Ambushed At Christmas. Barb Han
everything I read,” he countered.
“Your cousin. He’s the sheriff, right?” she asked.
“Yes.” Deacon wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“Explains why you know how to conduct yourself during an investigation.” She locked on to his gaze and he ignored the power that one look held. He also saw a repeat of that split-second vulnerability that got all his protective instincts fired up. A glance at her finger had said she didn’t wear a wedding band. But that call home had thrown him off balance at first until he heard bits and pieces of her conversation. “Also tells me that you won’t mind me reminding you that I’m not privileged to share information with you. Even if I had access to it, which I don’t.”
There were ways to get around that but he didn’t want to push her.
“Want to grab a cup of coffee?” he asked, noticing she’d started shivering. The temperature had dropped another ten degrees. He could feel it through his jacket. Christmas was around the corner, so there was no shock that the weather had turned.
“No, thank you.” Her words were curt. “But I will share another piece of advice if you don’t mind.”
“Be my guest.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“If you go crawling around a crime scene, you might just leave your DNA for someone to discover and end up on the wrong side here. Why not leave this to law enforcement.”
“My cousin has no authority in Fort Worth. I have no idea if these cases are connected but have every intention of finding out before any more of my cattle suffer and heaven forbid another person if that’s what’s happening here. I’ll give you that I acted on impulse coming here. Doesn’t mean I regret my actions and especially not if I can help in any way.” Getting away from the ranch for a few hours had proven to be the distraction he needed. While his brothers seemed to have settled into their birthright, Deacon still wasn’t comfortable. He’d been restless since losing his parents and leaving his small but thriving Dallas-based custom millwork company. He’d sold the business to his partner not without regret.
Leah examined him and he noticed that her eyes darkened when she skimmed his torso.
“Maybe you shouldn’t act on impulse next time.” She pointed her finger at his chest.
“What are you not telling me?” The detective was holding back. He couldn’t say he was surprised given the circumstances. The statement caught her off guard enough for him to know he’d hit the nail on the head.
Leah’s cell buzzed. She checked the screen and Deacon caught the breath she blew out.
“Cordon here,” she said into the phone and he realized the caller couldn’t be the sitter who waited for her at home. The stab of jealousy said he feared it was a romantic interest. She turned around to face the opposite direction to take the call.
“That’s great news, sir,” she said quietly. “Thank you,” she added before ending the call and turning around to face Deacon.
“That wasn’t home calling,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Nope,” she reported. “Killer’s been arrested. We can all go home.”
LEAH STARED AT her bedroom ceiling. A light streamed in from the window, enabling her to see clearly. A cursory glance at the clock said the sun wouldn’t be up for three hours. A pair of hours after that and Connor would be awake and ready to go full tilt, as only three-year-olds knew how to do. So why was she still awake, thinking about the Porter’s Bend Killer, when she should have been deep in REM sleep by now?
The killer was in jail. Details of his murder would be out soon enough. Maybe she could go in to work early and stop off at the coroner’s office on the way in. Connor’s preschool opened at 6:00 a.m. and she’d had to take advantage of the extra hours for cases from time to time. The director, Mrs. Clark, wouldn’t be shocked if Leah showed up with Connor on short notice. The arrangement at Marymount Day School had worked well so far.
Another urge struck.
The impulse to call Deacon Kent and discuss the case was strong.
An unsettled feeling crept over her. If this case was wrapped up, why was she wide-awake in the middle of the night, staring at the rain spot on the ceiling? The perp behind bars had a rap sheet long enough to make his arrest feasible.
Leah reminded herself that this case was too close to home. She was losing her objectivity. A murder had occurred on her jogging path, the trail she took every night before bed in order to clear her head. She bit back the irony that she was a detective and couldn’t keep her own trail safe.
How many times had Leah and Jillian Mitchell possibly looked up and nodded while passing each other without really giving each other much thought? Dozens? More?
No good could come out of digging around in her ex’s case. Leah should have been able to let this go and walk away, sleep easy. And she would do just that.
She would close the book on this one as soon as she called Deacon Kent.
Deacon rolled onto his side and stared at the clock. It read 3:43 a.m. Most of his family would be up in the next half hour, as well as his cousin Zach, the Broward County Sheriff.
The same couple of questions recycled. Could the trail murderer be the same man they’d been looking for in Jacobstown? Most people by now believed that the man responsible for the brutal killings of half a dozen heifers and even more small animals in various ranches across the state would move on to human targets. It made even more sense that the man would go after a woman, considering all the animal deaths reported so far had been females.
Folks in Jacobstown were jumpy and rightfully so. People started locking their doors, an act so foreign it seemed strange even to him to have to think about. People who used to leave cars running when they ran inside the post office to pick up mail from a PO box had changed habits. Everyone had buttoned up in the wake of the incidents.
Anyone new was suspect now instead of welcomed like in the past. The town had a long tradition of being family friendly but times had changed. People had changed. And fear—a foreign emotion—gripped the townsfolk.
Deacon thought about the detective from earlier. She’d put up a brave front but he’d seen the panic in her eyes. Leah Cordon lingering in his mind was as productive as pouring milk over asparagus.
Deacon sat up, rubbed his eyes and threw his feet over the side of the bed. Since sleep was out of the question, he might as well get up and do something industrious. His brothers and the ranch hands would be awake soon and he wanted to deliver the news personally that the Fort Worth Police had arrested the person responsible for the attack at Porter’s Bend. If there was any possible link between this guy and the person responsible for butchering animals on the family land, everyone would want to know about it.
Deacon’s thoughts again wandered into territory he knew better than to go—Leah Cordon.
He’d moved into his bungalow-style house on the ranch six months ago, the day after it had finished being built. Living here was convenient and he appreciated having his own space. He’d always been that kid who kept to the sidelines and did his own thing. Not much had changed since becoming a man. He’d probably laugh if someone described him as the strong, silent type but he couldn’t argue.
Having his own place gave him breathing room, even though he didn’t feel like he fit the rancher’s life. His older brother, Mitch, had taken to it like a fisherman to a pond. The baby of the family, Amber, followed in their eldest brother’s footsteps. But he and his three other brothers, Will, Nate and Jordan, fell somewhere in the