Rita Herron - Cowboy Cop

A real polished smooth talker who had undoubtedly seduced his way into close proximity to his victims and made them feel safe—until he’d slit their throats.

The soft rustle of clothing and shaky breaths reverberated through the room as the judge opened the envelope and perused its contents. Without batting an eye, he handed the envelope back to the bailiff, who passed it to the foreman.

“Mr. Dugan, please stand for the reading of the verdict,” Judge Fenton said.

Miles studied Dugan as he buttoned his suit jacket, then Dugan shot him a smug smile and squared his shoulders.

Judge Fenton gestured toward the foreman and he nodded.

“On the first count of murder, we find Robert Dugan guilty.”

Collective sighs of relief filled the room, then heads nodded as the same verdict was handed down for the other three murder charges.

Miles’s heart pounded as they polled the jury and a unanimous count was confirmed.

Dugan’s breathing faltered slightly, the only sign he was affected by the verdict, then the judge announced that the sentencing would be delivered in three days. Dugan’s lawyer, a female who looked as if she too had fallen for Dugan’s fake charms, patted his shoulder, mumbling, no doubt, about filing an appeal.

Then the police stepped forward to escort Dugan back to his cell. The crowd dispersed, hushed voices murmuring about whether or not they agreed with the trial’s outcome, and Miles shook the prosecutor’s hand then stepped into the hallway.

Cameras flashed, reporters swarmed. Dugan’s attorney tried to shield him, but her client seemed to like the attention.

In fact, he looked over at Miles and a slow sadistic smile creased his face. Then he mouthed the words You’ll pay.

Miles’s heart pounded, even as he knew that he was safe for now.

But if Dugan was ever released, he’d have to watch his back.

Dugan turned and waved at the crowd, pausing to insist to the press that he was an innocent man. That he’d been framed.

Bile rose in Miles’s throat, but he ordered himself not to react. Instead, he stepped outside into the muggy Texas air.

Heat suffused him in a cloud of steam rising from the pavement, and the fact that he hadn’t slept for days intensified his fatigue.

He’d vowed to make it up to his son and Marie for leaving them for days on end without so much as checking in, for missing Timmy’s birthday and Christmases and the rodeo at the BBL, for being exactly what Marie said he was: married to the job.

He’d start now. This Christmas he would be there to play Santa for his boy.

He headed toward his Jeep but his cell phone chirped—his friend from the Bucking Bronc Lodge and fellow detective Mason Blackpaw, who’d worked the Slasher case with him.

A bad feeling pinched his gut.

Was Blackpaw calling to congratulate him on the verdict or for another reason?

He punched the connect button. “You heard the verdict, Mason?”

“Yeah. But we have a problem.” Blackpaw hissed a sound of disgust that confirmed Miles’s earlier premonition.

“What?”

“There was another murder.”

Miles gritted his teeth at the words he didn’t want to hear.

“Where? Who?”

“Another woman, name’s June Kelly.”

“And?”

“It’s not good, McGregor. Her throat was slit just like the other four.”

Miles dropped his head into his hands and cursed. Dammit, no.

The M.O. was the same as the murders Dugan had just been convicted of.

Which meant Dugan was either innocent, he had a partner or there was a copycat killer.

No...he was sure Dugan was guilty.

But hell, this was bad—even if Dugan was in jail, a killer was still out there hunting....

Chapter One

Three months later

“Dugan is out.”

Miles’s fingers tightened around his cell phone as he wheeled his SUV around and headed toward the station. “What?”

His superior, Lieutenant Hammond, didn’t sound happy. “Based on the Kelly woman’s murder and some technicality with the chain of evidence when they’d searched the man’s place, Dugan’s lawyer got his conviction overturned.”

The past few weeks of tracking down clues and false leads day and night taunted him. He released a string of expletives.

Hammond cleared his throat. “If we’d found evidence connecting Dugan to a partner, maybe things would have gone differently, but...”

Hammond let the sentence trail off, but Miles silently finished for him. If he and Mason had found such evidence, Dugan would still be in a cell. And the world would be a safer place.

But they’d failed.

The day Dugan’s verdict was read flashed back. Dugan’s threat resounded in his head—you’ll pay.

“Now that he’s back on the streets—”

“I know. He’s going to kill again,” Miles said. And he’s probably coming after me.

His cell phone chirped, and he glanced at the caller ID. Marie’s number.

Damn, she was probably on his case for working again last night and missing dinner with Timmy. He’d thought he might have found a lead on the copycat, but instead he’d only chased his own tail.

The phone chirped again.

You’ll pay.

Panic suddenly seized him, cutting off his breath. Dammit...what if payback meant coming after his family?

“I have to go, Hammond.” Sweat beaded on his neck as he connected the call. “Hello?”

Husky breathing filled the line, then a scream pierced the receiver.

He clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Marie?” God, tell me you’re there....

But the sudden silence sent a chill up his spine.

“Marie, Timmy?”

More breathing, this time followed by a husky laugh that sounded sinister, threatening...evil.

Dear God, no...

Dugan was at Marie’s house.

He pressed the accelerator, his heart hammering as he sped around traffic and called for backup. The dispatch officer agreed to send a patrol car right away.

A convertible nearly cut him off, and Miles slammed on his horn, nearly skimming a truck as he roared around it. Brush and shrubs sailed past, the wheels grinding on gravel as he hugged the side of the country road.

Images of the dead women from Dugan’s crime scenes flashed in his head, and his stomach churned. No, please, no...Dugan could not be at Marie’s house. He couldn’t kill Marie...not like the other women.

And Timmy...his son was home today with her.

The bright Texas sun nearly blinded him as he swerved into the small neighborhood where Marie had bought a house. Christmas decorations glittered, lights twinkled from the neighboring houses, the entryways screaming with festive holiday spirit.

Somehow they seemed macabre in the early-morning light.

He shifted gears, brakes squealing as he rounded a curve and sped down the street. He scanned the neighboring yards, the road, the trees beyond the house, searching for Dugan.

But everything seemed still. Quiet. A homey little neighborhood to raise a family in.

Except he had heard that scream.

His chest squeezed for air, and he slammed on the brakes and skidded up the drive. He threw the Jeep into Park, and held his weapon at the ready as he raced up to the front door.

Cop instincts kicked in, and he scanned the outside of the house and yard again, but nothing looked amiss. He glanced through the front window, but the den looked normal...toys on the floor, magazines on the table, TV running with cartoons.

Only the Christmas tree had been tipped over, ornaments scattered across the floor.

He reached for the doorknob, and the door swung open. His breath lodged in his throat, panic knotting his insides. No sounds of holiday music or Timmy chattering.