“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the sheriff’s department can’t be in charge of rattlers.” Tom’s tone was polite, but the phrase felt worn with repetition.

  Em would bet this wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation with the woman.

  “When—” Ms. Baca started, then stopped short. She narrowed her eyes, spiderweb creases fanning out along her pale skin. She stepped toward the vehicle, which reminded Em they were still sitting at the crosswalk.

  Em turned. Not a single car behind them. She turned back around as Ms. Baca approached the passenger window.

  “Is that you, Logan?” she asked.

  With a deep sigh and a quick pinch to the bridge of his nose, Logan shifted around to face Ms. Baca.

  She smiled. “It is you, and even more handsome than the last time I saw you.” Ms. Baca squeezed his cheeks.

  Em bit her lip, trying not to laugh as Logan scrunched his face. If this had been any other visit, any other circumstances, this would have served her as fodder for teasing for months. But in these circumstances, laughing—no matter the reason—felt innately wrong.

  “Nice to see you, Ms. Baca,” Logan said as the flock of women moved toward the Tahoe.

  “Back to see that old grump of a grandpa?” one of the other women asked.

  Logan’s jaw clenched, and he turned toward Tom.

  Tom exhaled. “Cadillac Ranch is remote,” he said under his breath, too quietly for the women to hear. “We’ve been able to keep the…what happened hushed for now.”

  Logan gave a nod.

  “Okay, ladies. We need to go,” Tom said. “You all have a nice day now.” He accelerated slowly but deliberately and rolled the window up in sync. The gaggle of ladies finally took the hint and shuffled their way into Melvin’s.

  Logan sat back against the seat separating them, his neck stiff. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

  Tom glanced over but looked away just as fast.

  “How much longer do you think you can keep it quiet?” Logan asked, his voice hoarse.

  Tom looked at the clock on the dash. “I’d say less than an hour now that they’ve seen you.”

  “They’ll assume his grandfather is dead simply because he’s here?” Em asked, her nose scrunched.

  “They’ll be taking ‘welcome home’ goodies out to the ranch for Logan as fast as their legs will carry them, and once they get there, they’ll see…” Tom cleared his throat. “They’ll understand.”

  Tom pulled to the next crosswalk, stopped, then made a left, heading away from the curving foothills and into the station lot not two blocks back.

  Once they were parked, Logan hopped out and strode to get Em’s door. He held her hand as she stepped down from the Tahoe, her skirt swirling about her legs in the wicked wind. “Is it always this—” she asked.

  “Yes,” both men said in unison.

  “Santa Ana winds hit every October through March. February is about the worst of it,” Logan said, clutching her hand and guiding her toward the door as tumbleweeds barreled by. Logan tugged her to him, helping her avoid one hitting her straight on. “Tumbleweeds,” he said.

  “I pictured them being only in old Westerns.”

  “Nope.” Logan chuckled. “Daily part of life here.”

  Tom reached the door first and held it open, his cowboy hat tipped down, the wind and dust blowing right off the rim. She was getting a glimmer of their use beyond looking attractive on a man. She wondered if Logan had one and how handsome he’d look wearing it, though picturing Mr. Dapper in a cowboy hat and jeans seemed so odd.

  “Come on back,” Tom said, leading them around the corner to where three brown desks sat. He clicked on his space heater. “Even the desert gets chilly in February—especially up in the mountains here in Cauldron Creek.”

  “Charlene,” Logan said with a polite nod to the thirty-something, slender brunette.

  “Hey, Logan.” She stood. “I was so sorry to hear…” Her brown eyes misted with tears. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks, Charlene. I appreciate it.”

  “Charlene, this is Emmalyne Thorton—she’s with the Coast Guard Investigative Service, like Logan. Special Agent Thorton,” Tom said, “this is Charlene. She basically does everything around here and keeps me sane.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Charlene said. “Don’t know that anyone would deem you sane.” She smirked.

  “This is Mable,” Tom said, gesturing to the stocky blonde at the far desk.

  “Ma’am. Logan.” Mable greeted them with a nod.

  “Pleased to meet both of you,” Em said.

  “Mable is our dispatcher…” Tom kept his attention on her. “Anything other than Ms. Baca’s dog come in?”

  “Another domestic disturbance out at the Wright ranch. Denton took the call.”

  “Thanks, Mable.”

  “Let’s head in my office,” he said, gesturing to the door straight back, County Sherriff Mahoney painted in black on the stubble glass. He reached for the burnished knob, opening the door, once again holding it open for Em and Logan to pass through.

  “Take a seat,” he said, removing his cowboy hat and setting it on the hat rack.

  Logan held out a chair, and Em took the seat, Logan taking the chair beside her.

  “We’ll have you do the sketch as soon as Denton returns,” Tom said, then he shifted forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “I know you want the facts…or you think you want the facts, but this isn’t an objective case for you. It could be…”

  “Painful,” Em said, squeezing Logan’s hand.

  He squeezed back, but his expression didn’t shift—he looked as resolute as always. “The best I can do by Colt is to give my all in any way I can to help you catch the killer.”

  Tom opened his top drawer, pulled out a file, and after a moment’s hesitation, slid it across the desk.

  Logan reached for it, but Tom kept his fingers braced on top. “Let me at least pull the crime scene photos,” he said. “They aren’t necessary.”

  Logan looked at his watch. “Has the scene been cleared?”

  “The field investigator marked, photographed, and worked the scene, then once it was all done, he removed the markers, took the evidence to the crime lab, and transported Colt to the ME’s office in Albuquerque.” He glanced back at Em. “It’s the only ME office in the state. Whenever a homicide happens, the bod—” Tom swallowed. “Sorry, man. The deceased go there.”

  “It’s okay,” Logan said. “Work the case like you normally would, talk like you normally would.”

  Em met Tom’s gaze. Clearly, they were both thinking the same thing. Just because Logan was law enforcement and knew how cases worked didn’t negate the fact someone he dearly loved had been murdered. There was a deep, personal connection in play whether he thought he could be objective or not.

  “When can we look at what’s left at the scene?” Logan asked.

  Tom shifted, his chair squeaking beneath him. “There’s no need since all the evidence was photographed and noted in the case file.” He finally removed his hand from the manila folder.

  Em swallowed. “Maybe you should let me…”

  Logan arched a brow in that way that meant no. An emphatic no.

  She sat back and crossed her legs. She’d never understood the expression “stubborn as the day is long” until she’d met Logan James Perry. He was the epitome of stubborn. He claimed the same of her, but he was wrong—as usual.

  “I still want to see the scene,” Logan said.

  SIX

  Logan leaned forward. “We can be of the most help if we see the scene itself.”

  Tom inhaled. “All right, but let me have the service clean it up first.”

  “That would defeat the purpose.”

  “Logan—” Tom hesitated.

  “You might as well give in now,” Em said. “He’s not gonna let this go.”

  Tom shook his head. “I see she knows you well.”

  Logan ignored both of them and opened the file. He immediately wished he hadn’t as he stared at Colt’s body, slumped against the wall, his stomach covered in blood. The killer had used a shotgun, and by the extent of damage, it’d been at close range. A stomach wound was an excruciating and brutally slow death. Heat pulsated through his body at the thought of what his grandpa had suffered.

  “Logan,” Em said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to give you two time to look through everything. I’ll be back in when Denton’s here,” Tom said, striding to the door.

  “Thank you.” Em nodded.

  Tom slipped out and shut the door behind him.

  “Logan,” she said, resting her delicate hand on his arm.

  “I’m fine, Em.” He gripped the picture tightly, blood pulsing through his fingers.

  “You’re shaking,” she said.

  “She shot him in the stomach with a shotgun at close range.”

  A slight gasp escaped Em’s lips. “Oh, Logan. I’m…”

  He handed her the top photograph, his fingers nearly numb from his grip.

  She looked down, tears welling in her eyes for a man she didn’t know beyond the stories he’d told her. She had compassion. The woman who shot Colt clearly had none.

  “Sheriff,” Denton said, swiping into the office, stopping short at the sight of them. “Logan?”

  Logan swallowed, forced himself to release Em’s hand, and stood. “Denton.” He nodded.

  Denton’s gaze shifted to Emmy. A smile crept on his lips until his gaze fixed on the photograph in her hand. “What are you doing?” He stepped forward and reached for it. “Excuse me, ma’am. This is confidential case information. If the sheriff knew—”

  “It’s all right, Denton,” Tom said from the door as he leaned against the frame.

  Denton’s gaze swung to Tom. “Excuse me?”

  Tom pushed off the doorframe and strode into his office, two paper coffee cups in hand. He offered one to Em.

  “Thanks,” she said, her astute gaze clearly taking in the nuances surrounding her. She was always good with vibes, had a gift of understanding the subtle looks, the choice of words, the unspoken relationship between two—or in this case, three—people.

  Tom handed Logan the other cup, and he nodded, retaking his seat beside Em as Tom took his behind his desk. “It’s okay, Denton. I’m giving them professional courtesy on the case.”

  Denton shifted his stance. “Sheriff, this isn’t right. It’s his grandpa. He can’t be impartial.”

  “Impartial, no, but he’s still a talented investigator,” Tom said. “He and his colleague.” He gestured to Em. “This is Special Agent Emmalyne Thorton. She will be a strong addition to our team on this.”

  “Our team?” Denton scoffed, raking a hand through his winged-back hair.

  Logan bit back the harsh words stirring to rush out. Flashes of high school and their baseball team shot through his mind. Was Denton really that insecure still? Was he afraid he and Em would solve the case instead of him? He took a sip of coffee to temper his frustration. He wouldn’t overstep Tom’s boundaries out of respect, but he wasn’t being benched.

  Denton shifted his weight and shook his head. “Sheriff, now don’t you think that’s going too far? I know you’re friends and all, but…”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Tom said.

  “How do you even know what kind of investigator he is? You’re just taking his word for it?”

  Tom nodded. “Logan and I discuss and brainstorm cases frequently when we want a sounding board. I know what an excellent investigator he is. Not to mention, his boss called to express what valuable assets these two will be to our investigation.”

  “These two, huh?” Denton’s gaze grazed over Emmy.

  Logan stiffened. If Denton even—

  “She’s a special agent, and I know you will treat her as such,” Tom said.

  “Of course.” Denton smiled, one that bordered on a leer.

  What was wrong with him? Colt had just been murdered, and Denton was still throwing hissy fits and leering at Em? Some men never grew up.

  “Good,” Tom said, “then back to the matter at hand. Denton, this is your lucky day.”

  Denton’s brows furrowed. “Why’s that?”

  “Logan is his team’s sketch artist. No need for us to wait on one from Albuquerque.”

  Denton shifted his stance, cocking his head. “We don’t have supplies here.”

  “Logan’s are in his knapsack,” Em said, “he doesn’t travel without them.”

  He sketched far more than criminals and unidentified missing persons. He sketched to breathe when the night crept in on him.

  “Why don’t you grab your gear?” Tom said, tossing Logan the patrol vehicle’s keys.

  He stood, giving Em a squeeze on the shoulder before stepping in front of Denton and standing firm. He wasn’t budging—and apparently, neither was Denton, not yet. After a moment of holding his gaze, Denton stepped back, and Logan headed out for the patrol SUV.

  The wind whipping the mesa in swirls about him whistled like a lone coyote, the sun moving higher in the sky, warming away any remaining hint of the cold night air as he stepped back inside and found Tom in the hall.

  “I thought it would give you more space if you did this in the interrogation room,” he said.

  Logan looked through the two-way mirror. Denton sat with his back to the window, his legs sprawled out. His arms shifted from crossed to uncrossed to the chair arms. The man was visibly seething, but Logan didn’t care. He didn’t need Denton to be happy—he just needed him to cooperate so they could solve this case. Whatever it took.

  “Em?” he asked, not seeing her.

  “Still in my office,” Tom said. “I thought she and I could go over the case file in more depth while you work on the sketch.”

  “All right.” Em would fill him in later. She would probably try to spare him some of the intimate details or graphic photos, but it was too late for that. That first picture had told him all he needed to know—and then some. He’d see Colt like that in his nightmares, even the waking ones.

  “Denton,” he said, stepping inside the interrogation room and closing the door behind him.

  Denton’s arms locked over his chest, and he remained reclined, long legs stretched out, one cowboy boot crossed over the other at his ankles.

  Logan pulled out his pad and charcoal pencils. “Let’s get started. Take a deep breath and—”

  “I know how this works.”

  “Great. Then you know to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and picture what you saw of her.”

  “Sketchy eyes,” Denton answered, his own eyes still open.

  “Sketchy?”

  “Yeah, darting about, trying not to let me see her. But it was too late. She’d stepped out of the bunkhouse without that hoodie on, and I saw her plain as day.” Denton cracked his knuckles. “I am sorry about Colt,” he said, much to Logan’s surprise. “He was a good man.”

  Logan nodded his thanks—and his agreement. Colt was a far better man than he’d ever be, and yet he’d been senselessly gunned down, and for what? A few stolen items? Thanks to Tom, he and Em had a lot of work cut out for them, but this sketch came first.

  Since her eyes were what was most memorable to Denton, that was where they started.

  “They were gaunt, black-rimmed,” Denton said. “Like a junkie’s.”

  “You think she was using drugs?”

  “I’d bet on it. Probably why she kept that hoodie on, didn’t make eye contact, kept her arms covered by the hoodie’s sleeves.”

  “Colt would have kicked her out if he knew.”

  “I believe that,” Denton said, shifting in his chair.

  “Maybe he figured it out and told her to leave. Or maybe she decided to rob him for drug money, and he interrupted the robbery. It could be that she came in shooting, but at such close range, I’d wager she took her time. It’s all supposition, of course, but it’s an angle to pursue.”

  “Agreed.” Denton nodded. “We should hear back on the evidence before too long. Hopefully, it’ll provide more answers.”

  Logan prayed so as he continued with the sketch. The woman’s eyes took shape and definition thanks to Denton’s description, and before long, they’d moved on to her overall facial structure, filling in each feature and finally adding her hair to round the picture out.

  He sat back and showed Denton.

  “Dang, you aren’t half bad,” Denton said.

  “You did a good job describing,” Logan said.

  Denton nodded. The self-important veneer he typically kept in place cracked a little and a slip of true sympathy was silently extended. Rubbing his thighs, he got to his feet. “Well, I better get that sketch out on the BOLO to state law enforcement agencies.”

  Logan nodded, taking one last look before handing it over to Denton. Looking into the woman’s haunting eyes—the droopy eyes of a junkie—had sucked the breath from his lungs, but he’d stared until he had them memorized.

  One glance into her eyes, and he’d have Colt’s killer.

  SEVEN

  Following breakfast on the go, Tom turned onto a dirt road. The sun’s brilliant sunbeams fanned out across the beautiful land, shining in hues of coral and rust as it rose even higher in the sky. She’d managed to sleep on their flights and woke up slightly before dawn in another world.

  The land… She crinkled her nose. What had Logan called it? Not desert. Something else.

  Mesa. That was it—the mesa. And it was stunning, stretching as far as she could see—all the way to the horizon. The blue sky was so bright and clear, even through the Tahoe’s window. It was spectacular.

  The road ended in a driveway, and they pulled to a stop.

  She waited, anticipating stepping out, but both Logan and Tom remained in their bucket seats. She squeezed her eyes shut on a prayer.

  Please help him, Lord. Wrap Your arms of love around him as he endures this tragedy.

  When she opened her eyes, she trailed her gaze along the large terra-cotta-colored rancher with yellow-and-black crime scene tape stretched across the carved wooden door. She swallowed. Logan’s head hadn’t turned toward the house yet. Was that on purpose?