DANGER BROUGHT THEM TOGETHER.

Will the truth tear them apart?

Desperate to learn what caused his estranged father’s death, Dexter Hawk finds himself drawn to a woman from his past. Melissa Gentry lost her family years ago. Now a shoot-out at work has put her own life in danger. With Dex suddenly back, asking for her help, Melissa realizes once again she has everything to lose. Because a man like Dex cannot be replaced...or forgotten.

Badge of Justice

USA TODAY bestselling author RITA HERRON wrote her first book when she was twelve but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please visit her website, ritaherron.com.

Also by Rita Herron

Redemption at Hawk’s Landing

Safe at Hawk’s Landing

Hideaway at Hawk’s Landing

Lock, Stock and McCullen

McCullen’s Secret Son

Roping Ray McCullen

Warrior Son

The Missing McCullen

The Last McCullen

Cold Case at Camden Crossing

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Hostage at Hawk’s Landing

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09367-5

HOSTAGE AT HAWK’S LANDING

© 2019 Rita B. Herron

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To my fabulous daughter Elizabeth for always loving and helping others.

Love you, girl.

Mom

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“I found your father.”

Dexter Hawk tensed. Detective Frank Lamar’s words echoed over the phone line as if boomeranging off the mountains.

Steven Hawk had left the family ranch and abandoned Dex and his family eighteen years ago, shortly after they’d lost their sister, Chrissy. No one had heard from him since.

Dex had taken advantage of his PI skills to search for him, and asked his friend Detective Lamar to help. Lamar was several years older than him, but had taken Dex under his wing a long time ago, becoming his mentor.

“Dex?” Detective Lamar asked. “You there?”

Dexter released the breath he was holding. He’d waited a long damn time for this phone call. But judging from the tone of Lamar’s voice, the news wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Yeah. Where is he?” Dex finally asked.

“Briar Creek,” Lamar said.

Briar Creek? Only thirty miles from Hawk’s Landing. Had he been nearby all this time? Or had he moved around, then decided to finally come home? “Did you talk to him?”

“He’s not talking, Dex.” A tense second passed, filling Dex’s head with dread.

“I’m sorry,” Lamar said gruffly.

Sweat beaded on Dex’s forehead. His father was dead. Lamar didn’t have to say the words. His apology said it all.

Dex heaved a breath, his chest straining for air. “I have to see him.”

“You can do that at the morgue,” Lamar said. “I’ve already called an ambulance.”

“No, don’t move him. I’m coming there.” He snagged his keys from the end table and rushed outside to the SUV he’d bought when he’d donated his pickup to the ranch for the hands.

“What happened?” Dex asked as he climbed in and started the engine.

“Looks like an accident. Pickup truck ran off the road.” A hesitant pause. “Dex, there’s really no reason—”

“I mean it, Lamar. Do not move him,” Dex said between clenched teeth. “I’ll be there ASAP.” He had to see him for himself. Had to know exactly what had happened to the man who he’d once ridden piggyback and who taught him to ride and fish. Had to know why he’d just up and left and never even called. Birthdays and holidays had passed. Years of worry and wondering and...grief.

His phone vibrated from the console. He gave a quick glance. Harrison, his oldest brother. For a brief second he wondered if Lamar had called him, but he’d sworn Lamar to secrecy about his desire to find their father, so he let the call go to voice mail. He wouldn’t destroy the peace and happiness his mother and brothers had recently found until he knew for certain that this dead man was his father.

His family had no idea he’d made it his mission to find him. Not that he had some wild fantasy about a happy reunion with their long-lost patriarch, but Dex’s anger had festered for years. He’d practiced what he’d say to his old man for so long that disappointment swamped him.

Now he wouldn’t even get the pleasure of telling him off.

Memories of his childhood bombarded him as he drove. His father playing horseshoes with him and his brothers in the backyard. The camping trip where they’d told ghost stories while they huddled in their tent to escape the rain. His father teaching him how to tie knots and rope cattle.

He turned onto a side road that wove past farmland and neared the small town of Briarwood. Briar Creek was known for flooding during heavy storms, but the land looked dry now, and the water low.

He spotted Lamar’s unmarked police car on the side of the road around a curve, an ambulance behind it. He parked a few feet behind the ambulance, then climbed out, the summer heat oppressive. Dusk was settling in, the sun was fading and gray clouds were adding a dismal feel.

A drop-off on the left side led from the shoulder of the road to the creek. A black, rusted pickup had nosedived into the water.

Gravel skittered beneath his boots as he descended the hill and approached it. Lamar was speaking to the medics, his craggy face beaded with perspiration. When he looked up at Dex, his expression was grim.

“We’re ready to move him,” Lamar said.

Dex held up a hand. “Just give me a minute.” He swallowed hard. ‘‘Please.”

A heartbeat passed before Lamar replied. “All right. Just don’t touch anything.”

Dex hiked over to the truck with Lamar on his heels. The front of the pickup was submerged in about six inches of water, the passenger door ajar. The driver was slumped forward, his head against the steering wheel. The scent of whiskey assaulted Dex, obviously from the empty liquor bottle on the seat.

Disgust slammed into Dex. Had his father turned into a drunk?

With gloved hands, Lamar lifted the man’s head away from the steering wheel. Blood streaked his face and arms, his nose was crushed, and a jagged scar ran along the upper right side of his forehead. Gray streaked the man’s shaggy hair and beard.

Dex inhaled a deep breath. He hadn’t seen his father in eighteen years. Anger and resentment had obliterated memories and images of him until he had a hard time picturing him in his mind.

He remembered that he was a big man, and this man was big. Was he looking at him now?

He cleared his throat, forcing back emotions. He was a PI; he had answers to find. “What made you certain this is my father?”

Lamar rubbed a hand over his sweaty face, then lifted a bag holding an ID. Dexter peered at the ID through the plastic. The name on the driver’s license was Steven Hawk.

“I found these in the dash, too.” Lamar held up another evidence bag, and Dex’s chest tightened. Photos. One of him and his brothers and sister when they were little, then another of his father and mother on their wedding day. His mother still kept the same picture on her dresser in her bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Dex,” Lamar said.

Dex blinked hard. He damn well would not cry, not in front of Lamar. And not for the man who’d walked out on him and his family and never looked back.

But denial also reared its ugly head. “I want DNA for confirmation.”

“Of course,” Lamar said.

Dex studied the dead man’s features, struggling to make this bloody face belong to the man he’d loved and idolized.

But an image of his father laughing when Dex had fallen from his horse into a mud puddle surfaced and moisture blurred his eyes. A second later, he saw his father’s strained expression as he searched the woods for Chrissy, then the anger in his eyes when the sheriff had treated him like a suspect. But it was his mother’s tearstained cheeks the morning after his father hadn’t come home that still haunted him.

That was the final blow that had nearly crushed her.

Lamar waved the medics down the hill to remove the body from the truck. Dex noticed a business card on the floor by the seat, snatched the card and jammed it in his pocket. Maybe something on the card would lead him to answer the questions that kept him awake at night. Like where his father had been all this time.

Had he forgotten about his family? Found happiness with another woman?

Had he even thought about them?

Emotions pummeling him, he turned and strode back up the hill. Lamar would let him know when the DNA results were in. Then he’d have to break the news to his family.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he’d grieve alone.

He fingered the card in his pocket as he climbed in his SUV and pulled out the wooden nickel he always carried.

His father’s voice echoed in his head. “Don’t take any wooden nickels, son.”

Dex had taken that meaning to heart. He’d never accepted anything at face value and always investigated things himself.

The name of a homeless shelter had been scrawled on the card.

Maybe someone there could tell him more about his father.

Six weeks later

MELISSA GENTRY SIPPED HER evening tea as she ducked into her small office at the Lend-A-Hand Shelter outside Austin. The evening meal was complete. Tonight the volunteers had served over a hundred dinners, shared stories and camaraderie with the transients who’d wandered in and passed out personal hygienic supplies and water bottles to everyone who’d shown up. The summer heat was stifling, the danger of heat stroke and dehydration always high during the summer months.

The staff was busy clearing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, while a few of the short-term residents who’d committed to a plan to get back on their feet gathered in the common room for a game of cards.

She glanced at the newspaper as she took her break, her heart clenching. The Hawk family was back in the news. Last year, they’d found their long-lost sister’s body, tying up the mystery of what had happened to Chrissy Hawk nearly two decades ago.

Then a few months ago, a human trafficking ring had struck Tumbleweed, drawing the attention of the FBI and brother Lucas Hawk. The head of the ring had forced a local plastic surgeon to change his face so he could create a new identity, and lawyer brother Brayden Hawk had helped the feds take down the trafficking ring.

But her attention was focused on the photograph and current headline. Dexter Hawk, the third brother, and the man who’d stolen her heart her first year of college, stood by a grave with his family as they said goodbye to Steven Hawk, his father who’d disappeared shortly after his daughter had.

Some had speculated that he’d run off because he’d hurt Chrissy, but that theory had been rectified when the family learned that Chrissy had been killed by a man with a developmental disability. The more likely scenario for the father’s abandonment was that guilt and grief had eaten at him until he’d left. Couples rarely survived the loss of a child.

Sympathy and envy swelled in her chest. That family had suffered so much, yet they stood together in loving support by Mr. Hawk’s grave.

All her life, she’d craved a family like that. But working at the shelter had taught her that you had to play the cards you’d been dealt in life. So she’d made a family with the volunteers and the drifters who wandered in for food and comfort and a helping hand.

Voices and noises echoed from the front, the sound of arguing forcing her to leave the privacy of the office. She walked down the hall, then poked her head into the doorway of the gathering room to assess the situation.

While she empathized with those in need, instincts warned her to stay alert for trouble. Some people fell on hard times and were humble and wanted help. Others suffered from mental issues, drug addictions and PTSD. There were also criminals who took refuge in shelters and on the streets to escape the law.

She stole a look at the man who’d joined them a few days ago. Jim Smith. He was quiet and secretive, and kept to himself. The dark intensity in his expression suggested something was wrong, that he was on the run from something—or somebody.

She and April Stewart, the director of the shelter, had discussed consulting the local police, but Smith had given them no reason to. If they called the cops on everyone who made them nervous, they might as well shut down.

On the surface, Smith looked rough. He had a long scar on the side of his face, walked with a limp and he was missing the end of the third finger on his left hand. But he’d been polite and respectful to her and April. They’d encouraged him to share his story, but so far he hadn’t opened up.

He didn’t appear to be mentally ill or an addict. Perhaps he’d recently lost a loved one or his family. Deep grief often forced people to retreat into depression to the point of losing their homes.

Two of the men at the card table were squabbling, one of them accusing the other of stealing his King of Hearts. Smith stepped in, calming them both by clarifying that the card was on the floor.

Melissa smiled. Sometimes Jim surprised her by showing a softer side. It made her even more curious about his background and how he’d ended up at Lend-A-Hand.

She cradled her tea mug in her hands as she bypassed the kitchen and made her way to the common room.

The card game ended, and a few of the men headed outside to wherever they wanted to go for the night, while others retreated to the bunk room. The kitchen volunteers waved good-night and hurried out the back door. Smith grabbed a cup of coffee, sat down at the table and started scribbling something in a small notepad, which, she’d noticed, he did a lot. She wondered what he was writing.

She locked the front door, but a noise from the back made her jerk around, and she rushed to make sure one of the volunteers hadn’t returned and needed her. Or it could be Samuel, the night volunteer arriving.

But just as she reached the hallway, the door to the back burst open. Melissa startled and called out Samuel’s name, but a man in dark clothes and a mask grabbed her and shoved a gun to her head.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the man tightened his hold around her throat. “We don’t have money or drugs,” she managed to say in a choked whisper.

“Shut up.” He shoved her forward, and she stumbled and bumped the corner of the wall. He pushed her harder, his voice a growl in her ear. “Where is he?”

Fear clawed at Melissa. “Who?”

“Smith,” the man snapped.

“I’m right here.”

Melissa’s eyes widened as Smith stepped into the doorway, his hands held up in surrender. His dark brown eyes met hers, worry and an apology that she didn’t understand etched in the depths.

Then Smith shot an angry look at the gunman. “Let her go and I’ll do whatever you want.”

Chapter Two

Melissa clenched her jaw. She didn’t know why this gunman wanted Jim, but her protective instincts for the drifters at the shelter kicked in. She’d taken self-defense classes, and was tempted to jab her elbow into the man’s stomach, then jerk his arm up so hopefully he’d drop the gun. But common sense warned her that if she made a mistake, she’d end up dead and so might Jim Smith.

She couldn’t live with his death on her conscience.

The brute with the gun tightened his hold, the gun barrel pressing against her temple. “You’d better back off, Smith, or the little lady gets it.”

Tension radiated from Jim’s body as he went ramrod still. “It’s me you want. Let her go and we’ll take this outside.”

The man shook his head and shoved her toward a chair in the corner. “Tie her up, then we talk.”

Melissa bit her lip to keep from crying out as she sank into the metal folding chair. As much as she wanted to fight, she had to consider the other men in the back. The intruder pulled a rope from his pocket and tossed it toward Jim. He snatched it, then shocked her by swinging it like a cowboy and throwing it toward the gunman like a lasso. The movement caught the gunman off guard, and Jim charged the brute.

The man grunted and the two of them slammed against the wall as they wrestled for the gun. Footsteps sounded from the back, and two of the homeless men, Gunther and Dwayne, rushed into the doorway. She shouted for them to stay back.

Jim threw the intruder to the floor and jerked the man’s arm up. The weapon went off, the bullet hitting the ceiling. Jim knocked the gun from the man’s hand, and it skidded across the floor. Melissa ran for the weapon, but the shooter snagged her leg as she passed him. She tripped and went down hard, her knee slamming into the wood floor.

Jim rolled twice, then reached the gun and snatched it. The brute jumped him, and they struggled, but the gun went off again. Melissa covered her mouth to stifle a scream as the gunman collapsed on top of Jim.

Was Jim hurt?

A second later, he shoved his attacker off him. Blood oozed from the gunman’s chest, and he made a choking sound, then gurgled blood.

Jim pushed himself to stand, the gun in his hands, the other man’s blood soaking his shirt. The shooter’s body jerked and spasmed, then he suddenly stilled, eyes wide and blank.

Jim looked over at her, his jaw clenched. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, too stunned to speak. He gestured toward Gunther. “Call 9-1-1.”

Gunther nodded and rushed toward the phone the men were allowed to use on the counter in the corner. Melissa swallowed, and struggled to stand on shaky legs. She had to know why the man wanted Jim.

But he jammed the pistol into the back of his jeans and ran for the side door. “I’m sorry, Melissa,” he murmured, then he unlocked the door and disappeared.

Outside, a siren wailed. The police. Jim had left just in time to avoid them. Why? She would have vouched that he’d acted in self-defense.

And that he’d saved her life.

* * *

DEX CLIMBED IN his SUV and flipped on the radio as he left the homeless shelter near Tumbleweed. Damn. Another drifter had gone missing. That was three in recent months.

The director had reiterated what he’d heard at the two other places he’d visited: the homeless who took refuge at the shelters didn’t stay long. The center had no control over where the men went and rarely was informed of their destinations when they left.

Worse, none of the men wanted to talk to him. They seemed wary, even suspicious of his intentions. He’d tried to assure them that he was concerned that someone might be preying on transients, but the only thing he’d accomplished was planting fear in the men’s eyes.

Grief still made his chest ache. The damn DNA had confirmed that the man found at Briar Creek was his father. He and his family had mourned and buried him beside Chrissy.

But questions over where his father had been and what he’d been doing for eighteen years gnawed at him. What had happened to drive him to alcohol and the streets? Chrissy’s disappearance had been horrible for all of them. But his mother hadn’t walked out on her sons or buried herself in a bottle.

Had his father seen the news about Chrissy’s body being found, and been driven over the edge by grief?

Dammit, there was nothing he could do to bring his father back. But in his search for answers, he’d stumbled on another mystery.

Even if his father’s death wasn’t connected to the other missing men, Dex was determined to make sure a predator wasn’t taking advantage of these homeless men when they were already down. If nothing else, he’d find the truth in honor of his father.

A newscast broke into the country music on the radio as he headed toward the small apartment he rented over his PI office in Austin.

“This late breaking story just in. A man was shot and killed tonight at the Lend-A-Hand Shelter outside Austin. Assistant Director Melissa Gentry stated that a gunman broke into the facility just as the shelter was locking up for the night and held her at gunpoint. According to Ms. Gentry, one of the men at the shelter jumped the gunman to defend her, and the gun went off. The gunman died on-site, then the other man disappeared.”

Dex’s heart pounded. Melissa Gentry. Her name was a blast from the past. A blast of happy memories and a time when he’d allowed himself to enjoy the company of a good woman. Although when he’d found himself falling in love with her, he’d broken it off. Well, technically he hadn’t exactly done that. He’d walked away like a coward.

Maybe he was like his old man...

Melissa was sweetness and kindness and way too damn good for the likes of him.

He’d known that she’d wanted to be a social worker, so hearing about her job at Lend-A-Hand fit.

The reporter segued to another story, and he veered to the side of the road, plugged the name Lend-A-Hand Shelter into his GPS, then pulled back into traffic and drove toward it.

The thought of a man holding a gun to Melissa made his blood turn cold. He wanted to see for himself that she wasn’t harmed. And if she knew anything about the other missing transient men.

If someone was targeting them, tonight’s shooting might be connected.

* * *

MELISSA WAS STILL trembling as the police roped off the shelter as a crime scene. Detective Frank Lamar from the Austin PD was in charge, delegating a female cop named Nikki Whalen to question the men at the shelter. Melissa could barely control her anger. These men had fallen on hard times, yet now they were being treated as suspects.

She’d given her statement. Told the truth. Assured the detective that none of the other men were involved in the shooting incident, but he’d quickly silenced her with a warning to let him do his job.

Questions about Jim Smith needled her. If he wasn’t hiding from the law, why had he run?

A noise from the front door jarred her from her thoughts. Detective Lamar strode to the door to speak to the officer in charge of securing the scene.

“What’s going on, Frank?”

Melissa paused to listen. A male voice. Angry? Concerned?

“I want to talk to Melissa.”

Melissa tensed. The man...his voice sounded familiar. She hadn’t heard it in ages, but...it sounded like Dexter Hawk.

“This is a crime scene. I can’t let you come in,” Detective Lamar said bluntly.

Melissa hurried to the door and nudged up beside the stocky cop. He was about her height, but his voice and demeanor were intimidating. By design, probably.

“Melissa?”

Her heart pounded. It was Dexter.

“Dex?”

The cop looked back and forth between them, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. “You two know each other?”

“Yes,” they said at the same time.

“Well, hell.” The cop scraped a hand down his chin.

Dex took a step forward. “Lamar, you know I’ve been investigating the missing transients since we found my father. This incident could be related.”

“It’s not,” the detective said brusquely. “You saw Dr. Hudson’s autopsy report. Your father’s death was an accident, Dex. Accept it and move on.”

“I wish we could have used Dr. Weinberger from Tumbleweed,” Dex said. “I know him and trust him.”

“Hudson is a good ME,” Lamar said.

Melissa twisted her hands by her sides. Apparently Dex and this detective knew each other, too. PI to cop, or were they friends?

“Go home, Dex, and let me handle this,” Detective Lamar said.

Melissa made a snap decision. She hadn’t seen Dex in almost ten years. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was about his father. To ask him why he thought his father’s death, the missing transients and the shooting might be connected.

“Excuse me, Detective,” she said, giving the cop a gentle push as she reached for the door. “I need some air.”

He started to protest, but she slanted him an icy look. Ever since he’d arrived at the shelter, he’d made her and the residents feel as if they’d done something wrong. “You can’t make me stay inside,” she said simply. “Not unless you’re going to charge me with something.”

The man’s thick lips pressed into a tight line. A breath laced with the foul scent of cigarettes wheezed out, then he stepped aside. “Just don’t leave the county without telling me,” he said. “I might need to ask you some more questions.”

She gave a quick nod, then pushed past him and out the door. The odor of blood and death inside the shelter was making her nauseous.

She quickly dragged in a breath, then looked up to see Dex’s handsome face. Worry darkened the depths of his eyes as he gently took her arm and led her down the steps to a cluster of trees. She was still shaking so badly that her legs nearly buckled.

“Ahh, Melissa.” A second later, Dexter pulled her up against him, and she leaned her head into his chest.

* * *

DEXTER WRAPPED HIS arms around Melissa, his heart racing. Although he hadn’t seen her in years, he’d never forgotten how wonderful she felt in his arms. He stroked her back, and inhaled the fragrance of rosewater, the fragrance that had taunted him in his sleep every day since they’d parted ways.

His nights had been filled with dreams of her to the point that he’d thought he’d never get over her.

She clung to his chest, her shaky breathing doing a number on his emotions.

Maybe he hadn’t gotten over her. He sure as hell hadn’t let any other woman in his life or heart since. No...he’d been too damn afraid of loving to put himself out there and chance getting hurt. Watching the heartbreak his mother had suffered when his father left had taught him a lesson.

He hadn’t deserved Melissa anyway. Not after he’d told his sister to get lost that night. And then she had. Forever.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. He rubbed Melissa’s back again, savoring the feel of her in his arms for another minute. She was alive. She appeared unharmed, at least physically.

Time to do his job and talk. Not lose himself traipsing down memory lane.

“You okay, darlin’?”

She nodded against him and gave a deep sigh. “Thanks.” She patted his chest, then eased from his embrace and lifted her chin. “Sorry.”

“No apologies,” he murmured, his chest squeezing with emotions again. Damn, she had that effect on him. The thought of anyone hurting her made him want to pound something.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind back on track and his eyes away from her beautiful face. The sight of that unruly dark auburn hair that had driven him mad when he’d run his fingers through it taunted him to touch it again.

He had to resist.

“I saw the story about your father. I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Dexter ground his teeth, the pain back. “I want answers,” he said honestly.

“He died in an automobile accident?”

He nodded. Thankfully, the paper hadn’t revealed that he was inebriated at the time. “I found a card from another homeless shelter in his truck.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, a frown marring her heart-shaped face. “He was living in a shelter?”

“I don’t know,” Dexter said. “But I’ve been visiting some of them to see if anyone knew him. I’m curious as to what he was doing all this time.” And why he never came back.

Lamar’s voice as he spoke to the officer guarding the scene echoed from the front stoop, jerking Dex back to the reason he’d come.

“You were involved in a shooting tonight?” Dex asked.

Her face paled, and she wrapped her arms around her waist as if to hold herself together. He wanted to draw her back into his arms.

But if he did, he might never let go.

Something he’d have to do. He’d walked away from her before because she deserved better.

She still did.

Chapter Three

Melissa rubbed her arms to erase the chill invading her. Dex’s warm embrace reminded her of feelings that had never really gone away.

Dex exhaled. “What happened here?”

“We were locking up for the night when this man burst in the back door. He had a gun and grabbed me, said he wanted Jim Smith.”

“Did he say why?” Dex asked.

She shook her head. “No, it happened really fast. He pushed me toward the common room, then Jim appeared. Jim offered to trade himself for me, then the gunman told Jim to tie me up. He tossed him a rope. Smith grabbed the rope, then charged the man with the gun.”

Detective Lamar stepped outside, his voice carrying in the slight breeze that stirred. “I want an APB out on this man. Name is Jim Smith. Approach with caution. He’s already killed one man tonight, and is armed and dangerous.”

Melissa tensed at the detective’s tone. She crossed the space to him as he hung up. “Detective Lamar,” she said. “Jim isn’t dangerous, at least not in the way you’re suggesting. He acted in self-defense. He wasn’t armed when he came here.”

Dexter had followed her over to the cop, his arms crossed as he listened.

“How do you know Smith didn’t have a gun?” the detective asked. “Did you search his belongings?”

“Well, no,” Melissa admitted. “But I didn’t see any signs of a weapon. In fact, he was almost gentle at times. He tried to talk the gunman down, then he wrestled with the man and the gun went off.” Her voice cracked as the memory returned. “He was a hero, not the enemy. He saved my life.” And she wanted to thank him for it, not see him hunted down like an animal.

“You certainly are defensive of him.” The detective narrowed his eyes. “Exactly how well did you know Mr. Smith?”

Anger shot through Melissa at the insinuations in the cop’s voice. “He was a welcome guest here just like all of the other men who seek housing with us at Lend-A-Hand.”

“What was his story?” Detective Lamar asked. “Did he have a family?”

Melissa bit the corner of her lip, a habit she had when thinking. “I don’t know. He’d only been here a couple of days and didn’t share much about himself.”

“What did he share?” the detective asked.

Melissa searched her memory banks. “Nothing really. He was quiet, and kept to himself. But he was always polite at mealtimes and respectful of the other men and our volunteers.”

“So you’re defending a man you know virtually nothing about,” Detective Lamar said flatly. “His name sounds fake. He could be a criminal hiding out.”

She had considered that. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

Detective Lamar raised a brow. “What do you think?”

Dex cleared his throat. “Lamar, why don’t you lay off? Melissa told you all she knows. It’s her job to help the men who come here, not interrogate them.”

Officer Whalen, who’d been questioning the men inside, stepped to the door. “I’m finished here.”

The detective shrugged. “You get anything useful?”

Officer Whalen shook her head. “No one seemed to know anything about Smith. General consensus was that he didn’t want to talk. One guy thought Smith was hiding something. Another said Smith hinted that he didn’t have family. But Smith didn’t elaborate so we don’t know if he was married, divorced, had kids, or if he did, what happened to them.”

“What about a job?” Detective Lamar asked.

The officer shook her head. “Didn’t mention one.”

The detective turned back to Melissa. “Did he tell you what kind of work he did?”

He’d thrown that rope lasso-style, like a pro. Maybe ranching? Then again, most men in Texas knew how to rope and ride. “I’m afraid not.” She lifted her chin. “Instead of investigating Smith, why aren’t you looking into the dead man on the floor in the shelter? He’s the one who broke in here and put a gun to my head.”

* * *

DEX COULDN’T DRAG his eyes from Melissa and that tangled mass of hair. She had a heart of gold. But was she naive? Was Smith a criminal, using the shelter to hide from the law? Or...perhaps he was in trouble and the gunman was a bad guy chasing him?

Various scenarios bombarded him. Smith might have owed the man or someone else money. The shooter could have had a personal vendetta against Smith for some transgression against him.

“Listen to me, Ms. Gentry,” Lamar said. “We have to close down the shelter until we’re finished processing it. The men staying here will have to leave, at least temporarily.”

Melissa’s eyes flickered with unease. “How long will we have to be closed?”

“I can’t say for sure. I’ll let you know when we release the space and you can use it again. Meanwhile, I’ll have Officer Whalen escort the men outside.”

Lamar went to speak to Whalen, and Dex gave Melissa an understanding look. Knowing Melissa, she’d worry about the men they’d have to turn away.

“If you find a place for the men to stay tonight, I’ll provide transportation,” he offered.

Melissa’s look of gratitude suggested he’d read her correctly. She was more concerned about Smith and the men at the shelter than she was about herself. “Thanks, Dex. I will do that. I don’t like the idea of putting anyone out when it’s so hot.”

Melissa removed her phone from the pocket of her jeans and stepped aside to make a phone call.

Lamar walked back to him, his expression grim.

“Don’t you think you were a little hard on her?” Dex asked, annoyed at his friend.

“I’m just doing my job.” Lamar grunted. “How do you know her?”

Dex didn’t intend to share details of their relationship. “We met in college.”

“I didn’t think you went to college,” Lamar said.

Dex gritted his teeth. He had gone but not finished. Brayden was definitely the most educated of the Hawk men. Still, he loved his work. “I did, but just one semester. College wasn’t for me. I did take business classes at a local school though before I hung my shingle.”

Lamar worked his mouth from side to side. “I take it you and Ms. Gentry were...involved?”

Dex shrugged. “It was a long time ago. But I can vouch for her. Melissa’s the most honest, caring person I’ve ever met.”

“Caring enough that she’d cover for Smith?”

“You heard her story,” Dex said. “You can believe her.” He gestured toward the inside of the shelter. “Dr. Hudson in there?”

Lamar nodded. “They should be bringing the man’s body outside to transport to the morgue any minute.”

Dex shoved his hand in his pockets. “What do you know about the gunman?”

“Not much, yet. Name on his ID is Clark McTruitt.” Lamar shifted, putting his body between Dex and Melissa as if he didn’t want her to overhear what he had to say. “He had a PI license on him, Dex.”

A tense minute passed. “He was a PI? Where?” He would recognize his name if he worked out of Austin.

“Amarillo.” The door opened and two medics carried a stretcher with McTruitt’s body encased in a body bag on it. “He obviously had reason to come after Smith,” Lamar said. “Finding out more about Smith is key.”

Dex agreed with him on that. “I’ll go to McTruitt’s office and see what I can dig up.”

Lamar’s deep frown of disapproval coincided with a firm shake of his head. “Listen, Dex, this is a homicide investigation. I have to play it by the book.” He slanted him a warning look. “If I need you, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, go home and be with your family, and let me do my job.”

Dex clenched his jaw as Melissa strode toward the homeless men being escorted from the shelter. She could have died tonight.

That thought sent fear crawling through him. He didn’t give a damn what Lamar said.

There was no way he could walk away without answers.

* * *

MELISSA DIDN’T KNOW why the detective rubbed her the wrong way, but he did. She had been defensive of Jim Smith, but rightfully so. Although she had wondered about his past and what he was hiding from, he’d saved her life and she owed him.

She phoned her friend at Another Chance Shelter about forty miles away and explained the situation. The volunteer had enough beds open for the men to stay with them for a few nights if needed.

Several of the men went their own way, although three agreed to move to another facility.

She had a soft spot for Gunther and was glad he accepted the offer. He’d had a hard life. Had been injured in the Gulf War. With a bad leg and PTSD, he’d lost his job when he’d become addicted to pain meds. And he had no family.

An awkward silence filled the car as Dex drove them to the shelter. When they arrived, he parked, climbed out and met her at the passenger side. The men congregated a few feet away, the night taking its toll in the way they spoke in hushed tones about what had happened with the gunman.

“Wait here while I introduce them to the volunteers,” Melissa told Dex.

Dex hesitated, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Actually, I wanted to go with you, ask if anyone in there knew my father.”

He removed a photo from his wallet. She’d expected to see the picture he’d shown her when they’d met in college, but this photo was of an older man, the one he must have buried.

“Did you ever meet him?” Dex asked.

The pain in his voice ripped at her heartstrings and reminded her that Dex had been lost when they’d first met. She’d wanted to save him, but later realized she couldn’t save everyone. She’d learned that with her own father when he’d died with one hand around the bottle, the other holding a pistol.

He hadn’t cared enough about her to stick around. That had hurt the most.

Water under the bridge.

She had to move on, do what she could to help others.

She studied the photo, mentally tapping into the decade of homeless men she’d met on the streets or in various shelters, but she didn’t recognize the one in the picture. “I’m sorry, Dex, but I don’t recall seeing him anywhere.” She squeezed his hand, a warmth stirring inside her that triggered emotions she’d once felt for this strong, hurting man.

Dexter clenched his jaw. “All right. But I’d like to ask inside.”

She nodded in understanding.

Sadly, she’d heard similar stories from other families before. One family member left, leaving the others full of questions, pain and guilt. God knows she’d had her share of that over her own situation.

It was a complicated problem and could only be dealt with one family at a time.

Heartbreak City, if she let herself get too involved. The reason she needed to keep her distance from Dex. She had her own demons to slay.

And she’d barely survived the first time he’d left her.

She didn’t want to revisit that kind of pain again.

* * *

DEX JAMMED HIS hands in his pockets. A faint breeze stirred, bringing the scent of cigarette smoke and the hushed voices of the homeless men.

Melissa rolled her shoulders, fatigue showing on her face. “Let’s get the men settled.”

She texted her friend that she’d arrived, and he followed her to the door. A few minutes later, the men accepted cots in the back of the shelter, and she and Dex stood talking to Edgar, the volunteer.

“I heard what happened,” Edgar said with a worried look. “I’m so sorry, Melissa. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Melissa said. “But it’s a reminder of how quickly someone can break in.”

Dex showed Edgar the recent photograph of his father and another shot of him around the time he’d disappeared.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Edgar said. “But he hasn’t been here.”

“You’re sure?” Dex asked.

“Edgar has a near photographic memory,” Melissa said.

Dexter eyed the man. He was late forties, wore big chunky brown glasses, had a wide nose and a missing front tooth. The way he picked at his fingernails indicated nerves, maybe a habit from living a hard life himself. Everyone had a story.

He just wanted to know what his father’s was.

Melissa lapsed into silence as he drove her back to Lend-A-Hand. When they reached the facility, she snagged her keys from her purse. “Thanks for driving us to Another Chance.”

“No problem.” He spotted a beat-up minivan in the parking lot and guessed it was hers. Melissa had never valued material things. “I’ll follow you home,” he offered.

“That’s not necessary.” Her voice took on a stiff ring.

He knew she was shaken, but he wasn’t ready to let her out of his sight. “Melissa, you could have been hurt tonight.” Killed, but he couldn’t allow himself to voice that awful thought aloud. “I’ll see that you get home safely, so don’t argue.”

Melissa rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was obviously so exhausted she simply nodded and slipped from his SUV. Just as he thought, the beat-up minivan belonged to her.

She jammed her keys in the ignition, the engine taking three tries to sputter to life.

Anger that she sacrificed so much for others mingled with worry that she might have died doing just that.

She deserved so much better. To have diamonds and pearls. At least a car that didn’t look as if it had been rolled twice.

He glanced back at the shelter before he pulled from the parking lot. Melissa was no doubt worried about the men she’d had to move tonight. But worry for her raged through him. He didn’t like the fact that Melissa put herself in danger by trying to help them. Tonight’s incident proved the facility wasn’t secure.

The thought of losing her bothered him more than he wanted to admit as he followed her through the streets of Austin. His gut tightened when she veered into an area consisting of transitional homes. A couple had been remodeled, but most looked as if they were teardowns. The street was not in the best part of town, either, and was known for shady activities, including drug rings and gangs.

Her house was a tiny bungalow with a sagging little porch and paint-chipped shutters, and sat next to a rotting shanty where two guys in hoodies hovered by the side porch, heads bent in hushed conversation as if they might be in the middle of a drug deal.

He gritted his teeth as he parked and walked up the graveled path to the front porch. She paused, her key in hand. A handcrafted wreath said Welcome Home, which for some reason twisted his gut even more.

Melissa had never had a real home, while he’d grown up on the ranch with family and brothers and open land.

She offered him a small smile. “Thanks for following me, Dex.”

“I’ll go in and check the house,” he said, itching to make sure that at least her windows and doors were secure. From his vantage point now, it looked as if a stiff wind would blow the house down.

She shook her head. “That’s not necessary, but I appreciate it.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

She opened the door and ducked inside without another word and without looking back. An image of her crawling into bed in that lonely old house taunted him.

He wanted to join her. Hold her. Make sure she was all right tonight.

But that would be risky for him.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in danger as he walked back to his SUV.

Chapter Four

Melissa closed the door, shutting Dex outside and hoping he left immediately. She had come close to allowing him to come in. But if she had, she might have asked him to stay all night.

And that would be a mistake.

It had taken her months to get over him when he’d walked out of her life in college. She’d dreamed about him for even longer. Worse, she’d compared every date she’d ever had to Dex and no one had come close to measuring up.

Eventually she’d just stopped dating. Had accepted the fact that marriage wasn’t for her, that her family was the people she served. They needed her.

Worse tonight...the shelter she’d given so much of her heart and time to was a crime scene.

She dropped her keys and purse on the side table, flipped on the light and scanned the living room. The faded blue couch and rocking chair that had come with the rental house were simple, the walls decorated with a few flea market finds from the owner. Nothing that held any sentimental value to her. And certainly nothing fancy. But she didn’t need fancy things.

Just a safe haven to lay her head at night.

Not having personal items made it easier to pack up and move on when she felt the urge.

And she was starting to feel that urge. She’d already been at Lend-A-Hand nearly a year, longer than most places.

Nerves clawed at her stomach. She could have died tonight. And she had watched a man lose his life. She’d seen bad things before, but never death so close-up.

With the temperature soaring outside, she opted for a glass of wine over her cup of nightly hot tea and carried it to the bathroom. She filled the tub with bubble bath, undressed and climbed inside to soak away the stench of blood and death that permeated her skin.

Dex’s handsome face flashed behind her eyes. Once they’d shared a bath, had loved each other the way young lovers did.

She wasn’t young and innocent anymore, though.

And she couldn’t entertain fantasies of Dex again. For all she knew, Dex might be involved with someone else.

She had to focus on work, which made her wonder about Jim Smith. Why had that PI been willing to hold her at gunpoint to get to Jim?

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING Dex met his family at the main house for a big country breakfast his mother had prepared. Honey and Harrison and their baby, little Steven, were already there, the baby cooing from the high chair where he banged a spoon on the tray.

Lucas and Charlotte arrived as he did, Lucas steadying a very pregnant Charlotte as they joined the family in the large dining room off the kitchen. Brayden and Mila and Mila’s little girl, Izzy, were talking to the foster girls their mother had taken in after they were rescued from the human trafficking ring that Lucas had broken up.

As chatter, laughter and hugs floated between the family members and the ones who’d joined the family, a warmth spread through Dexter. For years after Chrissy disappeared, the family had suffered from guilt and the uncertainty of what had happened to her. Learning she was dead had been a blow, just as learning about their father had been. But at least they had closure.

Love for his family overcame Dex as he thought about Melissa. When they’d dated, she’d confided in him her feelings about losing her mother, about her father moving them from place to place. They’d lived in shelters all her life.

No wonder she was at home there.

It still wasn’t fair. She deserved to have more.

“Let’s eat,” his mother called over the noise.

The next few minutes were hectic as everyone grabbed a plate and served themselves from the buffet. Platters of sausage and bacon, eggs, grits, homemade biscuits and roasted potatoes made Dex’s mouth water. One by one, they found seats at the giant farmhouse table the brothers had built to house their growing needs, then his mother tapped her spoon on her coffee mug to indicate it was time for a prayer. The family joined hands and bowed their heads, the voices quieting as their mother gave thanks for all they had.

As the prayer ended, the conversation began again.

The baby squealed as his mother drizzled a biscuit with honey, then tore it into small bites and put it on the tray. Izzy sidled next to the baby and began to talk to him, and the foster girls joined at the opposite end, jabbering about the pool his mother had decided to build so they could cool off in the hot summer.

Charlotte was excited about putting the finishing touches on the nursery for their baby girl who was due any minute. Brayden stood and gestured that he needed everyone’s attention.

He motioned for Izzy to join him and Mila, then grinned at Izzy. “You want to tell them, sweetie?”

Izzy bobbed her little head up and down. “I’m gonna be a big sister!”

The family cheered and stood, hugging and congratulating the couple. Dex slapped Brayden on the back. He still couldn’t believe his little brother was married and had a stepdaughter. And now he was going to add another child to his new family.

Pulling away, Brayden asked with a grin, “When are you going to settle down, man?”

His mother looked at him, and Dex shrugged. “Not going to let anyone tie me down.”

Lucas pounded him on the back. “Because you haven’t found the right woman.”

Dex chewed the inside of his cheek as an image of Melissa taunted him. She was beautiful and sweet and the most selfless person he’d ever known. She’d invaded his dreams and fantasies since college. She would love his family and would fit right in.

But...losing his sister and father had nearly destroyed him. If he gave his heart to Melissa, she might crush it, too.

So he simply laughed off his brothers’ teasing. As they finished breakfast, he asked his brothers to join him in the study. Their mother didn’t allow work talk at the table.

Harrison eyed him with a frown. “What’s going on, Dex?”

Dex crossed his arms. “Did you hear about the shooting at the Lend-A-Hand Shelter last night?”

“Yeah,” Harrison said. “Someone broke in and one of the homeless men shot him.”

Lucas pulled a hand down his chin. “Police are looking for the shooter. They suspect he was using an alias, that he was on the run from the law.”

Brayden raised an inquisitive brow. “Why are you asking, Dex?”

“I know the woman who runs the shelter,” Dex admitted. “Went to college with her years ago.”

“You dated her?” Brayden asked.

Dex cursed himself. Why had he shared that he knew her? “Yeah, but that’s not the point. She claims Smith wasn’t dangerous, that the shooter broke in and put a gun to her head.”

Harrison scowled. “What else do you know about Smith?”

“Nothing really,” Dex said. “But the shooter was a PI, name was Clark McTruitt.”

“Maybe McTruitt knew why Smith was on the run and that he was dangerous.”

“But why hold a gun to Melissa?” Dex asked.

“Melissa?” Brayden said with a tease to his voice.

“That’s her name,” Dex said, irritated. “Anyway, after we found Dad, I asked around at a few shelters to see if anyone had seen him.”

“Dex,” Lucas said with a warning note to his voice. “Dad abandoned us. No need to ask anything else.”

Harrison’s jaw tightened. “He’s right. You have to let it go.”

Brayden twisted his mouth to the side. “Did you find out anything?”

Dex shook his head. “Not yet. But in visiting the shelters, I discovered that three other transients have gone missing the past six months. That started me thinking—”

“That maybe Dad’s death wasn’t an accident,” Brayden said.

Lucas made a sound of disgust. “He was drunk. Loaded, according to the medical examiner’s report.”

“Transients go missing all the time,” Harrison added. “That’s nothing suspicious, Dex. It’s their nature. They roam from place to place. These three may have just moved on to another shelter.”

“Not to any that I’ve found,” Dex said. “And now a PI breaks into this one and tries to kill another homeless man. Don’t you think that warrants an investigation?”

Harrison sighed. “Do you have any evidence suggesting all this is related?”

“Or is this just your imagination looking for problems that aren’t there?” Lucas asked.

Anger seized Dex. Granted, he’d been the hothead of the bunch, and had seen his own share of trouble. But sometimes his instincts had been right.

Like it or not, he had to follow his gut.

And that gut told him something was wrong.

* * *

MELISSA RUBBED HER hand over her bleary eyes as she sipped her morning coffee. Nightmares of the break-in and shooting had plagued her all night. The feel of the gun against her head...the blood spattering...Smith’s shocked face as he stared at her afterward, pain and regret and worry in his expression.

When she’d finally drifted back to sleep, she’d woken up an hour later because she’d thought she’d heard a sound outside. She’d imagined someone breaking into her house. This time she’d been shot and was dying.

A wariness spread over her like a gloomy fog. She was going to turn thirty this year. She was too young to die, especially alone.

Maybe she did want more than work and saving others. Maybe she wanted to carve out a little bit of a life for herself. She’d just been afraid of getting hurt again the way she had with Dex.

She finished her coffee and poured another cup, then phoned April. April offered to contact the volunteers about the center being closed.

“I’ll call the detective and see if he’ll release the shelter for us to go in and clean up today,” Melissa promised. “Then I’ll let you know.”

She ended the call, then punched the detective’s number. The call went straight to voice mail, so she left a message. A knock sounded on her front door just as she finished.

Maybe the detective had come to update her? Or interrogate her again? She hoped it wasn’t bad news about Jim Smith, that some overeager cop hadn’t gunned him down.

Another knock sounded, and she headed toward the front door to answer it. She checked the peephole, always wary that a stranger might come knocking thinking she was the drug dealer they were searching for. There were at least two on the street that she was aware of.

Her breath caught. Not the detective or a stranger. Dex.

For a moment, she drank in the sight of his handsome face. He wore his cowboy hat, jeans and boots, and the brooding expression that made him look even more mysterious and sexy.

She took a deep breath and opened the door, her heart stuttering as their gazes locked.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked in a gruff voice.

Awareness of his sexuality jolted her nerves. He’d always been intuitive and been able to read her. Maybe that was the reason he’d walked away. He’d sensed she was getting too close, starting to imagine a lifetime with him.

“Not much,” she admitted as she motioned for him to come in.

“I’m sorry.” He stopped in front of her, his breath huffing out. His six-two frame towered over her. He had big broad shoulders and muscles that had probably made every woman’s mouth water when they met him.

She didn’t want to think about how many there’d been.

“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about Jim and if he was okay. That detective talked like they’d shoot first, then ask questions later.”

“You really thought he was a good guy?”

Melissa bit her lip. “Yes. Sure he had secrets. But not everyone who does has a criminal past. Some have just suffered life, and are trying to manage the best they can.”

“Like my father,” he said, a trace of bitterness to his voice.

Sympathy filled her. “I don’t know, Dex. I’m really sorry you didn’t have a chance to talk to him and sort things out.”

“Me, too.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and she realized he was still wrestling with pain and guilt.

She wanted to comfort him. But she clenched her hands by her sides instead. She’d run him off once by becoming too emotional.

She wouldn’t do it again.

* * *

DEXTER PROMISED HIMSELF he wouldn’t make this visit about him and his father, but Melissa had a way of getting to the heart of the matter.

And into his heart.

Focus, man.

“I should have stayed last night,” he said.

Melissa shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Dex. I’m fine. Now why did you come? Did you hear something from the detective?”

Dexter shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m on my way to McTruitt’s office to see if someone there can explain why he was hunting Smith.”

“You’re investigating this for Detective Lamar?”

“No, but I like mysteries.” Or rather, he couldn’t let them go until they were solved. He’d always been that way. Always would.

He removed a card from his pocket and offered it to her. “I wanted you to have my number in case you needed something.”

Melissa took the card, their hands brushing. She immediately jerked back as if she felt the same tingle he had.

Then she lifted her chin and reached for her purse. “I’m going with you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

She pressed her hand to his arm. “Yes, I do. I want answers, too, Dex. I can’t get into the shelter right now anyway, and I’m going crazy sitting around.”

He conceded with a brief nod. No use arguing with Melissa. She might be tenderhearted, but she was also stubborn as hell.

Loud, arguing angry voices from a neighbor drifted their way as they walked to his SUV. Dammit, he didn’t like this street or Melissa living here alone.

They rode in silence to McTruitt’s office, a faded brick structure in a strip center outside of Austin. Except for a tattoo shop and fertilizer store, the other spaces were deserted, the exteriors run-down.

He parked in front of the building, scanning the property. A black sedan sat in the back parking lot. No one inside. It was too early for the tattoo parlor and the fertilizer store to be open.

A light glowed through the window, indicating that someone was inside. Maybe a secretary? Or McTruitt could have a partner? Damn. He should have done some research on him the night before.

But thoughts of wanting Melissa had distracted him.

He reached for the door to get out. “Wait in the car.”

“No, maybe I can help.” The silence thickened as they walked up to the building. The door was closed, but Dex saw a flashlight beam moving in the back.

Not a secretary. A man was tossing the place.

He pushed his hand in front of Melissa and murmured for her to go back to the car. But before he could, a bullet shattered the front window and sailed past his head.

Melissa screamed and ducked. He pulled his gun and shouted for her to get down.

Chapter Five

Melissa ducked to the side of the window, glass spraying as it shattered.

“Stay down!” Dex shouted.

She pressed herself against the front wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Dex pulled a gun from his back pocket and fired through the hole in the window.

Inside, footsteps pounded and noises echoed as if someone was turning over furniture. Dex motioned for her to stay where she was, and he inched closer to the window and looked inside. Banging, then a man’s voice, and another bullet whizzed by Dex’s head.

Melissa screamed as he ducked to avoid being hit. He covered her head with his arms to shield her as another bullet flew past and more glass rained down on the front stoop.

She clung to Dex, the two of them hovering low until a few seconds later, the sound of an engine rent the air. The black sedan in the back parking lot shot around the side of the building, roared past, then flew onto the street.

Dex jumped up and gave chase, firing at the car’s tires, but the vehicle screeched forward and disappeared.

Melissa stood on shaky legs as Dex ran back to her. “Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly.

She nodded, the realization that she’d been involved in two shootings in two days sending shock waves through her. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He removed his Stetson, scrubbed a hand through his shaggy hair, then set the hat back on his head with a grunt. “I couldn’t get the license plate.”

“What’s going on?” Melissa asked, trying to piece together what had happened.

“I don’t know, but I’m damn well going to find out.” He wiggled the doorknob on the front door, and the door squeaked open.

As soon as they entered, Melissa could see that the office had been ransacked. The space consisted of a small entryway with a desk and a door leading to the back. Through the doors, they found the main office, a large space with an oversize metal desk, filing cabinet and rolling desk chair. The filing cabinet drawers stood open, papers were scattered all over the desk and floor as if files had just been dumped, and the space on the desk where a computer should have been was empty.

“Either he had his laptop with him or someone took it,” Dex mumbled.

Melissa scanned the disheveled room. “What do you think they were looking for?”

Dex shrugged. “Who knows? Something to do with one of his investigations.”

“You think it was the person who hired him to find Jim Smith?”

“That’s possible. With McTruitt dead at Smith’s hands, whoever that was might not want his name to come out.”

“Or his motive,” Melissa said. “Do you think McTruitt was sent to kill Jim?”

Dex’s dark gaze met hers. “Maybe. If he had a file on Smith here, that would help.” Dex walked over to the desk, pulled on a pair of gloves and started rummaging through the scattered papers.

Melissa shifted, but stooped down on the floor to help search. He tossed her a pair of latex gloves, and she yanked them on. The fact that the person shooting at them might have already found that information and taken it was a real possibility.

But maybe they’d interrupted the intruder before he’d found it, and she and Dex would turn up something helpful.

* * *

DEX GRITTED HIS TEETH. He should call Lamar, but first he wanted to look around. He scoured through the papers on the desk, searching for any signs of suspicious activity, specifically anything with Jim Smith’s name on it or notes referencing the reason McTruitt was looking for Smith—and why he’d held Melissa at gunpoint to get to him.

According to Melissa, Smith hadn’t pulled a gun on McTruitt. It was the other way around, which meant that McTruitt either thought Smith was dangerous, or whoever had hired McTruitt to find Smith wanted him badly enough to tell him to use force.

Or...what if he’d been hired to kill Smith?

Ordering a hit would mean someone had motive.

There were pages of notes on old jobs, mostly cheating spouses, a couple of runaway teens, a case of a stolen dog, and other miscellaneous cases, nothing big or criminal.

“Do you see anything?” Melissa asked.

“Nothing on Smith. You?”

She shook her head and stood, then walked over to the wall and studied a photograph of McTruitt with a group of fishing buddies. Dex glanced at it, then strode to the filing cabinet and shuffled through the files.

The man may have had a computer, but he kept files alphabetized old-school style, with scribbled handwritten notes inside. Again, nothing on Smith.

On a whim, he checked the H section, hoping that the man had information on his father, but no file for Hawk. He started to close the file cabinet drawer, but a business card was stuck in the edge, so he yanked it out.

It was a card for a cattle auction site run by a rancher named Vance Baxter. Dex frowned. He’d heard of Baxter. The man’s business was booming. He worked with an expert breeder to raise prize studs.

He wondered why McTruitt had the card in his file, but didn’t see how it related to Smith or his own father. Still, he jammed it in his pocket.

Time to call Lamar and tell him about the shooting.

“We’d better step outside.” Dex took Melissa’s arm. “I have to report this to the police. I don’t want him to know we were snooping around in here.”

Melissa nodded. “You and Detective Lamar are friends?”

Dex shrugged. “He took me under his wing a few years ago. Since then, he’s thrown a few cases my way when he hit a dead end and manpower on the force was spread thin.”

Melissa frowned.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Dex asked.

Melissa shrugged. “I guess I’m not as trusting of cops as some.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Bad experience from the shelter?”

“And growing up.” A haunted look passed through her eyes, but she clammed up. Dex wanted to ask more, but Lamar answered the call.

“I came out to McTruitt’s office,” Dex said. “Someone was here and ransacked the place, and they shot at me and Melissa.”

Lamar exploded with a string of expletives. “I’ll be right there. And for God’s sake, don’t touch anything, Dex.”

Dex bit back a smile. “Of course not, Lamar. We’re waiting outside.”

Melissa was watching him with avid curiosity when he hung up. “You don’t trust him?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dex said. “But I’m not going to be shut out of this case. If the attack on Smith has anything to do with the other missing transients, I intend to find out.”

* * *

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Melissa stood with Dex on the steps to the building as the detective stalked toward them. Anger slashed his craggy features as his gaze traveled from Dex to her.

She forced herself to remain expressionless. She’d learned not to show fear or to react to the men who came to the shelter or she couldn’t be effective, and she refused to let this man intimidate her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Detective Lamar growled.

Dex planted his feet apart in a wide stance, his arms crossed. He looked intimidating himself. “You know why. I want answers about my father—”

“Your father drank himself into a car accident,” the detective said with a note of sympathy to his voice. “Why would you think his death is connected to this Smith man or McTruitt?”

A muscle ticked in Dex’s jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not. But it seems odd to me that I found a card for a shelter in Dad’s truck, then other transients have gone missing, and now this shooting at another shelter.” Dex narrowed his eyes. “Something is going on, Lamar. You have to admit that.”

The detective rubbed a hand down his chin and sighed. “What I think, Dex, is that you still haven’t gotten over the fact that your father left, and that you’re trying to make something where there isn’t anything.”

Dex shrugged. “Maybe so. But you know I’m like a dog with a bone. I don’t quit until I get answers.”

“Then trust me to do my job. If I find out anything related to your father or that these incidents are connected, I’ll bring you in.”

Dex shifted, his jaw tightening. Detective Lamar angled his head toward Melissa. “And you. What are you doing here?”

Melissa forced her voice to remain steady. “I want to know why this PI wanted Jim bad enough to put a gun to my head.”

“She has a point,” Dex interjected.

The detective heaved a breath. “I’m looking into that, but what I don’t need is two civilians interfering.” He gestured to Dex. “Your friend was almost shot last night, and now you come here and are shot at again. This is dangerous, Dex. Take Ms. Gentry home and keep her out of this so she’ll be safe.”

Melissa curled her fingers into her palms and dug her nails into them, a trick she’d learned to control her reaction in confrontational situations. “I asked to come with him,” she said firmly. “Now why don’t you try to find out who shot at us?”

The detective’s brows shot up. “I plan to do that, Ms. Gentry. But it would make my job easier if I’m not distracted by worrying about the two of you.”

Melissa started to retaliate with a retort, but Dex took her arm. “He’s right, Melissa. Why don’t you wait in the car?”

Melissa bit her tongue. She didn’t like taking orders from either man.

She’d been taking care of herself all her life. She couldn’t stop now.

* * *

DEX COULD HANDLE a reprimand, but not in front of someone else, especially a woman he cared about.

Cared about?

Why had he thought that? He’d known Melissa a long time ago, but there was nothing between them now. Except his protective instincts kicked in full force when she was around. And he sure as hell didn’t want to be shut out of this investigation.

He and Melissa both wanted answers. Answers that he would find.

He brushed her back with his hand. “Melissa, please...?”

For a brief second she looked as if she was going to argue, but then she glanced back at Lamar, and nodded. He clenched his jaw as he watched her climb into his SUV.

Lamar was texting on his phone when Dex turned back to him.

“Tell me exactly what happened?” Lamar asked.

“Like I said on the phone, someone was inside when we arrived.” He gestured toward the parking lot. “I spotted a black sedan in the back.”

“Any other vehicles around?”

Dex shook his head. “No. The place was dark inside, except for a flashlight beam. That’s how I knew someone was in there.”

Lamar studied him. “Then what?”

“I looked in the window to see who it was, but then someone started shooting.” He walked over to the window and pointed out the broken glass. “Melissa and I ducked to avoid being hit, then I saw movement inside.”

“Was there one person or two?” Lamar asked.

Dex chewed the inside of his cheek. “One. At least I didn’t see anyone else.”

“How about the car? Anyone inside it when you got here?”

Dex shook his head again. “No. It was empty.”

Lamar scribbled something in his pocket notepad. “Did you see what the shooter looked like?”

“Afraid not. Like I said, it was dark inside. And he ran out the back.”

“License plate on the car?”

“No.” Dex felt like a failure as an investigator. Dammit, he wished he could offer more concrete information. But he’d been too busy dodging bullets and worrying about protecting Melissa to chase the bastard.

Lamar examined the window and peered through the broken glass. He dug a bullet casing from the window edge. “You said he shot at you. Did you fire back?”

Dex didn’t want to answer, but he had to. Lamar’s people would find two different types of bullets when they searched inside.

“Dex?”

“Yeah.” He removed his weapon from the back of his jeans and held it out to Lamar. “I fired twice. You can check.”

Lamar’s gaze met his. “Did you hit him?”

“I don’t think so. I was just trying to warn him off.”

Lamar scoffed. “You know I could haul you in.”

“But you aren’t going to,” Dex said. “Because technically I fired in self-defense. And you, my friend, don’t want to waste time when it’ll go nowhere.”

Besides, he hadn’t really crossed the line.

He would, though, if necessary, to find out the truth about Smith and what was going on with these shelters.

* * *

MELISSA WATCHED THE interchange between Dex and Detective Lamar, her curiosity piqued as to how the two of them had met and become friends.

Her phone buzzed, and she checked the number, expecting it to be her coworker April. Instead the name of the director at another shelter appeared. Candace Fuller from Retreat. She’d once worked closely with Candace and they still had coffee on occasion.

She quickly connected the call.

“Melissa, I heard about the shooting. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Melissa said, then explained what had happened. “The police are looking for Smith, but I don’t think he’s dangerous. He saved my life.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Candace paused. “There’s another reason I called.”

Melissa tapped her fingers on her leg. She didn’t like the worry in her friend’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“A man named Bill Small at Retreat thinks something has happened to one of his friends. He claims he disappeared.”

“Did you report it to the police?” Melissa asked.

Candace sighed. “Yes, but they don’t seem concerned.”

Sounded typical. A crime scene van pulled into the parking lot, and she saw Dex heading toward her.

“Why does Bill think something happened to his friend?” Melissa asked.

“He saw the story about some other missing homeless men, and said his friend expressed concern over them, too. He disappeared the next day.”

Melissa’s breath stalled in her chest. “Is Bill still at Retreat?”

“Yes.”

“I’m with a private detective right now, Candace. We’ll stop by and talk to Bill.”

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