Trace Evidence in Tarrant County

He hadn’t changed in the handful of years since Carley had last seen him. The same short and efficiently cut dark brown hair. The same sizzling blue eyes.

Bedroom eyes, the girls had called them.

He still had that athletic physique on that six-foot-three-inch body of muscles and, well, good looks. That was his problem, she decided. Sloan McKinney had always been too sexy for his own good. It had opened doors for him. Plenty of them.

“I know you’re upset,” he commented. “But Zane thought that folks around here would be more likely to talk to me than him. Or you.”

Sloan had probably used that leisurely Texas drawl to soothe her, the way he used to soothe horses on his granddaddy’s ranch.

It. Did. Not. Calm. Her.

“Zane and you think folks are more likely to talk to you because you used to be sheriff,” she clarified through clenched teeth.

Sloan gave her a yep-that-about-sums-it-up nod. “And there’s that whole part about Zane knowing that you weren’t medically ready to resume your duties. This is a double murder investigation, Carley. A cold case—and a red-hot one. He needs someone who’s a hundred percent and he’s not convinced that you are.”

She would have argued if at that exact moment the pain hadn’t pinched at her side. Mercy. When was her body going to heal? It’d been nearly a week. She couldn’t take any more time off. Look what these seven days had done. She was no longer in charge of her own investigation.

Sloan was.

Fate was having a really good belly laugh about that. Sloan, her boss. Her working for him.

Because that was practically an unbearable thought and because her blasted side wouldn’t quit pinching, Carley went inside so she could sit down. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to do that right away. Sloan had those bedroom-blue eagle eyes nailed to her. He was observing her every move—and that wasn’t good, because she wasn’t moving so well.

Carley casually strolled inside, plucked the surveillance disk from the machine and tried to be equally casual by continuing to stroll into her office.

“You’re in pain,” Sloan remarked.

She ignored him and eased into the chair behind her desk. “I suppose Zane has already briefed you about the case that you’re now officially in charge of?”

He looked ready to call her on her evasive response, but Sloan finally just lifted his hands, palms up. A gesture of surrender.

Carley hoped there’d be more of those before this conversation was over.

“Zane briefed me, of course,” Sloan verified. “But I’d like to hear what you have to say about it.”

“No, you wouldn’t, but you’re trying to placate me because you know I’m mad enough to want to hit you with this surveillance disk.”

Carley took out her anger on the disk. With far more force than required, she shoved it into the player.

“Zane didn’t tell me about the surveillance camera being vandalized. Or even that it’d been installed,” Sloan explained. “He also didn’t tell me that you were back at your office, trying to work.” His voice was calm enough, but she could see the little embers simmering in his eyes. They weren’t so bedroomy now. “He might have missed something else that I need to know.”

It was immature, but she huffed.

Sloan huffed, too. Then he dragged a scarred wooden chair from the corner, deposited it in front of her desk and sat down. “Get past your hatred for me. I’ll get past what I feel for you. And for the next few minutes remember that you’re the sheriff, I’m your temporary boss and that you’re giving me a situation report to bring me up to speed on this investigation.”

Carley wanted to hang on to her anger and stew in it a little longer, but, by God, he was right. A situation report to a new officer on the scene was standard procedure, and though she didn’t like it, she would not violate procedure because of the likes of Sloan McKinney.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts and so she could come up with the most condensed version of facts. The less face time with Sloan, the better.

“Okay. You win. Here’s the situation report. As you know, sixteen years ago Lou Ann Wallace-Hendricks was murdered. She was strangled with her own designer-brand purse strap. At the time, she was married to one of our present suspects, Leland Hendricks.”

And her briefing came to a halt. Because what she had to say next would only stir up even more bad memories.

“I’ll finish this part,” Sloan volunteered. “We also know that Lou Ann and my father, Jim McKinney, were having an affair. The night Lou Ann was killed, you claim to have seen my father in the general vicinity of her room at the Matheson Inn. That led to his arrest.” A muscle tightened in his jaw. “And the case against him was dismissed.”

“The charges were dismissed only because there were some inconsistencies with the evidence. Your father’s name wasn’t cleared, and you know it.”

He leaned forward, propping his hands on Carley’s cluttered desk. He violated her personal space and then some. In fact, Sloan was so close that she got a whiff of his manly aftershave. It reminded her of the woods, summer afternoons, picnics and sex.

Whoa.

What?

Sex?

Carley was sure she looked stunned over that last thought. Since it was a truly disturbing notion, she shoved it aside and tried to repair the fractures in her own composure.

“What’s wrong?” Sloan asked.

“Nothing,” she snapped. She forced herself to continue. No more picnic, sex or aftershave thoughts. “I was just thinking how pathetic and dangerous it is that no one was ever convicted of Lou Ann’s murder.”

“Right.” He eyed her with obvious skepticism. “Why don’t we fast-forward this briefing to what happened a little less than a week ago.”

“Gladly,” she mumbled. After a deep breath, Carley went on with the report. “Lou Ann’s older daughter, Sarah, came back to town. She called her kid sister, Anna, who’s an investigative reporter in Dallas, and Sarah asked Anna to meet her at the Matheson Inn. Sarah said she had information about their mother’s killer.”

“Who knew that Sarah had come back to Justice?” Sloan asked immediately.

“Everybody.”

Carley was unable to contain her frustration about that. Sarah hadn’t kept her presence a secret, especially from the killer who obviously wanted to silence her. Not very smart. And because of it, Sarah had ended up dead like her mother. Carley hadn’t been able to protect her, and it was because of her that Sarah was dead.

She’d have to learn to live with that.

Somehow.

“Now you can finish the update,” Carley insisted. “Zane wasn’t exactly doing daily situation reports to let me know what was going on.”

“Because you were recovering from a gunshot wound.”

“And because he thought I was out of the picture. I’m not. So, boss, why don’t you tell me how you plan to catch a killer who’s evaded justice for sixteen years?”

He shrugged. “Simple—I’ll continue the investigation that Zane started. If the grand jury says there’s enough evidence to arrest anyone, that’s what I’ll do. If not, then I’ll reinterview the witnesses—”

“There weren’t any witnesses to Sarah’s murder.”

“Potential witnesses then,” he calmly amended. “And, of course, I’ll talk to Donna and Leland Hendricks since, according to the papers Sarah had, they’re the primary suspects for both murders.”

They were. The information that Sarah had brought with her to Justice pointed the proverbial finger right at Leland Hendricks, the wealthiest man in town, and his equally wealthy ex-wife, Donna.