Carol Ericson - The Sheriff of Silverhill

Like now. She should be knocking his hand from her shoulder. Shrugging him off. Assuring him she could handle anything.

Instead she tilted her head, brushing the back of his hand with her hair, allowing the warmth of his touch to spread through her body like a salve to her frayed nerves.

She breathed out a soft sigh. “Maybe I don’t have a choice, Rafe. Maybe something’s headed my way whether I like it or not. And this time I can’t stop it, can’t run away.”

He wedged a finger beneath her chin, tilting her head back. The gaze from his blue eyes burned into hers. “Whatever comes at you, Dana, I’ll be right beside you to take it on.”

He brushed the whisper of a kiss across her lips before slamming the car door.

Placing a fingertip on her burning lips, Dana wondered if Rafe realized he posed as great a threat to her as this serial killer.

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To the wonderful ladies of GIAM.

Thanks for your motivation.

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her Web site at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

Dana Croft —An FBI agent with the Indian Country Crimes Unit, she returns to the Ute reservation outside of Silverhill, Colorado, where she grew up, to investigate a serial killer. But the investigation becomes complicated by the powers of clairvoyance she rejected years ago…and the man she left behind.

Rafe McClintock —The sheriff of Silverhill must join forces with the FBI, including his high school sweetheart, to solve a series of murders. Can his love for the woman who walked out on him save her from her own dangerous secrets?

Lenny Driscoll —Dana’s stepfather exploited her mother’s powers, which led to her death. Dana wants to make sure she doesn’t meet the same fate at his hands.

Joshua Trujillo —An old friend of Dana’s, but his jokes about her dumping him start getting a little too serious, perhaps serious enough to send him over the edge of reason.

Ben Whitecotton —He’s intent on preserving the Southern Ute culture and seems to have disdain for those Native Americans who don’t embrace their heritage as he thinks they should.

Alicia Clifton —The one victim of the Headband Killer who doesn’t seem to fit the profile…until her secret is revealed.

Auntie Mary —Dana’s great-aunt and a Southern Ute shaman, she sees danger in Dana’s future but is powerless to stop it.

Kelsey Croft —Dana’s daughter doesn’t know her father, Rafe McClintock, and Rafe doesn’t know her. Will Kelsey’s gift of clairvoyance destroy her before Rafe can claim her as his own?

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

Epilogue

FBI Agent Dana Croft ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape snapping in the dry wind that whipped across the construction site. She joined her partner, Agent Steve Lubeck, squatting beside the body of a young woman—the third in two months.

Dana had been planning a visit to the Southern Ute Reservation where she grew up…just hadn’t planned on spending it tracking a serial killer.

Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Dana crouched next to the woman’s head, her dark hair matted with blood and sticking to her cheek. Blood also stained the bandana wrapped around her forehead.

“Do you know her?” Steve slid one gloved finger beneath the victim’s hair, lifting it from her face.

Dana scanned the woman’s features—a pretty girl with too much makeup and staring, lifeless eyes. She didn’t recognize her, but everyone else on the reservation would know her and her business. The small-town atmosphere of a reservation usually made solving crimes for the Indian Country Crimes unit easy.

But this wasn’t racketeering or casino theft; this was murder.

“Nope.” Dana shook her head. “But then it’s been several years since I’ve been back. I probably know her parents or grandparents, though.”

Dana squeezed her eyes shut and gulped in a few breaths of crisp autumn air. The young woman splayed out on the hard earth with her long black hair and mocha skin reminded Dana of her own daughter, Kelsey. Could she handle this assignment? She’d been with the FBI for almost six years and with the Indian Country Crimes unit for four of those years, but she’d never investigated a serial killer on a reservation. This hit hard. This hit home.

“The construction crew discovered the body when they got here this morning. They called the sheriff of the Ute Reservation, Emmett Starr. You know him?”

“Yeah, I know Emmett. Where is he?”

“He was tied up with something else, but he called me right away and sent his guys.” Steve waved his arm toward the two cops combing the area for a footprint, blood, a piece of clothing, any small piece of evidence. “Emmett should be here soon.”

“I think that’s him now.” Shading her eyes and squinting at the squad car churning up dust on the road, Dana pushed to her feet.

The car pulled up parallel to the crime scene, and Emmett shot out of the driver’s side. “Damn. I can’t believe we have another one. I guess it’s official now—we have a serial killer on our hands.”

He strode toward Dana and swept her up in a hug. “Good to see you, Dana.”

“You don’t seem surprised that I’m here.”

Emmett jerked his thumb toward Steve. “Agent Lubeck told me you were coming on the scene to help out. That’s good you’re working in the Indian Country Crimes unit.”

The passenger door of Emmett’s squad car swung open, and Dana swiveled her head around. One long, lean, denim-clad leg appeared. The long, lean body followed.

Dana’s breath hitched in her throat and her heart skittered in her chest as the rangy cowboy in the white hat sauntered toward her, sliding his cell phone into his shirt pocket. He tipped his hat back from his face and grinned. “Hey, Dana.”

Dana swallowed, her throat tight, as she looked up into the perpetually amused blue eyes of Rafe McClintock.

The man who still had a hold on her heart.

The man who haunted her dreams.

The father of her child.