Carol Ericson - The Sheriff of Silverhill

“Sorry.” He brushed her arm. “You’re right. You played it safe.”

Too safe. Without visible evidence of a weapon, most trained law enforcement officers would’ve tried to take the guy down. Something didn’t click. He tightened his jaw. Growing up in a household full of lies and secrets taught him to hate deception.

She snorted. “I guess it’s not how a McClintock would’ve handled it, huh?”

Rafe raised his brows. She made McClintock sound like a dirty word. When had she developed such a dislike for his family?

After their relationship during their high school years, she dumped him, even before graduation. Pam, his stepmom, told him Dana probably just dated him for his family’s money and connections and dumped him when she got that full scholarship to Georgetown, but that didn’t make sense. Dana was the smartest girl in school. There was no question she’d get a full ride somewhere. She didn’t need his family’s money or connections.

“I’m not second-guessing you, Dana. We all do what we have to do out there to survive. Just be careful. Maybe you shouldn’t stay on the reservation with your aunt Mary.”

Without turning around, Dana said, “Who appointed you my guardian? Auntie Mary worries enough.”

“I remember.”

She swung around and tilted her head. “Do you?”

“Like it was yesterday.” He continued recklessly, “The blanket I spread out in the cave. The flower petals you showered all over to mask the dank smell. Your sexy, smooth skin under my fingertips.”

“Stop right there.” Dana held up her hands and he captured one in his own.

“Why did you run, Dana? What were you afraid of?” He gripped her hand, running his thumb along her knuckles.

Dana turned her head toward the window and blew out her breath, creating a patch of condensation on the glass. “Your stepmother didn’t approve of our relationship.”

Rafe shrugged. “Yeah, Pam kind of had it in for you. Never stopped me though.”

Dana drew an X through the moisture on the glass. “Rafe, your stepmother is a bigot. She didn’t like me because I was half Ute Indian.”

“Pam’s not my favorite person, either, but nothing she ever said made a damn bit of difference to me. Is that why you left, because my stepmother was a bigot?”

She snatched her hand away and pointed out the window. “Look. Emmett and Steve are already here.”

Rafe clenched his teeth. Looked like Dana didn’t have any interest in replaying their failed romance, or was it just a high school crush?

As soon as he swung his car into the reserved parking space in front of the station and pulled to a stop, Dana pushed open the door and launched out of the car. Whatever she’d feared from him ten years ago, it still existed.

By the time Rafe got out of the car, Dana had already apprised Emmett and Steve of the evening’s activities. Rafe stood at the edge of their circle, listening as Dana finished her story. They didn’t seem to find anything amiss in the fact that she hadn’t tried to nail her attacker. The FBI always did things a little differently from local law enforcement anyway.

Emmett scratched his chin. “Did you see anything out there after the attack, Rafe?”

“A few freshly broken twigs and trampled underbrush, but the road into the reservation doesn’t pass that way. Dana’s assailant either took off on foot into the hills or he doubled back into the reservation.”

Steve swore. “Cocky SOB, isn’t he? FBI agent comes to town and the next day he’s warning her.”

“Wait a minute.” Dana wedged her hands on her hips. “What makes you all so sure this is our serial killer? We all know the nuts and wannabes come out of the woodwork during an investigation like this. Maybe this guy just wants to get close to the action.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you need to be more aggressive in the use of your weapon, Agent Croft.” Rafe patted his own gun, holstered over his shoulder. “If you’d gone for your gun, we might be interviewing a suspect right now…or bagging a dead body.”

Rolling her eyes, Dana pushed past him. “Well, we’re not doing either, Sheriff McClintock. So why don’t we go inside this little hovel you call a sheriff’s station and get to work.”

Okay, maybe he deserved that after his own cheap shot, but she’d bruised his ego on the ride over here. Rafe shrugged his shoulders at the other men, their mouths hanging open, and followed Dana across the sidewalk to his…hovel.

Once inside, Rafe tossed his hat onto his desk and introduced the others to Brice Kellog, who was manning the station and the phones. The other sheriff’s deputy on duty had patrol. Silverhill couldn’t afford to put more than one officer on patrol at a time and Shelly, their dispatcher and receptionist, worked the day shift.

Like it or not, that’s why they needed the FBI for an investigation like this, but Rafe planned to solve the case before the fibbies called in their big guns. He didn’t want them to upstage him in his own town where he accepted full responsibility for the residents’ safety.

Rafe gestured toward a round table next to the single interview room. “We can work over there.”

Brice shot up from his chair. “Can I sit in on the meeting, Sheriff?”

“You can listen in, but I need you manning the phones and finishing that paperwork.”

A flash of anger distorted Brice’s features for a moment before he dropped his gaze. “Okay.”

Rafe knew the young sheriff’s deputy wanted in on the murder investigation, but he couldn’t afford to spare him from the other duties. “I’ll fill you in later.”

They all dragged their files out of their briefcases and bags and dropped them onto the table.

Emmett started since some local boys found the first body in his jurisdiction—on the reservation. “Lindy Spode grew up here, went to Silverhill High School and worked as a waitress at the Miner’s Café. She liked to party, and she frequented clubs in Durango. Two days before her murder, she’d been club hopping there.”

“Holly Thompson, the victim today, also hung out at clubs in Durango.” Steve hunched forward. “Did you show Lindy’s picture around in Durango?”

“One bartender remembered her, but she was with girlfriends. Came with them, left with them.”

“But this club scene could be a connection.” Dana shuffled through some papers.

“I hate to be the spoiler here, but Alicia Clifton, the second victim. was no club hopper.” Rafe tapped his finger on the desk. “She was in college, had a part-time job and helped out at the reservation school.”

“Great, two party girls and Mother Teresa.” Steve slumped back in his chair.

They continued to discuss the women’s friends, hangouts and ex-boyfriends, and made a plan to share all their information going forward. The FBI’s restraint surprised Rafe. Usually they moved in and took over, but Steve seemed willing to listen to what he and Emmett had to say about the cases. Maybe Steve was relying on Dana to lead the way, since this was Southern Ute territory, but Steve had been with the Indian Country Crimes unit for over fifteen years. He knew his way around a reservation.

If they all continued to cooperate, they’d nail this guy without further interference from the FBI.

“What about the calling card?” Dana bit her lip, her eyes darting around the table. “What’s the significance of the crude Indian headband?”

Emmett splayed his hands on the tabletop and blew out a long breath. “So far he’s been targeting Southern Ute women. Could be one of our own, could be some white guy on a mission.”

Dana hunched her shoulders. “I hope not. Do you hear any rumblings on the reservation, Emmett?”

“There’s a lot of fear, a little anger and some speculation since you came to town, Dana.”