Delores Fossen - Trace Evidence in Tarrant County

Carley’s chin came up.

“How? By getting murdered?” Sloan couldn’t believe his ears. “Have you lost your mind?” He heard the raw emotion in his voice and for some stupid reason, he couldn’t make himself shut up. “You’re not bulletproof and I don’t want you taking those chances again. Understand?”

Carley stepped away from him just as Sloan shifted to the other side—and somehow they were practically touching. Suddenly he became very aware of that. She stared at him, as if she was waiting to figure out what he was about to say or do. Sloan started wondering the same thing himself. The eye contact made the air change between them. It created a steamy fog in his brain. Something he definitely didn’t need, because he knew he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Knowing it, however, didn’t stop him.

He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers….

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sgt. Marrie Garcia, Texas Rangers,

for answering all my questions.

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she was genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force Top Gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

Sergeant Sloan McKinney, Texas Ranger—He returns to his hometown to investigate two murders—one cold and one red-hot. The outcome could tear his family apart.

Sheriff Carley Matheson—A rookie who feels she has a lot to prove, and solving two murders would be a start. What she hasn’t counted on getting in her way is her intense attraction to Sloan.

Lieutenant Zane McKinney—Sloan’s “golden boy” brother and the Ranger in charge of the murder investigation.

Jim McKinney—Sloan and Zane’s father. He’s a former Texas Ranger whose career and life were ruined when he was indicted for murder sixteen years ago. The charges against him were dropped, but Jim’s name has never been cleared.

Stella McKinney—The long-suffering wife of Jim McKinney. Beneath that delicate exterior beats the heart of a woman who’d do whatever it takes to keep her husband out of jail.

Leland Hendricks—He’ll do anything for money, even fake his own toddler’s kidnapping and murder. But will he go so far as to kill his wife, stepdaughter and anyone else who gets in his way?

Donna Hendricks—Leland’s bitter ex-wife.

Rosa Ramirez—The nanny who adores Leland and Donna’s toddler son. Just how much does she know, and how long is she willing to stay quiet?

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Sgt. Sloan McKinney stopped cold when he heard the sound. A snap. Like someone stepping on a twig.

He eased his SIG SAUER from the holster belted around his waist.

That snap was a sound he shouldn’t have heard since the wooded area and the back of the police station were off-limits, sectioned off with yellow tape that warned Do Not Cross. It was a crime scene and the very path that a killer had taken.

Not exactly a comforting thought.

Especially since that snapping sound might be a sign that the killer had returned.

Sloan lifted his head, listening. Waiting. He trusted his training as a Texas Ranger. He trusted his instincts. But a bullet could negate all training and instincts, and he had to be ready to defend himself.

“Drop that gun,” he heard someone say. It was a woman. Her voice was raspy and thick, and she was behind him.

Hell.

How had she gotten so close before he’d heard her make that snap? And, better yet, who was she? She was no doubt armed. A person didn’t usually make a demand like that unless they had something to back it up.

Since he had no intentions of surrendering his weapon or getting killed, he started with the basics. “I’m Sgt. Sloan McKinney, Texas Ranger. Identify yourself.”

There was silence, followed by a loud huff.

Sloan hadn’t recognized the person’s voice earlier, but he could have sworn he recognized that huff.

“Carley Matheson?”

“Sheriff Carley Matheson,” she corrected with absolute authority.

Sloan mumbled some profanity. Oh, man. He didn’t need this. And he definitely didn’t need her. He could already hear the argument they were about to have before he even turned around to face her.

It actually took him several moments to face her though. First, there was the already brutal morning sun that was spewing light from behind him and on her. Sloan had to squint and then he had to look past her .45-caliber Colt automatic to see her face.

Yep, she was squinting, too, because of the sun. And she was also riled.

And, yep, there would be an argument.

Since the argument was inevitable, Sloan decided to go ahead and start it.

“You’re supposed to be in bed, resting,” Sloan reminded her.

Less than a week ago, Carley had been shot while in pursuit of a killer and she wouldn’t be cleared for duty for at least another forty-eight hours.

“I’m fine,” she said as if that explained away everything. Carley lowered her Colt. Not gently, either. Her movements were jerky and stiff, and she shoved her firearm into her leather shoulder holster.

She also winced.

Probably because that rough gun shove had pulled at her bandages and caused some pain. After all, the shooter’s bullet had apparently sliced through Carley’s right side and nicked a rib. She was lucky to be alive.

The shooter’s other victim, Sarah Wallace, hadn’t been nearly as fortunate.

In an eerily similar way to how her own mother had been murdered sixteen years earlier, Sarah Wallace had been strangled while staying at the Matheson Inn—just a stone’s throw away from where they stood and in the very inn owned by Carley’s family. The inn where Carley now lived in a converted attic apartment.

Murder on her own doorstep.

That couldn’t have been easy for a peace officer to accept. Especially this peace officer.

Unless she’d changed a whole bunch in the past couple of years—and Sloan doubted that she had, Carley would have taken this crime personally even if she hadn’t been shot. Justice was her town, and keeping it safe was her responsibility.

Sloan reholstered his own weapon, and because of that wince, he nearly moved closer to check on her. However, Carley’s steely expression had him staying put. It’d be suicide to try to get a look at her wound, especially since it would involve unbuttoning the shirt of her khaki uniform.

Definitely suicide.

So why did he even consider it?

Sloan gave that a little thought and he quickly figured out why. Despite the surly glower, Carley Matheson looked vulnerable.

Yeah.

A man didn’t have to dig too deep to find it. The vulnerability was there, stashed beneath that khaki uniform, shiny badge and five-and-a-half-foot-tall lanky body. Her sea-green eyes were sleep-starved. Her normally tanned skin was shades too pale. Her brown-sugar hair was pulled back into a near haphazard ponytail that left stray wisps fluttering around her neck. She looked weary.

No, Carley hadn’t fully recovered from her injuries and yet she was apparently on the job.

Part of him admired her for that.

The other part of him wasn’t pleased that she was in his way. And she was definitely in his way.

“Why are you out here?” he asked.

For a moment Sloan thought she would fire that exact question right back at him. Instead she pointed to the eaves on the backside of the police station. Specifically to the surveillance camera that was mounted there. Or, rather, what was left of the camera. It had sustained some major damage and was no doubt disabled.

“I had it installed early yesterday morning,” Carley explained. She walked toward it, propped her hands on her hips and stared up at it.

Sloan lifted a shoulder. “Why? When I was sheriff, we didn’t have a surveillance camera.”

That earned him a glaring glance. “When you were sheriff, you also didn’t have anyone attempt to break into your office, now did you? Nor did someone try to kill two women right in this area. This is definitely a place that needs some 24-7 surveillance.”

He knew about the attempted murders. One was Carley’s own shooting that’d taken place in the parking lot of the inn adjacent to where they stood now. The other, the more recent one, involved his soon-to-be sister-in-law, Anna Wallace, and the attempt to kill her in the police station itself. Sloan’s brother, Zane, was still beyond riled that he hadn’t been able to catch the person who’d tried to murder the woman he loved.

Sloan had been briefed about those near deadly attempts but not about the camera or the first concern that Carley had addressed.

“Someone tried to break into the police station?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She slapped at the yellow crime-scene tape that the breeze was batting against her side. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. It’s all over town.”

“I only arrived an hour ago.” But Sloan was a little miffed that he hadn’t already been informed about this from his brother, Zane—the Ranger who was heading the investigation into Sarah Wallace’s murder. Zane had certainly been thorough in his updates about the murder itself and the subsequent attacks, but he’d apparently left out this little detail. It made Sloan wonder if and how it fit into the grand scheme of things.

“You think this busted camera and the attempted break-in are related to Sarah Wallace’s death?” Sloan asked.

Her icy glare melted away. “Maybe. The killer might have thought your brother stored evidence inside. After all, Sarah’s sister, Anna, did find those papers, the ones that Sarah had hidden. Zane put them somewhere, and the most logical place would be here at the police station.”

Since her inflection made it seem as if she had something to add to that, Sloan stared at her.

Their eyes met.

The morning sun was still haloing around her, and despite the khaki polyester attire, she looked…interesting. She smelled interesting, too. Like fresh coffee, cream and honey. Because he was a male and therefore driven by totally stupid urges that could never be logically explained, he felt that punch of interest that he often felt when he was looking at an attractive woman.

And Carley was attractive, no doubt about it.

She was also hands-off.

Because in a bottom-line kind of way, they were enemies. Not just regular enemies, either. Big-time enemies with a feud that’d been going on for sixteen years, since Carley was barely thirteen years old. He’d only been fifteen at the time, but time didn’t matter when an issue like this was at stake. Even lust and basic attraction weren’t enough to make him forget that this was a woman who would do anything within her power to have his father arrested.