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.