Barb Han - Ambushed At Christmas

Leah reminded herself that this case was too close to home. She was losing her objectivity. A murder had occurred on her jogging path, the trail she took every night before bed in order to clear her head. She bit back the irony that she was a detective and couldn’t keep her own trail safe.

How many times had Leah and Jillian Mitchell possibly looked up and nodded while passing each other without really giving each other much thought? Dozens? More?

No good could come out of digging around in her ex’s case. Leah should have been able to let this go and walk away, sleep easy. And she would do just that.

She would close the book on this one as soon as she called Deacon Kent.

Deacon rolled onto his side and stared at the clock. It read 3:43 a.m. Most of his family would be up in the next half hour, as well as his cousin Zach, the Broward County Sheriff.

The same couple of questions recycled. Could the trail murderer be the same man they’d been looking for in Jacobstown? Most people by now believed that the man responsible for the brutal killings of half a dozen heifers and even more small animals in various ranches across the state would move on to human targets. It made even more sense that the man would go after a woman, considering all the animal deaths reported so far had been females.

Folks in Jacobstown were jumpy and rightfully so. People started locking their doors, an act so foreign it seemed strange even to him to have to think about. People who used to leave cars running when they ran inside the post office to pick up mail from a PO box had changed habits. Everyone had buttoned up in the wake of the incidents.

Anyone new was suspect now instead of welcomed like in the past. The town had a long tradition of being family friendly but times had changed. People had changed. And fear—a foreign emotion—gripped the townsfolk.

Deacon thought about the detective from earlier. She’d put up a brave front but he’d seen the panic in her eyes. Leah Cordon lingering in his mind was as productive as pouring milk over asparagus.

Deacon sat up, rubbed his eyes and threw his feet over the side of the bed. Since sleep was out of the question, he might as well get up and do something industrious. His brothers and the ranch hands would be awake soon and he wanted to deliver the news personally that the Fort Worth Police had arrested the person responsible for the attack at Porter’s Bend. If there was any possible link between this guy and the person responsible for butchering animals on the family land, everyone would want to know about it.

Deacon’s thoughts again wandered into territory he knew better than to go—Leah Cordon.

He’d moved into his bungalow-style house on the ranch six months ago, the day after it had finished being built. Living here was convenient and he appreciated having his own space. He’d always been that kid who kept to the sidelines and did his own thing. Not much had changed since becoming a man. He’d probably laugh if someone described him as the strong, silent type but he couldn’t argue.

Having his own place gave him breathing room, even though he didn’t feel like he fit the rancher’s life. His older brother, Mitch, had taken to it like a fisherman to a pond. The baby of the family, Amber, followed in their eldest brother’s footsteps. But he and his three other brothers, Will, Nate and Jordan, fell somewhere in the cracks. Don’t get him wrong, he loved Texas and the family business. Being out on the range and sleeping under the stars kept him sane. It was the rest—the part where his entire life was planned out before him—that made his collar feel like a noose.

The ringtone of his cell caught him off guard. He hopped into his jeans and got to his phone that was vibrating on his dresser.

Leah Cordon’s name was on the screen.

“What’s up, Detective?” Deacon asked.

“Sorry to wake you.” She sounded like she’d had a shot of espresso.

“I haven’t slept.” Deacon sat on the edge of the chair next to his dresser, thinking he wouldn’t mind a cup of black coffee. He raked his free hand through his hair.

“What’s keeping you awake?” Her voice had a sexy ring to it, a campfire-and-moonlight-under-the-stars quality. And that was something he had no place noticing given the nature of their friendship—a word he’d use lightly to describe their liaison.

“Most likely the same reason your eyes are still open.” The line went quiet for a second and he wondered if she were debating whether or not it had been a good idea to call him.

“I’m heading over to the coroner’s office in a little while to see the body,” she finally said. “Something feels off.”

“What do you think you’ll find there?” His curiosity was piqued.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted.

“But you think it’s worth it to make the drive over.” He was stating the obvious but it didn’t hurt to make sure they were on the same page. He’d learned a long time ago not to assume he knew what anyone else was thinking.

She agreed that she did. Another few beats of silence permeated the line. Then came, “Your heifers. They suffered, didn’t they?”

“Yes.” He let his tone reflect his frustration.

“You mentioned smaller animals, too,” she continued.

“There’ve been rabbits.” He switched hands with the phone and put it to his left ear.

“No weapons were ever recovered.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“And no DNA was left behind,” he added. “What are you getting at?”

“In your best guess, what kind of weapon was used?” Her voice had a quiet calm and he assumed it was the one she used to get people to confide in her. He would’ve anyway because he didn’t have anything to hide.

“A jigsaw,” he said.

The line was dead quiet for several beats and he could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. “I thought that’s what I read. This guy made a clean cut.” She paused a few more beats before adding, “I’m sorry about your animals.”

“Are you still going to the coroner’s office?” he asked.

“I am,” she confirmed.

“Mind if I show up? I’d like to get a look for myself and your badge will get me through the door.” He could get to Fort Worth in about an hour. Judging her reactions so far, she didn’t believe the man sitting in jail had committed the crime.

“I have no authority in this investigation,” she said quietly. The killer had murdered someone on her trail. Based on the description of Jillian Mitchell, the two looked similar. Did the detective think it could’ve easily been her, instead? He understood when a crime hit a little too close to home. He knew the fear that could instill in people.

“I might be able to help with that.” With Deacon’s family name he could probably call in a few favors and get a private visit with the body of the victim without rattling too many cages. But he hoped the detective would take him with her. All she had to do was flash her badge and he wouldn’t have to have his name tied to the investigation.

“You know what, I made a mistake calling. Forget what I said. I’m sorry to bother you. I should go.” What had happened in the last few seconds to change her mind? Was it the fact that he’d used the Kent last name? That normally opened doors instead of closing them. Of course, she might not want to be associated with anyone who was high profile. That could draw attention to her.

“Hold on a minute, I—”

It was too late. The line went dead.

LEAH PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Tarrant County Coroner’s office. Dr. Timothy Rex had been with the city since long before her time and he was one of the most respected people she had the privilege of working with.