Trace Evidence in Tarrant County. Delores Fossen
of us will let happen,” Sloan assured her. “Now that we know what we’re up against, we can take precautions.”
That got her attention off the time sheets. Heck. Eye contact again. “What precautions?”
“Well, for starters, you shouldn’t be working late here alone. Not that you’d have time for that anyway. The case should keep us both busy.” He motioned in the general direction of the lodged bullet. “In addition to the ballistics and reinterviewing Donna and Leland Hendricks, there are those papers that Sarah brought with her to Justice.”
Since that sounded like a prelude to something, Carley sipped her now-cold cappuccino and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Carley, if we’re going to work together on this case, it means we’re going to be together. As in physically together. A lot.”
She took the safe approach and tossed out a hopefully confident-sounding, “So?”
“So, can you handle that? I mean, it’s obvious you can’t stand the sight of me.”
Well, she apparently had a poker face after all. “I don’t have to like you to do my job.”
“Does that mean our past isn’t going to get in the way?” he asked.
“Oh, it’ll probably get in the way,” Carley readily admitted. “But above all else, we’re lawmen. Focused lawmen. Solving this case is as important to you as it to me.” She drank more coffee. “And speaking of doing our jobs, you mentioned those papers that Sarah Wallace brought to town. Where are those exactly?”
“I have copies of them.”
That was it. I have copies of them, and no offer to share them with her.
“And?” she prompted.
“There’s a problem with what Sarah had with her when she was murdered.” He sat on the corner of her desk. “Basically the papers are a collection of notes and copies of notes that implicate both Leland and Donna.”
Carley shrugged. “That doesn’t sound like much of a problem to me. If they’re guilty, we just arrest them both.”
“The notes don’t prove murder—even though that’s obviously what Sarah believed or she wouldn’t have tried to get them to her sister. At worst, the notes and copies are gossip and innuendo. At best, they point fingers at Leland and Donna for some dirty dealings and shady behavior.”
That improved her mood. “Anything we can arrest them for?”
Sloan shook his head. “Time’s run out to prosecute them on those accounts.”
The improved mood didn’t last long. “So what’s in Sarah’s copies that we can use?”
“I guess the papers are good for painting a picture of what was going on in the Hendricks household about that time. Lou Ann’s copying and hiding habits weren’t limited to Leland. There are receipts for prescription painkillers and booze that the nanny, Rosa Ramirez, bought for Donna. God knows where Lou Ann found those.”
Carley frowned. “Why would the nanny be buying those things for Donna?”
“My guess? Donna wanted to keep up the appearance of a clean and sober socialite. Her father was still alive back then. You remember how he was.”
Yes, she did. And Donna’s old-money dad definitely wouldn’t have approved of a drugged-out, drunk daughter who might tarnish the family name. “Anything else in Sarah’s stash of info?”
“There’s a copy of a bank statement that basically proves Leland was broke at the time he planned his son’s fake kidnapping and murder.”
“That’s old news,” Carley mumbled.
Sloan made a sound of agreement. “In fact, the reason Leland had come up with such a ridiculous scheme was because he was desperate for money.” He paused. “Unlike Donna. She had the cash, but she had it hidden away in trust funds and foreign accounts.”
Carley made a mental note of that, but she didn’t immediately know how it would help them build a case against either Leland or Donna.
Or even if there was a case to build.
“Is there anything you’ve seen in those papers and notes that’ll help us solve these murders?” she asked.
“I’ve just scanned through them, but I hope after all the pages are thoroughly examined that Lou Ann and Sarah will be the ones to give us the ammunition to make an arrest. Because Leland’s right about one thing—we can’t nail him on the fake kidnapping plot. We either get him for murder or he walks.”
“And if Leland walks, then maybe that’s because he’s innocent.” Carley didn’t wait for him to respond to that. “Of course, I’ll want to look at Lou Ann’s and Sarah’s collection of notes and papers.”
Nothing. Nada. Only that drilling stare. It seemed to last for hours before he finally nodded.
Just a nod.
Not exactly an enthusiastic endorsement for her investigative abilities, and so much for his assurance that she would assist him on this case. But it didn’t matter. She would study those papers, and this would be her chance to prove to Sloan that she was a good cop.
“I have some reports I have to do for Zane,” he let her know. “Then we’ll talk about the ground rules for Lou Ann’s papers.”
Carley was certain that she blinked. “There are ground rules?”
“Yeah. You’re guaranteed not to like them, but they’re a necessity if we want to keep you safe.” Sloan went to the cabinet in the corner and took out a small plastic evidence bag. “For now, I’ll dig out that bullet. My advice? Don’t try to assist, because all that reaching and moving will only aggravate your injury.”
She had no intentions of assisting. She needed a reprieve from Sloan. Judging from the speed with which he made his exit, Sloan needed some time away from her, as well.
Unfortunately her reprieve didn’t last long.
Mere seconds.
Before Carley heard the brass bell jingle—an indication that someone had come in through the front entrance of the Justice police station.
She checked her watch. It was a half hour too early for any of the deputies to arrive for duty, and maybe because she was still jumpy about that bullet being fired at her, she sprang to her feet. The sudden movement tugged at her injury, but Carley tried not to react. She made sure she could draw her gun if it became necessary.
“Sheriff Matheson?” someone called out. “It’s me—Jim McKinney.”
She didn’t relax one bit. In fact, she moved her hand to the butt of her gun. Because, simply put, Jim McKinney could be the person who wanted her dead.
Carley heard the footsteps come closer. Cowboy boots thudding on the hardwood floor. The thudding stopped when Jim McKinney appeared in her doorway.
“It’s a little early for a visit.” Carley nearly groaned when she heard her own voice. It was actually shaky. She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and continued. “What can I do for you?”
Carley looked him straight in the eyes. Eyes that were obviously the genetic source for Sloan’s own intense baby blues. Jim’s, however, were cragged with wrinkles at the corners. It didn’t detract from his good looks. Nope. These were character lines.
As if that face needed anything else to give it character.
Jim slipped off his pearl-gray Stetson and held it against his chest. It was almost a submissive kind of pose, but there wasn’t anything submissive about his expression. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man who could look totally docile. Ever. The well-worn Stetson helped. The tail of a rattler dangled from the silver-rope hatband.
“I came