When a tireless newswoman becomes the story...

she could lose everything—starting with the family business.

To get the scoop on two grisly murders, newspaper publisher Audrey Anderson needs help from Winchester sheriff Colton Tanner—the gorgeous cowboy who betrayed their teenage love. But Audrey fears that finding the killer will mean exposing the family secret she desperately needs to stay buried. She’ll do whatever she has to in order to protect those she loves. No matter what happens...or how hot things get with Colt.

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favourite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and the Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.

Also by Debra Webb

Finding the Edge

Sin and Bone

Body of Evidence

Dark Whispers

Still Waters

Bridal Armor

Ready, Aim…I Do!

Colby Law

High Noon

Colby Roundup

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

In Self Defence

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09358-3

IN SELF DEFENCE

© 2019 Debra Webb

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Franklin County, Tennessee, has a large community of

Mennonites. During the years we lived in Tennessee we

were pleased to call so many of them friends. This book

is dedicated to all the folks who embrace and appreciate

what makes each of us unique.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Franklin County, TennesseeMonday, February 25, 9:10 p.m.

The red and blue lights flashed in the night.

Audrey Anderson opened her car door and stepped out onto the gravel road. She grimaced and wished she’d taken time to change her shoes, but time was not an available luxury when the police scanner spit out the code for a shooting that ended in a call to the coroner. Good thing her dedicated editor, Brian Peterson, had his ear to the police radio pretty much 24/7 and immediately texted her.

The sheriff’s truck was already on-site, along with two county cruisers and the coroner’s van. So far no news vans and no cars that she noticed belonging to other reporters from the tri-county area. Strange, that cocky reporter from the Tullahoma Telegraph almost always arrived on the scene before Audrey. Maybe she had a friend in the department.

Then again, Audrey had her own sources, too. She reached back into the car for her bag. So far the closest private source she had was the sheriff himself—which was only because he still felt guilty for cheating on her back in high school.

Audrey was not above using that guilt whenever the need arose.

Tonight seemed like the perfect time to remind the man she’d once thought she would marry that he owed her one or two or a hundred.

She shuddered as the cold night air sent a shiver through her. Late February was marked by all sorts of lovely blooms and promises of spring, but it was all just an illusion. It was still winter and Mother Nature loved letting folks know who was boss. Like tonight—the gorgeous sixty-two-degree sunny day had turned into a bone-chilling evening. Audrey shivered, wishing she’d worn a coat to dinner.

Buncombe Road snaked through a farming community situated about halfway between Huntland and Winchester—every agricultural mile fell under the Franklin County Sheriff’s jurisdiction. The houses, mostly farmhouses sitting amid dozens if not hundreds of acres of pastures and fields, were scattered few and far between. But that wasn’t the surprising part of the location. This particular house and farm belonged to a Mennonite family. Rarely did violence or any other sort of trouble within this quiet, closed community ripple beyond its boundaries. Most issues were handled privately and silently. The Mennonites kept to themselves for the most part and never bothered anyone. A few operated public businesses within the local community, and most interactions were kept strictly within the business domain. There was no real intermingling or socializing within the larger community—not even Winchester, which was the county seat and buzzed with activity.

Whatever happened inside this turn-of-the-nineteenth-century farmhouse tonight was beyond the closed community’s ability to settle amid their own ranks.

Though Audrey had lived in Washington, DC, for the past ten years, she had grown up in this part of southern Tennessee. There had never been a murder among the Mennonites that she could recall. In fact, she was reasonably certain there had never been any violence involving one of them, unless the perpetrator was someone who had abandoned the Mennonite life. Even that was nearly unheard of.

Tucking her clutch bag under her arm, Audrey palmed her cell phone and shoved the car door shut with her hip. The four-inch heels she had chosen to wear to the Chamber of Commerce Business Awards Banquet dug into the gravel with each step she made. She sighed. Sacrifices were a part of getting the story. What was the loss of a pair of shoes if there was a nice spike in subscriptions?

For a newspaper, circulation—whether print or online—was everything.

She might be the owner, but she also had the most investigative experience, which meant she had to get out in the field—had to get her hands dirty. How else was she going to turn the Winchester Gazette around? She not only had to get the story, she had to uncover the story no one else unearthed. It helped considerably that her family had deep roots in Franklin County, knew God and everyone who lived within a fifty-mile radius of her hometown. More important, the sitting sheriff—his white cowboy hat came into view even as she thought of him—really did owe her.

He owed her big-time, and she intended to see that he never forgot.

She reached for the yellow crime scene tape draped from bare crepe myrtle to crepe myrtle along the front of the yard, raised it and ducked under it. As if he’d sensed the interloper at his crime scene, Sheriff Colton Tanner turned to watch her stride up the driveway, the headlights from the cluster of vehicles illuminating her path. It wasn’t necessary to see his eyes to know his gaze roamed from the top of her blond head down the peach-colored silk blouse and classic broomstick skirt she wore all the way to the sleek matching high heels that would be ruined after this outing. As if to confirm her assumption, he shook his head and cut off the deputy who had headed Audrey’s way, no doubt to inform her that she needed to stay outside the yellow tape perimeter.

Colt double-timed it down the steps and strode toward her. “Rey, you know you cannot be here.”

Rey. From the day she was brought home from the hospital everyone around here had called her Rey. That was the way of things in the South. Your name was either chopped in half for a nickname or you were called by both your first and middle. No one seemed capable of simply using a person’s given name.

“You have a body,” Audrey announced, one hand on her cocked hip as she peered up at the man who had shattered her naive heart at the ripe old age of seventeen. “I have a newspaper. Alone, neither one is particularly noteworthy. But the story of what actually happened can mean the difference between merely dead and murdered and, in the case of my newspaper, staying in business or going bankrupt. So, like you, Sheriff, I’m here for the story either way.”

His gray eyes filled with confusion that quickly morphed into sympathy. Audrey wanted to shake him and tell him she didn’t need his pity. She just needed the story. The old saying “if it bleeds, it leads” was far too true. Except right now she would take sympathy or whatever else it took to get the story. She was just as ruthless as any other reporter.

“Well.” He heaved out a breath and braced his hands on his lean hips, matching her stance. “Be that as it may, this is a crime scene, Rey. Police business.”

He shrugged those broad shoulders and flared his wide hands. Why oh why had she noticed his lean hips or his long legs or his broad shoulders? Or any of those other utterly masculine assets before recovering control of her wayward thoughts? Dear God, she was hopeless. Or maybe simply desperate. She’d been back in Winchester for over six months and she hadn’t had a single date. Hadn’t had one for as many months or more before the big move. Quite possibly the only thing wrong with her was nothing more than basic human need.

Whatever the case, she would not be fulfilling that need with this gorgeous cowboy. Not now or ever. They were over. All she needed was information and perhaps a look at the crime scene.

“I’m a reporter,” she argued. “I have an obligation to keep the community informed.”

“I understand that.” He raised a hand before she could interrupt his rebuttal. “But you can’t go showing up like this and crossing the perimeter—”

“Please.” She reached into her bag and retrieved disposable gloves. “I know my way around a crime scene better than a single one of your deputies. I daresay,” she added as she met his weary gaze, “better than you.”

Audrey started forward once more. Her destination was the porch. Once she was on the porch she would pull on protective footwear and go right on inside. The door was open. The body was in there and most likely so was the person who pulled the trigger.

“All that research you’ve done as a big-city crime reporter is not impressing me here,” he protested, catching up to her after hesitating five or so seconds—no doubt just so he could watch her walk away. Some things never changed. “This is official police business, Rey. As much as I’d like to do you a favor, you cannot go in there.”

She stopped at the bottom of the wooden porch steps. “Are you saying you don’t trust me, Colt?”

The pained expression that pinched his handsome face gave her immense pleasure. It really was bad form to enjoy a little payback after all these years, but no one was perfect. When it came to Colt, she knew exactly which buttons to push. Though she’d only been back home for six months, she’d deduced very quickly where she stood with anyone important to her goal of saving the family newspaper. The sheriff was in the top five of that short list. Thankfully, their shared history made him a little easier to handle.

“Rey, you know that’s not it. We have official procedures about this sort of thing. I let you in there, evidence could be considered contaminated and my case would be jeopardized.”

She sighed as if the idea hadn’t once occurred to her. Rules of evidence, something else she knew very, very well. “Then tell me what’s going on and I’ll be more than happy to get out of your way.”

He issued another of those frustrated exhales as he glanced across the yard at the deputy who was supposed to be guarding the perimeter. Audrey suspected the poor guy was in for a dressing-down. Truth was, Colt didn’t have even one deputy who would deny her entrance onto any crime scene. Of course, this was the first shooting since she’d taken over the paper.

Not just a shooting; there was a deceased victim. Possibly a homicide.

“Sarah Sauder—she’s Melvin Yoder’s daughter,” Colt said with just enough reluctance to remind her she had forced him to make this confession, “shot and killed a man who broke into her house.”

“A robbery attempt?” The idea didn’t make a whole lot of sense considering the Mennonites weren’t exactly known for keeping valuable items that might be easily pawned or readily sold lying around the house.

Colt shrugged. “We don’t know anything yet. Burt’s having a look at the body now. You understand that part takes time. It might be a while before the body can be moved, and we’re collecting evidence in there.” He gestured toward the house as if she might not be following all he’d told her. “Maybe by noon or so tomorrow we’ll have some idea what happened here tonight.”

Burt Johnston was the county coroner and nearing eighty. Audrey seriously doubted he would take a minute longer than necessary, especially at this hour. Considering his age, getting a call at this time of night wouldn’t be something that prompted him to dally. As for the evidence, she had no intention of waiting for forensic reports. Absolutely not. Her goal was to splash this story on the front page of tomorrow morning’s edition.

“Why the delay in moving the body?” Usually the police liked getting the body out of the way once the scene was properly photographed and drawn. No need to keep the deceased—the key piece of evidence that deteriorated every second it remained at room temperature or exposed to the elements—amid the fray of fully processing a scene.

“We’ve got a call into Branch. We want him to have a look at the dead guy—the victim—before we do anything else.”

And now they arrived at the meat of the situation. Branch Holloway was a US marshal. Well, well, this wasn’t just any dead guy—this was a dead guy with some connection to the Feds. Maybe an escaped prisoner from one of Tennessee’s federal prisons. Or a fugitive from the most-wanted list. Her mind ticked off the numerous possibilities that would require the involvement of the Marshals Service.

She asked, “What’s the connection to the Sauders?”

Colt removed his hat and plowed his fingers through his hair, the tension in the set of his shoulders warning that he was losing his patience with her. “Sarah says she’s never seen him before. She woke up from a dead sleep, heard someone downstairs and did what she had to do to protect her family.”

Skeptical, Audrey asked, “Where’s her husband?”

“He’s on his way home. He was out of town. One of my deputies is inside with Sarah and her kids.”

“Did you ID the victim?”

A truck pulled into the yard alongside the sheriff’s. Big black crew cab with four-wheel drive. Branch Holloway.

Colt touched her arm. “I’m gonna need you to step back outside that yellow tape, Rey.”

Now that Branch was here, Colt had to go all cocky and by the book. Colt and Branch had been rivals since high school. Showing up your high school nemesis trumped giving a tip to the girl whose heart you broke any day of the week or, in this case, night.

“Anything else about this incident I can run in tomorrow’s edition?” She wasn’t leaving without something more—at least not willingly.

“Colt, what’s going on?” Branch removed his black Stetson as he approached. He gave her a nod. “Rey.”

“Marshal.” She returned his nod and smiled as if she’d been waiting all night for him to appear.

When she’d left home headed to college, one of the few things that had stuck with Audrey was the image of Branch Holloway. Back then he’d been a star quarterback for the Tennessee Volunteers. He’d graduated a couple of years before Colt and her. Like Colt, the man was the quintessential cowboy. She and her best friend Sasha had harbored secret crushes on Branch Holloway. His college football career had made him a real-life celebrity right here in Winchester.

Why couldn’t she have fallen in love with this cowboy?

But she hadn’t, and however much she’d lusted after Branch, her gaze shifted to Colt. Way back in eighth grade she’d promised to marry Colton Tanner as soon as they both graduated from college. They’d been boyfriend and girlfriend from seventh grade until he cheated on her with her archnemesis near the end of senior year. A blast of fury burned through her even now. She’d wasted all that time only to have her heart shattered. As if she’d telegraphed those thoughts to the man responsible for all her pain, Colt met her glare, and she could see the regret in his gray eyes.

Colt Tanner and Branch Holloway had been the hottest, most popular guys in school. Colt had the coal-black hair and pale gray eyes. Branch was blond with gold eyes. He and Branch were both tall and athletic; still were nearly two decades later. Both had been hometown heroes. Except Colt was a cheater. Damn him.

“Well, I’ll let you gentlemen get back to business.”

Both tipped their hats at her and bid a good night like true Southern gentlemen.

Audrey turned and marched to the end of the sidewalk and then back down the gravel drive, cringing with each slide of a leather heel between the crushed rocks. She would snap a few photos and hurry back to the paper to update the front page. The Future Farmers of America’s upcoming annual pig-catching contest would have to be moved to page two.

By the time she found the perfect angle for a photo of the house and the crime scene tape, Colt and Branch had gone into the house. Audrey took a few more shots with her cell phone and headed to her car.

“Hey there, Miss Anderson.”

She hesitated as she reached for the door. Deputy Calvin Stevens grinned at her.

“I guess the full moon brought out the crazies tonight,” he said.

“Guess so.” She leaned against the door and waited as he came closer. Cal was a big flirt. If he’d been inside the house she might be able to get a little more for her story. She glanced around. How odd that no other reporters had shown up yet. “But it looks like I’m the only one who arrived to watch all the fun,” she teased, scanning the road in both directions. “I haven’t seen another reporter.”

“Sarah Sauder’s daddy called the sheriff direct and the sheriff called the coroner. They wanted to keep this quiet.” Cal grinned. “I figured the sheriff called you personally.”

Well, well. So how did Brian hear about this? Maybe he was the one with the real source in the sheriff’s department. “I’ll never tell,” she said with a wink.

“You probably saw this kind of thing all the time in the big city.” Cal gave her a look that said he’d made it his business to learn a whole lot of things about her. “I heard about all those awards you won.” The deputy leaned against her car, close enough for her to smell his freshly applied aftershave. Did he keep a bottle in the glove box of his county cruiser?

“I spent a lot of time in the field.” The statement wasn’t really an answer to his question, but she suspected he wouldn’t notice. He was making conversation with the newest single lady in town. A small-town tradition.

“The sheriff says you trained with cops all over the country.”

Only a slight exaggeration, taken directly from the bio on her website. “Wherever the story took me, I immersed myself in the community, including law enforcement.”

Cal chuckled. “Is it true you helped to capture a serial rapist?”

“I did.” The story had won her the esteemed Courage in Journalism Award. “I was following up on a victim who had survived an attack by the elusive killer when he came back to finish what he’d started.”

Audrey had connected with the victim. She’d felt at ease talking to Audrey when she didn’t feel comfortable talking to the police. The younger woman had called, said she felt like someone had been watching her for a couple of days. Audrey had urged her to call the police but she refused. What else was there to do but go over to her house and try to help? Still, she had no intention of becoming a victim herself. En route she’d called the detective assigned to the case and let him know what was happening.

By the time she arrived, the rapist was already in the house with the victim. Audrey grabbed her courage with both hands, walked in and distracted him until the cops showed up. Looking back, walking into that house knowing the guy was inside was foolhardy, but she hadn’t really had a choice.

“You are one cool lady, Miss Anderson.”

“Why thank you, Cal. You should call me Rey. Everybody does.”

He shrugged. “All right. Rey.”

“It’s hard to believe this guy broke into Sarah’s house.” She made the statement as if she was personal friends with Sarah Sauder and she knew all about the dead guy.

“For sure.” Cal glanced at the house, then checked in both directions to ensure no one was nearby. “Especially considering he came all the way from Chicago to do it. Sarah swears she never laid eyes on the guy before. Kind of hard to believe considering he came this far.”

Chicago. Interesting. Audrey nodded. “Just totally crazy, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Sheriff Tanner no sooner ran the man’s name than some detective from up there called and wanted to know what was going on.”

“So this guy has a record?” It was possible someone from Chicago was attempting to horn his way into the local drug trade—not that there was much of a problem in the Winchester area, but most towns had at least some drug issues. Still, why break into a Mennonite woman’s house? Unless, being from Chicago, he lost his bearings and broke into the wrong house. To an outsider, the roads around here all looked alike. At night, they all looked alike even to Audrey. Not so surprising, considering she had lived everywhere but here since she left for college.

“Oh yeah. Big-time. That big-city detective said the guy has ties to the mob.”

So that was why Colt had called in Branch. Branch’s first assignment with the Marshals Service was in Chicago. He likely knew all about Chicagoland crime families. This potential breaking-and-entering had just shifted to something else entirely.

“Do you know his name?”

Cal shook his head. “He’s a big guy, though. With red hair. She got him square in the chest with her husband’s deer-hunting rifle. One shot. He was probably dead before he hit the floor.”

“I’m glad she and the children weren’t harmed.”

Before Cal could say more, the front door of the house opened and a gurney rolled and rattled its way across the porch.

Maybe she would follow Burt Johnston to the hospital in Winchester. Burt owned and operated the two veterinary clinics in the county. He’d taken care of her beloved collie, Maisey, twenty years ago. Couldn’t hurt to ask him for a few details.

He’d tell his coffee-drinking buddies at breakfast in the morning anyway. He might as well tell Audrey now. After all, the newspaper gave him a discount on all his advertising. It was the least he could do.

A murder—even in self-defense—was as scarce as hen’s teeth in Franklin County. Especially if it involved a possible mob-connected stranger from out of town and a quiet Mennonite woman who’d lived here her whole life.

Had all the makings of a feature that could be picked up by the Associated Press. This might be Audrey’s lucky night.

Chapter Two

Audrey tossed her keys onto the table that sat next to the door. Lifting one foot and then the other, she removed her ruined shoes. She paused for a moment, her toes curling against the cool wood floor. The house was completely dark save for the lamp on the table where her keys lay. It felt so strange coming home to an empty house. Even now, after six months of living in her childhood home as an adult, the hollowness at times startled her.

Her mother had always been so cheerful and vibrant. No matter the season, the house had been filled with the scent and beauty of the flowers from her gardens. Even in the winter she had kept plants blooming in the Victorian-style greenhouse she had built when Audrey was a child. Every single year until the one before last, Mary Jo Anderson had won awards for her lovely gardens. Her gardening had always been her escape, her own special brand of chicken soup for the soul.

Reading had been Audrey’s. She imagined it was all those suspense novels that had made her so bold as a reporter. She often told friends she had lived a thousand lives through the books she read. Growing up in a small town, books were her escape.

She picked up her high heels and headed for the staircase. The entire house remained stuck in the Victorian era with few concessions to modern times: a more comfortable sofa in the den and updated appliances in the kitchen. The paint and wallpaper, though well maintained, boasted the same pinks and burgundies from more than a hundred and twenty years ago when the house was built. Her great-great-grandmother who’d actually commissioned the house had insisted on keeping things exactly the way she’d wanted them. Mary Jo, though not exactly a pink-and-burgundy lady, had respectfully left the decorating scheme as the late great Annette Anderson had decreed. Audrey’s grandmother and great-grandmother had done the same.

At the top of the stairs, Audrey glanced toward the south end of the second-floor hall. The suite at that end had belonged to her parents. How many nights had she crept quietly through the darkness from her bedroom at the other end to those towering double doors? Her father had always scooped her up and nestled her between him and her mother. A perk of being an only child.

Even after all these years, her heart squeezed at the memory of her father. She imagined that she would always miss him, no matter that he’d been gone for twenty-four years. Weary now, she made her way to her room, the same one she’d slept in growing up, and padded straight to the walk-in closet to put her damaged shoes away. She should probably just throw them out, but the little shoe repair shop on the corner of the square depended on folks like her to stay in business. No one understood the need for supporting local businesses better than Audrey. Though she was far from destitute, the expenses related to her mother’s care and turning the newspaper around were quickly draining her savings.

She sighed as she hung up her jacket. Though her mother had changed hardly a thing around the house, Audrey had altered a couple of things right away. The first being to expand her closet into a decent-sized one. And still she’d had to downsize her wardrobe. Living in the limelight of investigative journalism for all those years had required an extensive wardrobe. Plus, she was reasonably sure she had a slight obsession with clothes, shoes in particular. With her work, it hadn’t actually been a problem.

But that life was over.

Audrey closed the door of the closet as well as the one to the past.

No looking back. This was her life now, and it wasn’t such a bad one.

She tossed her clutch purse onto a chair and reached for the zipper of her skirt. After leaving the Sauder farm she’d followed Burt to the hospital but had learned nothing. As she left the hospital and headed home, she dictated the story to Brian, her longtime friend and the editor at the Winchester Gazette, via her cell. Once she’d sent him the photos she’d snapped, he had laid out the story for tomorrow’s front page. It would be tight, but since they were one of the few remaining small-town newspapers that still did their own printing, the job would get done. Newspapers landing on doorsteps and in stands tomorrow morning would showcase what little was known about the shooting. The article was already online.

Sarah Sauder was two or three years younger than Audrey. She remembered seeing her at the family-run bakery as a child and then as the woman behind the cash register since moving back to Winchester. Audrey popped in at least once every week. The Yoder Bakery, though located outside Winchester proper, was considered a local landmark. The peanut butter balls were to die for and her mother loved them. Audrey liked having a special treat for her mother when she visited. She also adored their blueberry scones. She bought those for herself, which was all the more reason not to drop by too often.

But the man who’d taken his last breath on Sarah Sauder’s kitchen floor hadn’t come to Buncombe Road for peanut butter balls or blueberry scones. And he sure hadn’t broken into the century-old farmhouse looking for valuables to snatch. Branch Holloway’s presence ruled out any possibility of the man’s death being something less than serious trouble.

Wouldn’t be drugs or human trafficking. Certainly not gunrunning. At least not involving the Sauders. The man had obviously connected the wrong identity with the house. But that still left the possibility that someone in Franklin County was up to no good and the trouble rippled all the way to the Windy City.

The skirt she’d worn tonight slid down her hips, then she stepped out of it. Frankly, she couldn’t think of any criminal activities that rose to that level in which any of the locals, much less the Yoders—in this case the Sauders by marriage—would be involved. Of all people, Audrey was well aware of the reality that what one saw was rarely exactly what lay beneath the skin of others. But these were Mennonites.

She frowned as her fingers hesitated on the buttons of her blouse. She’d forgotten to ask Brian how he’d heard about the shooting. She assumed it was from the police scanner. She would ask him tomorrow.

The buzz of her cell echoed in the room, the sound muffled deep inside the clutch she’d tossed aside. She didn’t dare ignore it. There could be breaking news in the shooting...or an issue at the paper.

Since taking over the Winchester Gazette, she’d realized how running the family business could consume one’s life. As a crime reporter she had given herself completely to the story, but when the story was over there was typically some time before another came her way. Running the Gazette was entirely different. It was always there, an endless cycle of need for more content. Another story, another something to fill the pages—advertising. The newspaper had been in the Anderson family for nearly two centuries. How could she be the one to walk away? Her father would have wanted her to take over when his brother, Audrey’s uncle Phillip, decided to retire.

She shivered. It wasn’t like she’d had a choice. That decision had been taken from her years ago.

She dragged her cell from the clutch. When she had learned the developer who wanted to buy the Gazette planned to tear it down, she’d had to take control. The shiver turned into a chill that scurried deep into her bones.

The historic building could not be torn down. Ever.

At least not as long as Audrey was still breathing.

The caller ID read Pine Haven. A new kind of dread spread through Audrey’s body. Pine Haven was her mother’s residential care facility.

“Audrey Anderson.” She held her breath. It had been two days since she’d visited her mom. What kind of daughter allowed forty-eight hours to pass without dropping by or at least calling?

“Ms. Anderson, this is Roberta Thompson at Pine Haven.”

The worry in the other woman’s voice sent another spear of uncertainty knifing through Audrey.

“Your mother is very agitated tonight. We need to sedate her but she insists on seeing you first. I know it’s late but—”

“I’ll be right there.”

* * *

THE DRIVE TO Pine Haven on the other side of town took scarcely fifteen minutes and still it felt like forever. Audrey’s heart pounded twice for every second that passed before she was parked and at the front entrance. The night guard waved her through. Evidently her mother had the facility’s night shift all out of sorts.

Nurse Roberta Thompson waited for Audrey at the entrance to the Memory Care Unit. Roberta smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry I had to bother you at this hour, but she won’t stay in her bed and she’s demanding to see you. When a patient is this agitated we nearly always have to use sedation, but your mother’s file says you prefer to be called first.”

“Absolutely.” Audrey held up her hands. “Please. You know I always want you to call. No matter the hour.”

Roberta nodded. “Talk to her. You’re what she needs right now. Then we’ll get her settled for the night.”

Mary Jo Anderson was pacing her room when Audrey walked through the door. Her short white hair was mussed, her long flannel gown rumpled as if she’d already tossed and turned all night.

“Mom.”

Mary Jo’s gaze settled on Audrey’s. For a moment she stared, the haze of confusion and distance dulling her blue eyes. She was far away from this place, perhaps not in miles but in time. Audrey knew the look too well. When she came back home to buy the paper and to stay until she sorted out her future, Audrey had been startled by the episodes of total memory loss her mother suffered. Startled and heartbroken. How could she have deteriorated so without Audrey knowing it?

“Audrey.” The haze cleared and her mother smiled.

Audrey closed the door and walked over to hug her. “What’s going on? Nurse Thompson told me you’re upset.”

When Audrey drew back, her mother’s smile was gone. “They’ll find him and then you know what will happen.”

The too-familiar apprehension stole back into Audrey’s gut. “Let’s sit down, Mom, okay? I’m really tired. I’m sure you must be, too.”

She ushered her mom to the bed and they sat on the edge.

Mary Jo took in Audrey’s jeans and sweater before settling her gaze on her face once more. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in plain old blue jeans, Audrey Rose.”

Audrey couldn’t help smiling. “You always say that, Mom.”

“It’s true.” Mary Jo sighed, turned away to stare at the wall on the other side of the room as if someone else had spoken to her. “I’m sorry I caused you all this trouble, sweetheart. You should be back in Washington. I’ve messed up everything.”

Audrey put her arms around her mother’s shoulders. “You didn’t mess up a thing. Remember? I moved back to Winchester six months ago to buy the paper.” The surprise in her mother’s eyes warned that she’d forgotten. “I took over the Gazette for Uncle Phil. He wanted to retire.”

She looked away, a classic indication she did not recall. The lines on her face appeared deeper than ever. Worry. Even with her memories fading, she still worried. Was that the curse of being a woman? A mother?

Or was it the secret they had been keeping for so long?

Audrey pushed away the thought. That was taken care of for now. No need for either of them to worry.

“We can’t hide our secret forever,” her mother whispered.

Mary Jo’s words brought Audrey’s attention back to her. She glanced at the door—couldn’t help herself. No one needed to hear this. No doubt anyone who did overhear would think it was just the disease talking. Still, Audrey would feel better if her mother didn’t mention that part of their past. “Mom, you don’t need to worry about the secret. No one will ever know. I promise.”

Her gaze latched onto Audrey’s once more, the urgency there painful to look at. “You can’t stop it. Fate or whatever they call it...the Lord. The Bible says so.” She heaved a big breath. “They will find us out and it’s my fault. All my fault.”

She muttered those last three words over and over.

Audrey would need to check with Roberta to see if Mary Jo had any visitors today. Usually something set off this kind of episode. Maybe she’d somehow heard the news about the shooting on Buncombe Road. Audrey didn’t see how that was possible. Could have been some other shooting or death. Sometimes startling events sent her mother off on a tangent. On those occasions, Audrey did all she could to soothe her frayed nerves and to guide her toward more comforting memories.

“Mom, do you remember my junior play? You had to make my costume. I was the nurse and you were so upset that I wasn’t cast as Juliet.”

“The costume was hideous.” She shook her head. “You should have been Juliet.”

Audrey laughed. “Well, Mrs. Bishop was the director and I guess she wanted her daughter to play the lead role.”

Mary Jo chuckled. “I think the only thing worse than that costume was your dress for the senior prom.”

“Oh.” Audrey shuddered at the thought. The dress was one memory she had worked hard to exile. “It was absolutely awful.”

Her mother rambled on about the dress order and the numerous fittings and how the garment still would not fit properly. Audrey had been reduced to tears at least twice until she’d decided enough was enough and had worn her favorite jeans and tee to the damned prom. Half the senior class as well as the school staff had been mortified; the other half couldn’t have cared less. Audrey would wager that she was the only girl who had ever dared wear jeans to a prom in Franklin County, maybe in the whole state of Tennessee.

Colt had grinned and told her she was the most beautiful girl in the gymnasium—and maybe the world. The old ache that accompanied memories of her senior year squeezed deep inside Audrey’s chest. She had been madly in love with Colt Tanner. They had been planning their future together since eighth grade when he sneaked a kiss on the school bus. That kiss had startled them both. The perfect balance of sweetness and innocence.

She had known the boy and then the man inside out. At least, she’d thought she had. But you never really know a person. Not really. When he’d married someone else—a pregnant-with-his-child someone else—Audrey had realized she could never trust anyone with her heart ever again. If Colt would break it, there was no hope with anyone else.

True to her decision, she never had. In December she would turn thirty-seven. Forty was right down the road. In all probability she would never know how it felt to hold her own child in her arms or to share her life with a man she loved the way her mother had loved her father. Of course her career had been immensely fulfilling—until things had gone so very wrong.

The newspaper would just have to be her baby, she supposed. Certainly the staff was like family. And she still had her mother. Well, most of the time, anyway.

Rather than wallowing in self-pity, Audrey listened as her mother talked on and on about the distant past—the good days, she called them. The ones before that awful year of darkness that came after her father’s heart attack...and the secret that she and her mother would take to their graves.

Some things had to stay buried. There was no other option—not then and not now.

“Then you went off to become the celebrated investigative journalist,” Mary Jo said after a long pause, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Your father would have been so proud. He never wanted you stuck here running that damned newspaper. He wanted you to explore the world, to conquer all the glass ceilings.”

Except there really was no choice now. Six months ago her mother had called with the news that Phillip was retiring and a developer wanted to buy the paper. Said developer planned to demolish the old building and start fresh—his words. That could not happen. Not in this lifetime. The building had to stay exactly where it was for the foreseeable future.

“To tell you the truth, Mom, I was tired of all the travel and the limelight.” Audrey waved off the career that had once been her singular focus. “Let someone else have a turn at being the best.” She winked at her mother. “I couldn’t hog all the glamour forever.”

Mary Jo smiled and patted Audrey on the leg. “You were always such a thoughtful girl. I’ll never forget the time you came home and bagged up all your clothes to take to that little girl whose house had burned down. I finally convinced you that we could take her shopping for new clothes. You really made your father and I proud. I know he has watched your career from heaven.”

There was another secret Audrey planned to keep. Her mother would never know—nor would anyone else for that matter—that her career had gone to hell in a handbasket. She’d made a mistake. Ten years at the top of her game and she’d made a totally dumb, foolish mistake. She’d wanted the story so badly, she’d trusted a source without going through all the usual steps to verify that source. She had allowed her friendship with that source to guide her, and she’d rushed to beat everyone else. She’d screwed up.

Big-time.

Bottom line, she had no one to blame but herself. While she had been licking her wounds, her mother had called with news about Phil’s retirement. Audrey had done what she had to do. She’d zoomed home and bought out her uncle’s portion of the family business. With her savings basically depleted after that, she’d decided to stay on and try turning the paper around. No one knew how to lay out a titillating story better than Audrey. She could have the paper thriving again within a year. No problem. An entire human could be made in less time. Of course she could do it. It was the perfect distraction. If she was busy saving the family legacy, she didn’t have to think about the rubble that was once her career.

Or the secret that no one else could ever know.

Her mother laid her head on Audrey’s shoulder, exhaustion overtaking her now that the manic episode had passed.

But it was coming home to do what must be done that served up another cold hard reality to Audrey. Her mother was not well. The forgetfulness and absentmindedness were not merely age or the overabundance of civic commitments to which she had obligated herself for the past thirty-five years.

Mary Jo Anderson had dementia. If Audrey had come home more often, she would have realized the lost keys and missed appointments her mother had laughed about on the phone were more than forgetfulness. Far more. But she had been too busy with her illustrious career. She had called her mother every week, sometimes twice, but she hadn’t gotten home nearly as often as she should have.

But she was here now. And as her father always said, “when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.”

Tonight’s shooting was a perfect example. Nothing promised a bump in circulation like a potential homicide.

Chapter Three

Colt leaned against the cab of his truck and blew out a weary breath. Burt had taken the body. Rather than deliver the outsider to a local funeral home, he was headed to the state medical examiner’s office to turn over the body for an autopsy. The department’s two-man crime scene unit had gone over the Sauder home with a fine-tooth comb.

The biggest thing missing at the moment was Sarah Sauder’s husband. He was supposed to be headed home from a funeral he’d attended up in Hendersonville, but he still hadn’t made it back. Seemed to Colt that the man would have moved heaven and earth to get to his wife and children after hearing about the shooting. Sarah and the kids had apparently given up hope of his arrival, since they’d left and gone to her father’s house. The lights in the Sauder home were out now and the doors were locked up tight. Colt had suggested Sarah and her kids stay with family until they released the scene. There would need to be another look tomorrow for potential evidence. Not that Colt really expected to find any.

The evening had been a tough one for Sarah. To have strangers walking through her home and touching her belongings was not something to which folks in the Mennonite community were accustomed. They were private people. Kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble. This was not the norm by any means.

US Marshal Branch Holloway paced the road just far enough from Colt’s truck to ensure he didn’t overhear his cell phone conversation. Branch had an outstanding reputation with the Marshals Service as far as Colt knew, but something had landed him in Franklin County assigned to the federal courthouse last year. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. Winchester wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, and there damned sure wasn’t much of anything that rose to the federal level in Franklin County.

Tonight, apparently, was an exception.

Branch had said the victim was some button man for the Chicago mob. Beyond that he’d been pretty tight-lipped. Didn’t sit well with Colt. This was his county and by God he needed to know the full details of what had transpired in the Sauder home tonight. He had no intention of relinquishing control over this investigation until he had no other choice. The safety of the residents in this county was his responsibility, not Branch Holloway’s.

Branch tucked his phone away and headed toward Colt. Colt pushed away from the truck and set his hands on his hips. “So what did your former boss have to say?”

“I was right. The victim is Tony Marcello.” Branch glanced toward the darkened house. “This was no random break-in, Colt. Marcello is the kind of guy who does the dirty work. Collects on loans. Acts as an enforcer or bodyguard. Bottom line, he does whatever he’s ordered to do. I can’t see a guy like that making this kind of mistake.”

Oh hell. “So you’re saying the Sauders are involved in some sort of mob business.” Colt couldn’t see it. Not in a million years.

“Sure looks that way.” Branch matched Colt’s stance, hands on hips, boots wide apart, as if they were about to see who was the fastest draw. “I’ve only been back a year so I’m not up to speed on everyone in the area. How well do you know Wesley Sauder?”

“How well do you know any of the Mennonite folks?” Colt tossed back at him. Branch grew up in Winchester. He knew the deal. “They keep to themselves. Yet they’re good neighbors, good citizens. Never any trouble—at least if there is any, they take care of it amid their own ranks.” He shook his head. “I can’t see what you’re suggesting by any stretch of the imagination.”

“But,” Branch said, shrugging, “Wesley was an outsider until what? Ten years ago?”

That much was true. “He moved here about ten years ago, yeah.” Colt considered the answers the man’s wife had given to the interview questions. “Sarah said he came from Markham, Illinois.”

“Markham’s not so far from Chicago.”

Colt heaved another sigh. “We’ll know more when we’ve run Sauder’s prints.”

Colt had instructed one of his forensic techs to lift prints from the wooden arms of the rocking chair next to the fireplace. Sarah had glanced at the empty chair when she spoke of her husband. Colt figured the rocker was the chair her husband used.

“There’s no Wesley Sauder from Illinois or Tennessee in the database,” Branch said. “So if the husband is who he says he is, you won’t find anything there.”

“Then again, if we get a hit from a database then we’ll know he isn’t who he says he is.” Damn. Branch’s contact was able to access the needed information in an instant. Colt didn’t have those kinds of resources. As much as he wanted to be grateful for the potential assist in this case, he was mostly ticked off. “Otherwise, the only thing we’ll know for sure is that Sauder doesn’t have a criminal record and he hasn’t needed a background check that required his prints.”

“Guess so.” Branch was already marking his territory. He wanted this case.

“We could debate what this shooting boils down to all night and we still won’t be any closer to the truth than we are right now.” Colt wasn’t relinquishing a damned thing until he understood exactly what they were dealing with. “We need to do this right, Branch. By the book. No getting ahead of ourselves.”

Colt didn’t know all the details of why Branch had left Chicago and ended up back in his hometown on a babysitting assignment, but there would be plenty to the story and little if any of it résumé-worthy.

“We’ll play it your way for now.” Branch glanced once more at the Sauder home. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”

Colt gave him a nod of agreement and watched him get into his truck and drive away. He sure as hell wished Melvin Yoder wasn’t on his deathbed. Tomorrow Colt would check in with the family to see if a short visit with the patriarch of the Mennonite community in Franklin County might be possible. Yoder would know his son-in-law better than anyone. Sauder would never have been able to marry Yoder’s daughter if he hadn’t approved of the man.

Colt’s father and Yoder had been good friends. At least as close as an outsider could be with a member of the closed community. Hopefully that friendship would help now. If the older man’s health would tolerate a visit, Colt needed some insight into Wesley Sauder. What the hell kind of man would be a no-show when his family needed him?

There was only one plausible answer: a man who had something to hide.

Colt loaded into his truck, took one last look at the farmhouse. Whatever Sarah Sauder and her husband were hiding, he would find it.

* * *

COLT HADN’T MUCH more than pulled into the driveway at his house when another problem cropped up. His son, Key, pulled in right behind him, and it was well beyond his curfew on a school night.

Colt sat stone-still behind the wheel of his truck. He’d already shut off the engine, and the headlights had faded to darkness. His son had no idea he was out here. Probably thought his overbearing, out-of-touch-with-reality daddy was in bed asleep by now. As Colt watched, the eighteen-year-old climbed out of his truck and closed the door quietly. He glanced around the yard and started toward the house.

Staggered toward the house.

Colt swore under his breath. He watched his only child beat a crooked path to his bedroom window, which he subsequently opened and struggled clumsily through, ultimately falling into the house. If Colt was lucky, right on his head. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. The boy was hell-bent on trouble. He’d had everything he ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter—including that brand-new pickup his Granddaddy Wilhelm gave him. The real problem was that between his momma and his granddaddy, the kid was spoiled rotten. Colt was the only one who issued any sort of rules, and shared custody ensured that at least half the time his son had no rules whatsoever.

He was headed down a bad path.

But this was the first time Colt had known him to come home drunk. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the shiny red truck parked behind him. The boy had been driving while intoxicated. Colt had witnessed it with his own eyes. All the other dumb stuff he overlooked was nothing to compare with this. Driving under the influence was not something he could pretend not to notice in order to keep the peace.

“Damn it all to hell.”

Colt emerged from his truck, slammed the door and headed for the house he’d inherited from his daddy—the one thing Colt hadn’t lost in the divorce. By the time he reached Key’s bedroom, his son was lying on the floor where he’d fallen and was snoring up a storm. Shaking his head, Colt closed and locked the window. He picked up the fob to the boy’s truck and tucked it into his pocket. No more driving for at least a month. Waking up his son and giving him what for at the moment would be a pointless waste of energy. Arguing with a drunk got both parties nowhere fast.

Morning would be soon enough to tackle this unpleasant task. He considered helping his son into the bed but decided he should sleep it off right where he’d fallen. His cell phone had tumbled from his pocket and lay next to him. Colt made another decision. The kid didn’t need his phone for a while, either. A set of wheels and a cell phone were luxuries that not all kids his son’s age enjoyed. Why should Key have access to those and more when he couldn’t obey the rules?

Disgusted and exhausted, Colt wandered to his bedroom. He placed his hat on the bureau. He needed a shower and a beer. He thought of his son passed out on the floor in the other bedroom. Maybe he’d forgo the beer. He dropped onto the side of the bed and pulled off first one boot and then the other, tossing the well-worn footwear to the floor. Socks went next. He’d worn cowboy boots his whole life. His daddy bought him his first pair as soon as he could walk. If his dad were still here he would know what to do to steer Key in the right direction.

Sometimes Colt wondered if his ex-wife allowed the boy to run wild just to get back at Colt for the divorce. God knew Colt had never been allowed to behave this way, and he damned sure hadn’t intended for his son to end up on this plunge into stupidity. But Karen let the boy do anything he wanted. She’d named him after her daddy, Keyton. Colt had been good with that, since his son would carry the Tanner surname. He’d wanted to be fair. But Karen Wilhelm had never played fair in her life. Key hadn’t been a year old the first time Colt caught her cheating. He’d put up with her lies for ten years in an attempt to hold his family together. Then he’d had enough.

He peeled off his shirt and reached for his belt. Key’s cell phone blasting a rap tune stopped him. Mom appeared on the screen. Colt tapped the screen and answered with the same “yo” his son always used.

“Baby, I just wanted to make sure you got home all right. You were a little drunk.”

Outrage coursed through Colt’s veins. “You allowed our son to drive when he’d been drinking?”

Silence screamed across the line.

“Why do you have Key’s phone?”

The cold fury in her voice was nothing compared to the white-hot rage gushing through Colt at the moment. “Because he dropped it while he was climbing through his bedroom window. At the moment he’s passed out on the floor.”

“I’m... I’m sure he wasn’t drinking that much when he left here. He must have stopped at a friend’s on the way home.”

Liar.

“He won’t be driving for a good long while. And he won’t be available by cell, either.”

“My father gave him that truck. You don’t have any right to take it.”

“You would rather I arrest him for driving under the influence? I can definitely do that, and I don’t need your or your daddy’s permission to do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He laughed. “I arrested you, didn’t I?”

Of course, her rich daddy had hired the best lawyer in the county to take care of the situation. So far, he’d managed that feat five times. No wonder their son felt no fear of consequences. He’d watched his mother skate out of trouble his whole life. Including ten years of Colt looking the other way while she screwed her way through the county’s male population.

“My father will be calling you in the morning.”

The call ended.

Colt turned the phone off and shoved it into the pillowcase of the pillow he didn’t use. His boy would never think to look there. God knew his momma wasn’t coming anywhere near Colt’s bed.

He shucked his jeans and boxers and headed for the shower. While he waited for the water to warm he thought of the biggest mistake of his life.

Hurting Rey.

Each time he saw her he was reminded of the enormous mistake he’d made. How the hell had he let her get away? He almost laughed at the idea. He hadn’t let her do anything. Audrey Rose Anderson did what she damned well pleased, then and now.

She had been his everything since he was a kid. If he was honest with himself, he had been fascinated with her since the first day of kindergarten when she kicked the boy who laughed at him for crying. Cutting the other kid some slack, he had no idea Colt’s mother had been dying with cancer. No matter that she’d been so sick, she’d wanted to take her little boy to his first day of school. When she’d left him in the classroom the tears had streamed down his face. Colt had been terrified she would die before he was back at home with her.

After kicking the laughing kid in the shin, Audrey had walked up to Colt and said, “I like your boots. You want to sit at my table?”

They had been friends from that day on. And then he’d fallen in love with her. Head over heels in love. Even now, thinking of her made it hard to breathe.

“You screwed that up, dumbass.”

Colt stepped into the shower and drowned the memories beneath the spray of hot water.

There were some transgressions for which there was no forgiveness. Rey reminded him every chance she got.

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