Читать книгу Lawful Engagement - Linda O. Johnston - Страница 13

Since Ben Wilson had become sheriff, Mitch had stirred up his ire a lot, mostly unintentionally. He’d always stifled his impulses and pulled back to avoid jeopardizing his own covert and frustrating investigation. As a result, he’d never seen Ben’s leathery face as scarlet as it was now.

Damn, but he liked it!

Ben’s mouth was open, as if to expel the air pumped out by his heavy breathing. Leaning toward Cara across the conference table, he sputtered, “Ms. Hamilton, if you even so much as hint in your paper that this department is doing less than a fine job, I’ll—” He broke off as he obviously searched in vain for something dire enough to threaten her with.

She rose and stood behind her chair, hands resting on its back. Mitch noticed that her nails were short and unpolished, businesslike. The hands of a woman who didn’t pamper herself.

“I report the facts, Sheriff Wilson,” she said. “That’s all.” Her smile was so sweet that she might have been eating cherries. But there was an intensity in her glare, a tilt to her chin, all evidence that Cara Hamilton wasn’t intimidated.

Mitch wanted to grab the sassy reporter and kiss those grinning lips. Like other urges, though, he kept this one to himself. Cara was standing up to the irritating, heavy-handed Ben Wilson as Mitch would have done, given a choice. And Mitch was enjoying every moment of it.

“Well, just watch your facts, missy,” Ben hissed. “You’d better make good and sure they’re true, or I’ll sue you and your paper for slander. You tell that to your editor, Mr. Beauford Jennings, hear? In fact, I think I’ll give Beau a call myself a little later, set him straight.”

Cara’s smile faded. “Beau doesn’t buckle under threats, Sheriff, and neither do I.” But the hint of uneasiness in her expression suggested Ben had scored a hit. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have research to do.”

“I’m not through with you, Ms. Hamilton.” Ben walked around the table till he faced down Cara. Mitch nearly smiled when she did not step back.

“I’ve told you all I know, Sheriff. Now, go do your job and find out who killed Nancy.” The sureness in her tone wavered a bit at the last. “She was my friend.” Cara finally dropped her gaze, and Mitch figured she didn’t want the sheriff to see any sign of weakness, like tears.

They might not move Ben Wilson, but Mitch had an urge to soothe the brash, yet altogether human, reporter. Instead, he stayed out of it.

“That act won’t convince me you didn’t kill her,” Ben growled. “In fact, I will go do my job, like you said. I’ll conduct a nice, thorough background check on you, interview everyone you’ve ever known, make sure Beau knows how close we’re observing you. You’ll be so busy watching your own behind that you won’t have time to write lies about anyone. You can go write about weddings and funerals like a good little girl.”

“Not on your life,” Cara retorted, raising her head once more to glare up into the sheriff’s looming face. Ben’s scowl could have etched steel, and Mitch could all but see the steam rise in Cara. “And I told you not to threaten me.”

Time for Mitch to break this up before something irreparable happened. Maybe Cara belonged in jail, though he doubted it. But if she did, it shouldn’t be for irritating the sheriff. “Okay, Ms. Hamilton. We get the picture, and I think you do, too. You can go now, but we’ll be in touch. I’m sure we’ll have more questions.”

She turned her glare on him and opened her mouth as if to fling him an angry retort. Before she said anything, though, the door to the interrogation room opened and Hurley Zeller burst in. “How we doing here? Boss, there’s an important call for you.” He waved a portable phone handset. “Want me to continue the interrogation?”

“No, it’s over,” Ben said.

As he turned away from Cara and took the phone, Mitch said, “Allow me to show you out, Ms. Hamilton.”

“No need,” she said quickly, but Mitch nevertheless led her around Ben and Hurley, who eavesdropped on his boss’s conversation.

The call must not have been that important, for it only took Ben a few seconds. Or maybe it had just been Hurley’s excuse to interrupt.

“Don’t go far, Steele,” Ben called as Cara stepped in front of Mitch into the reception area. “We need to talk.”

“In a second, chief.” Mitch took a few more steps so Ben couldn’t see him, then bent slightly, inhaling Cara’s fresh scent once more. “Watch your step,” he whispered into Cara’s ear, then turned and headed back.

In the interrogation room, Ben and Hurley were engaged in a private discussion, heads together, oblivious to his return. He froze in the doorway, straining to hear.

“The bitch’ll ruin the election,” Hurley grumbled. “We’ve gotta—”

“Okay, Steele,” Ben interrupted, raising his head abruptly as he apparently noticed Mitch. “You’re evidently tight with Ms. Hamilton, so here’s what I want. You talk to her, make sure she understands we’re all working hard here. We’re focused on this latest murder and we’ll bring the perpetrator to justice. Like she figured, she’s not our top suspect, but we won’t let her off the hook. Not yet. Tell her I’ll grant her an interview sometime when we’re not all so riled up, okay? Better yet, I’ll talk to her boss, Beau, tell her that. Just keep an eye on her.”

Frustration and fury shot through Mitch so fiercely that they burned like lightning bolts. He’d just been given his latest little assignment to keep him busy while someone else conducted the investigation.

Not that spending more time with Cara Hamilton would be a painful pastime, though a guy had to consider every word around her. But he wasn’t about to baby-sit while this investigation was bungled like the others. For she’d been right on target. Outsiders had solved the last murders, instead of the Sheriff’s Department, who should have.

And that could be of major significance to Mitch and his own quest. At least one person in the department had to have been involved in his dad’s murder but had been cagey enough to prevent Mitch from gleaning all but the most circumstantial evidence for two long and frustrating years. The cover-up was deep. That could mean it came from the top.

And…election? What election were they talking about?

Mitch thought fast. “Sure, chief. Promising to talk to her is a fine way to get on Ms. Hamilton’s good side so she’ll spill what she knows. It’ll help me run the investigation of the Wilks murder.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ben said, one hand in the air as if to halt contradiction by Mitch. “Hurley’ll take over.”

Mitch would have given anything to be able to punch the smirk off Deputy Zeller’s ugly face, but he didn’t. He stood still. He also stood his ground. Sure, he remained here because of his own investigation, but that didn’t mean he’d turned his back on his law enforcement career. “Not a good idea,” he said with more calmness than he felt. “I was there first and got a good walk-through of the crime scene even before the techs arrived. I have a sense of what was there, the neighbors’ reactions, a lot of insight—”

“Yeah, like you can just call up a vision and solve the murder.” Hurley’s tone was derisive.

“Maybe some of my ancestors could have done just that,” Mitch replied, forcing the words out mildly. He knew better than to respond to harassment revolving around his Native American blood. Despite being charged with upholding the law, the Mustang County Sheriff and his department were unconcerned about protecting anyone from discrimination based on ancestry, origin or anything else. But Mitch wasn’t about to point that out. He was after something much bigger than whistle-blowing about harassment.

Keeping the flames of his temper on low, he continued, “Managing Ms. Hamilton will be a priority, but I want to head the investigation. Of course, I’ll have to solve it fast or risk her writing a story that claims I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” Would Ben be smart enough to bite on that not-so-subtle bait? For what Mitch had left unsaid was that he would wind up as the public scapegoat if the department failed, once again, to solve the murder.

On the other hand, he hadn’t been on the other investigations. He hadn’t been the one who’d blown them.

And he didn’t intend to fail on this one, any more than proving what had happened to his father.

“Okay, go ahead,” Ben said finally. “Hurley’ll be your backup. You need any help, you go to him.”

Right, Mitch thought. Just like I’d go to a rattlesnake for first aid.

“Yeah.” Hurley sneered again. “I’ll help you, Steele.”

Mitch gave a quick, purposely inexpert salute. “I’d better get back to work, then.”

As he exited the room, he saw that Cara had not yet left. She leaned over the reception desk, an alluring smile on her face as she spoke in undertones to the young deputy seated there. He was clearly in over his head. His face, bright red, wore a stupid grin. The phone was ringing, but he made no move to answer.

Cara obviously wanted something from the deputy. Since she was in the information business, Mitch could guess what it was.

“Going to answer that?” Mitch drawled. The deputy’s eyes widened at being caught flirting. He grabbed for the phone.

Cara’s charming smile melted as she looked at Mitch. “I thought you’d leave as fast as you could,” he said.

“So did I.” Cara headed toward the exit at last. Mitch walked beside her. “So are you still in charge of the case?”

“How—” He blinked. Could she have heard his conversation while standing out here flirting? Or was this just a diversion so he wouldn’t try to extract what the deputy had disclosed to her?

“How did I guess you might not be?” She gave an enticing little laugh. “Research. Intuition. A combination. But you took charge at the crime scene, and my initial checking on the Sheriff’s Department shows you’ve never been put at the head of any investigation more exciting than a bungled burglary. You’ve cracked major cases when someone else was in charge, though. My suspicion is it’s not lack of skill that keeps you from getting the responsibility.”

“Could be.” Mitch was amazed at her perceptiveness, though realized he shouldn’t have been. This was one smart woman. As he’d already figured, he’d have to watch himself.

“So,” she said as they stood on the concrete landing right outside the door. “Are you still in charge?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

“Good. I’ll be at the coffee shop of the Lone Star Lodge at noon today for lunch.” The Lone Star Lodge was a seedy motel on the outskirts of town with a greasy spoon eatery attached. Not a place anyone who cared about respectability would head for. That meant it was a good place to go and not be seen.

“I’ve a proposal for you,” she continued. “Care to listen?”

Her smile was so wily and irresistible that he had an unexpected urge to run his fingers through the curly red hair that gave her the contradictory appearance of imp and angel all at once. Kiss those beguilingly clever lips.

She was daring him. He knew it. But he also knew she might have information he needed. And so he’d play along—so smoothly that she’d imagine she was in control.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll meet you there.”

BEFORE CARA HEADED for the Lone Star Lodge and her meeting with Mitch Steele, she had work to do.

Though the idea of going to a lodge with that delicious hunk of a deputy, a place with rooms for overnight or hourly stays, a place with beds…well, it certainly made her think of more than cooperating with him on a news story.

Her legendary idol Shotgun Sally, star investigative reporter of her time, was reputed to have had a lawman lover….

You’ve a murder case to look into, she reminded herself brusquely. You might be the reason Nancy died. That notion punished her for her incorrigible ideas. So did sliding into her car, which was stiflingly hot from sitting under the summer Texas sun.

She’d flirted with the desk deputy at the sheriff’s station but learned nothing. Maybe she was foolish in using everything at her disposal, including feminine wiles, to get what she wanted.

Maybe not.

After all, Shotgun Sally always said, “Folks’ll talk a lot plainer to a female who acts dumb and keeps her ears open while she yammers than one who looks too smart and keeps quiet.”

Cara had a lot to say to Deputy Mitchell Steele. It might even involve telling him what he wanted to know. But only if he would reciprocate.

For now, though, she headed for the offices of the Mustang Gazette, in a big, old building on Main Street.

Though she dreaded it, first thing she did was visit her boss’s office. Beauford Jennings was, unfortunately, in. His nose was buried in the front page of their latest edition. Other Texas papers were stacked on his desk.

“Hi, Beau.” Cara slung her purse over the arm of a chair and sat down across from him. “I’ve some stuff to tell you.”

“Anything new on the Wilks story?” Beau put down the paper and regarded Cara as if she were a sheet of newsprint he was trying to read. He squinted beneath glasses perched on the end of his pink-tipped nose.

Beauford Jennings, sixty-two years old, had inherited the Gazette when he was in his forties. He prided himself on being an old-time newspaper man, complete with wrinkled white shirt, suspenders and an honest-to-goodness antique manual typewriter buried under the mounds of paperwork always heaped on his desk.

He kept in close touch with his nephew, Jerry. Followed Jerry’s career as he climbed each rung of his ladder to success on the Dallas News. And undoubtedly, despite all Beau had promised Cara, hoped that someday Jerry would return to run the Mustang Gazette.

“I’m working on it,” she replied to his question.

“Handle this one carefully. In fact I may just take over. You did a good job reporting on those other murders, but you weren’t as close to the victims then.” She didn’t bother to remind him that she once had been close to Andrew. “I think I’ll—”

No way! “You’ve heard from our esteemed sheriff?” Cara interrupted. This one was hers. It wasn’t just a story. As in the killings of Andrew McGovern and Jeb Rawlins, it could involve deep-down-and-dirty investigative reporting. This time she was in the thick of it, since she had found Nancy’s body. She could handle the story. She would handle it.

“You bet I’ve heard from Sheriff Wilson.” Beau removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “He’s awful touchy about this. Said he’d sue the pants off me if I dared to criticize his department’s handling of the case. He said you and he have already had words, too. Maybe someone else with more objectivity would be better on this one.”

“I’m damned objective, Beau, and you can’t say otherwise.” Cara picked up the Gazette from where he’d laid it and pointed to her article. “There’s not a thing wrong with this.”

The story she’d e-mailed soon after leaving Nancy’s last night appeared on the front page: a straightforward report on the murder, interviews with neighbors that she’d obtained after the techs took samples from her, and who to contact at the Mustang County Sheriff’s Department with information that could lead to the killer. Vanilla stuff. No controversy. A damn fine job of reporting.

“No, it’s a good story, Cara. But—”

“Promise you’ll let me stay on it, Beau.”

“Only if you—”

“And promise that this will be the one. If I can break the story about who killed Nancy, and tie it to the other Mustang Valley murders—”

“What do you mean?” Beau stood behind his desk. Concern and confusion etched wrinkles on a high forehead that was already well pleated.

“The Andrew McGovern and Jebediah Rawlins killings both had something to do with the law firm Lambert & Church.”

“You’re stretching things, Cara. Just because the first victim worked there and the murderer in the second case was a partner—”

“The third also worked there. And there’s more. The first two killings also had something to do with land that one of the firm’s main clients, Ranger Corporation, has been buying. I don’t know yet how that fits in with Nancy’s death, but I’ve a hunch it does.” Could whatever Nancy had wanted to show Cara been the link? “Promise me, Beau. This could be Pulitzer material. If I break the case, you’ll promote me this time to editor in chief.”

“Sure, Cara, but—”

“Promise me. Or this time I will pull a Jerry and leave.”

“Your family’s here in town, Cara,” Beau said. “You grew up here. And—”

“Same went for Jerry. He’s gone. I’m here…for now. Promise me.”

Beau’s deep sigh of resignation was probably audible even over the hum of the high-tech printing presses on another floor of the building. “Well, okay. But—”

“Thanks, Beau.” Cara grabbed her purse and ran.

CARA WAS ALREADY SEATED in one of the old-fashioned high-backed booths at the Lone Star Lodge coffee shop when Mitch arrived. It was a good place to go if one wanted to be out of the way. Not that he’d truly be anonymous in this dump; his uniform garnered glances from the few patrons.

He shook some of the dampness off his Stetson, for it was drizzling outside, unusual at this time of the year.

The only restaurant employee in sight was a plump, aproned waitress who leaned over the counter talking to one of the customers. Mitch joined Cara before the waitress could show him to a table.

Cara had fastened her curls back with combs, maybe because of the rain. As much as Mitch liked her earlier wayward, untamed look, he found this one becoming, too. The oval shape of her face, the loveliness of its soft features, were framed rather than overpowered by her attention-snatching red hair. Of course, noticing details was just part of his job.

She glanced at her watch as he slid onto the cracked vinyl seat, setting his hat down beside him. “Not bad,” she said. “Are you always this prompt?”

“Are you always early?” he countered.

“Depends on who I’m meeting.” Her saucy grin nearly made his socks slide down his ankles.

She was flirting! Not that he trusted it. Especially when she leaned toward him, enough that her blue knit top pulled taut across her breasts.

Some men, he expected, would babble anything that came to their mouths after a tantalizing view like that, for their minds, and the rest of their bodies, would be occupied elsewhere.

Not him. He was adept at forcing his attention where it belonged, not succumbing to distractions. “You want to talk cooperation?” Crossing his arms, he leaned back till his shoulders met the stiff wood of the booth and stared into her sparkling hazel eyes, not where her posture invited him to look.

“Absolutely.” She leaned back and crossed her own arms.

“Then let’s get serious.” Not that he hadn’t thought seriously of taking her up on her unspoken promise. What if he’d kissed those now-pouting lips right there, in front of the lackadaisical waitress and the patrons who, till now, had paid Cara and him scant attention? Maybe she’d let down her guard if she thought she’d succeeded in distracting him.

“Okay.” She grinned. “Just testing. I’ve practiced all sorts of ways of getting people to talk to me. Men seem to prefer that one.”

“I’ll bet.”

The waitress took their order: burger and fries for both, cola for Mitch.

“Coffee for me,” Cara said. “Black. Oh, and bring me an extra pickle, please.” When the waitress walked away, she told Mitch, “I considered a salad but doubted I’d feel safe that the ingredients were handled as they should be in this place.”

“I read your exposé of how some restaurants treat food,” Mitch said.

“Really?” Her face lit up. This time it appeared genuine.

He nodded. “Very enlightening.”

“That’s what I want to do.” She leaned forward again, a serious expression on her face. Her top was no longer taut against her curves, but Mitch noticed them, anyway. “I want to enlighten people. I need to report the truth, Mitch. About Nancy’s death and the others, too, if I can prove the connection. Will you help me?”

“Only if you help me.” He gritted his teeth but kept his mouth closed. Though he had grown up far from his mother’s family, she had imparted to him the Native American lore she’d grown up with—much of it involving the natural world that was once theirs in the land now known as the United States. As a result, Mitch suspected that his maternal ancestors might call him, at this moment, as foolish as a clod-headed coyote cheated out of its food by a crafty fox.

But he had a feeling that, acceptable procedure or not, cooperating in a limited way with the persuasive, single-minded Cara Hamilton would buy him a greater likelihood of solving the Wilks murder faster than pulling rank on her as a law enforcement professional. Having things made public too fast could ruin his chance to get this case solved right. Of course, she wasn’t the only reporter he might need to deal with. But for now she was closest to the situation.

“Of course I’ll help.” But she spoke too quickly for Mitch to believe her.

“You’ll share information?” he demanded.

“If you will.”

“Some things I have to keep confidential to do my job. I won’t tell you about a piece of evidence and have it blabbed in a story if keeping it quiet would help convict a suspect.”

He didn’t like this new stoniness in her expression. What was she thinking?

“Understood,” she finally said. “But if I hear of something and tell you about it, I expect reciprocity. You’ll share as much as you can. Tell me it’s off the record, if you have to, as long as you don’t overdo it. And let me know when I can put it on the record.”

Was this becoming a deal with the cagey fox who would hide the food and starve the rival coyote? Maybe. But working with her, in limited cooperation, would be a hell of a lot better than working totally against her.

But before agreeing to anything, he decided to test her. “Fine, as far as it goes. But I want to know one thing first. What were you hiding from me before when I questioned you? Why did you really go to Nancy Wilks’s house so late last night?”

She hesitated, as if deciding whether to show him the cards she held before he revealed any of his own. She finally nodded. “Nancy did call me. She said she had something to show me.”

“Like?”

Cara shook her head, and the curls held back from her face shimmied enticingly. “I wish I knew. And, yes, I told you a fib. I wandered around her place looking for it after I saw her…her body but didn’t find a thing.”

“I see. What do you think it was?”

Her shrug appeared frustrated, and her reply was interrupted by the waitress’s arrival with their drinks. When the woman left again, Cara said, “Something from the law firm, maybe. I’ve no idea what, but it was important enough that she wanted me to come over at one in the morning. Unless your crime-scene guys found something I didn’t, I suspect the killer took it.” She drew in her breath. “I also suspect it could be why she was killed.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they shimmered with tears. “If I’d gotten there sooner—”

“Then you could have been killed, too,” Mitch said bluntly.

Cara blinked. Her soft lips parted as if she was about to protest, but she didn’t. Mitch guessed what he’d said hadn’t escaped her notice.

Plates with burgers and fries—and two pickles for Cara—were placed in front of them by the waitress, who slapped their check down, too, mumbled something about enjoying their meals and hurried away.

“Was there anything at the crime scene that points toward a suspect?” Cara asked as she lifted the top bun from her burger and inspected it. Apparently nothing looked wrong, for she put it back together and took a healthy bite.

When her eyes returned to watch him, they were narrowed and suspicious, as if expecting him to lie the way she had. Or maybe to bolt.

“Nothing yet.” Mitch also started to eat.

“You’ll let me know?” Cara urged.

“What I can.”

“But you’ve got to…” There was a worried note in her voice, but she seemed to visibly cast it away. “Good enough,” she finished with a sigh. “For now.” Her momentary silence as she stared at the wooden booth over his shoulder made Mitch wonder what she was thinking. Then she gave a small nod, as if she’d answered her own internal question, and said, “I’m going to go at it from the other angle. This murder has to be related somehow to Andrew McGovern’s and Jebediah Rawlins’s murders.”

“Their murders were solved,” Mitch reminded her. “Two separate killers. Our former mayor did Andrew in, and Paul Lambert killed Rawlins.”

Cara nodded. “But there’s that law firm connection. And maybe something to do with its client, Ranger Corporation. I’m considering a political connection, too, since Mayor Daniels was involved in the first murder.”

Political… That reminded Mitch of the snatch of conversation he’d heard between Sheriff Ben Wilson and Deputy Hurley Zeller: that Cara’s snooping might ruin the election. He’d mulled it over. Why would they care? The only thing he could figure was that Ben was thinking of running for mayor. The top county commissioner had taken the position temporarily after the former mayor’s disgrace and death, and had made it clear he didn’t want to stay there. If Ben won the next mayoral election, it would leave the sheriff’s position open. Zeller and Mitch were the most likely candidates, but Mitch knew who Ben Wilson would back. And it wouldn’t be him.

Could Ben win? What kind of mayor would he make? Heaven help Mustang Valley!

“Mitch?” Cara was staring at him. “Did you think of something important?”

Important to him, not this case. “Not really.”

“You promised to share, damn it.” She rose and grabbed her big purse, reaching into it for her wallet.

“Sit down,” Mitch urged. “I am going to share what I can. That’s what I can promise, no more.” He didn’t like promising even that. Solitude and secrecy were as vital as breathing to him.

Cara suddenly looked young and vulnerable again, almost the way she had when he’d come across her at the crime scene.

Something had hurt her.

And he had no business feeling as if he wanted to slug the hell out of whoever, or whatever, it was.

“Cara, tell me what the problem is.”

She stared at him, then slid back into the booth. “Nothing. But if we’re going to work together, then we’re both going to work together. Understood?”

“As long as you understand that I can’t tell you everything,” he repeated.

She stared, then held out her hand over the table. He did the same and shook. Her hand was small in his. Touching her warm, vibrant skin, even in so businesslike a gesture, made his temperature rise.

He released her and took a quick, cooling sip of his cola. When he looked up, she was still studying him, as if determining whether she could trust him.

Obviously their deal, such as it was, was important to her.

To him, too. He needed an alliance of sorts with her, some degree of control over this determined reporter.

He’d made himself learn the appearance of teamwork at the Sheriff’s Department, though trust was as foreign a language to him as the cawing of crows. Especially with the way he was often treated as an outsider. Was that due to his father’s bad judgment in hiring him and for taking bribes? Or was it due to Mitch’s own heritage?

Or to his preference for keeping his own counsel?

Probably a combination, though he was certain that no one in the department knew he was continuing his own investigation. After two long, frustrating years there were times he wondered if he was still investigating, since new leads were all but nonexistent. But he was patient. He made himself exude patience, as if he were a runner and calmness was his sweat.

It didn’t hurt that he had encouragement from his contact at the state attorney general’s office.

Now he’d have to make sure Cara and he didn’t work at cross-purposes. Otherwise, she could blow this new murder investigation, intentionally or by accident.

“Let’s talk strategy,” he finally said. “How do you plan to research your story?”

“Well,” Cara said slowly, as if making up her mind whether to speak. Then her voice took on its usual determination. “I’m going to call my friend Lindsey Wellington. She’s at Bart Rawlins’s ranch. They were the ones who figured out Paul Lambert killed Bart’s uncle Jeb, then tried to frame Bart for it. She was an associate at the law firm, so she’s out of work. Which is fine with her for now. Bart and she are going to be married. Maybe she can shed some light on what Nancy wanted to show me.”

“Good idea. You’ll let me know what she says?”

Cara nodded. “And I’m planning to meet with the Ranger Corporation’s Mustang Valley representative to get his perspective on the killings.”

That direction could lead to quicksand. “Be careful,” Mitch warned. “I’ve heard the guy—Rosales—is up in arms about the allegations against his company. The talk at the department is to tread carefully there, not make unsubstantiated claims.”

“I won’t allege anything I can’t back up. I’ll report the facts. They’re public, anyway. Our dear former mayor killed Andrew McGovern to hide his conflict of interest because of his investment in Ranger Corporation. By the way, in the spirit of sharing information with you, I was once engaged to Andrew.”

That jolted Mitch. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“It was a long time ago.” Yet it still drew shadows in the depths of her soft hazel eyes. “And Paul Lambert,” she continued more strongly, “killed a rancher to try to get control of his property so it could be sold to Paul’s client, Ranger Corporation.”

“Looks that way in both cases,” Mitch acknowledged, “but no evidence we found pointed to Ranger’s direct involvement in the killings. They’d apparently just come to town to buy property for some development. We couldn’t hang anything on them showing they solicited either the mayor’s investment or their lawyer’s eagerness to make the property they wanted available.”

“But you looked?”

“The guys on those cases did,” Mitch said. He gave her a rundown of the unclassified stuff he knew—and that elicited a big smile from her.

If information got her to smile like that, he wondered what else he could tell her… Don’t be an ass, Steele, he cautioned himself. Cara Hamilton was a reporter. A very good reporter.

“Too bad we can’t question either Mayor Daniels or Paul Lambert about a connection,” Cara said when he was done. While trying to escape after being found out, the mayor had crashed his car into a tree and died. Lambert had committed suicide in his cell. “Do you think Lambert’s partner, Donald Church, would know anything?”

“If so, I doubt he’d tell you. He’s a lawyer. He won’t violate attorney-client privilege and talk about the firm’s client, Ranger Corporation—particularly if it might somehow link him to all that’s gone on, or at least make him look like a fool. Far as I know, he still intends to practice law here, though the former Lambert & Church firm is down the toilet.”

“I can’t prove that whatever Nancy wanted to show me had anything to do with Ranger, anyway,” Cara acknowledged. “But I’ll talk to Church to see what his position is. And to see what else I can learn. Could be something else was wrong at the law firm that prompted the murders—including Nancy’s.”

“Maybe,” Mitch agreed. “But don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Of course not.” She smiled at him. “And now that I’ve shared my next moves with you, how about sharing yours with me?”

The idea of their sharing moves… Had she intended the double entendre? She’d shown she wasn’t above flirting to get what she wanted. Intentional or not, the thought heated him to near boiling. He found that damned disturbing. “I’ll check in to see what the crime-scene guys learned,” he said coolly.

“You’ll let me know the results?”

“What I can.” Which wouldn’t be much. His primary responsibility was to the people of this county, to bring down the perpetrator. Hers was to get a good story.

She studied him again, then said, “Mitch, do you…” Her voice tapered off. “Okay, let me just be blunt,” she finally said. “I wasn’t kidding before when I talked to Sheriff Wilson, Mitch. It seems odd that the County Sheriff’s Department didn’t solve the first two murders.”

“It’ll solve the third.” He would see to it.

“You don’t think that the…well, inability to solve the others was intentional, do you?”

“No.” He inserted false conviction into his gaze. There was something Cara didn’t know, but he was not about to enlighten her.

There had been a fourth murder that had had something to do with the Lambert & Church law firm. The connection seemed indirect, but it related to a scandal.

The scandal that had destroyed Mitch’s father. And had, apparently, led to his suicide.

But Mitch was sure his father had been murdered.

And now he was in charge of investigating Nancy Wilks’s death. He’d be able to dig more into Lambert & Church and its clients without being second-guessed by his boss. This could even be the break he needed.

And working with Cara Hamilton could provide the additional cover he required. He’d use her, if necessary. And this time, nothing—not Cara or anyone else—would keep Mitch from solving his father’s murder, too.