my mother passed away when I was a rookie. Before then she’d asked me not to try to find my father. Looking for siblings felt like a betrayal and that last year with Mother’s cancer was hard.” Leanne looked flustered. “My sister was a mess when I found her, but then we got her into rehab and she cleaned up her act.”
“Speaking of your family, the sheriff will follow up with your brother-in-law,” he said.
“I’d expect him to,” she said in that determined voice he was beginning to recognize.
“What are the odds he’ll find something there?” Dalton had to ask.
Leanne stared out the window for a long moment.
“They’d better be slim-to-none,” she finally said through gritted teeth. “What kind of clothing was your girlfriend wearing?”
“I never said she was my girlfriend,” he countered.
“You didn’t have to.” There was compassion in her voice now. No trace of the rage he’d heard when she spoke of her brother-in-law. “This is deeply personal for you and that’s the only reason you care about my niece’s case. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take all the help I can get, but based on your reaction so far I’d say the two of you used to be close.”
Perceptive.
“We dated in high school. I’m the reason she was in that lot in the first place. She was waiting for me but I was out partying, having a good time. We’d had a dustup over my drinking, so I didn’t want to show up with alcohol on my breath.” Damn, those words were bitter tasting as they passed over his lips. “I left her there alone. By the time I show up, it was too late. Since I was the last person she’d seen and the first to find her—”
“You were the only suspect,” she cut him off.
“That’s right,” he said.
“And that’s the undercurrent I feel between you and the sheriff,” she added.
“That and the fact that he still hasn’t found my father’s murderer.” Dalton took another sip of coffee.
Her cup suddenly became very interesting to her. “I’m sorry about your friend. And I’m so sorry that you lost someone you cared about, especially while you were so young. This situation would be difficult for anyone, but a teenager...”
Dalton acknowledged her sentiment but nothing could ease the pain.
Leanne didn’t speak. She looked up at him and caught his gaze, searching his eyes for something. A sign that it was okay to move on?
He nodded slightly to prod her into speaking again. At least for the moment, he had no more words ready.
“We’ll come back to clothing. So, this person likes seventeen-year-old girls. Both events happened on the same day in December but fourteen years apart. The timing has to be significant.”
“There was no sign of struggle at either scene,” he added in a shaky voice—unsteady from anger. “I’ve gone off the assumption we’re looking for a man all these years. You see anything to give me another direction?”
“No. A male is a safe assumption. I mean, cases like these are almost always male. This person had to be strong enough to hoist her up.” Leanne’s voice broke and a tear slid down her cheek. She seemed caught off guard. “Sorry.”
Dalton reached across the table and thumbed it away. A hum of electricity pulsed through him at the contact and he bit back a curse. He resisted the urge to tuck the few tendrils of loose hair behind her ears.
Solving Alexandria’s case was priority number one.
He needed to keep the thought close, because his damn hands wanted to reach for the beautiful determined woman across the table.
It was a case of sympathy, two people in a rare but similar circumstance. Or maybe a primal need for proof of life had him wanting to be her comfort. There was no way real feelings could be developing, considering he’d known the woman less than twenty-four hours.
Or could there?
Chapter Five
Both Leanne and Dalton had ordered, the food had arrived and she was doing more rearranging bites on her plate than actual eating. She’d ordered a full Southern breakfast of eggs and bacon along with biscuits and gravy mostly to appease Dalton, who seemed determined to get a warm calorie-laden meal inside her. The smell of food turned her stomach and she missed her little girl so much she ached. Despite working a full-time job, Leanne had been the one to put Mila to bed every night since her daughter was born six months ago and her heart wanted to be there for her daughter more.
If Leanne hadn’t been so preoccupied with her newborn, she might’ve read the signs of trouble within Clara more accurately. A now-familiar pang of guilt struck deep and hard.
“Mind if we review your pictures?” she asked. The pain was never far from her thoughts and she needed to distract herself by maintaining focus on the case, on finding Clara’s killer rather than being caught up in her emotions. The sheriff had made a good point. There was a reason investigators didn’t work cases when a conflict of interest was present. The legal implications were only one part of the problem. Emotions were the other bigger issue. Get too caught up in her feelings and she could miss something important, something that could crack the case wide open.
Dalton studied her plate and she got the message. He wanted her to eat. But how could she? Her niece was gone and the person responsible was walking around free.
Pushing a clump of overcooked egg with her fork, she said, “I’m not hungry.” Before he could protest, she added, “Mind if I sit on your side?”
Dalton shook his head.
Leanne came around the booth and slid in beside him. Her left arm grazed his right, reminding her how bad of an idea making physical contact with him was. Even through layers of clothes and jackets, there was a spark of attraction along with a free-falling sensation in her stomach.
“I shot everything I could think of, so there’s a lot on here and I can’t guarantee any of these will be useful,” he warned.
“Let’s just go through them one by one.” She picked up her coffee cup and held it in two hands, appreciating the warmth on her palms.
“I hoped there might be something here to tie the crimes together,” Dalton said. “But fourteen years is a long time and I don’t have any photos from the original scene.”
“The sheriff does. Maybe we can convince him to let us take a look at those. Compare.”
“Doubt it. Do they even keep evidence from a suicide?” he asked.
“Good point. Every agency is different. We need to figure out a way to get him to check the database to see if there have been any other similar crimes in the past fourteen years.” She was trying to offer hope. Losing her niece as an adult was horrific. She could only imagine the horror of losing a girlfriend at such a tender age. Then to become the
prime suspect must’ve added insult to injury. What she knew from interviewing dozens of teens was that they carried a lot of guilt. They almost always found a way to blame themselves when tragedy struck.
The strong, virile cowboy next to her also seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders even now. Fourteen years later.
Had the sheriff done the right thing accusing Dalton? One of the first rules of a murder investigation was to look at who was closest to the victim. She would need to know more about the case to make a better determination. For the sheriff to rule the death a suicide must’ve been a double blow, especially to someone Dalton’s age at the time. “Maybe he’ll get a hit on her cell phone and we’ll have something more to go on.”
She studied him. He would’ve been Clara’s exact age. Everything had been so intense with her. It was one of the main reasons Leanne hadn’t dropped everything to run to Cattle Barge when Clara first sounded the alarm. Leanne remembered the sense of urgency in her niece’s voice and another wave of near-crippling guilt washed over her. Knowing she’d heard that same tone when Clara thought she might’ve done poorly on a test when she’d scored a B had normalized the emotion and made it seem like she was reading a cereal box instead of crying for help.
“In your experience, does this seem like the work of a serial killer to you?” Dalton asked and she didn’t realize he’d been studying her for the past few minutes when she’d been inside her thoughts.
“There’s a strong possibility but it’s too early to tell. Contrary to how they’re depicted on television, most serial killers have a cooling-off period in between murders. Fourteen years isn’t too long for a second strike,” she informed. “Why didn’t you hire your own investigators when your friend died?”
“Because being a Butler means I’m supposed to have money coming out of my ears?” His tone was defensive and his muscles chorded with tension.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“The Mav wouldn’t allow it. He said I should get back to work and forget it ever happened.” Dalton paused for a beat. “I’m pretty sure he was angry that I didn’t thank him for sending in his lawyer to get me off the hook. I never really knew if he believed I was innocent.”