“Sarah’s father was found back there,”
Clint whispered.
“I keep the door locked now.”

“Aren’t there any suspects at all?” Mandy asked.

He shook his head. “There were, but none have panned out. Can you imagine? In a town this size, there’s a killer out there—someone who probably committed all three murders—and he’s walking amongst us as free as can be.”

“Daddy?” Sarah’s voice trembled.

A rustling sound came from the back corner of the shop. Silence—then something heavy crashed to the floor with a sound of breaking glass.

Sarah screamed.

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WITHOUT A TRACE: Will a young mother’s disappearance bring a bayou town together…or tear it apart?

What Sarah Saw—Margaret Daley, January 2009

Framed!—Robin Caroll, February 2009

Cold Case Murder—Shirlee McCoy, March 2009

A Cloud of Suspicion—Patricia Davids, April 2009

Deadly Competition—Roxanne Rustand, May 2009

Her Last Chance—Terri Reed, June 2009

ROXANNE RUSTAND

is an award-winning author of eighteen books, and is truly delighted to have this opportunity to write for Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired Suspense line.

Her first manuscript won a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Long Contemporary of 1995. She was a Romantic Times BOOKreviews Career Achievement Award nominee in 2005, and won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006. She has presented workshops at writers’ conferences from coast to coast, and is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association, the Faith, Hope and Love Chapter of RWA, Authors Guild and Novelists Inc.

Roxanne and her husband live on an acreage in the Midwest and have three children, two semi-retired horses, a couple of goofy border collies named Elmo and Harold, and a number of very demanding cats. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached through www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand and www.roxannerustand.com, or by snail mail at P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406.

Deadly Competition
Roxanne Rustand

Special thanks and acknowledgment to

Roxanne Rustand for her contribution to the

Without a Trace miniseries.

The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know Your name will trust in You, for You, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek You.

—Psalms 9:9–10

Writing is usually a solitary business, but every now and then, an opportunity comes along to work on a series with other writers. It has been a sheer joy, as well as an honor, to participate in the Without a Trace continuity with wonderfully talented authors Margaret Daly, Robin Caroll, Shirlee McCoy, Patricia Davids and Terri Reed. Thanks so much to all of you!

And thanks also to Diane Palmer, Pamela Nissen and Jacquie Greenfield. I treasure our friendships more than words can express.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

PROLOGUE

At the sound of his sister Leah’s old Mustang pulling to a stop in the driveway, Clint Herald opened his front door to the damp, gray January evening, his heart heavy.

Could his three-year-old niece even grasp the concept of death? Did Sarah still think her daddy would be coming back?

There’d been no forewarning of her father’s apparent suicide four days ago, and it still made no sense. And now the troubles were just beginning for Clint’s sister and his young niece.

Clint leaned down to scoop Sarah up for their customary hug but did a double take when he saw the stark expression on his sister’s face.

“Keep her safe,” Leah whispered, casting a swift glance over her shoulder. She leaned forward to give Sarah a hug. Then thrust her daughter forward into Clint’s arms and backed away. “Please.”

Surprised at the tension in her voice, Clint reached for Leah’s hand, but she took another step back. “What’s going on?”

“N-nothing. I just have to go.”

Leah had asked Clint to keep Sarah for the evening while she talked to her lawyer about the tangled legal situation at her late husband’s pawnshop. Earl had died without ever getting around to adding Leah’s name to the property or his will. Yesterday’s modest funeral had almost wiped out their joint savings—just the start of the financial worries she would be facing.

But from the desperate look of yearning on Leah’s face as she turned away from Sarah and hurried to her car, Clint feared that his sister must be in even deeper trouble than she’d revealed.

“Leah, wait a minute!” Clint called out. But his sister didn’t look back.

She climbed into her car, shut the door and rammed the stick shift into reverse, grinding the gears—something she never, ever did to her beloved old car.

“Leah?” He felt his pulse quicken. “Leah!”

Taking the porch steps two at a time, he started after her with Sarah still in his arms, but the car shot down the gravel drive toward the highway in a cloud of dust.

Sobbing, Sarah twisted in his embrace, her favorite doll clutched to her chest. She reached toward the car with one outstretched hand. “Momma!” She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Momma!”

Clint stared as the Mustang took the turn onto the highway far too fast and fishtailed wildly. Then its wide tires grabbed asphalt and the vehicle sped out of sight.

The nightmare of finding her husband’s blood-soaked body had shaken Leah terribly. The overwhelming details of planning his funeral had taken an even greater toll on her over the past few days, despite Clint’s efforts to help out. But until now, she’d been stoic, perhaps numb with grief. She certainly hadn’t seemed afraid.

Yet he’d seen the terror in her eyes tonight, and her farewell had seemed tinged with despair.

He raced to his pickup with the crying child in his arms. Why hadn’t Leah confided in him? He would do anything in the world to help her.

Now, he prayed that wherever she was going and whatever she was facing, she’d be back tonight. She’d never leave Sarah. Sarah was her life, especially since his sister’s relationship with her now-dead husband, Earl, had seemed pretty rocky lately. Leah poured all of her love into Sarah. She would never abandon her little girl—unless—No! Leah couldn’t have had anything to do with Earl’s murder, and she would never leave Sarah unless she thought Sarah would be in some kind of danger if she stayed with her. Danger? What was he thinking?

As he carefully buckled Sarah into her car seat, then climbed behind the wheel of his pickup, Clint whispered a prayer for his sister—a prayer that she’d be safe and back soon.

ONE

Mandy Erick flinched as the door of the Greyhound slid shut behind her.

The bus lumbered away, taking with it her chance to reach Texas or California or Oregon anytime soon. Leaving her standing on the edge of Loomis, Louisiana, a backwater town in the middle of nowhere.

Though maybe the middle of nowhere was the safest place for someone who’d had to leave her old identity behind.

A cool, late April rain dripped off her hair and into the collar of her thin jacket, and she wished she’d had time to pack an umbrella. A raincoat. For that matter, an extra pair of shoes.

But lingering could’ve meant being discovered. Being stopped before she could leave town. A few minor possessions were a small price to pay for her life.

Blinking at the raindrops on her eyelashes, she squinted toward what had to be the downtown area. Mostly dreary, rain-streaked brick buildings as far as she could see in the early morning light. No cheerful neon signs, no traffic. Not a soul in sight.

She could only hope that in a few hours the town would bustle to life, because blending anonymously into the fabric of this place would be impossible if there wasn’t a lot of activity here.

Small-town locals noticed strangers. Gossiped about them. Remembered when they showed up and when they left, and might take pleasure in sharing all those juicy tidbits with other strangers who could come along and start asking too many questions—a thought that made Mandy shudder.

But she’d had no choice. She’d had just enough cash to make it this far and couldn’t risk using her credit or debit cards.

She turned to study the shabby little diner tucked into the trees at the far end of the gravel parking lot.

Not much bigger than a two-car garage, the building had peeling paint and the outside sign was partly burned out, leaving just BIT—CAF and its name to the imagination. Still, there was an Open sign propped in the front window, the lights were on inside and anything had to be better than standing out in the rain.

Hiking her backpack up higher on her shoulder, Mandy grabbed the handle of her suitcase and trudged toward the café.

From somewhere in the dim recesses of her memory came the words of a childhood prayer. She snorted in disgust. Prayer might have worked back then, but it had been a long, long time since God had shown any interest in helping her, and she had the scars to prove it.

Mandy was definitely on her own.

The lone waitress came back to the booth in the corner every ten minutes or so, offering more coffee. Probably wishing Mandy would finally leave, since she’d finished her egg-and-a-piece-of-toast breakfast far more than an hour ago. But where did you go in a town like this at seven in the morning—and in the rain?

“More coffee?” The waitress, skinny and weathered, looked as if she’d been left out in the elements for a few years to cure, but there was a warm hint of concern in her voice this time around.

She stood at Mandy’s elbow with a coffeepot in one hand, her other hand on her hip, then snagged an upended cup from a neighboring table, filled it, and slid into the opposite side of Mandy’s booth. The faded badge on her yellow scrub top read Nonnie.

“Where’re y’all headed?”

Mandy shifted in her seat and avoided the woman’s knowing eyes. “West. I…have relatives out there.”

“Gotta long ways to go.” Nonnie took a long sip from her cup and then cradled it in her gnarled hands. “Lookin’ to stay around for a while?”

“I—” Mandy glanced around the small diner, wondering if she dared asked about a job. She realized at once that with the low base pay most waitresses received, plus the minimal tips possible in a place like this, she wouldn’t be able to afford rent, much less save money for her escape. “I don’t know.”

Nonnie seemed to read her mind. “Small place, I know. Me and my hubby own it, though. He cooks, I tend tables. We’ll have a good little crowd of regulars starting around seven-thirty.” She pulled a thin newspaper from her apron pocket and pushed it across the table. “I grabbed this from the back, just in case you’re looking for a job or a place to stay.”

Mandy ventured a quick glance at her but found only genuine concern on the woman’s face. “Thanks.”

“You best be careful, though. There’s been trouble ’round here this spring. Pretty little gal like you oughta watch her step.”

“T-trouble?”

“Three murders since January, and a sweet young woman went missing, so maybe there was a fourth. All of that, yet there’s some who still put way too much stock in frippery.” She gave a snort of disgust and tapped the headline of the paper that read Mother of the Year Pageant in Full Swing! “Whoooeee—you’d think them gals were runnin’ for president. And most of ’em wouldn’t be my idea of a good momma. Fancy ways, careers—their golf club more important than the PTA. But you can bet money talks, and one of those rich gals will win. Happens every year.”

“Murders?” Mandy’s stomach tied itself into a queasy knot.

Nonnie shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “This town was quiet for decades. And then last winter…”

The woman’s eyes suddenly shimmered with tears, and Mandy wondered if she’d been close to some of the victims. “Have they caught whoever did it?”

“Nope. Some folks figure it’s…” She clamped her mouth shut. “But that’s just idle gossip. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Mandy’s unease grew, tightening its grip on her middle. Danger was following her. Now she’d landed in a place where she’d need to be on her guard even more. “Were the murders related?”

“Probably, to my mind. Everyone in Loomis is connected some way or another. Roots run deep in a place like this—some tangled in secrets and dark ways you just don’ wanna to know, chérie.”

The waitress made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on, check the classifieds. It’s just our local paper, but you might find something. You can use our phone, if need be.” She stood. “I’d best go pass a mop over this floor so it can dry before things get busy.”

Mandy watched the woman scurry back to the kitchen, then took a deep breath as she pulled a pen from her backpack and started scanning the ads.

She had no money to continue on, and she needed to find a safe place where she’d be beyond Dean’s reach. With a low-profile job and a cheap place to live for a month or so, she could build up her reserve of cash.

Whatever the local troubles were, she’d keep her distance from people here, avoid saying too much, and she’d be on her way as fast as possible.

And she’d never, ever be back.

Rain. Endless, miserable rain. The last few weeks had been one endless drizzle, unseasonably cool, and the weather was a constant reminder of the gray day in January when Leah had dropped off Sarah and disappeared without a trace.

Clint sighed wearily, the ever-present weight of sorrow pressing down on his chest even as he summoned up a cheerful smile. “Time to go, punkin’,” he said. “We need to take a little drive.”

“Don’t wanna go!” Sarah wailed as she kicked over the pile of blocks she and Clint had just stacked ten high.

She clearly knew what was up and wasn’t having any part of yet another long, boring stint in the office of his construction business while Clint talked business with a client—even with all the toys and DVDs he’d set up for her there. But she had no choice.

His parents had died when he and Leah were in high school. There were no other relatives in the area. And the babysitter Sarah liked wouldn’t be done with school and softball practice until after four o’clock.

Clint just couldn’t send Sarah to daycare or preschool, not since someone had tried to kidnap her shortly after her mother disappeared. No, he needed someone he could trust to keep Sarah in his home—and keep her safe and secure. Sarah had been through too much. Clint wasn’t sure what she’d witnessed around her father’s death, but now she was a troubled little girl who desperately missed her momma, and who’d begun acting out at the least provocation if separated from her uncle Clint.

His ads for a nanny-housekeeper hadn’t yielded a single good prospect. Some applicants who called sounded uneducated. Lazy. Some asked “when the kid took naps and for how long.” One volunteered that a little strong cough medicine could keep a kid quiet for hours.

The few applicants he’d interviewed hadn’t been any better—from the one who’d actually been casing his house to the one who visibly withdrew in distaste at Sarah’s tentative approach.

So now he was struggling to be a substitute dad while trying to keep his construction company together and search for his sister, and he felt as if he was failing at every turn.

Looking for his shoes in the wall-to-wall rubble of toys filling his living room, he stepped over the scattered blocks, landed barefoot on a LEGO, bit back a yelp of pain and sank onto the sofa.

Sarah scrambled up into his lap and wrapped her little arms around his neck. “I want Mommy,” she said somberly, her eyes sad and defeated. “She does Band-Aids and kisses on owies.”

He closed his eyes against the familiar wave of pain that swamped him whenever he thought about what Leah must be going through, if she was even still alive. The terror and pain she might’ve faced on the day she disappeared. Had she been injured? Was she wandering aimlessly now, suffering from amnesia? Or was she being held against her will?

The darker possibilities haunted him, day and night, especially since right after Leah went missing.

The police had found signs of some kind of struggle in Leah’s little apartment above the pawnshop. The police thought she might have staged it to cover her tracks—and her involvement in her husband’s death, but Clint knew better. Leah had become a Christian six months before Earl died, and she loved her new faith—and Sarah—far too much to harm anyone, even the deadbeat Earl.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Clint focused his attention on his young niece.

“Your momma wants to be back here, too, sweetheart,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m praying every day for that to happen.”

His cell phone vibrated against his belt, and he reached down to grab it. With luck, it would be his client needing to delay the appointment this afternoon….

He frowned at the unfamiliar number. Nearly let it ring through to his voice mail, then relented and caught it at the last second.

“Um…Hi, I’m calling because I understand you might be looking for a housekeeper and nanny?”

At the quaver in the woman’s voice, Clint’s instant, silent response was Not you, sweetheart. She sounded wary and unsure, and the faint note of desperation in her voice sealed his impression. The last thing I need is someone with troubles. I’ve got enough troubles. “I’m not looking any longer. Sorry.”

Silence. Then the woman cleared her voice. “Does that mean you found the right person, or you’ve given up? I promise you, you won’t be disappointed if you just give me a chance.”

He dropped a kiss on Sarah’s forehead, then set the child aside with one arm and stood. “That advertisement has run for a couple of weeks. I’ve changed my mind about wanting a nanny.”

“But you do need childcare. Right?”

“Look, miss—”

“And it would be convenient to have someone on-site—someone who would be available 24/7, if need be. I understand that there’s an apartment available as part of the deal?”

“Thanks for calling.” He started to pull the phone from his ear, but her soft, and now-determined voice drew him back.

“Look, I can be there in—” he heard animated voices in the background “—fifteen minutes, and I’ll only take five minutes of your time. Just talk to me. Please.”

She did sound more educated than the last few applicants who’d called…and young enough to keep up with a tornado of a three-year-old who never seemed to slow down. And if she was young, that might account for the wariness he’d heard in her voice at first. Maybe he’d just become too suspicious after his sister’s disappearance.

He sighed. “You have references?”

“You bet.”

“You’ve got transportation?” Again, he heard an exchange of voices in the background.

“Yes, I do.”

After reluctantly taking her name down and giving her directions to his place, he clipped the phone back to his belt and surveyed the wreckage that was his living room. Somewhere beneath two days’ accumulation of toys there was a carpet, something he rarely saw these days.

He needed help. No doubt about it.

Yet he still sensed that something wasn’t quite right about the caller. Trouble. She’s going to be absolute trouble.

But when he tried to use the callback function on his cell to cancel, there was no answer, and he could hardly leave home with a stranger on her way to his place.

“Come on, Sarah, let’s find our shoes. We have company coming over, and then we can go to town after our visitor leaves, okay?” He grinned at her. “Want to race?”

Sarah didn’t enter into the game of trying to find shoes. Her haunting, almond-shaped green eyes brimming with tears, she stood at the fireplace and stared up at the photo on the mantel taken of her and Leah last Christmas, just a week or so before her life irrevocably changed. “I want my mommy.”

He heard those four sad words every day, and they still had the power to wrench his heart.

Some days were better than others, but today had been a tough one. This morning they’d gone to the grocery store, and Sarah had glimpsed someone from a distance who’d vaguely looked like Leah. She’d become hysterical, and had been tearful and withdrawn ever since.

“We’ll find her, sweetheart. I promise I’m doing everything I can to find her.”

The toe of a pink shoe caught his eye. He went down on one knee to retrieve it from beneath a blue teddy bear, then stayed down and bowed his head in silent prayer. Please God, keep Leah safe, wherever she is, and help me find her. She’s all that Sarah and I have left. We need her back.

TWO

When Clint opened the door, he took one look at the vehicle parked outside and the woman on his porch and almost ended the interview right there.

“Bitsy’s Diner?” he said, eyeing the words emblazoned on the old pickup. If he wasn’t mistaken, he could see the shadow of luggage on the front seat. “I thought you said you had transportation.”

“I did. I borrowed it.” The woman tipped her head and flashed a tight smile. “I’m Mandy Erick, by the way. And you are…”

“Clint Herald.”

Her brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, framing a delicate face that appeared freshly scrubbed and without makeup. Her rumpled clothes—a pale lemon sweater and wrinkled jeans—looked like they were probably expensive labels.

Unless she shopped for designer bargains at Goodwill, she had to have come from money—yet he caught a definite hint of simmering tension and desperation that she quickly masked.

Again, warning bells sounded at the back of his mind.

Why would an attractive woman like this be so edgy? Was she running from something?

In a town the size of Loomis, people recognized each other. Knew each other’s families from way back. If you saw someone you didn’t know, he was probably your cousin’s best friend’s brother, or had gone to school with your sister…and you could do a quick and accurate character check by picking up the phone.

Clint had never seen this gal in his life, and he could tell from her cultured, northern accent, that she wasn’t from anywhere close by. What he didn’t need were any surprises, bringing an unknown person into his home. “As I said on the phone, I’m no longer looking for a nanny.”

“Can we at least talk? I’m new in town and I’d like to stay in the area, so I need to find a job. I love kids and—”

Behind him, he heard something crash to the floor that sounded suspiciously like the plate of cookies some neighbors had left on the kitchen table. He spun around and hurried to the kitchen with Mandy at his heels, to find Sarah staring at the shattered plate and broken cookies, her lower lip trembling. At least there isn’t any blood. Thank you, Lord, for that.

“I’m hungry, Uncle Clint,” Sarah whimpered. “I—” At the sight of a stranger, she fell silent and backed up.

Outside, Clint’s old black Lab, Barney, started to bark, belatedly realizing that someone had arrived. Then Molly, Sarah’s puppy, joined in.

Clint’s phone started to ring just as he hunkered down to pick up the shards of china. He glanced at the number on the screen and drew in a sharp breath. The Loomis Bank—and if it was the loan officer, the call was one he couldn’t afford to miss.

Cell phone in one hand, broken china in the other, Clint wavered.

“Go ahead,” Mandy said. “I can handle this.”

He frowned at Sarah, hesitating over leaving her in the company of a stranger while taking a call that needed to be private. Maybe Mandy was okay, and maybe not. But after Sarah’s outburst at the store this morning, she’d been tearful and clingy ever since.

“I’m not going anywhere with your broken dish or your daughter,” Mandy said dryly. “Go ahead. Consider this part of my interview.”

“I’ll just be outside.” Straightening, he sidestepped the mess and went out to the screened porch off the kitchen dining area, where he could still glance inside and keep an eye on things.

He was put on hold twice, finally talking to a second loan officer, then the vice president.

But as frustrating as it was to deal with the bankers, the scene inside his house was a different story. While he was on hold once again, Clint peered into the kitchen and discovered it was sparkling clean. Sarah sat at the table, having milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—a menu item that was apparently an exact art, because he still couldn’t make them exactly right to please his little niece.

After that, Mandy and Sarah disappeared into the living room. Clint couldn’t see them through the kitchen window any longer, but he could hear Sarah giggle. The sound tugged at his heart until he could barely concentrate on his business call. How long had it been since he’d heard the child laugh? How long since she’d been happy and carefree?

When he finally came back into the house, the toys in the living room had been neatly put away. Mandy was curled up on the sofa, her hair gleaming like rich mahogany with ruby highlights in the soft, incandescent light of the table lamp. She was reading a story, and Sarah was sitting next to her—almost close enough to lean against her—looking at the pictures.

Another landmark, because Sarah had been terrified of all adult strangers ever since her mother left—especially if they had red hair.

“Wow.” He walked into the orderly room and settled on the love seat, wishing he had a camera in hand to photograph the two of them together, Sarah’s white-blond pigtails in such dramatic contrast to Mandy’s darker hair. “It’s great seeing the carpet again. This is amazing.”

Mandy looked at him over the top edge of the book, but kept reading until she reached “The End”—something else that impressed him. “Sarah first” had been his own mantra since January, and it needed to be any babysitter’s as well.

“Sarah is a really good helper,” Mandy announced gravely. “And she’s a good eater, too. She ate a whole peanut butter sandwich while you were on the phone.”

Clint felt the heavy weight on his chest start to lighten. Sarah was watching Mandy with a rapt expression, instead of the wariness she usually exhibited around strangers.

Mandy had certainly shown her abilities, and she radiated a gentle wholesomeness that could make her the perfect nanny. Did he dare take a chance?

“What brought you to Loomis?”

Mandy stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I decided to do some traveling after a relationship didn’t work out. Just needed a change of scenery, I guess.”

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t really have a home state. We moved every few years while I was growing up,” she said with a vague wave of her hand. “Since then, I’ve done the same. I enjoy trying new places.”

“College?”

“Started twice. The second time, I got within a semester of graduating in education.”

“Do you have references?”

“Y-yes, I do.”

Was that a flicker of hesitation? “You’ve got them with you?”

Handing Sarah the storybook, Mandy retrieved a backpack that she’d left at the front door. She withdrew several folded documents and handed them over. “I…had some childcare experience with the Reynolds family, but they’re in the midst of a cross-country move right now. The other two are personal references.”

He flipped through the papers, then studied her for a long moment, wondering if she’d intentionally skated past his questions about her background or if it was just his imagination.

Perhaps she was just nervous, coming into a strange town, being in a stranger’s home. Maybe any prudent young woman on her own would feel the same. Still…

“Before I can consider hiring you, I’d need to follow up on your references.” Did her gaze waver at that, or was it just the light?

“You won’t find anything wrong, I can promise you.”

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. He was due at the office soon, and he already knew Sarah wasn’t going to be cooperative during the long meeting ahead. “The fact that Nonnie loaned you her truck is a personal reference in itself. She’s a pretty tough old bird, and she doesn’t take guff from anyone. You must have made quite an impression.”

A glimmer of hope shone in Mandy’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you what. Wait right here while I do some checking. If everything seems square, we can have a one-week trial to make sure both of us are satisfied. Deal?”

“Deal.” The relief in her voice was palpable. “The…the job still comes with lodging?”

“An efficiency apartment over the garage. It isn’t fancy, but it’s clean, quiet and private. We’re on the edge of town, so there’s a long walk to downtown shopping. You could use one of my vehicles whenever necessary. If you get the job, that is.”

“Perfect,” she breathed.

“And I need to explain…” He hesitated, with Sarah in the room. “Honey, could you go get your favorite dolly, so you can show it to Mandy?”

When the child obediently raced off to her room, he lowered his voice. “Sarah is my niece. Her mother went missing in January, so she’s been having a hard time with that.”

“Nonnie mentioned that.” Mandy’s voice trailed off, the hint of worry unmistakable. “Is she…?”

“I believe my sister Leah was taken against her will, but that she’s still alive.” He hesitated over just how much to say. “Her husband was murdered two days before she disappeared, so Sarah is dealing with the loss of both parents.”

“The poor child.”

“Earl wasn’t a very loving father, but the double loss has been devastating for her. She doesn’t talk as much now, and has lost a lot of the happy exuberance you’d expect in a child her age. Her grief is an issue you would be dealing with.”

“I…I’m so sorry about your loss. And hers.”

A woman traveling alone might hesitate to stay in Loomis if she knew the full story, but it was only fair to tell her the truth. “This is a peaceful, quiet town, usually. But there were two other murders in January.”

“That’s what Nonnie said. She…” Mandy hesitated. “She said the killer hasn’t been found.”

Clint sighed heavily. “Some folks think my sister Leah was responsible, but she’s a wonderful, caring mother, and she has strong faith in the Lord. There’s no way she could’ve killed her husband or anyone else.”

“O-of course.”

“And something else…” He cleared his throat. “There was a kidnapping attempt on Sarah in January as well, but that man is in jail. The woman who hired him was Angelina Loring, one of the murder victims. Neither of them poses a threat to Sarah any longer, but I’m very careful about watching her. There’s still a killer on the loose who might think she knows too much.”

Mandy blinked.

“I’m not trying to scare you off, but you’d hear all of this around town anyway.” He felt his sudden tension ease when she didn’t race out the door. “If you’re still game, we could have a one-week trial.”

“I’d like that,” Mandy said, noticing for the first time how ruggedly handsome—but definitely burdened—her new employer was.

“Sarah’s safety and care will be your priority, but the job also entails some cooking and light housework. If it doesn’t work out for some reason, either of us can end the arrangement with no questions asked.”

“Understood.” A faint glimmer of a smile tilted the corners of Mandy’s mouth.

Doubtful as he’d been at first, now he hoped everything in her background would check out. Sarah apparently accepted her. And if he didn’t get back to his construction business full-time, it would go belly-up. Then where would he be? With a little girl to take care of, plus his efforts to find Leah, he needed childcare help more than ever.

But though his heart told him Mandy was a decent, well-bred young woman, his gut instinct told him that she was in trouble—or had caused some—and that she hadn’t been entirely truthful. There was no way he’d take chances with his sister’s only child.

Back in his home office, he looked her up on a Web site offering background checks for nineteen-ninety-five.

Oddly enough, there was absolutely nothing on her—just the name, but no past phone numbers, no previous street address. It was as if she simply appeared out of the blue. So he called his cousin, a deputy with the county sheriff’s department, and asked him to run a quick background check to see if she’d ever been in the legal system. Again, nothing turned up—not even a parking ticket. Her two references were highly enthused, though they were probably close friends of hers.

So far, so good. But he’d definitely keep a close eye on the attractive Mandy Erick.

Nonnie had said Clint was a cautious, intelligent man who took his responsibilities seriously and never let anyone down. She’d added that Mandy should take care to mind her heart, because he was the town’s answer to Pierce Brosnan—a man whose quiet humor and tanned, movie-star face had been drawing young gals since he was a teenager, though he had yet to settle down.

Meeting him had only confirmed Nonnie’s words.

Tall, muscular and definitely masculine, he looked like he could take on anything that came his way, though he also seemed like a man who would use his intellect and reason before muscle…and that drew her more than any handsome face.

Mandy had seen him carefully analyze her, his soulful, dark eyes watching her intently as he asked questions and measured her answers. The strong, sculpted lines of his face and that firm jaw suggested that he wouldn’t hesitate to challenge her on anything she said.

While completing her interview and awaiting his decision, Mandy had been a bundle of anxiety. The miracle was that she seemed to have passed muster—at least for now—and when he offered her the job, her knees had almost gone weak with relief.

She could already sense that he’d be a good man to have in her corner, if anything from her past happened to catch up with her.

Not that she’d dare depend on him.

Images of her ex-boyfriend flashed through Mandy’s thoughts. Dean had been so very helpful. So very supportive after the death of her father. It had been all too easy to fall for his blond, muscular good looks and calculated charm. She’d failed to see his dark side until it was almost too late.

The too-tight grip on her arm.

The faint hint of leashed menace in his voice.

The descent into obsession and control.

He’d once laughed it off in front of his buddies, saying he was “protecting” her. That she was still distraught and confused over the loss of her father, that he was only taking good care of her, but Mandy knew differently.

The day she came home late after a flat tire on an isolated road, he’d flown into rage. She was never, ever to fail to let him know where she was at all times, he’d snarled. And when she retorted that she was leaving him, he’d slammed her into the wall and threatened to do worse, saying he would never let her go.

The next day, she found her beloved cat dead on the front porch…and Mandy began planning her escape.

She’d learned her lesson well. Trust was a risky proposition, and she wouldn’t be placing much of it in Clint or anyone else while she was in Loomis.

She turned slowly as she took in the small apartment. Clean, warm and dry, it appeared to have a decent bed that would feel good after long nights in bus stations, all-night coffee shops and buses. It would be a safe refuge after far too many days on the run.

After studying a book on how a person could disappear, she’d set up a new identity, changing her name from Katherine Amanda Willis to Mandy Erick, taking her late mother’s maiden name. She had asked two trusted friends to vouch for her as personal references if she applied for jobs under that new name.

Another acquaintance, who apparently had some shady connections, had procured a new driver’s license and a Social Security card for her to use as identification if need be. She kept her real ones hidden in her suitcase, hoping Dean would eventually figure she wasn’t worth the bother and that she could leave her lies behind once she was far away.

Then she’d crisscrossed several states by bus, using only cash, and had changed her appearance twice, so now her blond hair was an ordinary brown.

No one from back home would think to look for her here. Still, she’d tucked a bus schedule in her purse, she would save every penny she could and she’d keep her bags packed.

If she even suspected that Dean was closing in on her, she’d be ready to run.

In the meantime, she’d just been handed a golden opportunity. How lucky was that? She leaned her forehead against the window, remembering her late father’s endless, harsh criticism of anything she ever did.

Maybe he hadn’t been wrong about her, because her life had sure been a series of failures so far.

“But this time, it’s going to be different,” she whispered into the silence of the apartment. This time, I’m getting it right.

Katherine was out there, somewhere. Running. Thinking she could hide.

But she’d been a fool to try. How could she ever imagine that she was smart enough to succeed?

He had the money. The perfect set of contacts to track her down. And she would have to surface, one of these days.

One swipe of a credit or debit card.

A single purchase of an airline ticket.

An application for a job.

The use of her insurance card at a walk-in clinic. Then he’d be on her faster than a hound on a rabbit. The comparison made him smile with satisfaction.

Dean clenched a fist so tight that his fingernails drew blood.

No one shamed him, ever. Not anymore.

A childhood filled with abuse and threats had instilled in him the absolute refusal to let anyone take advantage of him. The fact that he was now the laughingstock of his fellow cops over his runaway fiancée filled him with rage that grew hotter with every passing day. She’d not only disobeyed him but also fooled him with lies about her purported wealth before that.

He’d find her.

He’d haul her home.

And she would beg his forgiveness for the arrogant independence she was flaunting right now. But she didn’t deserve that forgiveness, and he was going to make sure she was sorry and obedient for the rest of her life.

He felt a deep surge of pleasure, envisioning her punishment. Imagining just how obedient she would be. How desperately she would wish she hadn’t made such a foolish mistake.

The phone in his kitchen rang. He caught it on the second ring, after checking the caller ID. It was Jess, a fellow deputy who owed him some big favors.

“Gotta lead.”

“Yeah?”

The other man laughed nervously. “Bus stop in Atlanta. A clerk saw the flyers we sent down there. Says he saw someone who looked like her, ’cept her hair was different. He doesn’t know which bus she got on, though.”

“Did you get his name? I might want to ask him some questions.”

Jess recited the name and phone number of the clerk, who was eagerly awaiting a reward he would never receive. “Uh…when you do find her, you aren’t gonna do anything crazy, right?”

“What do you think?”

“No, really, man—you gonna patch things up? Ms. Willis is one nice lady, and her daddy was real good to my family after our house fire. Real good.”

“I’ll make things right, don’t doubt that.” Smiling with satisfaction, Dean hung up the phone and stared out at the deepening twilight. His reflection looked back at him—powerful. Strong.

The face of a man who knew how to take charge.

“Don’t doubt it for a minute, Jess,” he said softly. “Things will be exactly right, once I catch up with her. And when I do, she won’t be running again.”

THREE

“So, how are things going?” Shelby Mason, head librarian at the Loomis Public Library and a longtime friend of Leah’s, made her way through the people visiting with each other outside the church and leaned over to give Sarah a quick hug. “I haven’t gotten to see you for a while!”

“I gotta nanny.” Sarah pointed a chubby finger at Mandy, who was standing at Clint’s side.

“As of last week.” Clint nodded and made the introductions between the two women, thankful for this sunny Sunday morning and the friends who had made the last four months bearable. “You’ve been a true blessing, Shelby, for all the times you’ve watched Sarah. I hope we won’t have to impose quite as often, now.”

“It was never an imposition.” She tucked her long, auburn hair behind her ear as she gently touched Sarah’s cheek. “We go way back, don’t we, sweetie? I got to hold you when you were just an hour old. But you’re a big girl, now. Do you like Sunday school?”

Sarah nodded emphatically and held up her collection of colorful papers. “I made pictures.”

“That’s great!” Shelby straightened and looked at Mandy. “So, is Clint a good boss, or is he driving you crazy?” She cocked her head when Mandy just offered a polite smile. “Ahhh…diplomacy is best. Someday, we’ll have to meet for coffee, and you can give me the real scoop.”

The rest of the congregation had spilled out the front doors of the church, and people were chatting in small groups nearby. Clint glanced around, and waited until Sarah and Mandy wandered a few yards away to inspect some dandelions. He lowered his voice. “Have you seen any more signs of Leah?”

“Only that glimpse I thought I caught of her in the shadows a few weeks ago, and I still don’t understand it. I just know it was her—but why would she run when I called her name? She should know I’d do anything to help her. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’re her best friend. If she was in Loomis, why wouldn’t she contact you directly—or me? And why wouldn’t she come to see Sarah? She loves her daughter more than life itself.”

“Maybe she wanted to come home but heard about the warrant for her arrest and is too afraid.” Wrapping her arms around her waist, Shelby shivered. “I would be, if I knew the police thought I was a murderer…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Except we both know she never would’ve been capable of—” He caught his past tense and cleared his throat. “Maybe Earl wasn’t a good husband, but she wouldn’t have harmed him or anyone else. And as far as Dylan Renault, he died after she disappeared. She surely wouldn’t have any reason to sneak back into town to do something like that.”

At Shelby’s raised eyebrow, Clint flinched. Shelby was certain that Dylan had slipped a drug into Leah’s soft drink at a party and that the wealthy playboy had raped Leah. The very thought of it made Clint’s stomach pitch. But rape or not, Leah would never sink to murder.

“I still think there’s a possibility that Dylan was Sarah’s father, and given the circumstances, you have to admit it could be true.” Shelby linked her arm through Clint’s and drew him even farther from the others. “DNA testing could prove it either way. Sarah would never need to know what the blood sample was for.”

Clint sighed heavily, torn by the options that had been plaguing him for months. “I can’t go behind Leah’s back like that. It should be her choice.”

“Look, if DNA shows Earl was Sarah’s dad, there’d be no reason to think he went into a jealous rage over finding out that he wasn’t. There’d be no reason for Leah to resort to self-defense.” Shelby glanced across the lawn to where her fiancé Patrick was strolling in their direction with the minister, and lowered her voice. “And if Sarah wasn’t Dylan’s, why would Leah confront him after all this time—much less kill him?”

Their eyes met, and Clint knew he and Shelby were both thinking the same thing. Sarah had the exotic, almond-shaped green eyes and blond hair seen in some of the Renaults. Earl and Leah both had brown eyes and dark hair, so the chances were slim that Earl could’ve been the child’s biological father.

“I have to believe that when we find Leah and get her side of the story, we’ll be able to prove that she’s innocent—because she is. As for all the rest—” Clint splayed his hands. “I just have to trust that God is watching over her and that everything will work out for the best. It’s what I pray for every single day.”

Mandy hadn’t meant to eavesdrop yesterday after church. But the rest of the congregation had drifted away, and Clint’s deep voice had carried to where Mandy was helping Sarah string a daisy chain of fat, golden dandelions.

The tension in his stance and the agitation on Shelby’s face had been clear, too.

At first, Mandy thought the two might be romantically involved, because they’d stood so close, with Shelby touching his arm and looking up at him intently, but then a handsome man had joined them, brushed a kiss against her hair, and introduced himself as Patrick Rivers, Shelby’s fiancé.

Surprised at her own flicker of relief, Mandy had focused on the dandelions in her hand. The little sense of awareness she felt whenever Clint drew near meant nothing. She had no future here. It wouldn’t matter if he was dating, engaged or even married. It might be better if he was.

Right now on this Monday afternoon in Loomis, she couldn’t even imagine ever wanting to be involved with another man. If she’d been so utterly wrong about Dean, how could she ever trust her heart again?

It was ironic, learning that the mother of poor little Sarah was apparently on the run, just like Mandy herself—but it also gave her an odd sense of comfort. Would Clint be understanding if Mandy’s troubles suddenly caught up with her? Would he be willing to help?

He’d certainly been gracious and patient so far, with a good measure of humor thrown in, over the fact that she was an abominable cook with a lot to learn in the housekeeping department. And he certainly looked like a man who could handle anything that came his way. Even Dean.

Lost in her thoughts, she grimaced as she strolled down the sidewalk in downtown Loomis with Sarah’s small hand tucked safely in her own. She wouldn’t ask that of him. Not ever. A cold chill swept down her spine as she remembered Dean’s twisted expression and the loathing in his voice during their last fight.

She furtively surveyed the street, feeling exposed and vulnerable at being out in broad daylight, half-afraid he might appear. It was certainly a possibility.

Dean was a small-town cop, from a family of cops, with a couple of lawyers thrown into the mix. After her first 911 call, his relatives and buddies had closed ranks against her, accepting Dean’s claim that she had major depression over the loss of her father, that she was potentially suicidal and that she couldn’t be believed. That he’d taken her to the E.R. with those claims only supported his position.

He’d smugly told her that his friends and family had all promised to help keep an eye on her and would let him know if she “went crazy and called 911 again.”

And then he’d hit her where the bruises wouldn’t show…just to drive that lesson home.

His connections to information and power had made her afraid to attempt reporting his verbal and physical abuse after the first time. And now, those connections would make it easy for him to track her down if she made even one misstep.

But if he showed up here, she’d run before she’d let anyone stand against him. He had a dark, cold side to him that was too unpredictable to risk bringing out, and there was no way she’d let anyone else get hurt.

Sarah tugged on Mandy’s hand and looked up at her with a worried expression, then she quickly twisted around to stare at the other people on the street as if afraid someone dangerous was lurking nearby

Mandy summoned a bright smile. “It’s fun, coming to town with you. Did you like going out for lunch at the café?”

“My favoritest place. ’Specially the smile sundaes.”

Shelby had mentioned that Leah enjoyed taking her daughter to Loomis Hotel’s Café Au Lait, and it had proven to be a great choice. Even Mandy had gotten a chuckle out of the sundaes decorated as clown faces, and the bright atmosphere had made for a pleasant experience…

Except for the imperious older woman sitting in a wheelchair parked at a corner table.

Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the designer clothes and hat, or the real pearls of a wealthy matron who surely had more important things to think about than a little girl and her nanny. So why had she glowered at the two of them through most of their meal?

Some of the other patrons had picked up on it, too, glancing surreptitiously between the irritable old woman and the table Mandy and Sarah shared, then leaning close to each other to whisper.

“Um…Sarah, do you remember the lady at the café—the one sitting in the wheelchair?”

The child shrugged as she peered into the drugstore window at the colorful display of toys and magazines.

“Do you know her name?”

Sarah shook her head. “Can I see the toys?”

“I don’t see why not, for a few minutes.” Mandy opened the front door and followed Sarah to the toy area. “Just remember they’re for looking, not playing, unless your daddy buys something. Okay?”

Enthralled, Sarah knelt in front of a display of dolls and doll clothes while Mandy stood watching over her. A few customers wandered down the aisle and nodded politely. Outside the big glass storefront, pedestrians strolled past as they went about their errands. A few of them cast curious glances at her through the window, looked down at Sarah, then smiled and offered little waves of acknowledgment.

Mandy blinked when the woman in the electric wheelchair rolled by, then jerked to a stop and backed up to give her a cold, hard stare. Mandy’s heartbeat picked up its pace.

“That’s Charla Renault,” a deep, familiar voice said behind her. “She owns the Renault Corporation—biggest company in the county.”

Mandy turned and looked up at Clint, feeling a rush of relief at his arrival. They’d planned to meet at the town square in a half hour, but right now she was more than eager to go home. “She sure doesn’t seem very friendly.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to say that. But it’s also been a bad year for her, given the death of her son, Dylan.”

So she was the mother of the man that Sarah’s mother was being accused of killing? Now it was all starting to make sense. A bitter, grieving old woman, seeing the daughter of a woman who might have killed her son, might struggle with a lot of anger and resentment. “I feel sorry for her, poor thing. I can’t imagine being in her shoes.”

“She’s never made things easier for herself.” Clint lifted Sarah into his arms and started for the door. “You’d be surprised at the long-term feuds and jealousies going on between some of the richest families in the area. The Renaults aren’t on good terms with any of them—especially the Pershings. They’ve been battling for decades over one thing or another. Money, as they say, sure doesn’t buy happiness.”

The ticket clerk in Atlanta gave Dean a wary look and swallowed hard. “I—I’m not sure.”

“Look again. You saw this photo once before and told my partner that you recognized this woman. You said you sold a bus ticket to her.”

“I—thought I did.” The man pushed up his glasses with a forefinger. “But like I told the other guy, the hair was different. And with the glasses she wore…well, I just don’t know for sure.”

“She has big, hazel eyes. Sort of a heart-shaped face, with freckles across her nose, and she’s really slender. She was probably nervous and avoiding eye contact…maybe not real sure about where she wanted to go. Sound familiar?”

At that, the old man’s gaze flew to meet Dean’s. “I wouldn’t remember exactly, seeing as how hundreds of people come through here every week. But that does sorta fit the description of the one I saw. Wouldn’t remember her, ’cept she reminded me of my niece Betsy—and that fax of the woman’s photo came through just a few days later. Betsy is such a sweetheart. Just got married, and—”

“Forget that. Where did this other woman go?”

Flustered, the man ran his hand through his thinning hair. “West—she wanted to go west, I think.”

“You think?”

“No—maybe south. Down New Orleans way.”

Dean fought the urge to wrap his hands around the man’s scrawny neck. “Maybe,” he said with lethal calm, “you could be a little more specific.”

“I—” sweat beaded on the ticket clerk’s forehead “—I think she wanted a ticket for New Orleans but didn’t have enough cash. Close, but not enough. I’d say that would put her somewhere in southeast Louisiana, but I swear I don’t remember.” He pulled out a map, unfolded it and drew a circle with his forefinger over the area just north of New Orleans. “Prob’ly here.”

Dean slapped a personal business card down on the counter. “If you remember anything else, call me. Day or night. This gal is on the run, and she’s wanted for murder. Got it?” He slid a fifty across the counter. “If I find out that you’re covering for her, you can bet I’ll be back.”

“I—I don’t even know her,” the man protested, licking his lips. “Why would I do that?”

Dean gave him a long, hard stare, then rocked back on his heels, satisfied. Despite the threat, the guy hadn’t wavered. Which meant that Dean now knew which direction to go, and soon, Katherine would be very, very sorry that she’d dared to run off.

How could she not realize that she had no choice—that he owned her, body and soul?

FOUR

Mandy wrapped her arms around herself and shivered as she stared out at the predawn darkness. Darkness that could hide anyone who wanted to lie in wait for her.

Loomis was a small, nondescript town. Dean would never think of her choosing a place like this, far away from the ostentatious show of wealth that her father had orchestrated for his family until the day he died. No symphonies here. No Chicago country clubs with thirty-thousand-a-year fees that kept out what he termed “the riffraff,” as if he hadn’t come from those same roots.

And definitely, there were no maids to clean or cooks to craft exquisite meals that would be eaten in silence and candlelight at the polished African mahogany table in a dining room meant for thirty, though it had been just the two of them for the past fifteen years.

Past luxuries which now presented a dilemma that no cookbook or homemaking magazine could resolve fast enough. She had to prepare breakfast and lunch for just herself and Sarah, but Clint came home for supper, and during her first two weeks here she’d managed only a few passable casseroles. Grilled pork chops that inexplicably remained raw in the center while they charred on the outside. Chicken that ended up dry and tough.

Bless him, Clint hadn’t said a word, other than to murmur an apology about the “cantankerous stove,” but she knew better and suspected that he did, too.

She turned back to the counter and gave the gooey gray mass of dough—which hadn’t raised even a millimeter in the last hour—a poke with a spoon, then sighed and dumped in more flour. Sarah had said something about Clint loving “caramelly rolls” yesterday, and it had seemed like a good plan then: surprise the boss with a favorite treat to stay on his good side. Job security.

But after tiptoeing into his kitchen during the wee hours and spending an hour scouring cookbooks in search of a recipe for which she could find all the ingredients, then laboriously measuring and stirring them together, the kitchen looked like a war zone and the project still appeared to be a lost cause.

At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, she backhanded flour from her cheek and prepared a breezy smile. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“You are, too. I didn’t hear you arrive.” He walked in dressed in khakis and a soft blue oxford shirt, his dark hair damp and curling from his morning shower. She felt her heart start a silly little dance and hoped he didn’t pick up on her reaction to him.

He eyed the mixing bowl with interest. “Coffee cake?”

“Rolls. Except they don’t seem to be turning out very well, and I’m about to give up.” She shot an uneasy glance at him. “Sarah said you liked these, so I hoped they would be a nice surprise.”

Bracing his hands on the counter, he leaned over the cookbook and scanned the ingredients. “Eggs?”

“Yep.”

“Sugar?”

“Check.”

“Looks like you got the flour. Yeast?”

“Check.” She nodded confidently, then felt her smile slip as she pulled open the microwave door and found the glass measuring cup inside, just where she’d left it. “I was…um…warming up water for the yeast. Is it too late?” Expecting an irritable retort, she felt herself automatically tense.

The vertical dimples bracketing his mouth deepened when he looked up at her. “I think so.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

He gave her an odd look. “No big deal. I usually just make some coffee at my office. I really appreciate you trying, though. It was—thoughtful.” He pulled a loaf of whole wheat bread out of the bread box. “I need to leave in a few minutes, but maybe you and Sarah would like some cinnamon toast when she wakes up?”

“Good idea.”

Their eyes connected for a long moment. She suppressed a shiver when she read something unexpected in his—curiosity, a hint of attraction?

He abruptly cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “Maybe we can all meet for lunch? Sarah might enjoy that.”

During the past days, Mandy had focused on the little girl. On keeping the living room and kitchen tidy, and on trying to come up with something edible for each supper. She’d also focused on avoiding Clint as much as she could.

Proximity meant conversation.

Conversation meant the potential for questions.

And even casual questions could dig a little too deep, demanding answers she didn’t dare give…though spinning lies would only get her in deeper trouble, because she was the worst liar on the planet.

Coupled with her uneasiness about spending time downtown, meeting for lunch was the last thing she wanted to do. But how could she refuse?

“I…of course. Whatever you say.”

Lifting his set of truck keys from the rack by the back door, he started to leave but then turned back. “You’re doing fine,” he said with a smile. “Relax.”

Relax? The concept was too foreign to even imagine, but she managed an awkward laugh. “Thanks.”

He was a solid man. A good and caring man—the kind she’d always hoped to meet someday. Even his smile touched her in some deep, indefinable way, making her wish she could get to know him better. How ironic was it that she’d now met someone like him while she was in danger and on the run, and couldn’t possibly stay?

She waited until she heard the sound of his truck rumbling toward the highway, then she sank into one of the kitchen chairs and rested her forehead against her folded arms on the table.

And wondered if it would do any good to pray.

Cradling a cup of coffee from Bitsy’s Diner in one hand, Clint turned off County Road 23 into the driveway of his construction firm. After taking his usual swing past the outbuildings, he parked next to the two-story, white clapboard house that he’d remodeled for the Herald Construction Company business office.

Clint should have been thinking through a problem at work, but during the drive he found it was Mandy who filled his thoughts. Images of her lovely smile. The sound of her sweet laughter. Her quick flashes of humor, and her gentleness with Sarah.

The past four months had been so hard. Now he found himself humming under his breath and looking forward to going home each day.

He chuckled, remembering the last disastrous supper she’d made and her earnest, crestfallen expression when she’d pulled those petrified brownies out of the oven.

But as he stepped out of his truck, he reluctantly shoved those thoughts aside. He had no business being attracted to Mandy Erick or anyone else.

Interest in a mysterious woman who was working for him and lived on his property smacked of impropriety, with potential for all sorts of problems. But worse—what about Sarah? None of Clint’s relationships had ever led to happily-ever-after bliss. If he became involved with Mandy and Mandy grew attached to Sarah as well, the poor child might eventually have to deal with the loss of yet another mother figure in her life. And how unfair was that?

Plus there was still something about Mandy—something he didn’t quite trust, no matter how much attraction he felt.

He scanned the buildings once more, then started for the big, four-square house that served as his main office. Last year, he’d remodeled the front parlor into a reception area and the largest, main-floor bedroom into a sleek, attractive office space, while the small galley kitchen served as a break room and an additional main-floor bedroom was now a conference room for discussing building plans with clients.

It offered a perfect setup for his construction business—affordable and pleasant, with plenty of room to grow.

His thoughts were interrupted when a St. Tammany Parish patrol car pulled in, and he felt his heart tumble as both hope and dread settled into the pit of his stomach. He swallowed hard. “News?”

“Just checking in.” Sheriff Bradford Reed, never known to be a man who got excited about much except lunch, lumbered out of his cruiser with the deliberation of a man a hundred pounds too heavy and years past retirement.

A familiar wave of frustration took hold, and Clint had to bite back the words that would only antagonize Reed. “Nothing? No leads yet?”

Reed studied the storage buildings, garage and old hip-roofed barn, as if expecting Leah to appear. “Shelby still says she caught a glimpse of your sister, but I think that’s hogwash. If she could come back, she would’ve by now—if only for that little scamp of hers.”

Clint took a steadying breath. “Not if she heard that she was a suspect in multiple murders. Would you?”

“To clear my name if I knew I was innocent? Faster’n a gator on fresh meat, I would.” Reed’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the buildings a second time, then pinned his gaze on the second floor of the house. “Has she called you? Come by, maybe, needing a place to hole up for a while? She oughta know she’d be treated fair.”

The wheedling note in Reed’s voice set Clint’s teeth on edge. Fair was certainly the operative word. Reed didn’t expend much energy on his job because he was planning to retire soon. If he ever got a suspect in hand, Clint wondered if the man would even bother to look into any other possibilities.

“I haven’t heard from her, sheriff. Not even once.”

Reed’s gaze angled over to search Clint’s face. “You’d surely know ’bout the risk of being an accessory to murder and all…and hidin’ a criminal would compound it. Not that any man in his right mind would want to risk Louisiana hard time. Right?”

Clint clenched his jaw to hold back a sharp retort.

In January, the mayor had called in the FBI, since the kidnapping attempt and multiple Loomis murders could possibly fall under their jurisdiction as murder-for-hire. The team of special agents assigned to the case had been sent back to New Orleans after the leads faded away.

The trail was growing colder and might never be solved, now that it was back in Reed’s hands. He’d been barking up every wrong tree in the county all spring.

Last month, he’d even focused on sweet Shelby Mason, Leah’s best friend, and that had been beyond belief. The pretty little librarian wouldn’t swat a gnat, much less pull a trigger.

“Sooner or later, the killer will turn up,” Clint bit out. “But it won’t be my sister, and it won’t be me. Have you got any new leads?”

Reed shifted uncomfortably. “Since them agents went back to N’Awlins, things have been pretty quiet.”

“In other words, nothing has been done.”

The veiled insult went right over Reed’s head. “The case is still open. We can call ’em back in if anything develops.”

“What about your deputies? My sister is missing. Maybe she’s sick, or hurt. Maybe she’s being held against her will.”

Reed wore a badge and gun, signifying power and command in the parish, but if he’d ever been a take-charge defender of the law, those days were past. He held out both hands, palms up, as he edged back to his car. “We’re just doing our jobs, son. The Renault family wants answers about Dylan’s death, and I want that case closed, much as anyone.”

To the point of grasping at straws? Trying to pin the deaths of Leah’s husband and Charla Renault’s son on innocent people? And what about Angelina Loring, who’d been found floating in the bayou with a bullet wound in her back?

“I look forward to answers, too, sheriff.” Clint reined in his temper, knowing it would do no good to antagonize the man. “I want my sister found, and I want to see her name cleared. There’s no way she could be guilty of anything, and we all know it.”

“You might feel that way, son. But people can sure surprise you. Why, I remember back in ’72, when that youngest Gallatier boy—”

“If my sister shot someone and left under her own power, why would she leave a shoe behind? Someone attacked her, Reed. Maybe she was running in fear. Or maybe she was unconscious, and her shoe fell off when someone abducted her. Nothing else makes sense. Right there, you’ve got a big piece of evidence.”

“If I shot someone, I’d be in a mighty big hurry, too. I wouldn’t be stopping to go back after some ole shoe.”

Once Reed settled on an idea, he was like a Rottweiler with a favorite bone, and convincing him that other possibilities existed was flat hopeless. “There’s been too much sorrow in this town over the past four months. And right now, a killer is out there, figuring he got away with murder.”

“That’s why I’m still on the case.” Reed eased his bulk behind the steering wheel of the patrol car. “So if you hear from your sister, you’d best call me.”

Sparing him a brief nod, Clint spun on his heel and headed for the front entrance of the house.

He’d spent hours calling Leah’s old friends. Months of driving the back roads of the parish and combing the woods and bayou, looking for any sign of her. Praying for just a split-second sighting, the briefest contact, or the faintest clue. Anything to show that she was still alive.

But the chances diminished with every passing day, and if she did surface, Clint wouldn’t be calling the sheriff anytime soon. Leah was in big trouble. She needed a good lawyer, and she needed strong friends behind her, or she’d be facing charges for crimes he was sure she hadn’t committed.

Setting his jaw, he strode to the front door of his office building and slammed it, rattling the glass and drawing a startled look from Grace, his office manager.

“Well, aren’t we testy this mornin’?” Grace drawled, settling into her receptionist’s chair like an elderly hen arranging its feathers. “And here I thought it’d be a nice, quiet day.”

She’d worked for him over six years now, a rock in every storm…more like a doting aunt than hired help. Not a surprise, given that she’d lived next to his late parents and had known Clint since he was in grade school.

The good thing was that she was loyal, efficient and straightforward. The bad thing was that she was starting to talk about moving to Florida or Arizona when she reached her Golden Years—and at sixty-eight, she’d already reached them.

But if she hadn’t noticed, she wouldn’t be hearing the news from him.

“The sheriff stopped by.”

“And that was helpful because…”

“He just wants someone to drop halfway plausible answers in his lap so he can retire without a major case open.” Clint sighed. “He’s back to thinking Leah committed the murders, now that Shelby has been cleared.”

“He’d do better just to stay behind his desk and save the town gas mileage.” Grace flipped through a stack of phone messages, and then held them out. “Here’s something else to think about for a while.”

Accepting them, he thumbed through the slips on the way back to his private office. “I don’t want to take any calls for a while, okay?” he called over his shoulder. “I need to catch up on some things.”

“How’s that pretty little nanny of yours settling in?” she called out after him.

“Good.”

“Good?” She appeared at his door before he even reached his desk, an amused expression on her face. “This is Momma Grace you’re talkin’ to, sugar. You can tell me.”

“Mandy seems nice enough, and Sarah certainly likes her.” He shrugged, hoping she’d buy his casual dismissal. “That’s what counts the most.”

“Ri-i-i-ght,” Grace drawled. “Then it’s just me who figures she might be the sorta gal who’d make you a good match? I can see there’s a little sparkle in your eyes these days.”

“You’re dreaming again, Grace.”

Grace snorted. “Not hardly. It’s ’bout time you got over that snooty little N’Awlins gal from last year.”

“That took roughly a week, and you know it. “

“Whatever you say.” Her smile was just a tad smug when she headed back to the front office. “But you need to finally let yourself live a little, then settle down.”

Grace was wrong.

Since Leah’s disappearance in January and his guardianship of Sarah, the focus of Clint’s life had been on family. Faith. His search for his sister.

He’d never spent more time in conversation with God than he had during the past four months. Asking that Leah would be found, alive and well. Praying for guidance, to help Sarah through the upheaval and sorrow of losing both parents—and whatever she’d seen the day of her father’s murder.

But in the meantime, Clint’s company had taken quite a hit. He’d had to pass up some important contracts and made slower-than-ideal progress on others. Several potential clients had backed out. Because they thought his sister was a killer? Figured he was too distracted by her disappearance…or maybe even thought he’d been her accomplice? Maybe all of the above….

Ignoring the distant ring of Grace’s phone, he shut the door, settled into his chair and started on the stack of mail she’d left neatly stacked on his desk, next to a pile of bid estimates that could easily keep him busy for the next two days. If he could muster up enough interest and enthusiasm, with so much else on his mind.

At a light tap on the door, he looked up and found Grace peering apologetically around the corner. “Phone call.”

“I’d rather not. I—”

“This one isn’t a choice, Clint. It’s Sam Pierce, the FBI agent, you’d better pick up that phone.”

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