Delores Fossen - Shotgun Sheriff

“Yes. Sergeant Olivia Hutton,” she clarified. “CSI for the Ranger task force.”

She spared him a glance from ice-blue eyes. Not a friendly glance either. That brief look conveyed a lot of displeasure.

And skepticism.

Reed had seen that look before. He was a smalltown Texas sheriff, and to some people that automatically made him small-minded, stupid and incapable of handling a capital murder investigation. That attitude was one of the reasons for the so-called task force that included not only Texas Rangers but a forensic anthropologist and apparently this blonde crime-scene analyst.

As he’d done with Lieutenant Colter, the other Ranger, Reed would set a few ground rules with Sergeant Hutton. Later, that was. For now, he needed to figure out if anyone was inside the cabin. That was at the top of his mental list.

Reed didn’t see anyone near either of the two back curtainless windows. Nor had the crime-scene tape been tampered with. It was still in place. Of course, someone could have ducked beneath it and gotten inside—after they’d figured out a way to get past the locked windows and doors. Other than the owner and probably some members of the owner’s family, Reed and his deputy were the only ones with keys.

“Did you actually see anyone in the cabin?” he asked in a whisper.

She turned her head, probably so she could whisper as well, but the move put them even closer. Practically mouth to cheek. Not good. Because with all that closeness, he caught her scent. Her perfume was high-end, but that was definitely chocolate on her breath.

“I heard something,” she explained. “Your deputy and I were taking castings of some footprints we found over there.” She tipped her head to a cluster of trees on the east side of the cabin. “I wanted to get them done right away because it’s supposed to rain again this afternoon.”

Yeah, it was, and if they’d been lucky enough to find footprints after the morning and late-night drizzle, then they wouldn’t be there long.

“After Deputy Spears left to send the castings to your office,” she continued, “I turned to go back inside. That’s when I thought I heard someone moving around in there.”

Reed took in every word of her account. Every word. But he also heard the accent. Definitely not a Texas drawl. He was thinking East Coast and would find out more about that later. For now, he might have an intruder on his hands. An intruder who was possibly inside with a cabin full of potential evidence that could clear Shane’s name. Or maybe it was the cabin’s owner, Jonah Becker, though Reed had warned the rancher to stay far away from the place.

With his gun still aimed, Reed stepped out a few inches from the cover of the tree. “This is Sheriff Hardin,” he called out. “If anyone’s in there, get the hell out here now.”

Beside him, Livvy huffed. “You think that’s wise, to stand out in the open like that?”

He took the time to toss her a scowl. “Maybe it’d be a dumb idea in Boston, but here in Comanche Creek, if there’s an intruder, it’s likely to be someone who knows to do as I say.”

He hoped.

“Not Boston,” she snarled. “New York.”

He gave her a flat look to let her know that didn’t make things better. A Texas Ranger should damn well be born and raised in Texas. And she shouldn’t wear high-heeled boots.

Or perfume that reminded him she was a woman.

Reed knew that was petty, but with four murders on his hands, he wasn’t exactly in a generous mood. He extended that non-generous mood to anyone who might be inside that cabin.

“Get out here!” he shouted. And by God, it better happen now.

Nothing. Well, nothing except Livvy’s spurting breath and angry mumbles.

“Just because the person doesn’t answer you, it doesn’t mean the place is empty,” she pointed out.

Yeah. And that meant he might have a huge problem. He didn’t want the crime scene compromised, and he didn’t want to shoot anyone. Yet.

“How long were Deputy Spears and you out there casting footprints?” he asked.

“A half hour. And before that we were looking around in the woods.”

That explained how her footprints had gotten on the trail. The castings and the woods search also would have given someone plenty of time to get inside. “I’m guessing Deputy Spears unlocked the cabin for you?”

The sergeant shook her head. “It wasn’t necessary. Someone had broken the lock on a side window, apparently crawled in and then opened the front door from the inside.”

Reed cursed. “And you didn’t see that person when you went in?”

Another head shake that sent her ponytail swishing. “The place was empty when I first arrived. I checked every inch,” she added, cutting off his next question: Was she sure about that?

So, he had possibly two intruders. Great. Dealing with intruders wasn’t on his to-do list today.

Now, he cursed himself. He should have camped out here, but he hadn’t exactly had the manpower to do that with just him and two deputies, including the one behind bars. He’d had to process Shane’s arrest and interrogate him. He had been careful. He’d done everything by the book so no one could accuse him of tampering with anything that would ultimately clear Shane’s name. Kirby Spears had guarded the place until around midnight, but then Reed and he had had to respond to an armed robbery at the convenience store near the interstate.

Lately, life in Comanche Creek had been far from peaceful and friendly—even though that was what it said on the welcome sign at the edge of the city limits. Before the spring, it’d been nearly a decade since there’d been a murder. Now, there’d been four.

Four!

And because some of those bodies had been dumped on Native American burial ground, the whole town felt as if it were sitting on a powder keg. With the previous murder investigations and the latest one, Reed was operating on a one-hour nap, too much coffee and a shorter fuse than usual.

He glanced around. “How’d you get up here?” he asked the sergeant. “Because I didn’t see a vehicle.”

“I parked at the bottom of the hill just off the county road. I wanted to get a good look at the exterior of the crime scene before I went inside.” She glanced around as well. “How’d you get up here?” she asked him.

“I parked on the back side of the hill.” And for the same reason. Of course, that didn’t mean they were going to see eye-to-eye on anything else. Reed was betting this would get ugly fast.

“Reed?” someone called out, the sound coming from the cabin.

Reed cursed some more because he recognized that voice. He lowered his gun, huffed and strolled toward the front door. It swung open just as Reed stepped onto the porch, and he came face-to-face with his boss, Mayor Woody Sadler. His friend. His mentor. As close to a father as Reed had ever had since his own dad had died when Reed was seven years old.

But Woody shouldn’t have been within a mile of the place.

Surrogate fatherhood would earn Woody a little more respect than Reed would give others, but even Woody wasn’t going to escape a good chewing-out. And maybe even more.

“What are you doing here?” Livvy demanded, taking the words right out of Reed’s mouth. Unlike Reed, she didn’t lower her gun. She pointed the Blackwater right at Woody.

Woody eased off his white Stetson, and the rattler tail attached to the band gave a familiar hollow jangle. He nodded a friendly greeting.

He didn’t get anything friendly in return.

“This is Woody Sadler. The mayor of Comanche Creek,” Reed said, making introductions. “And this is Sergeant Livvy Hutton. A Texas Ranger from New York.”

Woody’s tired gray eyes widened. Then narrowed, making the corners of his eyes wrinkle even more than they already were. Obviously he wasn’t able to hold back a petty reaction either. “New York?”