“Logan,” a deep, familiar voice said.

  He turned to find Tom Mahoney, dressed in the tan shirt and brown pants of a sheriff’s uniform, leaning against one of the parking lot’s light poles—the glow from the lights muting the cluster of stars overhead.

  Tom swiped off his straw hat and clutched it between hands still calloused from his rodeo days. He cleared his throat and stepped up to meet them. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” He fidgeted with the brim of his hat. “You’ve got to know that was the last call I ever wanted to make.”

  Logan squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I know, man.” Tom was basically an adopted grandson to Colt—when they were kids, he’d spent more time on their ranch than at his family’s house in town.

  Tom’s gaze shifted over Logan’s shoulder to rest on Emmy.

  “Sorry,” Logan said. “I forgot my manners. “Tom, this is Emmy, my…” Friend? Love of my life? “…my colleague.”

  Em’s jaw tightened.

  He frowned. Had she wanted him to give her a title of deeper significance? No. His head was a mess. He wasn’t thinking straight. “Sorry,” Logan continued. “What I should have said is, this is CGIS Special Agent Emmalyne Thorton. Em, this is Cauldron County Sherriff Tom Mahoney.”

  “Agent Thorton.” Tom nodded.

  “Emmy, please,” she said, shaking Tom’s outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

  “Tom, please, ma’am.”

  “Tom it is.” She smiled.

  “I’ve got the patrol vehicle over here.” Tom gestured to a white and blue Tahoe labeled Sheriff in the drop-off zone, and they followed him towards it.

  “You didn’t have to come all this way.” Cauldron Creek was an hour-and-a-half drive from the airport.

  “I didn’t want you bothering with some rental.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the ride. This way, I can just use Colt’s pickup in town.”

  Tom paused a few feet from the SUV.

  “What is it?” Logan asked, his shoulders tensing. Whatever his friend was holding back was nothing good, judging by the jagged crease on Tom’s brow.

  Tom slid his index fingers through his belt loop and rocked back on the heels of his tan Ropers, stalling the same way he had ever since they were kids.

  “Tom?” he pressed as Em stepped up beside him, her freesia perfume wafting floral scents amid the swift winds howling through the terminal lot.

  Tom rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head on a solemn whistle. “Again, I hate to tell you this, but it’s either me or Deputy Winston.”

  “Denton?” Logan blinked. “He’s still your deputy?”

  “Denton may be obnoxious, but he does fine police work.”

  “Okay…” He put aside thoughts of that topic—or rather, that person—for the moment. “What is it?”

  Tom sighed…and then finally let it out. “She stole Colt’s truck.”

  Logan blinked. “I’m sorry…did you just say she?” There had to be a mistake. Colt hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Mee-Maw passed over a decade ago.

  “Your grandpa let a drifter woman stay in one of the bunkhouses. Went by Mary, but who knows if that’s her real name.”

  Despite his salty demeanor with townsfolk—primarily with the town biddies—Colt always was too trusting. “Is she the one who murdered him?” Someone who Colt had taken in out of the goodness of his heart had betrayed him in such an awful, ruthless way? Heat rushed through Logan’s veins, anger bubbling inside.

  “She’s our top suspect.”

  “Please tell me she’s in custody.”

  Tom swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Afraid not. Living out of town on the ranch…it wasn’t like a neighbor was going to call in the shots—” Tom stopped short. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to just blurt out the details like that. It’s just…you and I typically talk cases from the investigator’s perspective, not…”

  “Not as the victim’s family.” Logan released a pent-up breath. “I get it. No need to apologize. I’d rather you treat me like another investigator. Because I am.”

  “One who is far too close to this case.”

  “Please don’t make me sit this one out.” He didn’t have it in him. “We can help.”

  “That’s what your boss”—Tom indicated both Logan and Emmy—“said for over an hour.”

  The tiniest hint of a smile formed on Logan’s lips. Noah had gone to bat for them.

  “He started by suggesting that it would be a professional courtesy to make you an official part of the investigation, and when I hesitated, he proceeded to go through all the ways you and Emmy, here, could be of assistance, given your specific skill sets.”

  “And?”

  “It’s impressive.”

  “And?” Logan pushed.

  Please, Lord, don’t make me sit this one out. I need to help. Need to do something.

  Tom exhaled. “I’ll share what I deem prudent, but you also understand Denton is my deputy. He’ll be working this case too.”

  Logan tilted his head back, staring at the sky as he silently prayed for strength. Working a case with Denton Winston. That’d be a first, and something he was far from looking forward to. Finally, he let his head drop, meeting Tom’s gaze. “Well, we won’t make any progress standing around here. Let’s get to town.”

  Tom unlocked the patrol vehicle with the keypad, the lights flashing in sync with a loud beeping. “Hop on in,” Tom said. “We’ve got a solid ride back.”

  “All right,” Logan said, opening the front passenger door for Em, but she moved for the back seat.

  He cocked his head. “Em?”

  “I’m good back here. I can stretch my legs out while you two talk.”

  As soon as they hit the highway, Logan shifted to face Tom and rested his back against the locked passenger door. “So, I’m going to have to work with Denton some?”

  “That’s right,” Tom agreed, sounding apologetic.

  Em leaned forward, studying Logan’s expression. “I’ve gotta ask, what’s the deal with this guy?”

  “You know the obnoxious jock guy who just never grew up?” Logan said.

  “Yeah.”

  He dipped his chin and arched his brows.

  “Gotcha. But surely after all these years and with the loss…with what happened…”

  “We’ll work this out one way or another,” Tom said.

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you have free rein, either.” Tom glanced over at him. “You got me?”

  Logan nodded. “I got you.”

  “Now that’s settled,” Tom said, “I’ll share the basics.”

  “The woman. How much of a head start does she have?” Logan rattled off the first of the questions racing through his mind.

  “The FDMI—” Tom paused and glanced at Emmy in the rearview mirror. “Here we have a Field Deputy Medical Investigator come out from Albuquerque to work the crime scene,” he said. “I know it’s a mouthful.”

  “Nah, I got it,” Emmy said. “Thanks for explaining.”

  He gave Logan a quick sideways glance before directing his gaze fully back on the road. “The field investigator placed time of death shortly between six and six-thirty p.m. local time.”

  “And the—” Logan curled his fingers into a fist. Colt wasn’t a victim or a body. He was his grandpa. “And Colt was found at what time?”

  “Bucky went to take him some of Caroline’s homemade biscochitos around half past seven. You know how she likes…liked…to dote on him.”

  Logan glanced back at Em. “Bucky’s the ranch hand.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  He turned his attention back to Tom. “Once Bucky called it in, how long did it take you guys to arrive and then determine that the woman and Colt’s truck were both gone?”

  “Probably a half hour.”

  Logan’s fist tightened. “So she had a minimum hour-and-a-half-head start before Denton started looking for her.”

  “Yeah.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s what we’re working with. We had barricades up for a handful of hours after…” Tom cleared his throat. “BoBorder Patrol is on alert, and there’s a BOLO on the truck.”

  “And her…” Logan said. “You have her picture plastered all over the news? We both know she probably dumped Colt’s truck as soon as possible.”

  “Uh…” Tom swallowed, hunching his shoulders. “We’re working on that.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

  “Other than Colt—and Denton, when he caught her off guard once…” Tom released a shaky exhale. “—no one else got a decent look at her face. Not even Bucky.”

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “The woman kept to herself. When she did venture out of the bunkhouse, according to Bucky, she always wore a gray hoodie with the hood up. He said it shadowed most of her face. She never made eye contact, kept her head down. Never went into town.”

  “Didn’t Colt or Bucky—or Denton, especially—find that odd?”

  “Colt assumed she was running from someone.”

  “Like the law?” Em asked.

  “Nah. He figured it was an abusive ex. I think that’s why he was so kind to her. Let her bunk up, fed her, loaned her the pickup a couple times.”

  Em’s nose scrunched. “If she borrowed the truck but didn’t go into town, then where did she go?”

  “That’s question number four on our list.”

  “What are numbers one through three?” Em asked before Logan could.

  Tom glanced back, his left arm draped over the wheel, before shooting Logan a sideways smile. “You’ve got a good partner here,” he said.

  Logan looked to Em and nodded. “Yes, I do.” If only she was more than his work partner. Life partner was what he ached for, even if he knew it wasn’t possible. Not with the baggage he carried from his past.

  “Thanks,” she said. “So…numbers one through three?”

  “Number one: Where she is now? Number two: What does she look like? We’re waiting for a sketch artist to come in from Albuquerque so Denton can describe her. The field investigator said he’d send one out as soon as one’s available, but who knows how long that will be? But getting a clear image of her should help us get a match on her full identity—name, last known address, prior arrest record if she has one…and I’m thinking she probably does. Number three: What did she do with the items she stole? If we can find them, that will hopefully give us a lead on number one—discovering at least the direction she’s heading.”

  “Gotcha,” Em said. “But there’s no need to wait on a sketch artist.”

  Tom glanced in the rearview mirror at her. “No?”

  “Nope. Logan’s our team’s sketch artist,” she said.

  “Really?” Tom said, a furrow of surprise on his brow.

  “Yes.” Logan nodded. But draw the woman who’d killed Colt? Look into a charcoal rendition of her eyes while he sketched each line, thumbed the strokes of shading… It would be gut-wrenching.

  But he’d do it. Anything to hunt down Colt’s killer.

  FOUR

  “I didn’t know you still sketched,” Tom said, glancing over at Logan.

  Still? Emmy crossed her legs. Intriguing. She’d seen his skills as a sketch artist, but she’d never heard him talking about doing any drawing outside of the job. Tom made it sound like it was a longstanding hobby. She’d love to see the sketches he’d done outside of work, if he’d kept any of them.

  “All right, then.” Tom tapped the wheel. “We’ll head to the station and then on to the ranch.”

  Logan nodded. “Can we shift to question number three?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Tom said.

  “What did she take?” Logan asked.

  “That’s where you come in,” Tom said. “When you’re up to it, we’ll need you to walk through the house and see what’s been taken.”

  “You believe she stole more than the truck?” Logan asked.

  Tom nodded. “At least one other item is gone.”

  Logan’s shoulders tensed.

  “What?” Em asked, her gaze bouncing between the two of them. What was she missing?

  “Colt’s gun,” Logan said.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She bit her bottom lip. The fear someone would use the gun to harm someone else always hung heavy with the owner. “I’m sure we’ll find it,” she said. They knew how to track things down—some…many that were considered untraceable by those around them.

  Tom glanced over to Logan, and Em caught his nod.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you saying?”

  “Colt was my grandpa’s nickname, not his given name,” Logan said.

  “Okay, so I’m guessing he owned a Colt?” Must have been a pretty nice one if everyone considered it such a big deal that they’d nickname the man after it.

  “Not just any Colt,” Tom said. “An 1873 Colt .45 Peacemaker—originally owned by Colt’s great-great-grandaddy, U.S. Marshal Brady Tucker.”

  “Oh,” Em said, crossing one leg over the other, smoothing her maxi skirt across her lap. That was some gun. “Just out of curiosity, what was his given name?”

  Tom arched his brows at Logan in the rearview mirror.

  “Logan Brady Tucker,” he said.

  “You’re named after him?”

  “Yeah.” Logan’s voice cracked.

  “We’ll get the gun back,” she said, certain of that fact. There wasn’t anything they couldn’t hunt down—and based on the drifter suspect, it was very likely the lady had pawned it. Though “lady” wasn’t a term a murderess deserved.

  Logan nodded.

  She wanted to reassure him more. Say, “we’ve got this,” but she didn’t want to disrespect Tom or imply that his team wasn’t capable of handling the investigation. But no way would Logan sit on the sidelines. He didn’t have it in him. And whatever he needed from her, she’d be right there. They were partners.

  Partners. She sniffed back the emotions banging at her ribcage. He’d called her a colleague earlier. She’d hoped for more. How much more didn’t matter. The one barrier she’d believed eliminated any chance of them being “more” was his lack of faith. Since he’d asked Christ to be his Savior, that barrier was gone. The one that existed between them now was a far more personal one. But this certainly wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.

  Tom tapped the steering wheel. “There is one area we need to come to terms on if I’m bringing you in on this.”

  “Which is?” Logan asked.

  “You have to remember to wait for my lead and…”

  Em managed to contain a small chuckle. It was no time to laugh, but Logan looked like a jack-in-the-box toy, ready to spring on whatever area of access Tom gave them.

  “And you need to respect Denton as my deputy,” he said.

  Logan released a pent-up exhale.

  “I know that ain’t going to be easy, but he’s actually a good officer—and what went down between you two happened a long time ago,” Tom said.

  Logan sat back. “I doubt Denton views it that way.”

  Mary paced the small cell…okay, it was a motel room, but it felt like a prison cell—and the thought of being in a real one terrified her. What had she done?

  Biting the nib of her nail bed, the rest of the nail gone from her nasty habit, she continued cutting a swath across the orange shag carpet. Jeff really knew how to pick ’em. But his argument that no one would find her here seemed sound, at least on the surface.

  The truck was stashed at a truck stop, less than a mile’s walk away. He’d wedged it behind the row of semis, far in the back near the dumpster. Even if it was found before he returned, it wouldn’t lead to where she was. Not directly. Or so she hoped, anyway. Her head was a mess. What sounded right could be fully upside-down for all she knew.

  Biting her bottom lip, her heart thwacking in her chest, she toyed with the notion of jumping in the truck and taking off, leaving the Southwest in her rearview mirror, but Jeff was right. He’d find her.

  She’d deviated from the plan. For whatever reason, Jeff was helping her, keeping her off his radar. Maybe he cared about her after all…but that didn’t seem right. She’d learned a long time ago to never be dependent on anyone, and yet her addiction made dependence a way of life. She’d already paid for it in more ways than one. But this time, she was fully in over her head, drowning in the suffocating depths with no way out. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew the truth. He’d figure out she’d deviated from the plan. He’d find her and he’d kill her—in a far more brutal way than the old man.

  FIVE

  Tom waved at a woman waiting at the crosswalk.

  Em had been so focused on the discussion and Logan’s reactions that she hadn’t even realized they’d entered town.

  A line of storefronts ran along either side of the paved two-lane road for a handful of blocks, then simply ended at the side of a terra-cotta-colored cliff. Layers of strata in deepening hues ran up the wall until it morphed into a stand of…junipers, maybe? Along with another tree she was familiar with but couldn’t name.

  The woman waved back at Tom upon reaching the other side of the street, joining the group of ladies awaiting her. Soon, they were all waving.

  Tom rolled the window down. “Morning, ladies.”

  “That dang rattler nearly took Bo’s front paw off this morning,” an elderly woman vented as the gathering women bustled up in front of a quaint diner. Em looked up at the sign. Melvin’s Place.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Baca,” Tom said. “Gotta keep an eye out for them under cars.”

  Em widened her eyes, and a soft smile creased Logan’s pained expression.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered, keeping his back shifted towards the ladies.

  She smiled, then narrowed her eyes. Was he purposely keeping his back to the women?

  “Now how is that going to help with Bo’s vet bill?” Ms. Baca propped her hand on her robust hip.