Roughshod Justice. Delores Fossen

       Chapter One

      Texas Ranger Jameson Beckett felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. There was too much blood on the ground. Of course, a single drop was too much, but there was enough for there to be multiple dead bodies.

      What the devil had happened here?

      He stepped around the first pool of blood, around the CSI who was photographing it. There were cops. Medics. The medical examiner. Chaos. A flurry of adrenaline-laced movement, something that came with the territory of a crime scene like this.

      The sun was already setting, but Jameson picked through the dusky light and the chaos, looking for his brother, Gabriel, who was the sheriff. Gabriel wasn’t the biggest guy in the mix, but he had an air of authority that made him easy to spot. Jameson made his way to him.

      “How bad is it?” Jameson asked.

      Of course, he partly knew the answer to that. It had to be bad for his brother to call in the Rangers to assist. Gabriel only did that when it was too much for him and his deputies to handle. Those were situations that didn’t happen very often in Blue River, the small ranching community they called home.

      “We’ve got two dead bodies.” Gabriel tipped his head to the pair just a few yards away.

      They were both men, both sprawled out in the pasture as if they’d collapsed in those spots. There was a black SUV not far from them on the road, the doors open, the engine still running.

      Since the blood was between the SUV and the men, they’d likely been shot in or near the vehicle and then had gone into the pasture. Maybe to escape their attacker or maybe in pursuit of the person who’d shot them. Then the men had either succumbed to their injuries or been shot again.

      Jameson turned back to his brother. “Any idea what we’re dealing with? A drug deal gone bad, maybe?”

      “No drugs that we can find. But both men were heavily armed. So was she.” Gabriel motioned toward the ambulance that was parked just behind his cruiser.

      “She?” Jameson asked.

      Since it was a simple question, Jameson was more than a little surprised that his brother didn’t jump to answer. Instead, Gabriel started leading him in that direction. “I don’t know who she is, she won’t say, but she keeps asking for you. That’s why I called you.”

      Hell. This could be connected to one of his investigations. He had a couple of female criminal informants helping him with a homicide, and Jameson hoped one of them hadn’t been involved in this.

      Gabriel stopped to talk to one of the CSIs, and Jameson went ahead to the back of the ambulance, where he immediately saw someone else he knew. Cameron Doran, a deputy in the Blue River sheriff’s office. Cameron was also about to be Jameson’s brother-in-law since he was engaged to Jameson’s kid sister Lauren. Cameron had his hand on his holstered weapon, and he was clearly standing guard.

      “Has the woman told you who she is or what happened?” Jameson wanted to know.

      “No. She hasn’t given us much of anything. She just keeps repeating your name.”

      Jameson braced himself for the worst, because if his CI was in an ambulance, then she’d clearly been hurt.

      And she had been.

      The first thing he saw was more blood. It was on her clothes, in her pale blond hair and all over her face, making it hard for him to tell who the heck she was.

      “It’s not as bad as it looks,” one of the medics volunteered. According to his name tag, he was Chip Reynolds. “Head wounds just bleed a lot. It appears she got clubbed, so she needs stitches. She also probably has a concussion, but the doc will need to confirm that. Can we go ahead and take her to the hospital?”

      “Not just yet.” Jameson wanted to know who and what he was dealing with, and he figured Gabriel would want to know that, as well.

      Jameson moved closer, leaning down so he could make eye contact with the woman. Her head whipped up, their gazes connecting. He still didn’t recognize her, but he wasn’t seeing much of her, either, because of the blood.

      “Who are you?” he demanded.

      She opened her mouth, closed it and looked up at the EMT as if expecting him to know. He just lifted his shoulder. “She didn’t have any ID on her,” the medic explained.

      “Are you Jameson Beckett?” she said to him.

      “I asked first.” But then he paused and replayed what he’d just heard.

      Hell.

      He didn’t recognize her hair, her eyes or her face with all that blood, but Jameson sure as heck recognized the voice.

      “Kelly?”

      Jameson went even closer, and the medic helped by wiping off some of the blood. Yeah, it was Kelly Stockwell all right.

      “I thought you were dead,” Jameson grumbled.

      She blew out a breath, and it sounded like one of relief. Though Jameson couldn’t figure out what she was relieved about. She was injured, and there were two dead bodies just yards away from her.

      “You know me,” Kelly whispered after another of those breaths.

      Clearly, this was some kind of sick joke. “Of course I know you.”

      He had the memories to prove it, too. Memories of Kelly being in his bed. Also memories of her disappearing without so much as a text. Jameson truly hadn’t thought she was dead, though, only that she’d run out after she’d gotten what she wanted from him.

      And it hadn’t been sex that she’d wanted.

      “Your sister thinks you’re dead, too,” he added, just to get his mind back on the right track.

      “I have a sister?”

      Jameson didn’t roll his eyes, but it was close. “Mandy. Ring any bells?”

      “No.” But she seemed to latch right onto that. “Is she okay?”

      “I have no idea. Mandy and I haven’t talked in months.”

      They had in the beginning, though, after Kelly disappeared about two years ago. Jameson had spent several months looking for her without so much as a clue to her whereabouts. Mandy had helped with that. Some. Not nearly enough, considering her sister was missing, but Jameson figured not all siblings were as close as he was to his brother and sisters. After that initial search for Kelly had turned up empty, he’d put both the woman and his hunt for her on the back burner.

      “Can you call Mandy and make sure she’s all right?” Kelly asked. Except it was more than a plea for help. It was a demand.

      Jameson huffed. “I thought you said you didn’t remember her.”

      “I don’t, but...please, just call or text her.”

      Jameson considered refusing, but since Mandy could indeed be connected to this, and even if she wasn’t, she would want to know that Kelly was alive. He scrolled through his contacts, located Mandy’s number and called her. No answer, but when it went to voice mail, Jameson asked her to get in touch with him ASAP.

      Kelly thanked him under her breath. Paused. “You’re...angry with me,” she muttered.