Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

“Thanks, Roberta,” Jaxon said. “You take care.”

Roberta caught him by the arm before he could leave. “You do right by them, Mr. Jaxon, you hear me? They were just kids when all that went down.”

She was obviously sympathetic to Avery and her brother.

“I will,” he said, although he couldn’t make any promises to her, either. When Landers found out what he was up to, he might pull him from the case.

Or fire his butt.

Tension knotted his shoulders as he carried the file through the building and outside to his SUV. The sky had turned a dismal gloomy gray while he was inside, the sound of thunder rumbling.

Texas temperatures could drop quickly, and the chill of the night was setting in.

He checked his phone for Avery’s address as he climbed into his SUV, his pulse quickening when he realized she lived only a few miles from the government-funded project housing where Joleen Mulligan had spent the past few years.

As he expected, traffic was thin. The storm clouds gathered and rolled over the horizon, making it look bleak for the night. He maneuvered through the small town, around the square, then turned down Birch Drive, a street lined with birch trees.

The houses were small, rustic and quaint, but even with winter, the yards looked well-kept. A few had toys indicating small children, a Western theme evident in the iron mailboxes that all sported horses on the top of the barn-shaped boxes.

Avery’s house was the last one on the right, with flower boxes and a windmill in the front yard. He couldn’t see the back, but it was fenced in, which surprised him since the land didn’t back up to anything else. Then again, she might have a dog.

He pulled up behind a Pathfinder and shifted into Park, then climbed out, reminding himself that he was here on a job.

Not because meeting Avery Tierney sparked an attraction that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hell, the woman had been abused as a child. That fact alone warned him to keep his distance. He had no idea what kind of scars she carried inside her, but he’d bet his life trusting men wasn’t high on her list.

A bad side effect of foster life—kids grew up learning not to get attached. They were shuffled around so much, and it hurt too much to leave friends and people behind.

Besides, Avery was a case, nothing more. At least if he investigated, maybe he could sleep without those wounded, pain-filled eyes haunting him, telling him that he should have done something other than accept everyone’s word that Hank Tierney deserved to die.

He punched the brass doorbell, then heard footsteps clattering inside. Seconds later, Avery opened the door.

He grew very still when he saw her pale face. Obviously today’s visit at the prison had done a number on her.

What would facing the woman who should have protected her from that monster Mulligan do to her tonight?

* * *

AVERY PASTED ON a brave face, determined not to let Sergeant Ward see how the idea of confronting Joleen Mulligan was affecting her.

“Are you ready?”

She clutched her purse strap and nodded, but her heart was pounding as she locked the front door and followed him to his vehicle. She reached for the door handle and startled when he beat her to it and opened it for her.

Her nerves raw, she twisted her head up to look at him.

“I’m just opening the door for you,” he said. “Relax, Avery. I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question flew from her mouth before she could stop herself from asking.