“You’re right, there is a lot you don’t know. I explained that I’m not at liberty to give you all the details at this time. I have my—”

“I don’t care about your orders.” She grabbed him by the shirtfront and tried shaking him, maybe to make him see she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

All she succeeded in doing was sending him teetering closer to the edge. “Tell me the truth, Lyle.”

There was no time to develop an intelligent strategy to outmaneuver this precarious situation. No evasive explanation that would satisfy her. His only alternative was distraction.

His fingers dove into her hair. He pulled her mouth up to his and kissed her, hard at first out of sheer desperation, and then softer … because the taste of her melted him from the inside out. To his surprise, she didn’t resist.

About the Author

DEBRA WEBB wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romance suspense and action-packed romance thrillers since. Visit her at www.debrawebb.com or write to her at PO Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815, USA.

I want to thank the readers for their love and support of the Colby Agency through all these years!

It’s hard to believe that the third book in this trilogy heralds the 50th installment of the Colby Agency!

Enjoy!

Colby Law

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

May 20, 9:30 a.m., Polunsky Prison,

Polk County, Texas

Victoria Colby-Camp waited in the cold, sterile room for the man who had requested her presence. Considerable persuasion from the right source had been required to sway the warden of Polunsky Prison to allow this meeting. Lucas, Victoria’s husband, though fully retired from his lifelong career with the CIA, still wielded a great deal of influence. One call to the esteemed governor of Texas and Victoria had almost immediate approval to meet with the prison’s most infamous death-row inmate.

Raymond Rafe Barker had spent twenty-two years in prison, seventeen on death row, quite an extended period for Texas, where the punishment of heinous criminals was generally carried out in a swift and efficient manner. Many had hoped that the delays would provide the necessary time for him to grow a conscience and give up the locations of the bodies of his victims that were never recovered. But that hadn’t happened, and now his time on this earth was coming to a close. In thirty days he would be executed by lethal injection.

Victoria was torn by what she had read in the file provided by the warden and what she might be about to learn. No one wanted to be used as a conduit for an evil man’s purposes. Yet, after due consideration of the letter Barker had written, she could not refuse the request.

The door of the interview room opened. Victoria jerked from her troubling thoughts and mentally fortified for the impact of meeting the man whose stunning invitation had brought her here. Two prison guards escorted Barker into the room. The leg irons around his ankles and belly chain coiled about his waist rattled as he was ushered to the chair directly across the table from her. The nylon glides whispered across the tile floor as the chair was drawn back.

“Sit,” one of the guards ordered.

Barker glanced at the man on his left, then followed the instruction given. He settled into the molded plastic chair and faced Victoria. His gaze, however, remained lowered, as if his reflection in the steel tabletop had garnered his undivided attention. The second guard secured the leg irons to a hook on the floor and the ones binding Barker’s hands to his waist to the underside of the sturdy table that spanned some three feet between the prisoner and his visitor.

“We’ll be right outside, ma’am,” the first guard said to Victoria, “if you need anything.”

“Thank you. We’ll be fine.”

When the door had closed behind the guards, Barker finally looked up. The move was slow, cautious, as if he too were braced on some level for what was to come. The twenty-three hours per day confined to his cell showed in the pale skin stretched across his gaunt face; a face that narrowed down to slumped shoulders and rail-thin arms covered by colorless prison garb. But the most glaring aspect of his appearance was the faded brown eyes, dull and listless. There was nothing about this man’s presence that exhibited the compassion and desperation of the letter he had written to Victoria. Had she made a mistake in coming?

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

The rustiness of his voice had her resisting the urge to flinch. His voice croaked with disuse and age far beyond his true years. According to the warden, this was the first time he had broken his silence in more than two decades. Reporters, men of God, bestselling authors, all had urged him to tell his story. He had refused. The measure of restraint required to maintain that vigil in spite of so very many reasons not to was nothing short of astonishing.

“Guess you’re wishing you hadn’t,” he offered before Victoria completed her visual inventory of the man labeled as a heinous monster.

“Your letter was quite compelling.” Only two pages, but every word had been carefully chosen to convey the worry and outright fear he professed haunted him. Victoria had no choice but to look into the matter. His assertions, though somewhat vague, carried far too much potential for even greater devastation for all concerned in the Princess Killer case. The idea that the man watching her so intently had been arrested and charged with the murders of more than a dozen young girls held her breath hostage as she waited for his next move.

His throat worked as if the words he intended to utter were difficult to summon. “It’s true. All of it.”

Victoria kept her hands folded in her lap to ensure there was no perception of superiority. She wanted Barker relaxed and open. Even more, she wanted his full attention on her face, not on her unshackled hands. The eyes were the windows to the soul. If she left this room with nothing else gained, she needed to gauge if there was any possibility whatsoever that he was telling the truth about those horrific murders.

The prospect carried monumental ramifications even beyond the added pain to the families of the victims. Her chest tightened at the conceivability of what his long-awaited words might mean. “Why haven’t you come forward with this before now?” Having told the truth at or before trial, for instance. Instead, he had refused to talk from the moment he and his wife were arrested.

Clare Barker, on the other hand, had steadfastly stood by her story that she was innocent. As the investigation of the case had progressed, the bodies of eight young girls, ranging in age from twelve to seventeen, had been recovered, but several others remained missing. Clare insisted that she knew nothing about any of the murders. Her husband, a pillar of the small Texas community rocked by the news, had executed all the heinous murders, at least twelve, without her knowledge, and that gruesome number didn’t include those of their three young daughters the morning of the arrest. This would not be the first time a community and even a spouse were totally blindsided. Since the evidence had incriminated both Clare and Rafe, there was the remote chance his sudden claims were, in part, the truth.

But why now? There were only two possibilities. First, and most probable, after numerous appeals, his wife had just been released, exonerated legally if not in the eyes of the citizens of Texas, and he wanted revenge. The less likely scenario was that he actually was innocent. Though he had provided no proof in his letter, there was something in his words that Victoria could not ignore. She had explored the depths of evil many times in her nearly three decades of private investigations. Long ago she had learned to trust her instincts. “There was ample opportunity for you to come forward.”

“I had my reasons for not speaking out before.” He looked away as he said the words, each of which was imbued with distrust and what sounded more like misery than defensiveness.

A deep calming breath was necessary for Victoria to repress any outward reaction. This man, one painted as a monster by the deeds he had refused to deny more than twenty years ago, despite his frail appearance and imminent death now, held the key to closure for so many. Parents who merely wanted to find peace, to provide a proper resting place for their daughters. The warden, Don Prentice, had urged Victoria to tread carefully here. Barker might very well be looking for a last-minute reprieve. No amount of strength possessed by any human fully abated the natural inclination to keep breathing. That cold, hard reality aside, the families of the victims should not have to go through more agony, particularly unnecessary agony. Prentice was right. Too much misery and loss had been wielded by this man and his wife already. Yet, if there was even the most remote chance he was telling the truth … Victoria had to know and to glean whatever good could come of it.

“Mr. Barker, you asked me to come here. You suggested in your letter that it was a life-and-death matter. If you want my help, I need the truth. All of it. Otherwise, I won’t waste my time or yours.”

Barker stared at her for so long that Victoria wasn’t sure whether he would respond or simply cut his losses and call out for a guard to take him away. There was no mistaking the fear that had trickled into his weary eyes. Her pulse accelerated as the realization sank deep into her bones that the terror she saw was undeniably real. But was it for his own life or was it because he believed, perhaps even harbored some sort of proof, that the real killer of all those children had just gone free?

He took a breath that jerked his upper body as if it was the first deep gasp of oxygen he’d been physically able to inhale since sitting down with her. “I didn’t hurt anyone, much less a child. I couldn’t.” Again he looked away.

“Unless you have irrefutable evidence,” Victoria began prudently, “the chances of staying your execution are minimal.” If that was his intent, as the warden suggested, Victoria refused to be a pawn in Barker’s game. She would not allow the media to use her or the Colby Agency to that end.

“I’m ready to go.” He squared his thin shoulders. “Don’t waste any time on me. This is not about my guilt or innocence. It’s about my children.” His lips trembled. “And the others.” The craggy features of his face tightened as he visibly fought for composure. “I can’t do anything to bring those girls back, and I don’t know that the truth would ease nobody’s pain. Dead is dead.” He moved his head side to side with the defeat that showed in the deep lines forged around his mouth. “But I can’t let her hurt anyone else, especially my girls.”

Despite the anticipation whirling like a biting snowstorm inside her, Victoria kept her expression schooled. “In your letter you claimed your wife was responsible for the murders. All of them.” The bodies of their three small daughters had never been found, but neither had those of at least four other victims. As much as Victoria wanted to ask specific questions, she could not risk putting words in his mouth. Over and over in his letter he had insisted his daughters were in danger. Yet not a single shred of evidence supported the theory that the children had survived that final downward spiral the morning of the arrest. In all this time no one had come forward and suggested otherwise. The little girls had vanished, and concrete evidence that a violent act had preceded their disappearance had been documented at trial. What he alluded to in his letter and now, face-to-face, had to be supported by something tangible. He needed to say the words without a visible or audible prompt by Victoria.

“That’s the truth,” Barker repeated, the defeat she’d seen and heard moments ago now gone. “I can’t prove it, don’t even want to. But it’s so just the same.” He blinked, clearing the definable emotion from his eyes. “I didn’t beg you to come here to save me. I died in here—” he glanced around the room “—a long time ago. I need you to help my girls.”

Now they were getting somewhere. His leading the way was essential. “What exactly is it you’re asking me to do?” Did he want her to recover their bodies and ensure a proper burial? If they weren’t dead, why would he not want to prove his innocence of those particular charges? Why had he allowed all involved in the case to believe they were deceased? Was he simply trying to muddy the waters? Whatever his end game, Victoria needed him to spell it out. The warden was monitoring this interview, as well he should.

“As far as the world is concerned,” Barker explained in that unpracticed voice, “I can stay the devil they believe I am. That doesn’t matter to me.” His gaze leveled on Victoria with a kind of desperation that sent a chill all the way to her core. “Once I found out she was going to get away with what she’d done, it took some time to find just the right person I could trust with what I knew had to be done. Careful research by certain folks in here who knew I needed help.”

That this man had developed a loyal following of some sort during his tenure was no surprise, since the warden had not known the contents of Barker’s letter until Victoria had shown it to him. The letter had gotten through the prison mail system without the usual inspections.

“But over and over the results they found were the same,” Barker continued. “There was only one place that consistently fought for justice and helped those in need without ever falling down on the job or resorting to underhanded deeds in order to accomplish the goal. A place that has never once bragged about its record or used the media for self-serving purposes. That place is the Colby Agency.”

Time stopped for one second, then two and three. Victoria didn’t dare breathe until he finished.

“I can’t pay you a dime, and I know my appreciation means nothing to you.” He shrugged. “I’m worse than nothing in the eyes of the world. But if you can ignore what you think of me and just do this one thing, I’ll know your agency is everything I read it was.” Another of those deep, halting breaths rattled his torso. “I beg you, just protect my girls from her. That’s all I want.”

Victoria’s heart thudded hard against her chest, then seemed to still with the thickening air in the room. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barker. You’re going to have to be more precise as to what your request involves since you pled guilty to murdering your daughters twenty-two years ago. Neither your letter nor what you’re saying to me now makes sense.”

“They’re alive.” The words reverberated against the cold, white walls. “My girls are alive.”

Adrenaline burned through Victoria’s veins. Still she resisted any display of her anticipation. “The first officers on the scene the morning you and your wife were arrested,” she countered cautiously, “found blood in the girls’ bed. Blood in the trunk of your car along with a teddy bear that your middle daughter carried with her everywhere. The blood was tested and determined to be that of your daughters.” Victoria hesitated until the horror of her words stopped darkening his features and echoing in her own ears. “You never denied killing your young children, Mr. Barker. To date there is no evidence to the contrary. In light of those facts, how can you expect me to believe you’re finally telling the truth now?”

Fury, undeniable and stark, blazed in his eyes before he quickly smothered it and visibly grabbed back control. “That was to prevent her from ever knowing the girls were alive and hurting them somehow to get back at me for setting in motion her discovery.” Several moments passed as he discernibly composed himself. “They deserved a chance at a decent life untainted by her poison. I had to make sure that happened.”

When Victoria would have responded, he said more. “My daughters are alive and well, and if you don’t help me, she will find them and kill them. For real this time.” He leaned forward, as close as his shackles would allow, and stared deep into Victoria’s eyes. “She’s pure evil, and you’re the only one I can trust to stop her.”

Chapter Two

1:00 p.m., Polunsky Prison

“He’s lying.” Warden Don Prentice made his announcement and pushed out of his chair, indicating his already thin patience had reached an end. “You know what this is, and I’m not taking the bait.”

Lyle McCaleb waited for a reaction from his boss, Simon Ruhl, head of the Colby Agency’s new Houston office, or from the agency’s matriarch, Victoria Colby-Camp. Simon exchanged a look with Victoria then turned to the warden. “Mr. Prentice, we genuinely appreciate your indulgence in this matter. I must admit that I concur with your assessment in light of the facts as we know them.”

“That said,” Victoria continued as if the rebuttal were a well-rehearsed strategy and she was about to play bad cop, “as warden of this institution, you have an obligation to report this theoretical threat to the proper authorities. Our agency does not have that same legal obligation. However, we have a moral one. We cannot just walk away and pretend this incident never happened.”

Prentice shoved back the sides of his jacket, planted his hands on his hips and gave his head a frustrated shake. “Do you have any idea what stirring up this mess in the media will do to those families?” He paced back and forth behind his desk like an inmate in his compact cell. “There’s no way to keep it out of the press.” Prentice stopped and stared at Victoria, then Simon. “The folks who thrive on this kind of heartache have been waiting for this moment for twenty-two years!”

“I do understand,” Simon agreed once more. “That’s exactly why I hope you’ll see the logic in our proposition.”

Lyle figured things could go either way from here. Prentice had agreed to this conference after Victoria’s brief meeting with Barker this morning. Three hours had elapsed since that time with Victoria, her husband, Lucas, and Simon organizing a feasible strategy and the necessary resources. Lyle had jumped at the assignment. As the former head of one of Houston’s most prestigious security firms, he knew the business of protection, and his tracking skills were top-notch from his days as a county sheriff’s deputy. Add to that the fact that he was a lifelong resident of Texas and the combined bonus of high-level connections with a number of those in law enforcement, and he was the best man for the job. Initially, Simon and Victoria had hesitated. Texas was home and perhaps that made him less than objective. Though he’d only been seven at the time of the Barkers’ arrest, his parents had followed news of the high-profile case for years after that.

He might not be the most objective investigator on staff, but in his opinion, that deep-seated understanding of how the entire travesty had affected the community as well as the state could prove useful in solving this puzzle. Fortunately, Simon and Victoria had concluded the same.

Lucas was not happy about his wife’s insistence on being so deeply involved in this case. Recently retired from the day-to-day operations of the Colby Agency, the two were in Houston for only a few months. Just long enough to get the new office staffed and running efficiently. Simon was clearly more than capable of getting the job done on his own, but Lyle sensed Victoria and Lucas were dragging their feet with the whole retirement thing. Suited him just fine. Lyle was grateful for the opportunity to work with the esteemed Victoria Colby-Camp. Lucas was more or less an unknown to him, but Lyle was acquainted with the Colby name. The moment he’d heard the agency was opening an office in Houston, he was ready to sign on. This would be his first case, and he was itching to get in the field and start proving his value to the agency.

“You have my personal assurance, Mr. Prentice,” Victoria said, drawing Lyle’s attention back to her and the challenge she would absolutely win, “that this matter will be handled in the most discreet manner. No one outside this room and a select few at my agency will know the details of this case. The Colby Agency’s reputation speaks for itself.”

Lyle studied the warden’s face, analyzed the way the muscles relaxed as he slowly but surely admitted defeat. He wasn’t totally convinced, but he had likely done his homework. A guarantee like that from the head of the Colby Agency was the best offer he was going to get. And, as Victoria said, there was no turning back at this point. The cards had been dealt, the wager on the table. Someone had to make the next move.

“If this gets out—”

“It won’t,” Simon assured the warden. “Not from the Colby Agency.”

“How can you protect these children—” Prentice closed his eyes, shook his head in resignation before opening his eyes once more “—these women when you don’t know if they’re even alive, much less where they are. My God, this is ludicrous.”

Lyle wanted to give the man a good, swift kick in the seat of the pants. They were wasting time with all this beating around the bush.

“We already have someone in place monitoring Clare Barker’s movements,” Simon enlightened Warden Prentice. “We took that measure immediately.”

Surprise and confusion cluttered the warden’s face. “How is that possible? They took her out of Mountain View in the middle of the night. Half a dozen decoy vehicles were used to elude the media and the horde picketing her release. No one—not even me—knows where she is!”

Lyle had learned quickly that at the Colby Agency the enigmatic Lucas Camp was an ace in the hole. Former CIA, the man had some serious connections of his own. Clare Barker had requested residence in Copperas Cove, north of her former hometown, Austin. Part of Lyle wanted to be the one keeping an eye of the woman, since the Cove was his hometown. But tracking down the truth was his primary goal.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Prentice,” Victoria confirmed, “if we could find her so quickly, others will too in time. If this is a game Barker is playing, perhaps his wife is a target and doesn’t even realize it. For all we know, she may be the one in danger. Obviously he has some who support his cause. We can provide protection for her in addition to surveillance if the need arises.”

“Mr. McCaleb will be tracking down the daughters through the woman Barker claims helped him get the children into hiding.” Simon looked from the warden to Lyle and back. “We hope to locate her before the end of the day. Depending on the situation, if the three are indeed alive, we’ll assign a bodyguard to keep an eye on each one until this mystery is solved one way or the other.”

Prentice held up his hands. “You’ve made several valid points.” He looked directly at Victoria. “Still, the only way I’m agreeing to this is if you keep me posted on your every step.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That said, I have no choice but to inform the district attorney. If he has a problem with our decision, he and I will work it out.” He exhaled a burdened breath. “There’s no denying Barker has something up his sleeve, and I don’t want any time wasted on bureaucracy. We’ll do what we have to do.”

Handshakes and more assurances were exchanged before Victoria led the way from Warden Prentice’s office. Conversation was out of the question until they exited the facility. As soon as they were back at the agency’s offices, Lyle would prepare to move forward. He was champing at the bit, anxious to get down to business putting together the pieces of this bizarre puzzle of depravity.

“When we have Tolliver’s address,” Victoria said to Lyle, “I want you to approach her as if she represents a flight risk. Slow and easy. If Barker is telling the truth, she has kept this secret for a very long time. She may not be prepared to let go now. Particularly to a stranger.”

For the first time since Lyle had met Victoria Colby-Camp he noted uncertainty in those wise, dark eyes. He smiled. “You have my word. But, I have a feeling you believe I have the skills to handle the situation or I wouldn’t be here.”

Victoria returned the smile. “I just needed to confirm that you are as convinced as we are. This case will be anything but simple, I fear.”

Lyle imagined he’d have to wake up pretty early in the morning to get a step ahead of this lady.

In the visitors’ parking area, Simon hesitated before settling into his sedan. He pulled his cell phone from the interior pocket of his suit jacket and checked the screen before accepting the call. “Ruhl.”

Simon Ruhl had the look and the bearing of a lead agent in a Secret Service team rather than a mere P.I., but then this was the Colby Agency. Made sense that Ruhl set the classic high-end example, since he was former FBI. Lyle had never met a federal agent that he cared for until now. Maybe he’d misjudged the whole barrel based on a couple of bad apples. Whatever the case, Simon knew his stuff and Lyle respected him. So far his experience at the Colby Agency was a good fit. The Houston office was nearly fully staffed, and Lyle was impressed with the lineup.

“We’re on our way,” Simon assured the caller before putting away his cell. “That was Lucas,” he said, shifting his attention to Victoria. To Lyle he added, “Janet Tolliver is dead.”

Frustration drilled deep into Lyle’s gut. “When?” Not five minutes before the meeting with the warden Lucas had notified Simon that Tolliver’s last known address was in the process of being confirmed. Prentice had been kept in the dark about this update until the address and the woman’s connection to Barker could be verified. This news was seriously going to set back Lyle’s efforts to determine if the Barker girls were alive. Janet Tolliver was the only name Barker had given Victoria. Allegedly, she was his co-conspirator in getting the children to safety before the law descended upon the Barkers’ modest home in Granger. Tolliver had moved from Austin immediately after that. She’d jumped around for years. Obviously her final location had been found … along with her body.

“Sometime this morning.” Simon hit the remote, unlocking his sedan. “A neighbor found her. The police aren’t talking yet.” Lyle opened the front passenger door for Victoria as Simon continued, “Turns out she had relatives in Copperas Cove. She had moved there just a few months ago. Coincidentally, only a few miles from Clare Barker’s new Five Hills address.” Simon held Lyle’s gaze a moment before tacking on, “your hometown, McCaleb. That may prove the only good thing about this news, as long as you don’t have any conflicts with going back home for at least the first step of your investigation.”

Lyle shook his head. “No conflicts.” None to speak of anyway. He hadn’t been home in a while. Looked as if that was about to change. He closed Victoria’s door and gave Simon a nod. “As soon as we’re back at the office I can move out.”

No big deal. Lyle had dug up the deads’ secrets before. He could do it again. As long as no one else died before he got what he needed, he could work with that.

And, for the record, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

11:00 p.m., Copperas Cove

LYLE WAITED IN THE darkness. The local detectives had finished their initial investigation of the scene and called it a night. According to his contact, a retired sheriff’s detective, the fifty-eight-year-old woman had been bludgeoned to death. In spite of that fact, there was no sign of forced entry, no indication of a true struggle. A broken lamp, an overturned table, both the result of her fall, but nothing else, discounting the blood-stained rug. If not for the blood and the obvious blows her body had absorbed, she might have merely suffered a heart attack and crumpled to the floor.

The violent attack came suddenly, unexpectedly, from a perpetrator Janet Tolliver had known and allowed into her home. The estimated time of death was between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. Lucas’s contact had located Clare Barker’s position at ten that morning, moments after Victoria’s meeting with Rafe Barker. Sufficient time for her to have committed the crime, except that there was no indication she’d left the apartment rented by her attorney not half an hour’s drive from the Tolliver home. Barker had no vehicle as of yet, and no taxis serving the area had a record of a pickup at that address during that critical window of time.

Robbery didn’t appear to be the motive, since Tolliver’s purse still contained fifty dollars in cash and her one credit card and none of the usual targets in the home appeared to have been disturbed. Tolliver’s great-niece would arrive tomorrow to confirm that presumption and to handle the deceased’s final arrangements. The police had not questioned Clare Barker, since they were unaware of any connection between her and Tolliver. Clare’s whereabouts between her arrival at her new home at 2:00 a.m. and when Lucas ferreted out her location could not be confirmed beyond the apparent lack of transportation. Seemed pretty damning that Tolliver was dead only a few hours after Barker’s release. Even more so since Clare had requested Copperas Cove as her landing point. Had she known about Tolliver? Did this brutal murder confirm Rafe Barker’s allegations?

Then again, based on what Lyle had read about Clare in the trial transcripts, she was one sharp cookie. Definitely not the type to act rashly. She’d had a long time to lay out a strategy for life after her release and any revenge she hoped to wield. Seemed to him that she would have taken a bit more care. Then again, anyone involved with murdering young girls couldn’t be called logical or rational, and care wasn’t likely a part of the person’s psychological makeup.

Lyle emerged from his truck and locked the doors manually to avoid the click. He surveyed the quiet neighborhood until he was satisfied the residents were tucked in for the night. Moonlight and streetlamps washed the eight houses lining this end of the street with a grayish glow. There was only one way in or out, since the street dead-ended here, abutting a copse of trees that flanked the rear parking lot and playground of a school. He hoped his investigation wasn’t headed for a dead end, as well. All the homes were owner occupied. The police had questioned the neighbors. No one had seen or heard anything. Most of the residents were older folks. Chances were every last one had been sound asleep between two and four this morning. By tomorrow the detectives on the case should be able to determine if Tolliver had received any phone calls that might have preceded the late-night visitor.

Since Tolliver was the only person who could have confirmed Rafe Barker’s story, her murder had changed Lyle’s strategy completely. There were a number of alternative steps he could take. Search the house, and that was called breaking and entering. Not to mention tampering with a crime scene. He could check out any items she might have stored in bank security-deposit boxes or with an attorney in hopes a journal or notes of some sort related to her dealings with Rafe Barker existed. If Lyle played his cards right he might get an interview with the great-niece, who could facilitate the other steps on his agenda. A list of Tolliver’s friends, the church she attended and any enemies she might have had would be useful. The downside to collecting that kind of information was the time required, and time was the enemy, on several levels.

He strolled along the sidewalk, studying the modest architecture with the aid of the streetlamps. Felt strange to be this close to home without having seen his family already. The ranch where he’d grown up wasn’t far from Copperas Cove proper. His folks would be disappointed if he didn’t stop by and at least say hello. But stopping by the old home place meant risking running into her. And that was a risk he had no intention of taking. The longer he was in the Cove, the more that risk increased.

This was not the time to get distracted with ancient history.

Lyle slipped into the darkness at the corner of the last house on the right and moved across the well-manicured back lawns until he reached the home belonging to the victim. Both the front and rear entrances were secured with official crime-scene warnings. A cat crouched on the rear stoop yowled for entrance. Lyle supposed the great-niece would see after any pets now orphaned. Or maybe one of the neighbors would step up to the plate. He’d been lucky so far that no dogs had spotted him or sensed a stranger’s presence.

The houses were only a few feet apart, boundaries marked with neatly clipped shrubs. Moving silently, Lyle eased toward the front of the Tolliver house once more, scanning the dark windows as he passed and mentally measuring the distance between the crime scene and the neighbor on this side. Most of the houses were one-story bungalow-style homes. Few had garages or fences, just decades-old shrubs setting the perimeters agreed upon nearly a century ago. Other than the different makes and models of the vehicles in the driveways, one house looked much like the other.

The distinct thwack of a shotgun being racked stopped Lyle dead in his tracks. The threat came from behind him, beyond the row of shrubs.

“I’ve already called the police.”

The voice was female. Older. Steady. No fear. Gave new meaning to the concept of neighborhood watch.

“I don’t want any trouble, ma’am.” He raised his hands. “I’m going to turn around now.”

“You do anything I don’t like and I’m shooting,” she warned.

Lyle didn’t doubt it for a second. “I can guarantee I won’t do that, ma’am,” he offered. “I grew up in the Cove. Worked as a sheriff’s deputy for two years right out of high school.”

The elderly woman’s gray hair hung over her shoulders. A patchwork robe swaddled her slight body. The shotgun was as big as she was. The streetlamp five or so yards away provided sufficient light for him to see that the lady meant business. Folks in Texas didn’t play with guns. If they owned one, they were well versed in how to use it.

“My neighbor was murdered this morning.” Her gaze narrowed as she blatantly sized him up. “You got no business prowling around out here in the dark unless you’re an officer of the law.” She looked him up and down, concluding what she would about his well-worn jeans and tee sporting the Texas Longhorns logo. “You don’t look like no cop to me.”

“You a friend of Ms. Tolliver’s?” He decided not to refer to the victim in the past tense.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Well, there was a question he hadn’t anticipated.

“I came all the way from Houston to talk to her.” He jerked his head toward the crime scene. “I wasn’t expecting this. You mind telling me what happened?”

She kept a perfect bead on the center of his chest. “You got a name?”

“Lyle McCaleb.”

She considered his name a moment, then shook her head. “I know all Janet’s friends, and I’ve met her niece and her husband. And you ain’t none of the above.” The lady adjusted her steady hold on the small-gauge shotgun. “Now, what’re you really doing here, and who sent you?”

There was nothing to be gained by hedging the question. She’d called the police. No point avoiding the inevitable. For now there was no confirmed connection between the Barkers and Tolliver, no reason to provide a cover to protect his agenda for now. “I was sent by the Colby Agency, a private investigations firm in Houston.”

Something like recognition kicked aside the suspicion in the neighbor’s expression and in her posture. She relaxed just a fraction. “Let’s see some ID.”

Her reaction was something else he hadn’t anticipated. There had been a lot of that on this case, and he’d barely scratched the surface of step one. He reached for his wallet.

“My finger’s on the trigger, Mr. McCaleb,” she warned, “don’t make me shoot you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He removed his wallet from his back pocket and held it up for her inspection, then opened it and displayed his Colby Agency identification.

She studied the picture ID a moment then lowered the weapon. “Well, all right then. Come on in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Lyle mentally wrestled back the astonishment that wanted to make an appearance on his face and gave the lady a nod. “Yes, ma’am. After you.”

It looked as if surprises were the theme for the night. He parted the shrubs and followed the lady to her front steps and across the porch. At the front door he hesitated. This was beyond strange. She had been waiting for him?

“Come on,” she urged, obviously waiting to close the door behind him.

Lyle played along. Why not? A lit lamp on an end table and the discarded newspaper on the sofa suggested she had been up watching television or watching for someone. Seemed a reasonable conclusion that she would be, since after seeing his ID she announced she had been expecting him. Though he couldn’t fathom how that was possible.

“Have a seat, Mr. McCaleb.” She gestured to the well-used sofa. “I have something for you.” And just like that, she disappeared into the darkness around the corner from the dining room.

Not about to put the lady off by ignoring her hospitality, Lyle settled on the sofa. A couple of retirement magazines lay on the coffee table. He picked up one and read the address label. Rhoda Strong. Since this was her address, he assumed his hostess and the subscription recipient were one and the same. Her demeanor certainly matched the surname. To say it was a little out of the ordinary to invite a complete stranger into one’s home in the middle of the night after the murder of a neighbor would be a monumental understatement. But then, Ms. Rhoda Strong appeared fully capable of protecting herself.

Still toting her shotgun, the lady of the house returned with an armload of what looked like photo albums.

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Lyle stood as she approached the sofa. “I don’t know your name.”

“Rhoda.” She plopped down on the sofa, leaned the shotgun against her right knee and settled the albums in her lap. “Rhoda Strong. Now, sit back down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lyle couldn’t wait. Whatever the lady was about to reveal, he didn’t want to miss a word. The possibility that she was a brick or two shy of a load poked into the lump of perplexing conclusions taking shape in his head.

“Okay.” She huffed as if the whole effort of reaching this point had proved taxing then rested her attention on him. “Don’t bother asking me any questions because I have no answers. All I can tell you is that I’ve known Janet her whole life. She came here from Austin every summer as a kid to spend time at her aunt’s house. Janet never married or had any children of her own. She never got into any trouble I know about, but—” she stared down at the albums “—a week ago she said she needed me to keep these three picture books safe for her. She didn’t offer any explanations and I didn’t ask any questions. I promised her I would and that was that.” Her expression turned troubled and distant. “Until yesterday. She come over here and asked if I’d be home all day. Said she might be coming over to get the albums if the company she was expecting arrived. I told her I reckoned I’d be here. Before she left she got this funny look on her face and made me promise one more thing.”

Lyle searched the elderly woman’s eyes, saw the understanding there that the items she now held had cost her friend her life.

“She made me swear that if anything happened to her I wouldn’t go to the police with these pictures or even to her niece. I was to stay right here and be on the lookout for someone. When that someone arrived I was to give these books to that person and that person only.”

Before Lyle could assimilate a reasonable response, Rhoda thrust the stack of photo albums at him. He accepted the load that carried far more weight than could be measured in mere pounds and ounces.

“There. I’ve done what she asked.”

Lyle shook his head. “Ms. Strong, I’m confused. There is no way your friend could have known my name.”

The older woman shrugged. “Don’t suppose she did. She just said someone from the Colby Agency would be coming.” She stared straight into his eyes with a certainty that twisted through his chest. “And here you are.”

Not ashamed to admit he was rattled, Lyle opened the first of the three albums. Page one displayed a birth certificate for Elizabeth Barker. Parents: Raymond and Clare Barker. His heart pounding, he turned to the next page. A new birth certificate, this one for an Olivia Westfield. There were newspaper clippings and photos, obviously taken without the subject’s knowledge, from around kindergarten age to the present. The woman, Olivia, according to her birth certificate was twenty-seven—the oldest of the three missing Barker girls. The second album was the same, Lisa Barker aka Laney Seagers, age twenty-six.

“These are …” Incredible, shocking. No word that came to mind adequately conveyed what he wanted to say. He had to call Simon and Victoria. They had held out some hope of finding Rafe Barker’s daughters alive, but this was … mind-blowing.

“I know who they are, Mr. McCaleb,” Rhoda said to him, dragging his attention from the carefully detailed history of the Barker children—women. “My friend is dead because she kept this secret all these years. You do whatever you have to do to make sure she didn’t die for nothing, and I’ll do the same.”

“You have my word, ma’am.” Adrenaline searing through his blood vessels, Lyle shuffled to the final album. Selma Barker aka Sadie Gilmore.

His heart stopped. No. Not possible.

“Yes,” Rhoda countered.

Lyle hadn’t realized he’d uttered the word aloud until the woman still sitting next to him spoke.

“That one lives right here in Copperas Cove.” She tapped the photo of the young woman touted in the newspaper clipping as an animal rights activist. “Do you know her?”

Lyle stared at the face he hadn’t seen in seven years, except in his dreams, his gut twisting into knot after knot. “Yes, ma’am. I know her.” If he lived a hundred lifetimes, he couldn’t forget this woman.

Chapter Three

May 21, Second Chance Ranch, 6:30 a.m.

“Get off my ranch.” Sadie Gilmore held her ground, feet spread wide apart, the business end of her shotgun leveled on that no-good Billy Sizemore’s black heart. Maybe he thought just because he played straw boss for her equally no-good daddy that he could tell her what to do. Not in this lifetime.

Sizemore laughed. Threw his head back so far if he hadn’t been holding his designer cowboy hat it would have hit the dirt for sure, and he hooted. This wasn’t the first time Sadie had been blazing mad at her daddy’s henchmen, especially this knucklehead. Well, she’d had enough. She poked him in the chest with the muzzle of her twenty-gauge best friend. The echo of his laughter died an instant death. A razor-sharp gaze sliced clean through her. She gritted her teeth to conquer a flinch. “Three seconds,” she warned, “or I swear I’ll risk prison just to see the look on your sorry face when this ball of lead blasts a great big hole in your chest.”

“You stole that horse,” he accused. “Don’t even try denying it.”

Sadie was the one who laughed this time. “Prove it.”

The standoff lasted another couple of seconds before he surrendered a step. “You’ll regret this,” he warned, then turned his back to her. It took every speck of self-control she possessed not to shoot him before he reached his dually. But then that would make her the same kind of cheating sneak Gus Gilmore was.

Sadie lowered the barrel of the shotgun she’d inherited from her Grandma Gilmore and let go the breath that had been trapped in her lungs for the past half a minute or so. Sizemore spun away, the tires of his truck sending gravel and dirt spewing through the air and the horse trailer hitched to it bouncing precariously.

“Lying bastard.” Billy Sizemore might be a champion when it came to bronc riding, but as a human he scarcely hung on the first link of the food chain, in her opinion. Cow flies had more compassion. Could damn sure be trusted more.

Sadie swiped the perspiration from her brow with the sleeve of her cotton blouse and worked at slowing her heart rate. Usually she didn’t let guys like Size-more get to her, but this time was different. This time the stakes were extra high. No way was she allowing her father to get his way. She’d bought old Dare Devil fair and square. The gelding was done with his rodeo career. Too old to perform for the bronc riders and too riddled with arthritis for chuck wagon races or anything else. Just because Gus claimed the former competition star had been shipped off to the auction by mistake was no concern of hers. Sadie knew exactly what happened to those horses in far too many cases, and she couldn’t bear it. Gus didn’t need to know that she still had a friend or two on his side of the five-foot barbed wire fence that divided their properties.

“What you don’t know won’t hurt you, old man,” she proclaimed with a hard look to the west before visually tracking Sizemore’s big old truck and trailer roaring down the last leg of her half-mile-long drive.

When the dust had settled and the dually was long gone, Sadie walked back to the house. Three furry heads peeked out from under the front porch, big soulful eyes peering up at her hopefully.

“Worthless.” She shook her head at the mutts. “That’s what you three are.”

Gator, the Lab, Frisco, an Australian shepherd mix, and Abigail, a Chihuahua, scurried from their hiding place and padded into the house behind her. That first cup of coffee was long gone, and the lingering scent of the seasoned scrambled eggs she’d turned off fifteen minutes ago had her stomach rumbling. The enemy’s arrival had interrupted her peaceful morning.

With her shotgun propped in the corner near the kitchen table, she adjusted the flame beneath the skillet to warm up the eggs. Another more pungent odor sifted through her preoccupation with the sharp gnawing pains in her belly. Smelled like something scorched …

“My biscuits!” Sadie grabbed a mitt and yanked the oven door open. “Well, hell.” Not exactly burned but definitely well done and probably as hard as rocks. She plopped the hot tray on the stove top and tossed the mitt aside. How could a grown woman screw up a can of ready-to-bake biscuits? “One who’s spent her whole life in the barn,” she muttered.

Her mother had passed away before Sadie was old enough to sit still long enough to learn any culinary skills. The rodeo was all her father had bothered to teach her, and most of the lessons she’d gleaned were ones she wanted to forget. Gus Gilmore was heartless. But then, she’d understood that by the time she was fifteen. He’d tried to keep her away from her grandparents when she was a kid, but she always found a way to sneak in a visit. He had worked overtime to keep her away from everything she loved until she was twenty-one. That date had been more than a significant birthday; it had been her personal independence day. Prevented from taking anything from her childhood home other than the clothes on her back, she’d walked into the lawyer’s office and claimed the inheritance her grandparents had left for her—despite Gus’s every attempt to overturn their will—and hadn’t looked back.

Nineteen months later she had created the life she wanted, just outside her father’s reach yet right under his nose. They had been at all-out war since. Fact was, they had been immersed in battle most of her life. The stakes had merely been upped with her inheritance. Gus, being an only child, had assumed he would inherit the small five-hundred-acre ranch that adjoined his massive property. But life had a way of taking a man down a notch or two when he got too big for his breeches.

Sadie poured a second cup of morning-survival liquid and savored the one thing in the kitchen she was pretty good at—rich, strong coffee. She divided up the eggs and biscuits with her worthless guard dogs and collapsed at the table. Mercy, she was running behind this morning. If that low-down Sizemore hadn’t shown up, she would be feeding the horses already instead of stuffing her face.

First things first. She had to calm down. The animals sensed when she was anxious. And fueling her body was necessary. Gus’s pals had intimidated the last of her ranch hands until they’d all quit, leaving Sadie on her own to take care of the place. She didn’t mind doing the work, but there was only so much one woman could do between daylight and dark. She’d narrowed her focus to the animals and the necessary property areas, such as the barn and smaller pasture. Everything else that required attention would just have to wait. Things would turn around eventually. As long as she was careful, her finances would hold out. Between the small trust her grandparents had left and donations for taking care of her rescues from generous folks, she would be okay in spite of her daddy’s determined efforts to ensure otherwise.

Gator and Frisco stared up at her from their empty bowls. Abigail stared, too, but she hadn’t touched her biscuit. Not that Sadie could blame her. Maybe her ranch hands had fled for parts unknown to escape her cooking. Sadie didn’t like to waste anything, unlike Gus, so the dogs were stuck with her cooking until she figured out how to prepare smaller portions.

Before she could shovel in the final bite of breakfast, all three dogs suddenly stilled, ears perked, then the whole pack made a dash for the front door. Sadie pushed back her chair, her head shaking in disgust. If Gus had decided to show up in person and add his two cents’ worth, he might just leave with more than he bargained for. Or maybe less, depending upon how well her trigger-finger self-control held out.

Shotgun in hand, she marched to the door and peeked out around the curtains her grandmother had made when Sadie was a little girl. The black truck wasn’t one she recognized. Too shiny and new to belong to any of the ranchers around here, at least the ones who actually worked for a living. Ten or so seconds passed and the driver didn’t get out. The way the sun hit the windshield, it was impossible to tell if the driver was male or female, friend or foe.

She opened the door and the dogs raced toward the truck, barking and yapping as if they were a force to be reckoned with. If the driver said a harsh word, the three would be under the porch in a heartbeat. Sadie couldn’t really hold it against them. All three were rescues. After what they’d gone through, they had a right to be people shy.

With the shotgun hanging at her side, she made it as far as the porch steps when the driver’s door opened. Sadie knew the deputies in Coryell County. Her visitor wasn’t any of them. A boot hit the ground, stirring the dust. Something deep inside her braced for a new kind of trouble. As the driver emerged her gaze moved upward, over the gleaming black door and the tinted window to a black Stetson and dark sunglasses. She couldn’t quite make out the details of the man’s face, but some extra sense that had nothing to do with what she could see set her on edge.

Another boot hit the ground and the door closed. Her visual inspection swept over long legs cinched in comfortably worn denim, a lean waist and broad shoulders testing the seams of a shirt that hadn’t come off the rack at any store where she shopped, finally zeroing in on the man’s face just as he removed the dark glasses.

The weapon almost slipped from her grasp. Her heart bucked hard twice then skidded to a near halt.

Lyle McCaleb.

“What the … devil?” whispered past her lips.

Unable to move a muscle, she watched in morbid fascination as he hooked the sunglasses onto his hip pocket and strode toward the house—toward her. Sadie wouldn’t have been able to summon a warning that he was trespassing had her life depended on just a simple two-letter word. The dogs growled while matching his steps, backing up until they were behind their master.

“Sadie.” Lyle glanced at the shotgun as he reached up and removed his hat. “Expecting company?”

As if her heart had suddenly started to pump once more, kicking her brain into gear, fury blasted through her frozen muscles. “What do you want, Lyle McCaleb?” Somehow, despite the outrage roaring like a swollen river inside her, the words were frail and small. It still hurt, damn it, after all these years, to say his name out loud.

“Seeing as you didn’t know I was coming, that couldn’t be for me.” He gave a nod toward her shotgun.

This could not be happening. Seven years he’d been gone. This was … this was … “I have nothing to say to you.” She turned her back to him and walked away. Who did he think he was, showing up here like this after all this time? It was crazy. He was crazy!

“I know I’m the last person on this earth you want to see.”

Her feet stopped when she wanted to keep going. To get inside the house and slam the door and dead-bolt it.

“We need to talk.”

Sadie closed her eyes. Why was she standing here listening to anything he had to say? This was crazy all right. Crazy of her to hesitate like this. Hadn’t she been a fool for him one time too many already?

“It’s about your daddy.”

She whipped around and glared at him but still couldn’t find her voice. For Pete’s sake, she hated the way her eyes drank in every single drop of him. His hair was as dark and silky as before. Those vivid blue eyes still made her want to sink into him, as if wading deep into the ocean with no care for how she’d stay afloat since she’d never learned to swim. He’d changed in other ways though. The cute boyish features had developed into rugged, handsome male assets. And in the face of all she had suffered because of him, he still made her body burn with need. With the primal urge to run into his arms.

Seeing him somehow made her momentarily forget those years of misery she’d endured because of something he had refused to give her seven years ago, and he damned sure wasn’t here to give her his heart today.

She kicked the momentary weakness aside and grabbed back her good sense. “What about him?” she demanded. To her immense relief she sounded more like herself now. In charge, independent. Strong, ready to do battle.

“There’s an investigation under way that I’m hoping is groundless.” He flared those big hands that as a wild teenager she would have given anything to feel roving over her body. “I don’t know if I can help him, but he’s in way over his head. The only chance I’ve got of derailing the situation is with your help. I need your help.”

Narrowing her gaze, she searched his face, tried her level best to look beyond the handsome features and see what he was hiding. He was hiding something. Didn’t matter that it had been seven years. She knew Lyle McCaleb. He’d never been able to lie to her, even when she would have preferred his lies to the truth. He couldn’t love her.

Whatever he wanted, he could forget it. Her heart had mended in time. She wasn’t giving him a second shot at that kind of pain. “I hope you didn’t drive all the way here from wherever you came from just for that.”

“Houston.”

If he’d sucker punched her, her physical reaction couldn’t have been more debilitating. He’d been that close all this time? Gus had told her he’d moved to California, had a wife. Someone mature enough and smart enough to hang on to a man like him. A new rush of anger blasted her, obliterating the ache he’d resurrected with that one word. “Whatever. You wasted your time. Go away.”

Before she could turn her back a second time and escape this surreal encounter, he opened his mouth again. “I was wrong not to call.” He shook his head, stared at the ground a moment. “I was wrong about a lot of things.”

Now she was really mad. “Let me tell you something else you’re wrong about, McCaleb.” She propped the barrel of her shotgun on her shoulder. “You’re wrong if you think I give one damn about what kind of trouble my daddy might be in, because I don’t.” She amped up the go-to-hell glare in her eyes. “And you’re dead wrong if you think for one second I care what you need.”

LYLE WATCHED, HIS HEART somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, as she stamped up the steps and across the porch. She stormed into the house, slamming the door, without even a glance over her shoulder. The dogs stared after her, then turned to him in expectation.

That didn’t exactly go the way he’d planned. Not even close. There was no denying that she did have every reason to hate him. He’d foolishly hoped that wasn’t the case.

He blew out a breath and opted for plan B. Sit on the porch and wait. The dogs did the same, keeping their distance and eyeing him curiously but not bothering to bark. She wouldn’t call the sheriff’s office and have him escorted off her property. Not considering what he’d learned about the war going on between her and the rodeo kings around the county. Sheriff Cox was a good man as far as Lyle knew, but he held an elected position, and in this territory the rodeo kings ruled.

Lyle chuckled. Sadie Adele Gilmore had always been a hellion. In that respect she evidently hadn’t changed one bit. She liked bucking the status quo, particularly when it involved the good old boys. She and her father had never really gotten along, not since she was old enough to have a mind of her own anyway. The best he recalled, she’d been damned independent since the age of six. His heart swelled a little more at the idea of what had been hidden from her all these years. He hated like hell to be the one to turn her life upside down like this, but he sure wasn’t allowing anyone else to do the job. He owed her that much. He’d hurt her, but he’d made the only choice he could at the time. Nothing he said or did now would change that tragic fact, but he had to protect her.

He couldn’t not protect her.

Her daddy wasn’t going to like it. The last exchange between Gus and Lyle had been several degrees below amicable. The old man would be livid when he learned Lyle was back. The one thing Lyle could absolutely guarantee was that he wasn’t walking away this time. For Gus or any other reason.

Wrestling aside his emotions, Lyle focused on what he’d come here to do. Whatever happened from this moment on was his responsibility. Whether she liked it or not. That part he’d just have to figure out. This battle between her and Gus had gone too far, if all he’d discovered was accurate. That was a whole different ball of wax and complicated an already dangerous situation. It pained him that she had been fighting a man like her daddy alone all this time. Lyle had left seven years ago when he should have stayed. He dropped his head. Staying hadn’t been possible, no matter how he looked at the past. Things had been far too volatile. He’d had no choice but to leave.

By God, he was here now.

Sadie had a soft spot for animals, all of them. He surveyed the herd of furry critters lounging around his feet. Apparently she’d made it her life’s mission to save every one she could, especially those involved with the rodeo that, for one reason or another, were neglected or otherwise abused. That decision had made a lot of folks unhappy around here, particularly Gus Gilmore. She’d gotten more than one, including her daddy, fined by the rodeo association for crossing the line when it came to the treatment of the animals they owned. Many times the incidents were mistakes or oversights, but others were intentional acts intended to ensure a crowd- pleasing performance. The latter could prove hazardous to the person or persons who got in the way.

Lyle stared at his hat, turning it in his hands as if an answer could be pulled from there, but there was no easy answer. Sadie’s troubles with the ranchers were the least of her problems right now. Making her understand that reality without revealing too much too soon would be the hardest part. Her cooperation was absolutely essential, but he despised keeping anything from her for any reason.

The fact was he couldn’t protect her fully if she didn’t cooperate. The situation presented a precarious balancing act. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her again. Or to let anyone else hurt her. Unfortunately, whatever happened, protecting her from the shocking truth was not possible. She had to know all of it, eventually.

Movement beyond the end of the house caught his eye. He watched her march out to the barn, her shotgun still propped on her shoulder. She’d captured her long, silky blond hair into a haphazard ponytail that hung to the middle of her back. She’d worn it that way for as long as he could remember. The scrap of leather she used to tie it back always ended up barely clasping that gorgeous mane below her shoulders, as if she didn’t possess the patience to bother with securing it adequately at the nape of her neck. Her grandmother had scolded her about never staying still long enough to properly brush her hair, much less prepare a suitable ponytail. The memory of running his fingers through her hair warred with the logic required to stay on track. He banished those snippets of lost moments the same way he’d been doing for the past seven years.

The dogs, one by one, got up and moseyed out to the barn to see what their master was up to. Lyle stood, settled his hat into place, and followed. Her soft voice stopped him at the wide-open barn doors. She’d set her shotgun aside and filled a bucket with feed. One by one she served the stabled animals. Chatted softly with each one and gave the old horses a scratch behind the ears. When she’d finished she walked right past Lyle and released all but one horse into the pasture.

The barn and the house were a little run-down. In all likelihood there was fencing that needed mending. Had she been trying to handle this place all alone the better part of the time? The thought made his gut clench. Damn Gus Gilmore. Lyle shook his head. Damn him. She hadn’t deserved the raw deal she’d gotten from him anymore than from her daddy.

Sadie made eye contact with him as she strode back to the front of the barn. “You haven’t left yet?” Her arms went over her chest as her chin lifted in challenge.

“I’m afraid leaving isn’t an option.”

“You’re something.” She shook her head, fury blazing in those green eyes her grandmother had sworn came from her Irish roots. Lyle knew different. Sadie was the only one of the Barker girls who had her biological mother’s green eyes. “You take off, stay gone for seven years and now you show up needing my help. I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but I think you’d better find some place to clear your head.”

“Like I said before—” he folded his arms over his chest, matching her stance and, partly, to keep from grabbing her and shaking her or worse, kissing the hell out of her “—I was wrong.”

“Like you also said,” she echoed, “you were wrong about a lot of things, but that changes nothing.”

“I really need your help, Sadie. This isn’t just about Gus.”

A frown furrowed her soft brow. Damn, she looked good in those work-worn jeans and that pink button-up shirt that hugged her body the way he had dreamed of doing for too many years to count.

“All right, I’ll bite. What’s this about then?”

At least her question was a step in the right direction. “The trouble involves you, too.”

She rolled her eyes and made a sound of disbelief. “I don’t believe you. Besides, I’m always in trouble. What’s new?”

“This could get ugly fast.” Urgency nudged him. “There’s no time to say what I need to say the polite way.” Might as well spit it out. “I’ve been sent here to protect you 24/7, until this is over.”

He’d expected her to get her shotgun, maybe rant at him a little more, and attempt running him off. He was prepared for that kind of reaction. He wasn’t set for her laughter. The sound burst out of her. “You really are out of your mind, Lyle McCaleb. You should go now, before I lose my sense of humor.”

He had one last ace up his sleeve. “You think you’re unhappy to see me.” He chuckled. “Imagine how Gus will feel when he finds out I’m back.” Lyle grinned, couldn’t help himself. “He’s really going to hit the roof. You know how much he hates me. I’ll bet word has already climbed its way up to that pedestal he lives on.”

That gave her pause and maybe a little anticipatory pleasure. It flashed like a neon sign across her pretty face. “I’m not saying you can stay or even that I believe anything you’re saying,” she countered, but her resolve had weakened ever so slightly. He heard it in her voice. “But I’ll hear you out and then I’ll make my decision.”

“Rumor has it you’re out here all by yourself.” That worried him the most.

Anger darkened the features he knew by heart, yanking the step he’d gained right out from under his feet. “I don’t appreciate you checking up on me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I’m just doing my job, Sadie. My orders are to make sure you’re protected. To do that I have to know what I’m up against.”

Suspicion made an appearance amid the other emotions visibly tugging at her. “Who sent you here? You working for the law again? I thought you went off to be some hotshot security specialist.”

The Colby Agency never failed its clients, particularly not where their safety was concerned. Yes, he was here representing those high standards. He supposed one could reason that he was operating under Colby Law. “The answer’s complicated, Sadie. There’s no simple way to explain it.” He didn’t dare say more, much less breathe. All he needed was half a chance to protect her with her cooperation … to do right by her this time.

“Well.” She dropped her arms to her sides, hooked her right thumb in a belt loop and pursed those perfect bow lips the way she had at fifteen. The image made him ache to trace those sweet lips with his fingers, then with his lips. “You’re right about one thing. Gus ran off all my help and there is a lot of work to be done. I can’t deny your conclusions there.”

“It’s been a while.” He glanced around, noting the repairs that immediately jumped out at him, such as the barn’s old tin roof. It could use a little TLC. He shrugged. “Just like riding a bicycle. Point me in a starting direction and I’ll get back in the swing of things faster than old Dare Devil used to toss his riders.” He’d noticed the old champion among those under her care. Dare Devil was the only one she hadn’t let out to roam in the pasture. Had to be a reason for that. Gus, he suspected. And more trouble.

Something wicked glittered in her eyes as she pointed up to the barn roof. “The extension ladder’s in the toolshed. You’ll find anything else you need there, too. Long as you stay busy and out of my way. You’ve got a deal. For the day.”

Lyle surveyed the first step toward gaining her cooperation if not her trust, three stories up at the very least. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

Sadie headed back into the barn. “Come supper,” she called back at him, “I’ll expect some answers, and then you’ll have my final decision.”

Lyle pointed his boots in the direction of the tool-shed. If it kept her alive, he could walk a tightrope all the way across Texas.

If he was lucky, he would live through the experience.

Chapter Four

Five Hills Apartments, 2:00 p.m.

What now? What now?

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She had a plan, a carefully laid plan. This could ruin everything! She paced the small studio apartment. Back and forth, back and forth. Perhaps the problem was only temporary.

At the window, Clare Barker peeked through the slats of the yellowed blinds covering her one portal to the outside world. The car was still there. Oh, no, no, no. Who was this man watching her? The warden had relished telling her that as soon as she was delivered to this location she was on her own. She knew what he wanted—he wanted some vigilante to carry out the justice the whole world believed had been denied by an appeals court. Her lips tightened. But this man had not gone away. He was not supposed to be here! He changed everything.

Her fingers knotted together as the worry rose in her throat once more, the taste as bitter as yesterday’s coffee dregs. He had sent this man to kill her. She knew it! She just knew it. It was the only way to stop her, that was for sure. He would know his options were limited. Had he prepared so well?

Rage boiled in her belly. But he would fail. The fury stretched her lips into a knowing smile. He would fail.

More than twenty years she had planned this moment. He would pay for what he had done to her. No force on earth could stop her without sending her to hell first.

Time was her most fierce enemy. There was no room for distractions. Clare turned away from the window. Her reflection in the mirror mounted to the bathroom door of her efficiency apartment snared her attention. She was old now. The lines of her frown were deep and ugly. Her hair more gray than the blond it had once been. She touched the shaggy ends she had bobbed off to her ears. No use making it easy for anyone looking for her. She studied the hollows beneath her eyes and the crow’s feet nothing short of a face-lift would remedy. All those years within those stark, punishing walls had stolen her youth, her beauty. She had nothing left, save for this long-awaited final act of retribution.

Clare went to the tattered sofa, where her most prized possessions were arranged like a shrine. She lit the small candle on the end table and dropped to her knees. Confident in her ability to overcome all blockades thrown in her path, she studied the photos lined up against the back of the worn cushions. Each one would soon know the truth. Each one would feel her pain and finally understand what only a mother who had sacrificed so much could.

And before they answered to their maker for their sins, each one would realize that it had never been

what if wicked old Clare won one of her many appeals. It had always been simply a matter of time.

There was no escaping destiny.

Clare bowed her head and began to pray. She prayed for strength, for courage to stay her course. Once it was done, she cared little what happened to her.

She lifted her gaze to the photos worn by time and the caress of her fingers. Mommy was here now. The waiting and wondering would soon be over.

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