“This little man owes you his life, Sheriff.”

Mandy shook her head at the nurse. “It was just luck.”

“It was by the grace of God, young lady. Would you like to hold him? I have to get back to my other patients.”

Taking the baby carefully, Mandy held his small, warm body close. It felt so right and natural to hold him in her arms.

Perhaps one day she would have a child of her own. But she was stuck in a small town where even the bravest of men hesitated to ask the sheriff on a date.

Sometimes it was hard always being the one in charge. Always looking to right wrongs. She would never be able to give this little boy his mother back, but she could see that justice was done. Someone had tried to kill this beautiful boy. Someone had left him an orphan on purpose. She wouldn’t let them get away with it.

“I’ll find out who killed your mother. I promise.”

MILLS & BOON

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PATRICIA DAVIDS

continues to work as a part-time nurse in the NICU while writing full-time. She enjoys researching new stories, traveling to new locations and meeting fans along the way. She and her husband of thirty-two years live in Wichita, Kansas, along with the newest addition to the household, a stray cat named Spooky. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can contact her by mail at P.O. Box 16714, Wichita, Kansas 67216, or visit her on the Web at www.patriciadavids.com.

Patricia Davids
Speed Trap

Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things have become new.

—2 Corinthians 5:17

To my brothers, all four of you, for making me

the toughest girl in Navarre grade school.

May God bless and keep each one of you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

The black skid marks on the highway ended abruptly at a shattered guardrail. There was only empty space beyond.

Sheriff Mandy Scott maneuvered her white SUV to a stop before the break and mentally prepared herself for what lay over the edge.

It wouldn’t be good.

Someone had found one of the worst spots in Morrison County to run his or her car off the road.

Mandy silenced her siren but left the light bar flashing. Grasping the radio mic, she reported in. “Dispatch, I’m on the scene.”

Donna Clareborn, the county dispatcher, replied, “Copy that, Sheriff. Was Mr. Tobin right? Is there a fatality?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The accident had been called in by an elderly local rancher. Mandy saw his green pickup truck sitting a dozen yards down the highway, but Emmett was nowhere in sight.

“Fire rescue and EMS are on the way.” A slight quiver in Donna’s normally professional voice revealed her apprehension.

Mandy felt the same way. In a small community like Timber Wells, the victim could easily be someone they knew.

Grabbing her first-aid kit and fire extinguisher, Mandy left her vehicle. The early morning wind greeted her with the fresh scent of prairie grass and spring wildflowers before the stench of burning oil overpowered it. Mandy looked over the broken railing into the ravine.

Thirty feet below, a crumpled red car rested upside down in the dry creek bed. Spirals of gray smoke rose from the mangled front end.

Emmett Tobin sat in the grass a few feet from the vehicle. His gray head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. He held his sweat-stained Stetson between his hands.

Mandy sucked in a steadying breath, then made her way down the steep rocky slope.

Emmett looked up at her approach. “She’s gone, Sheriff. There weren’t nothing I could do.”

Mandy laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You stayed with her, Emmett. That’s something. I’ll take it from here.”

She didn’t doubt his findings, but she had to check for herself. Leaving him, she approached the car. The air near the vehicle reeked of gasoline, burned rubber and hot oil. She cast a worried glance at the smoke curling out of the engine block.

Moving around the car, Mandy found the driver’s side door had been flung open. A woman with short blond hair lay sprawled on her back beside it. She wore jeans and a bloodstained yellow shirt.

Kneeling beside the body, Mandy checked for a pulse and found none.

“Sheriff, you’d better get away from that car,” Emmett called out sharply.

Mandy glanced up to see the smoke from the engine had become a thick black column with flames flickering at the base. It was then she heard a whimper—a tiny cry almost lost in the wind.

Was there someone still inside?

Mandy aimed her extinguisher at the burning engine. “Emmett, I need your help!”

Hurrying to her side, Emmett accepted the red canister Mandy thrust at him. Leaving him to deal with the flames, she knelt and peered inside the crushed vehicle. All she saw was a wadded-up blanket behind the passenger’s seat, but she heard another muffled cry.

The driver’s body was blocking Mandy’s way. Slipping her hands under the woman’s arms, Mandy dragged the body a few feet away. She could hear sirens now. The fire truck was almost here.

Emmett continued aiming bursts of CO2 at the engine. The flames leaped higher. One extinguisher wouldn’t be enough. The whole car could go up any second.

Breathing a quick prayer, Mandy ducked inside and began wiggling across the ceiling of the upside-down vehicle.

“Sheriff, what are you doing?” Emmett yelled. “I looked in. I didn’t see nobody else.”

“I hear crying. It sounds like a baby.”

Broken glass covered everything. It bit into Mandy’s elbows and stomach as she crawled. She could feel the heat of the fire. Smoke stung her eyes and scorched her lungs with each breath she was forced to take.

Behind the passenger’s seat, she pushed aside a patchwork quilt and discovered a baby buckled into a car seat that had come loose. The child whimpered pitifully.

“You need to get out of there,” Emmett shouted.

Barely able to move in the tight space, Mandy worked frantically to unbuckle the remaining straps holding the child in the seat. Fear made her fingers clumsy.

Don’t think about the fire. Get this child out.

The hiss and pop of the flames grew louder. The metal in the roof supports groaned as the weight of the car compressed them. If they crumpled a few more inches she would be trapped.

Tugging again at the fastener, she wished she had a knife, anything to cut the nylon straps.

God, please let me save this child.

Finally, the reluctant buckle clicked open. As Mandy pulled the baby loose, he cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, swaddling the blanket over him to protect him from the smoke. Cradling him close, she began to wiggle backward.

The heat of the engine fire singed her face and neck. She knew the smell of scorched cotton was coming from her uniform. With a loud metallic snap, the car settled lower.

The baby stopped crying, but she didn’t dare unwrap him to see if he was okay. They were almost out of time.

“Please, God, only a little bit more.”

She had her legs out when suddenly she felt hands grabbing her boots. An instant later, someone was pulling her free.

Emmett, having abandoned the empty extinguisher, helped her to her feet. They both turned and ran. With a deafening boom, the gas tank exploded and the flames engulfed the vehicle.

When they reached a safe distance, Mandy sank to her knees in the grass and stared at the blazing car.

“That was a near thing,” Emmett wheezed beside her, bracing his hands on his knees.

“Much too close.”

She looked down at the child she held and uncovered his face. To her relief he was still breathing. She sent a silent prayer of thanks.

The county fire department truck had arrived on the highway above followed by an ambulance and her undersheriff, Fred Lindholm. The fire crew quickly sprayed a thick layer of white foam over the burning vehicle. After a few tense minutes, the flames were beaten down.

Mandy sat rocking the baby while the EMS crew checked the driver. The men exchanged pointed looks and gave a brief shake of their heads.

Looking down at the child she held, Mandy’s heart went out to him. Poor little baby. Was the woman his mother? Where was his father? Did he have anyone in the world to care for him?

Dressed in a blue-and-white sleeper, he looked to be a little boy maybe four or five months old. She combed her fingers through the silky fine blond curls on his head. “I wish I could have saved her, too.”

Fred, a burly man in his late fifties, arrived at her side huffing with exertion. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you crawling out of that burning car. Talk about a stupid stunt!”

Fred rarely missed a chance to criticize her, but she was too emotionally spent to defend her actions.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, his tone softening slightly.

Glancing down, she saw blood on her sleeves. “I must have cut myself on the glass.”

One of the EMS crew came to check the baby. Mandy bit her lower lip, reluctant to give him up. Holding the child kept her hands from shaking.

It was hard not to think about how easily they both could have died.

At the paramedic’s gentle coaxing, she gave the child over, but noticed how empty her arms felt without his weight. She clasped her hands around her knees to disguise their trembling.

After rolling up Mandy’s sleeves, a second paramedic cleaned her cuts, wound a roll of gauze around both her elbows and secured them with tape. She listened to his instructions on keeping the wounds clean and dry without comment. When he was done, Mandy rose to her feet, happy to find her legs were steady enough to stand.

She needed to get to work. There was an accident to investigate, reports to file, next of kin to be notified. Keeping busy was the best way to keep her mind off her close call.

Turning to her undersheriff, she said, “Get started with the scene, Fred. I want to know how fast she was going when she hit that railing. I’m going to take Emmett’s statement.”

She climbed the rocky slope to where the rancher was sitting in his pickup. When she reached him, she offered her hand. “Thanks for all your help, Emmett. I need to ask you a few questions for my accident report, but it shouldn’t take long. Then you’ll be free to go.”

“It wasn’t an accident, Sheriff.”

That got her full attention. “What do you mean?”

He pointed to a hilltop off to the west of the road. “I was in the pasture, putting out protein blocks for my cows. I heard a crash, and when I looked this way, I saw a dark pickup flying down the road beside that car. Plain as day, he hit her again, and that was when she went off the road.”

“You’re saying it was deliberate? Did you get a license plate number?”

“They were too far away. The truck stopped and a fella got out. He walked back and looked down at her, then he ran to his truck and took off.”

Mandy pulled a gray notebook from her hip pocket and flipped it open. “You said a dark pickup. Was it black, blue? What model? Ford, Chevy?”

“My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. It wasn’t light enough for me to see the color clear. I think it was a black Ford, but I can’t be sure.”

“Can you describe the man you saw?”

“He was a white guy. Tallish. He had on a dark cowboy hat.”

Tallish with a cowboy hat. Emmett had just described two-thirds of the men in her county. Cowboys were as common as fleas at a dog park here in the Kansas Flint Hills where ranching was the main occupation. And ninety-nine percent of the men drove pickups.

“Which way did he go?”

“Toward town.”

Fred drew her attention with a shout. He held up a black purse. Mandy excused herself and walked over to her officer.

Fred handed her the pocketbook. “This must have been thrown out of the car. The vehicle has Sedgwick County plates. I’m having Donna run them now.”

Inside the cheap vinyl handbag, Mandy found a few cosmetics, a tan wallet and a date book. Opening the wallet, she located a driver’s license. The photo matched the dead driver. Her name was Judy Bowen, age twenty-five.

Only two years younger than I am.

The license listed a Wichita address. Mandy hoped it was a current one. It would make it easier to notify next of kin.

Also in the wallet were two pictures of the baby. Mandy turned one over. Colin, four weeks old, was written on the back. She glanced toward the ambulance. So his name was Colin. It was a good strong name.

Other than thirty-three dollars and some change, there was nothing else of interest in the wallet. Mandy pulled out the date book, opening it to today’s date.

A notation said, Meet Garrett at the ranch.

Mandy had lived in Timber Wells for the past eight months, but Fred had lived here all his life and he’d worked for the previous sheriff. She held out the book. “It appears the driver was Judy Bowen. Does the name Garrett ring a bell?”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure. Garrett Bowen lives about ten miles on the other side of town. She’s his ex-wife. She left him about a year ago.”

An interesting bit of information. “Did you know her?”

“I picked her up for possession of meth right after she moved out of his place. She pleaded out for community service, never did any time. She left town after that. I never heard anything more about her.”

“What about the ex-husband?”

“I seem to recall they were both busted on drug charges down in Oklahoma a few years ago. I’d have to look it up. He hasn’t stepped out of line in this county—that I know of—but I never did trust him.”

“Why?”

“He’s got a funny way of looking at you. Like he’s looking through you. It ain’t right.”

“Emmett says the car was deliberately run off the road.”

Fred handed back the book. “According to those skid marks she was heading away from his ranch not toward it. Maybe her visit with her ex didn’t go so well.”

“I’m thinking the same thing. What else do you know about him?”

“Not much. He lives by himself. I see his truck and trailer going through town at least once a week.”

“He doesn’t happen to drive a dark-colored Ford, does he?”

Fred nodded. “Come to think of it, he does.

Mandy watched as the coroner’s hearse pulled up behind the squad cars. “Fred, notify the Highway Patrol. I’d like them to process the car.”

“You think I can’t do it? I’ve been working accidents since before you were born.”

Rather than take offense, she chose to mollify him. “That’s why I want you to stay and see that it gets done right. You know as well as I do we’ll get the crime scene reports back faster if we let the KHP assist us on this.”

“And what are you gonna to be doing?”

“I’m going to get cleaned up, then I’m going to pay Mr. Bowen a visit. He wouldn’t be the first ex-husband to settle a marital score with murder.”

Mandy knew that all to well.

Garrett pulled a bent nail from the pouch at his waist and laid it on top of the wooden fence post. With careful taps of his hammer, he straightened it. Using his elbow to brace the next board against the post, he hit the nail, hoping it wouldn’t bend. It went in straight and sure.

“See that, Wiley? All it takes is finesse.” He glanced at the shaggy black-and-white mutt sitting near his feet. Wiley cocked his head to one side and wagged his crooked tail.

Garrett straightened another rusty nail, but it bent like a wet noodle when he tried to hammer it in. He tossed it into a nearby bucket of similar failures. The dog dashed over to nose the contents.

“Laugh at me, Wiley, and you’ll go to bed without supper.”

The dog leaped to his hind legs and pawed the air as he turned in an excited circle and yipped. The words breakfast, lunch or supper all brought about the same reaction. Wiley had a thing about food.

“Just kidding, buddy.” Having suffered that punishment more times than he could count as a boy, Garrett would never inflict it on Wiley. He and the little stray had a lot in common. They both knew what it was to be beaten, hungry and abandoned.

“I may not have enough money for new lumber, but I reckon I can afford kibble.”

Garrett stared at his half-finished corral. For now, he had to make do with used boards and nails salvaged from an old shed, but with a little luck and hard work, next year would be different. His herd of Angus cows might be small, but they were producing some fine calves this spring and prices were good.

Careful saving and the extra money he’d started earning as a cattle buyer would let him add to his herd in the coming months, but there wouldn’t be cash left over to fix up the place.

He didn’t mind waiting.

Pushing his hat back, he paused to lean both arms on the post and survey the green rolling grassland sweeping toward the horizon. Someday, these hills would hold hundreds of fat black cows with calves at their sides, all wearing his brand.

It was the one dream he held on to.

The month before Garrett turned eighteen, his alcoholic father died of a stroke. Garrett had inherited a nearly worthless house, two hundred and fifty acres of pasture and a mountain of debt. He’d had nowhere to go and no reason to stay—except that he loved the land.

Nothing about the prairie was closed up or shut in.

He loved the wide sweep of the horizon and the way the wind sent ripples dancing through the long grass. He loved the smell of newly mown hay and the sight of cattle knee-deep in the emerald green pastures. He loved the freedom the wide sky offered. The land asked for nothing, promised nothing. It just was.

After ten years of scrimping and saving he’d been able to buy back most of the land his father had sold off. He owned almost a thousand acres now. With the right stock, Garrett knew he could build up a breeding program to be proud of. He had a good start, but there was still a lot to be done.

It was a dream Garrett hoarded carefully. Too many of his dreams had been squashed by people he’d trusted. Like his father and his mother. Like Judy.

It’s better not to wish for too much. Better not to trust at all.

Garrett pushed away from the post. Self-pity wouldn’t finish his fence. He glanced at the sun nearly straight overhead. Judy should have been here by now.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about her impending visit. Why was she so adamant about seeing him? Why now?

Still pondering the question, Garrett walked to his truck. Pulling a board from the bed, he eyed it to make sure it was straight. Wiley barked twice, then raced off down the gravel lane.

In the distance, Garrett recognized the sheriff’s white SUV approaching. A feeling of unease settled like a rock in his stomach. Pulling a red kerchief from his hip pocket, he wiped the sweat from his face, then settled his hat low on his head and waited until the vehicle rolled to a stop a few yards from him.

There was no mistaking the woman behind the wheel. Miss Mandy Scott—big-city cop turned small-town sheriff—slowly opened the truck door. Garrett fought to quell the churning in his gut as old memories rose to the surface.

His mother had called the police a few times, but their visits had only made matters worse. When the cops were gone, his father made her pay dearly for her audacity. Garrett had been too young and too frightened to help her.

His mother took her husband’s abuse as long as she could. Then one day, she just left.

The slamming of the truck door yanked Garrett back to the present. He waited as Sheriff Scott approached.

She wasn’t tall, maybe five foot five or six, but the way she carried herself made her seem taller—as if she were looking down on him instead of up at a man who had a good six inches on her. Her honey-blond hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. Her mouth was pressed into a tight line.

Everything about her from the mannish cut of her blue uniform to the shine on her black boots seemed to shout that she was a woman in charge.

She would be pretty if she smiled. Not that she was homely—just intense.

“Afternoon, Mr. Bowen.” Her tone was all business. Pulling off her sunglasses, she let her gaze sweep over him. He forced himself to remain still, but his gaze slid to the house.

Shame clawed at his gut. Cold sweat trickled down his back.

Mandy wanted the man to take off his hat. He was a person of interest in his ex-wife’s murder. She wanted to see his eyes. The bright noon sun and the wide brim of his battered Stetson made it impossible.

“Afternoon, Sheriff.” He kept his hands at his sides.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” Keeping one eye on him, she moved toward his truck.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see you’re getting a new corral in.” She glanced at the rag-tag assortment of boards in his truck. She could see where he’d pulled down one of his outbuildings. Several more looked ready to fall down, yet his barn was in good repair.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He wasn’t much of a talker. Now that she had a face to put with his name, she remembered seeing him in town a few times. A tall, lean man with midnight-black hair and dark eyes, he was attractive in a quiet sort of way.

He wore standard ranching attire. A dark brown Stetson that had seen better days, faded jeans over scuffed cowboy boots and a blue, western-style shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The taut muscles in his tan forearms and the sweat stains on his clothes told her he wasn’t afraid of hard work.

His record had been clean since his out-of-state arrest for marijuana three years ago, but that didn’t prove he was innocent. It might only prove that he’d gotten smarter.

He stood silently before her. The thing that struck her most was how still he was. Almost at military attention, he waited as she crossed the graveled yard toward his vehicle. The crunch of her boots on the crushed rock was the only sound except for the panting of the little dog that scampered at her feet.

She wished the man would take off his hat.

Strolling to the front of his truck, she noticed a number of deep dents and scratches. “You’ve got some damage up here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited in vain for him to explain. He didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle. Finally, she nodded toward the hood. “Care to tell me how this happened?”

“It’s an old truck. It gets used hard.”

Wow, two whole sentences. He’s really loosening up.

Stepping back, she cocked her head to one side. “This midnight blue looks almost black, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t say “Yes, ma’am” this time. He said, “Is there something I can do for you?”

His tone was clipped, lacking any emotion. His stillness bothered her. Was he hiding something?

Garrett wasn’t used to company—especially not the company of a pretty woman who happened to be a cop. She’d come for a reason. He wished she’d get to the point.

She gazed at him without flinching. “Do you know a woman named Judy Bowen?”

His unease flared like a grass fire. “Yes.”

“How well do you know her?” Her question sounded nonchalant, but it wasn’t.

“What’s this about, Sheriff?”

“I asked how well do you know her?”

Something was wrong, but he sensed he wouldn’t get answers from Sheriff Scott until she was ready to give them.

He forced his tense muscles to relax. “She’s my ex-wife, but I figure you already know that.”

Only the slightest lift of her eyebrows acknowledged his assumption. “When did you see her last?”

He clamped his teeth together. He didn’t like sharing details of his personal life. “Judy split about a year ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

“I heard she was here today. What time did she leave?”

How did the sheriff know Judy was coming to visit? “She hasn’t shown up yet.”

“Care to tell me why she was here?”

“I told you, I haven’t seen her yet.” He kept his face carefully blank. He’d learned as a child not to show fear or anger or anything that would trigger his father’s rage. Still, it was hard to hold back his growing concern.

“Is that so?” She clearly didn’t believe him. Her eyes locked with his, seeking something. Weakness?

Never let ’em see you’re scared. He could hear his mother’s cautiously whispered advice.

Garrett raised his chin a notch. “I’m not answering your questions until you tell me why you’re asking. What’s wrong?”

Mandy’s eyes widened. “Why would something be wrong?”

“Because you’re out here, grilling me.”

She folded her arms and leaned back slightly. “Your ex-wife is dead. What do you know about that?”

TWO

Mandy scrutinized Garrett Bowen’s face, paying close attention to every detail.

“Judy’s dead?” The disbelief in his voice was the first crack in his armor that she’d seen.

His gaze dropped to his boots. The dog came over. Whining, the mutt rose and braced his front paws against Garrett’s knee. After a long moment, Garrett asked, “How?”

A flash of sympathy darted through her, but she suppressed it. Her job was finding Judy Bowen’s killer. Mandy pulled her notebook from her pocket and flipped it open. “Her car was deliberately run off the road. Where were you at seven o’clock this morning?”

He looked up sharply. “Here.”

“Who can verify that?”

“Wiley.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And who is that?”

He nodded toward his feet. “The dog. I don’t get a lot of company.”

Not much of an alibi, yet his words had a vague ring of truth. If he wanted to cover up his involvement in a murder he could certainly do better than make a dog his only witness.

“Care to tell me what Judy wanted to see you about?”

“I don’t know,” he stated quietly.

Once more her suspicions were aroused. “Your ex-wife was coming to see you after a year and you had no idea why?”

“That’s right. I got a call from Judy a week ago. She said she had to see me—to tell me something she couldn’t put in a letter or talk about over the phone.”

“Didn’t that seem strange?”

“It did, but I didn’t pry.” He stared at his boots again. “Were drugs involved in her death?”

“That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?” She hoped pretending ignorance of his record would put him off guard. If she could, she wanted to catch him in a lie. It would help her decide if she believed anything else he’d told her.

“Judy—had a drug problem.”

“Really. When was this?”

He waited for a long moment, then said, “While we were married, and before I met her.”

“I see. What about you?”

Glancing up suddenly, he said, “I was arrested once for possession as I’m sure you already know. You think I had something to do with her death.”

She arched one eyebrow. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No.”

Again, she heard a ring of truth in his voice, but she wasn’t willing to accept his word. She’d been wrong before.

Let me get this one right, Lord. Help me find justice for that little boy.

Deciding to press Garrett, she stepped closer. “I can see how things might have gotten out of hand. You had a fight. She took off. You followed. Maybe all you wanted to do was stop her. You never meant to send her car off the road.”

“No.” His stood absolutely still. He didn’t so much as flinch at her accusations. The wall he kept his emotions hidden behind was thick and well-crafted.

Mandy swept a hand toward his pickup. “I’d like to collect a paint sample from your vehicle.”

“Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

“I can get one.” It wasn’t an empty threat. She knew Judge Bailey would grant her request, but she also knew he was gone on a fishing trip until the end of the week. She didn’t intend to wait that long.

Garrett slipped his hands in his hip pockets. “Take anything you want if it will help find who killed Judy.”

His cooperation added weight to her feeling that he might be telling the truth, but didn’t completely sway her. He wasn’t what she would call eager and willing to help.

Keeping one eye on him, she set about collecting the paint scraping, sealing it in an evidence envelope and tucking it in her shirt pocket.

When she was finished, she turned and walked back to her vehicle. With one hand on the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t leave the area, Mr. Bowen. I’m going to have more questions for you.”

Kathryn Scott opened the oven door and extracted a meat loaf with a pair of blue flowered oven mitts. “A murdered woman, an ex-husband with no alibi and a baby. This case sounds a lot like the one you worked in Kansas City just before your father died.”

Mandy didn’t need to be reminded of that fact. It had been rolling around in her mind all day. “It is similar to the Wallace case.”

“Whatever happened to him?” Kathryn placed the pan on an iron trivet on the table.

Mandy, standing at the counter in her mother’s cheery white-and-yellow old-fashioned kitchen, continued filling two glasses with iced tea. “He’s serving life in prison for smothering his baby daughter. I—We were never able to prove he killed his wife.”

“Life can be so terribly sad. Sometimes, it seems as if evil is winning.”

“Sometimes it does,” Mandy agreed softly.

She’d only been a homicide detective in Kansas City for a few short months when she caught the Wallace case. In spite of the fact that her partner thought the husband was guilty of his ex-wife’s murder, Mandy believed the man’s story and released him after questioning him only briefly.

If she’d been less trusting, less gullible. If she’d dug a little deeper, tried harder to break him, maybe his daughter would still be alive.

“Do you think Garrett did it?” Kathryn asked.

Mandy considered the question as she carried the glasses to the table. She’d sensed Garrett’s unease, but he seemed genuinely shaken when he heard his ex-wife was dead.

Her conscience pricked her for the way she’d delivered the news, but gauging his reaction was part of her job.

She still didn’t know what to believe. His shock was the only bit of emotion she’d seen in the man. Something wasn’t right about that.

But he hadn’t asked about the baby. That as much as anything made her think he hadn’t seen his ex-wife that day.

“I’m not ruling him out.”

Mandy sat down and waited as her mother dished up slices of meat loaf. The mouth-watering smells of cooked onions, spices and barbecue sauce filled the kitchen.

Mandy had sent paint samples from Garrett’s truck along with scraping of the paint transfer from Judy’s car to the crime lab in Topeka. It would be a few days before she had the results.

“What’s he like?” her mother asked suddenly.

Mandy thought about it before answering. He was a tense and disturbing man, but there was something about him, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

He seemed so alone. As if holding still could hold him separate from what was going on around him. He seemed incredibly lonely.

She shook off the fanciful notion. She wasn’t about to share that image with her mother. Instead, Mandy said, “He’s not what you’d call the friendly sort.”

Her mother paused in the act of passing a bowl of green beans. Alarm widened her eyes. “And you went there alone?”

Mandy sought to reassure her mother. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle myself.”

“That’s what your father used to say.”

Mandy watched as a sad faraway look filled her mother’s eyes. Kathryn Scott had been devastated by her husband’s death. A decorated police officer with nearly thirty years on the force, he’d been shot and killed during a drug raid two years ago.

For months afterward, Mandy had worried that her mother’s frail health would fail and she would lose another parent. When the job of undersheriff in Timber Wells became available, it seemed like a gift from heaven.

The move back to her mother’s hometown had been a good idea. With the help of old friends and caring members from the community’s tight-knit church, Kathryn had slowly regained her health and her interest in life.

Less than a month after accepting the job, Mandy found herself promoted from undersheriff to sheriff when her predecessor died of a sudden heart attack.

Kathryn leaned forward to squeeze her daughter’s arm. “I pray the Lord will look after you, and I know your father’s giving Him a hand with that.”

After saying grace, Kathryn began a monologue of her day. Mandy listened with only half an ear. Garrett’s face kept intruding into her thoughts.

There was something perplexing about the man. For one thing, what right-minded cowboy kept a roving dust mop as a ranch dog? The little black-and-white ball of fur might make a coyote fall over laughing, but it sure wouldn’t be able to chase one away from the livestock.

Kathryn began to butter a roll. “Have you had any luck solving the farm supply store robbery?”

Mandy forced her mind away from the puzzle that was Garrett Bowen. “Not yet.”

Mandy might not miss the hectic pace of the Kansas City Police Department, but she did miss the crime lab people. It normally took days, even weeks to get reports on prints and evidence she had to send to the Kansas Bureau of Investigation labs for processing. The turnaround time on evidence was one of her biggest frustrations.

“Why would anyone steal so much camping fuel?” Kathryn asked.

Mandy knew and it sickened her. “To make meth. Illegal methamphetamine labs are a major drug problem. It’s easy to make, easy to transport and so addictive that a person has to use it only once or twice to become hooked. Yet, the stuff they make it with is poison. I don’t know why people don’t get that.”

Just thinking about the havoc the drug caused was enough to stifle Mandy’s appetite. Last month, she had arrested a couple so high on speed that they were lying on a railroad track screaming in paranoid terror while their two young children watched. The kids hadn’t been fed in days. They’d been living on scraps while their parents spent every dime they could beg, borrow or steal on the drug that was destroying them.

Unless Mandy could stop the flow of meth into her county, she was afraid she was seeing only the tip of the iceberg. Rural crime was on the rise, and her department had seen a sharp increase in drug-related arrests in the town. Far too many of those crimes involved teenagers.

Kathryn took a sip of her tea, then said, “I thought the number of meth labs dropped off once the state passed stricter controls on over-the-counter cold medications.”

“They did—for a while. Instead of stealing the pseudo-ephedrine or ephedrine from the local drugstores, they’re getting it off the Internet from Canada or Mexico.”

Reports from narcotic units in both Kansas City and Wichita pointed to the fact that large shipments of meth were coming out of Mandy’s area. She knew she had a major drug ring operating almost under her nose. She just couldn’t pin them down. Yet.

Mandy ate in silence as she tried to figure out what she had missed. After a few minutes, she felt her mother’s gaze on her and looked up. “What?”

“I said Candice Willow’s daughter is expecting again.”

“What will that be, her fourth?” Mandy forked a piece of meat loaf into her mouth and braced herself for another round of why-don’t-you-settle-down-and-raise-a-family hints from her mother.

“Candice’s daughter is the same age as you are.”

“Really? She’s been busy.” Mandy tried to hold back her sarcasm but failed.

“Grandchildren are such a blessing.” A heavy sigh followed Kathryn’s comment.

Mandy studied her mother’s carefully blank face without comment.

Kathryn took another sip of tea, then said, “Did I mention Candice’s oldest son is coming for a visit. He’s a doctor. A radiologist.”

So that’s where this was going. Mandy laid down her fork and laced her fingers together on the table. “I’m guessing he’s single.”

Kathryn brightened. “As a matter of fact, he is.”

“Don’t you dare try and fix us up.”

“I never suggested such a thing.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Grandchildren are a blessing. He’s a doctor. Come on, Mom, I can read you like a rap sheet.”

“Grandchildren are a blessing, and I’d like to have some of my own before I die. It wouldn’t hurt you to go out on a date once in a while.”

“Fine. I’ll go out with the next guy who asks me. In case you haven’t noticed, they’re not exactly lined up around the block.”

Mandy rose from the table and carried her dish to the sink. “If and when the right guy comes along, it will happen. If not, then that’s okay, too.”

“Candice’s son could be the right one. How will you know if you don’t meet him?”

As soon as he hears I’m a sheriff, he’ll run the other way. They all do.

“Just meet him. That’s all I’m asking,” her mother continued with a slight pout, then changed the subject.

After clearing the table and loading the dishwasher, Mandy bid her mother goodbye and left. Walking down the porch to the next doorway, she unlocked her side of the duplex and went in.

The quaint two-story Victorian house with its wraparound porch had been remodeled into a duplex. It had turned out to be the perfect place for them. Living next door to her mother gave Mandy peace of mind and her mother a sense of independence.

Mandy stopped in the kitchen to check her phone messages. The machine showed a red 0. She’d left clear instruction that she was to be called if any new leads or new information on Judy Bowen’s case became available. Apparently, none had.

Feeling unusually restless, Mandy turned around, snatched her car keys off the hook and walked out of the house.

The drive across town was short. Timber Wells boasted only four thousand residents and a total of four traffic lights.

Pulling into a large parking lot, Mandy stopped and stared at the front entrance of the town’s hospital. She could have called to check on the baby, but what she really needed was to see him—to make sure he was doing all right.

Inside the building, the nurse on duty gave her a room number. Mandy found the pediatric ward and quietly opened the door to room 222. An elderly woman sat in a wooden rocker, holding Colin. The baby was whimpering softly.

“How is he?” Mandy crossed the room for a better look.

“Fussy, but I would be, too, if I had a broken collarbone.”

Mandy took note of the small sling that held one arm pinned to his sleeper. “I’m Sheriff Scott. I just wanted to check on him before I called it a night.”

“I know who you are. I understand this little man owes you his life.”

“I was in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”

“It was by the grace of God you were there, and it was a brave thing to do, young lady. Would you like to hold him awhile? I really need to get back to my other duties, but he cries whenever I lay him down.”

Taken aback, Mandy shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not much good with kids.”

“Nonsense. Anyone can rock a baby. Sit here.” The woman rose to her feet, leaving Mandy little choice but to do as she was told.

Taking the baby carefully, she held his small, warm body close. He whimpered again. Mandy looked up in concern. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“Be careful not to jar his arm, and he’ll be fine. The nurse gave him something for pain in his last bottle. It should take effect soon. Once he’s asleep, you can put him to bed.” With a smile of encouragement, she left the room.

Slowly, Mandy relaxed and as she did, the baby’s whimpering stopped. Before long, he drifted off to sleep. Instead of laying him down, she continued to rock him gently.

He was a beautiful child. His long eyelashes lay in blond crescents against his chubby cheeks. His tiny bow mouth made sucking motions as if he were dreaming about his next bottle.

Mandy smiled. The warmth of the emotions he evoked in her heart nearly took her breath away. She stared at his delicate face. It felt so right and natural to hold him in her arms. She began to hum a soft lullaby.

Perhaps one day she would have a child of her own. She’d thought there would be time to settle down after the academy and after getting her career started, but then her father had been killed and her mother had needed so much of her time.

Time was exactly what had slipped away. Now, Mandy was stuck in a small town where even the bravest of men hesitated to ask the sheriff out on a date.

“I shouldn’t whine when my life is so full of blessings,” she whispered to the little boy who slept in her arms.

She shouldn’t, but sometimes it was hard always being the one in charge. Always looking to right the wrongs in other people’s lives. It was harder still when she couldn’t right that wrong.

She’d never be able to give this little boy his mother back, but she would do her best to see that justice was done.

An hour later—long after her young charge and her arm had fallen asleep—Mandy managed to tear herself away. Laying him down, she stood for a moment rubbing away the pins and needles until feeling returned to her hand.

Kissing the tip of her fingers, she gently touched them to his forehead. “Sleep tight. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Smiling, she realized she’d just made a date with the cutest guy in Timber Wells. Too bad he was only four months old. Somehow, she was sure this wasn’t what her mother had in mind.

Someone had tried to kill that beautiful baby. Someone had succeeded in killing his mother.

Mandy vowed she wouldn’t let him or her get away with it.

Garrett turned his truck into a parking space in front of the county courthouse just after ten o’clock in the morning. It had been two days since he’d learned of Judy’s death.

He sat for a long time staring at the modern one-story brick structure and the immaculate green lawn that surrounded it. Flags fluttered in the breeze from a pair of flagpoles to the right of the low broad steps. Wiley, his paws parked on the armrest of the passenger’s side door, barked excitedly.

Garrett rubbed his palms on the top of the steering wheel. He didn’t like confrontations, but the news of Judy’s death followed by what he’d learned this morning left him reeling. Sheriff Scott had a lot of explaining to do.

Judy had a son.

A child who would grow up without a mother because she had been coming to see Garrett—and he still didn’t know why. A heavy sense of responsibility settled in his chest. Try as he might, he couldn’t dislodge it.

He knew what it was like to be motherless.

Why hadn’t the sheriff told him about the baby? Could the child be his? According to Judy’s pastor, the baby’s age made it possible, but surely Judy would have told him she was pregnant with his child.

Like Garrett, Judy had lived a hard life. When they first met at a truck stop in Overland Park, she’d been nursing a cup of coffee and a black eye from her latest in a long line of boyfriends who used their fists on her face.

She’d looked so alone, so lost. Garrett knew exactly how that felt. When she turned her heartrending smile in his direction and poured out her sad story, Garrett found himself determined to save her.

And she let him. They’d married within a month.

His dreams of a family to love and cherish the way he’d never been loved soon evaporated. Judy had a serious drug problem. She stayed with him a couple of years, but not out of love.

Garrett had simply been her free ride until she found something better. One day, she was gone.

Like everyone he cared about.

Getting out of his truck and closing the door, Garrett faced the courthouse again. He didn’t relish the idea of setting foot inside a police station. There were cells inside where men were locked away. Just the thought made his skin crawl. If he had a lick of sense, he’d go home and finish his corral.

Except he couldn’t. He needed answers, and Sheriff Scott had them. Facing his fears, he walked up the steps.

Inside the building, he found the door marked with the sheriff’s seal. He stepped into the room and saw a plump woman in her midfifties behind the counter.

Two deputies were seated at desks behind her. Garrett recognized Fred Lindholm, and his hands balled into fists.

The last time Garrett’s mother had called for help, Lindholm had been the one to respond. His help amounted to telling Garrett’s father to sober up and take it easy on his old lady. Less than a week later, Garrett’s mother left for good.

Maybe if Lindholm had done his job and arrested Garrett’s father, things might have turned out differently. The coil of anger and fear inside Garrett wound tighter, but he knew better than to let it loose.

At the desk next to Lindholm sat a younger man with short red hair and wide serious eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His name tag said Ken Holt. Garrett didn’t know him, but if he was anything like Lindholm, he’d be a good man to avoid.

“May I help you?” the woman asked.

Garrett shifted his attention back to the receptionist. “I’d like to talk to Sheriff Scott.”

“She isn’t in right now. Can I take a message?” The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She lifted a large pink leather purse to her desktop and began searching for something.

“When do you expect her back?” Garrett asked.

She pulled a stick of gum from her purse, unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth. “That’s hard to say.”

Behind him, he heard the door open and a cool voice he recognized said, “Mr. Bowen, what are you doing here?”

He turned around to see Mandy framed in the doorway. Once again he was surprised by how pretty she was. The very air around her seemed charged with rare energy. The nameless fear that squeezed Garrett’s throat eased.

He breathed in the scent of her freshly starched shirt. Beneath the smell of ironed cotton, he caught a subtle sweetness. Honeysuckle?

A tenacious vine with delicate flowers and a heady perfume that belied its tough nature. The description certainly fit the good sheriff.

Why did he find her so attractive? The answer eluded him.

He pushed the thought aside and got back to the reason he was here. “Why didn’t you tell me about Judy’s baby?”

Mandy walked past him and entered a nearby office. He followed her, determined to get a response.

A cluttered, heavy wooden desk occupied the center of the room. On the walls hung certificates and wanted posters and a large framed picture of a man in a police uniform with Mandy’s slender build and square chin.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood in front of her desk and regarded Garrett with a steady stare. He had the feeling she was stalling for time, searching for a way to respond.

“Where did you hear that she had a child?” Her tone was cold enough to frost the windows.

“Today when I called the minister she worked for to see about funeral arrangements, he asked about her son. Why didn’t you mention she had a kid?”

Mandy shrugged. “I didn’t think it was any of your business. You never mentioned she had a child.”

“I didn’t know.” He kept the bitterness out of his voice with difficulty. Judy had always said she didn’t want kids. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted his kids.

The pain of that thought made him flinch. “Is he my son?”

Mandy’s face softened for an instant, but the look was gone so quickly he wondered if he had imagined it. She shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Judy wasn’t home much the last month she lived with me. I think she was seeing someone else, but the baby could be mine. Can I see him?”

“No. This is still an open investigation.”

“Do you have any suspects? Besides me, that is.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

His bottled-up anger slipped its leash. “I didn’t have anything to do with Judy’s death. Are you even looking for the person who did?”

“I resent the implication that I’m not doing my job.” Her eyes snapped with suppressed irritation.

He couldn’t back down. Not now. “Resent away. I want answers.”

Mandy raised her chin. “Mr. Bowen, the best thing you can do is go home and let us do our job.”

Once again, the pretty sheriff was throwing up a roadblock. If she hadn’t been so eager to pin Judy’s death on him, he might have accepted her suggestion.

No, if he was going to get answers, he’d have to get them himself.

“I’ll find out what I need to know with or without your help, Sheriff.”

Mandy took a step closer. “Don’t get in my way, Mr. Bowen. If you do, you’ll regret it.”

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