If the detective was going to protect her,
He’d have to get her to let her guard down first.
Helen Boyd had thought she and her son were safe from her abusive ex-husband. Then she finds a dead woman in her house—a woman who looks a lot like her. Detective Seth Renner suspects that Helen was the intended victim, but soon learns Helen has many secrets... He doesn’t know what to believe, except that this woman and child need care and, right now, protection.
“You really get to me. You know that, don’t you?”
She straightened enough to be able to see his face, with eyes that had never been so blue. “Because you feel sorry for me?”
“Angry for you,” he corrected. “You’re a strong woman.” His jaw flexed. “A beautiful woman. And I shouldn’t even have said that.”
“Why not?”
“As much as I want to kiss you, I need you to be able to trust me more.” He made a sound in his throat. “Which means I should get my hands off you.”
His arms tightened instead, for only an instant. Feeling his arousal, heat settled low in her belly.
“I like your hands on me,” she admitted.
He groaned. “I’m trying to behave myself.”
She ached to feel his mouth on hers, but how could she initiate anything when she still had secrets? Still, she gripped his shirt in both hands, unable to look away from him.
His head bent slowly, so slowly she knew he was giving her time to retreat. Instead, she pushed herself up on tiptoe to meet him.
WITHIN RANGE
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Janice Kay Johnson
An author of more than ninety books for children and adults with more than seventy-five for Harlequin, Janice Kay Johnson writes about love and family, and pens books of gripping romantic suspense. A USA TODAY bestselling author and an eight-time finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, she won a RITA® Award in 2008. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small town north of Seattle, Washington.
Books by Janice Kay Johnson
Harlequin Intrigue
Hide the Child
Trusting the Sheriff
Within Range
Harlequin Superromance
A Hometown Boy
Anything for Her
Where It May Lead
From This Day On
One Frosty Night
More Than Neighbors
Because of a Girl
A Mother’s Claim
Plain Refuge
Her Amish Protectors
The Hero’s Redemption
Back Against the Wall
Brothers, Strangers
The Closer He Gets
The Baby He Wanted
The Mysteries of Angel Butte
Bringing Maddie Home
Everywhere She Goes
All a Man Is
Cop by Her Side
This Good Man
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CAST OF CHARACTERS
Helen Boyd—A single mother, Helen has been on the run for over two years. She almost feels safe in Lookout...until she finds a dead woman in her kitchen, and a police detective becomes entirely too interested in her.
Seth Renner—Detective Renner knows a lie when he hears one...and he recognizes fear, too. Is there any chance the killer murdered the wrong woman? And though Seth can’t trust Helen, why is he dangerously tempted by her?
Jacob Boyd—A two-year-old charmer, he gets really anxious when his mom leaves him even for a few minutes. And why not? He has no one else.
Andrea Sloan—She’s barely a casual acquaintance of Helen’s, so why is she in Helen’s house, uninvited...and dead?
Richard Winstead—Finding out he has a son he didn’t know about enrages Richard. Divorce was one thing; hiding his child from him another.
Michael Renner—A retired police officer and Seth’s father, Michael trusts his son’s judgment enough to lay his life on the line for the woman and small boy he suspects his son loves.
Allie Hollis—Desperate for something only her sister can give her, Allie accepts that it may never happen.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Reining in Trouble by Tyler Anne Snell
Chapter One
“Birdie!”
Helen Boyd glanced in the rearview mirror first to her two-year-old son, then out the side window to the row of crows sitting on the electrical wire.
“Lots of birds,” she agreed. “Those are crows. Crows are always black.” Helen had the passing thought that in some cultures, they were considered bad luck. Or was that ravens?
Jacob tried to shape the word, which came out sounding more like “cow.”
“Crow,” she repeated. “Like ‘row, row, row your boat,’ only it’s c-row.”
He giggled. “K-k-krow.”
“Yes.” She laughed. “And we’re home!” Thank heavens; her feet were killing her, and she was starved. The day had been so busy, she’d never had a chance to stop for lunch. And, ugh, this was only Tuesday.
Home was a small rental house with an even smaller detached garage that held the lawn mower, a rolling tool chest belonging to the landlord, and some boxes and furniture that might have been left by previous tenants. There was no room for a car, so she parked in the driveway.
Helen climbed out stiffly, her attention caught for a brief moment by bright sails on the Columbia River. Her view was barely a sliver, but that was better than nothing. This was June, but the day seemed way too chilly for anyone to want to go windsailing. Whoever was out there was sure dedicated to the sport, she’d learned. The winds channeled through the Columbia Gorge were one of the biggest draws of the small towns strung along the banks of the river east of Portland.
She circled around to release Jacob from his car seat and swing him up in her arms, using her hip to bump the door closed. “Hamburgers for dinner tonight,” she told him.
“Hot dogs!” he shouted.
She planted a big kiss on top of his head. “Hamburgers.”
He loved to argue. “Hot dogs.”
“Hamburgers.” After letting them in the front door, she set him down, staying crouched beside him for a minute. “Do you have to go potty?” He still wore a diaper at night but was doing pretty well using the toilet during the day.
“Uh-uh,” he declared.
“Hmm.” Tempted to kick off her heels right now, Helen decided to make it to the bedroom first. Set a good example. Or maybe she should dump them straight in the trash. There was a good reason they’d been on clearance. Knowing Jacob would follow her, she started for the hall—and came to an abrupt stop, staring into the kitchen.
What on earth was that?
Her heart thudded hard. Jacob, fortunately, was clambering up onto the sofa. She took a tentative
step, then another, disbelief and fear clawing inside her chest.
It was a high-heeled shoe sitting all by itself that had first puzzled her. She had on the only pair of black pumps she owned. But then...then she saw the woman who lay sprawled on the kitchen floor.
Fingers pressed to her mouth, Helen tiptoed closer. Dark hair fanned over the lifeless face, but Helen could see enough...including the hideous dent in the woman’s head.
“Oh, no, oh, no.” Helen backed away.
From just behind her, Jacob said, “Mommy?”
Whirling, Helen snatched him up and pressed his face to her shoulder. Then she ran for the front door, pausing only to grab her purse on the way.
* * *
“THAT THE HOMEOWNER?” Detective Seth Renner glanced toward the car parked somewhat crookedly at the curb in front of the house.
The uniformed officer followed his gaze. “Don’t know if she owns it or rents, but that’s her. Name’s Helen Boyd. She’s got a two-year-old in the car.”
Easy to imagine how quickly she’d fled the house when she discovered a dead woman on her kitchen floor. Unless, of course, she’d had something to do with the death, but he wasn’t ready to speculate yet.
Instead, he signed the log the responding officer had started, bent to put on disposable shoe covers and stepped into the house. Scanning the living room, he saw evidence that a toddler lived here: a small plastic wagon piled with building blocks, a tidy pile of simple wooden puzzles on the fireplace hearth and a crib-size comforter crumpled at one end of the sofa. Built-in shelving to each side of the fireplace held books, including a good-size collection of children’s picture books. Coffee table with rounded edges. Foam had been fitted to cover the sharp edges of the brick hearth. TV. If not for the books, the room would have been stark.
Because there was no art, he realized. Maybe this was a rental, and the woman didn’t feel like she could put holes in the walls. Although, he’d have expected to see framed photos or something decorative on the mantel.
He shook his head slightly and moved on to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to study the body and then work outward to the surroundings.
No indication of a struggle. His first guess was that the victim had been in the kitchen, heard something and started to turn, only to be stunned by the single blow. Dead from that moment, she’d dropped to the floor. Finally going forward to crouch beside her, he did note a dirty mark on her white blouse. It didn’t go with her businesslike attire: fitted blouse, blazer, black pencil skirt, heels and hose. A shiny black handbag sat on the small kitchen table, a smartphone beside it. Had the killer kicked her once she was down?
He snapped on latex gloves and gingerly reached in the handbag for a wallet, opening it to see the license in a clear plastic sleeve. Photo looked like a match to him. Seth studied it. Andrea Sloan, brown hair, brown eyes, five foot six, thirty-six years old, organ donor.
Too late for that.
He let the wallet fall back into the purse, looking instead at the woman’s face, slack in death.
Why had Andrea Sloan been killed? And why here, in another woman’s house? Unless she was a close friend, sister, something like that to the owner-renter who’d discovered her?
Still gazing down at the body, he called for a crime scene unit from the Oregon State Police, then walked through the rest of the house. It was immaculately clean and uncluttered. Apparently, the kid didn’t go to bed without putting away his toys, and Mom or Dad—was there a dad?—didn’t toss dirty clothes over the single chair in the slightly larger bedroom that held a full-size bed, bedside table with a lamp and clock, and a dresser. No art here, either, no photos. Curious, he nudged open the sliding closet door to find it less than a third full. Several pairs of shoes lined up in a neat row on the floor, some unexciting dresses, blazers, skirts and slacks on hangers. Nothing that appeared to belong to a man.
The bathroom was shared with the kid. Nothing suggested a man lived here, either. A toothbrush holder and two toothbrushes sat alone on an otherwise pristine counter.
Pretty clearly, the residents consisted of a single mother and child.
Time to talk to the woman.
Going back outside, he shed the shoe covers and followed the narrow concrete walkway to the sidewalk and the car, a Ford Focus he guessed to be at least ten years old, possibly a lot more than that. He opened the front passenger-side door and bent to look in.
“Ms. Boyd? I’m Detective Seth Renner. I need to talk to you. Is there someplace—” A small boy poked his head between the seats.
“Boo!”
Seth pretended to jump, suppressing a grin. “And who are you?”
“I’m Jacob,” the boy declared. He had an impish face, a scattering of freckles across his nose and russet-red hair.
“It’s good to meet you, Jake.”
“Jacob.”
“Ah.” Seth focused on the woman again, taking in her appearance and noticing she had more than a passing resemblance to the dead woman. Although if they were related, wouldn’t Ms. Boyd have said so?
“Is there someone who can watch Jacob for a few minutes?”
“I... Yes. If she’s home, my neighbor is usually willing. Let me—” She jumped out, slammed her door and hurried around to his side, letting him see that she was five foot six or seven, long-legged, thinner than he suspected she was meant to be. When he backed away from the opening, she took his place.
“Jacob, honey, let’s go see Iris.”
“I like Iris,” he stated in apparent delight.
Seth had noted the movement behind the front window of the house next door. In fact, he intended to interview whoever lived there next. He strolled behind Ms. Boyd, who carried the boy on her hip. The front door opened even before they reached the small porch, revealing an elderly woman with deep wrinkles and a warm smile for the little boy.
Ms. Boyd explained briefly that she’d arrived at home and somebody had gotten into her house. She needed to talk to the detective. “Could you...?”
“Of course I can!” Iris cast a worried look at Ms. Boyd but beamed at Jacob. “I just baked chocolate chip cookies. Would you like one, Jacob?”
He held up his hand with all five fingers splayed. Iris laughed and took the boy’s hand. The door closed.
Surely at his age the kid couldn’t count. He obviously got the concept that more fingers represented more cookies, though.
For just a minute, Ms. Boyd stayed where she was, looking as if she’d give almost anything to follow her son inside. But finally her shoulders squared and she turned.
“Do we have to go in my house?”
“No,” he said. “Why don’t we sit in your car?”
Relief seemed to loosen some of the fear he’d seen on her face. Her teeth closed on her lower lip and she nodded. “Yes. Okay.”
He let her get into the driver’s seat again, guessing she’d feel more comfortable there, more in control. He had to move the passenger seat way back to accommodate his long legs, which meant she had to twist a little to look directly at him.
“Detective...? I’m sorry, I know you introduced yourself, but—” Her voice trembled.
“Renner.”
Her eyes fastened on his. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“You’re understandably upset.” He watched her closely while trying to appear relaxed and even friendly. “Tell me about your day. Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Not until I got home. The rest of the day... Do you care?”
“I’d like to hear about it.”
“I commute to Portland every day. I work as an executive assistant.”
He took a notebook from an inside pocket and jotted down the name of the company, her boss and the phone number.
“I left at 5:30. I’m pretty insistent on that, since I have to pick up Jacob from day care by 6:00.”
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That sounded standard to him. He made a note about the day care, too, an in-home one.
“I parked in the driveway, like I always do.”
He left the question of why she didn’t use the garage for another time. She sounded steady enough now to make him curious. Anxiety wouldn’t have surprised him; her poise did.
“I carried Jacob in,” she continued, “set him down and started toward the bedroom.”
“Just like that?”
She stared at Seth. “I told him we were having hamburgers, and he insisted he wanted hot dogs. Oh, and that he didn’t need to use the potty. Is any of that relevant?”
He smiled. “No, you sound like you were rushing.”
“Well, I was, because my feet hurt.” She glanced down. “They still hurt.”
He saw that she wore black pumps. “They look similar to the shoes the victim was wearing.”
No, her outfit didn’t match, but color-wise...yeah. Almost. A cream-colored, finely knit cardigan over a sleeveless top, and black dress pants. If someone had seen her go out the door, then caught sight of this Andrea Sloan in the kitchen, a mistake might be possible.
Seth reminded himself not to jump to conclusions.
Ms. Boyd swallowed. “I know. There was a weird minute—”
A weird moment?
Shaking her head, she said, “I just thought, did I leave my shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor? But they were still on my feet, so that didn’t make sense, and I’d already seen the...her legs. But...my mind wasn’t making the connection right.”
“That’s often the case when you see something completely unexpected,” he said gently.
She shuddered. “Yes. I took a step closer, and then realized Jacob was coming into the kitchen after me, so I grabbed him and my purse and raced outside. My hand was shaking so much I had trouble getting the key in the ignition, but I locked all the doors, backed out of the driveway and kept backing halfway up the block. I didn’t come closer until the police car arrived.”
“That was smart. You couldn’t be sure there wasn’t somebody still in the house.”
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