by Addison Fox
“That was—” He broke off. “I’m not suggesting you won’t do right by this person.”
Tate’s gaze shifted to the body, still untouched in the ravine. His hand tightened on her shoulder before he seemed to make up his mind, turning firmly away from the gruesome sight. “I know you’ll do your job. But please be careful.”
“I will.”
“Something’s wrong here. This isn’t a drug deal gone bad or dishonor among thieves.”
She wanted to believe otherwise, but couldn’t in the face of his certainty—or her own. “No. I don’t think it is.”
“You need to be careful.”
“Right back at ya.”
The same frustration from before—hell, from forever—darkened his gaze once more but other than a small sneer, he held his frustration. “That’s not what I meant. This is dangerous. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
“Which is why I’ve been trained. It’s my job.”
His hand fell away and Tate took a few steps back. The physical withdrawal was mimicked in the way his gaze shuttered and his mouth firmed into a straight line. “The job. Just like always.”
Belle wanted to argue. She wanted to rant and rail and give him the litany of reasons why she was not only good at her job but called to it. But the day had begun too early. And the pain of seeing him again, so up close and personal, always left her slightly empty and more than a bit bruised emotionally. So she skipped the ready defense and nodded instead.
“Just like always.”
* * *
“Will the police still be setting up here in the kitchen?” Arden asked. She’d changed out of the pajamas she’d worn earlier when he and Ace had told her what was going on at the edge of their property into a pair of yoga pants and a top in vivid neon. She was busy fixing enough food to feed ten police stations, evidenced by the heavy scent of blueberries that rose into the air as she pulled a tray of muffins out of the oven.
She looks like Mom.
The thought wasn’t a new one, Tate admitted, but as she puttered around the kitchen, he saw the clear resemblance between his sister and his mother. Well, minus the eye-boring neon.
Both were petite, but where Betsy Reynolds had seemed to fade into herself later in life, Arden was as bright and vibrant as her outfit. The yoga ensemble belied a strong, fit woman and despite her size—or maybe in spite of it—he’d dare any man on the ranch to attempt a head-to-head battle with her.
Arden was fierce.
She was also in danger, if the discovery at the edge of the property was any indication.
“I think you should consider rescheduling your classes this week. Stick close to home instead of heading in and out of town.”
Arden glanced over from where she placed the muffins on a cooling rack. “Why’s that?”
“We need to be careful until the police know what they’re dealing with.”
“And we will be. That’s what locks are for. And making plans to meet up with others and stay in groups. All of which I will take full advantage of. But I’m not canceling my classes.”
“It’s a few yoga classes, Arden. They’ll keep.”
The subtle smile never left her lips, but the glint in her blue eyes—also so like their mother’s—grew decidedly flinty. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m not canceling anything. To put a finer point on it, neither am I holing up in this house like a prisoner.”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“Then get the warden act out of your thoughts.”
Damn, but what was wrong with the women in his life? When had he become the bad guy because he didn’t want them anywhere near the unsavory aspects of life? “It’s wrong to worry about you?”
She drifted over from the stove, the scent of blueberries mixing with the pot of coffee she carried with her. “Worry is okay. Telling me what to do isn’t.”
Tate grabbed the sugar bowl off the center of the table and dumped a few teaspoons into his coffee. Arden pointedly ignored the liberal dosing of sweets and poured her own cup before sitting down.
“How do you drink that without anything in it?”
“How do you drink that,” she pointed at his mug, “with the equivalent of a cotton candy bender in it?”
He shot her a dark look over his mug. “Yet another impasse this morning.”
“You’re in a mood.” Arden got up and walked to the counter. She placed a few muffins on a plate, her attention seemingly focused on her task. “Would that have anything to do with Annabelle Granger showing up at our ranch bright and early this morning?”
What was with his family? First Ace grilled him and now Arden? He could only thank the heavens Hoyt was a man of few words. His youngest brother would sooner cut off a finger than question Tate about something personal.
“Belle has nothing to do with anything.”
“You sure?” Arden carried over the plate of fresh muffins. Tate could still see steam rising off the top as he reached for one and imagined the top of his head likely looked similar.
“Positive.”
“Then you won’t care if I set her up in here. I’ll make sure she’s got enough coffee and snacks, but you or Ace or Hoyt will need to see to it that she’s got what she needs when the men come in to talk to her.”
Tate dragged the wrapper off his muffin, tossing his breakfast from hand to hand to cool it off. “Aren’t you efficient today?”
“I’m always efficient. And prepared. I’m just glad I bought the extra blueberries in town yesterday. I figured I could use them for something.”
His sister was a mystery to him. Clichéd as it was, she was truly tough as nails, her upbringing as the youngest in a family full of boys ensuring she could hold her own. Yet even with the edge that never quite went away, she seemed to revel in her yoga and cooking from scratch and feeding the chickens they kept in their coops.
He had no objection to independence in a woman and he’d never bought into the concept of a weaker sex. Strength came in a variety of ways and the emotional support his baby sister gave their family wasn’t something to underestimate. But the yoga and the earth mother routine did confuse him. She could be anything she wanted, yet she seemed stuck in the Pass, communing with nature.
None of which was really his business. She seemed happy enough. Balanced, even.
So why did it still nag at him?
Arden reached for a muffin of her own. “So how is Belle doing? Presumably you two had a civil conversation.”
Strains of their argument came back to him, including his kidney punch of criticism at the effectiveness of the Midnight Pass police force.
Smooth, Reynolds. Real smooth.
“Belle and I don’t do civil all that well.”
Arden waved her butter knife at him. “Belle does civil just fine. You’re the stubborn one who can’t keep your mouth shut.”
“Sort of like you?”
“Chalk it up to a family trait.” Arden grinned. “But you know what I mean. You two should just jump each other and move on. It would make life a heck of a lot easier for the rest of us.”
“Amen to that,” Hoyt muttered as he came into the kitchen. Dust covered the back of his shirt and Arden was already yelling at him to go straight to the mudroom.
Tate wanted to believe he’d have been quicker on the response if Arden’s comment didn’t surprise him so or his brother hadn’t interrupted, reinforcing her suggestion. Later, he’d tell himself that was the reason. When he was out on Tot, rechecking the property, or enjoying a beer watching the night’s Astros game or brushing his teeth before bed, he’d maybe convince himself she’d simply caught him off guard.
But right now, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that he was scared.
He didn’t recognize the body in the ravine, but that did
n’t mean much. Midnight Pass was a small town, but still big enough for there to be a few strangers. Add in the number of people who traveled through and it wasn’t a complete surprise the man was a stranger.
And yet...
It clawed at him. He’d lived here his whole life. He might have had his ups and down, but this was home. And now they were dealing with a possible killer on the loose?
Hoyt ambled back into the kitchen, his work shirt gone and an old high school football jersey in its place. He shot Arden a dark look as he reached for a muffin. “Happy now?”
“Yes.” She smiled, her expression prim. “I already cleaned up in here for the police and I don’t want you messing up things.”
Hoyt’s mouth firmed into a straight line and he laid his half-peeled muffin back on his plate. “They found something?”
Tate nodded. “A body. Down in one of the ravines before you hit the border.”
“Our ranch?”
“No.” Tate shook his head. “There’s blood on our property but the body was found in part of the borderlands.”
Tate filled in Hoyt on the few details he had, recounting the search as well as the findings of the K-9 team.
The Reynolds family had ranched in Midnight Pass for five generations. They’d worked the land and raised their cattle and been a part of the community. The land itself—as well as that of the Crown and the Vasquez families—was close to the US-Mexico border, but no one’s property line ran straight up to the border. The US government had seen to it that they kept a small strip to manage as its own.
Was it a coincidence that the body was discovered there? A sign, maybe?
“What do you make of it?” Hoyt asked around a bite of his muffin. “Seems odd the actual crime was committed on our property and yet the body was moved. Like a screw you to the Border Patrol?”
Tate turned the idea over in his mind. As theories went, it was as good as any. What it didn’t explain was why anything had happened on their land in the first place. “So why the cut fence?”
Hoyt shrugged. “A mystery for the cops to solve.”
The heavy knock on the back door interrupted their conversation before Belle peeked her head inside. “Okay if I come in?”
Hoyt smiled, his normally gruff demeanor nowhere in evidence for Belle. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh?”
“All good things.” Arden was already up, waving her in. The two women exchanged quick hugs before Arden gestured her to the table. “Come on in and take a seat.”
In moments, Arden had a fresh mug of coffee and a plate in front of Belle before she rejoined them at the table. “Any updates?”
“Not many.”
“Do they know who it is?”
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” Belle took a sip of her coffee—black, just like Arden’s—and pointed to the sink. “I’m just going to wash up.”
Tate allowed his gaze to linger, the snug fit of her outfit outlining each and every curve of her body. She was thinner than he remembered. Leaner. Which was a surprise. She’d never been a heavy woman, but she’d always had a fair amount of curves. While he could still see the arch of her hips and the firm outline of her breasts when she turned back toward them, there was a decided leanness to her frame.
One more thing cop work had taken away from her.
And she also looks strong, Reynolds. Strong and lethal. And more than capable of protecting herself.
Damn it.
Just like his sister, he admired Belle’s desire to make her way in the world on her own terms and under her own steam. It just burned him that the woman couldn’t see the danger she subjected herself to by being a part of the police force.
Since he’d been battling the same thoughts for more than a decade now, Tate pushed them away. He and Belle didn’t see eye to eye and nothing was going to change that. “Why do you still want to question the men?”
“We need to talk to everyone. That includes all of you.”
Tate leaned back in his chair. “Brace yourselves. Belle’s gonna pull out her Miranda rights.”
“If I did do that, it would be for your protection,” she snapped back, that ire that he’d been poking for nearly his entire life sparking in her eyes. It was an old, familiar routine. It had also grown tired.
Even with the emotional exhaustion, he couldn’t resist one more jab. It also gave him the ability to let her know he understood far more about her work than he let on. “Reading me those rights would also mean I was in custody. You putting handcuffs on me, Belly?”
He knew the moment his taunt hit her and rebounded straight back to him. Like an uncontrollable Harry Potter curse, it swung back at him with unbelievable force. An image of Belle in handcuffs—and little else—filled his mind’s eye and every cell in his body stood up and took notice.
“I like having rights,” Arden interjected, effectively ignoring his innuendo and dragging him out of the moment. “I thought you did, too.”
Belle nodded, her own anger seeming to fade as she shifted her attention to Arden. “For the record, I didn’t read him anything. And if we get to a point where it’s needed, it’s done for legal protection. Same goes for your men.”
“Yet you still want to question them?” Hoyt leaned forward and reached for another muffin. “You worried about any of them?”
“I want to talk to them, nothing more. People see things and often don’t even realize the implications of what they’ve seen.”
“You don’t think it’s drugs anymore?” Tate had wondered at that, but his earlier questions about his staff still nagged at him. Ranger and Tris had come to mind first, but what did he really know about his men?
“We’re not ruling anything out yet.”
Unbidden, an image of the man with the slit throat filled his mind’s eye. He’d known Belle long enough to know the image haunted her, as well.
He just hoped she’d find the killer before they had a chance to act again.
* * *
He hefted the large duffel bag from the front entrance of his hidey-hole out at the edge of the Pass. Since it was small town USA, no one had even been around to pay him any attention as he drove through town early that morning, and they’d likely have paid him no mind, even if someone had.
Heading for the small kitchen, he placed the duffel on the counter and got to work.
Blood had dried on the knife, a stark reminder of the job he’d completed in the wee hours of this morning. A blight and a pestilence. That’s what drugs had become in Midnight Pass.
And like any good landowner knew, you handled pests with force. One or two, you’d swat at and forget about them.
But an infestation needed swift and active punishment.
The police, then the Feds, had tried. But the enemy had only become craftier. The technology designed to find the drug runners had been used against the cops, identifying the trails each night that were open and unmanned.
And where technology wasn’t a viable solution, good, old-fashioned recruitment had done the job.
How many of Midnight Pass’s sons and daughters had been consumed by the blight? Lured into addiction, the promise of another fix more than enough incentive to mule for the kingpins who grew rich off their misery.
He’d watched it all. First from a distance, and then later, when the need to act grew and grew until it consumed him. When it would be a personal sin to ignore the monstrous proportions of the plague that now hung over the Pass.
So he’d acted.
He’d practiced and waited and then practiced some more. The low-level drug runner based in Juarez had been first. He’d intended to use the gun he’d bought off the streets, but had been inspired at the last minute by the man’s extensive collection of knives.
The smooth stroke of metal on flesh had been intoxicating.
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And it was then that he’d known. Had understood.
Society needed riddance from its dregs and he had a mission. A purpose.
More, he now had a calling.
Chapter 5
Belle settled herself at the table in the pretty, peach-colored kitchen and ignored the flood of memories that threatened to consume her. She had a job to do and dithering over the night she and Tate had made love on the floor after a midnight craving for vanilla cake batter wasn’t going to get it done.
But oh, what a sweet memory it was—and for far more than just the batter.
She pushed the image of a naked Tate—moving over her, around her, inside of her—out of her mind and fully focused on her job.
And murder.
Although the crime scene still required full analysis, there was no way the outcome would be classified as anything but murder, no matter how badly the chief might wish otherwise. The Pass struggled enough with the drug trade—and kept his officers busy year-round—but up to now they’d kept things together. They continued making arrests and even caught a few of the bigger fish over the past year. The chief’s leadership had a lot to do with that, but so did the force’s collective, stubborn refusal to let the Feds get their hooks in too deeply.
But murder took things to a whole different dimension. Especially something as grisly and dark as the sight she witnessed this morning.
The issue, to her mind, was how to action her way through it all and keep focus. She was a good cop. She loved what she did and she was dedicated and devoted to the work. The fact she now had to do that work in close proximity to Tate Reynolds couldn’t deter her from the job at hand. Even with the shift in attention from concerns over drug running to hunting for a murderer in the Pass, she still needed to question Tate’s employees.
She’d already set up her work laptop on the long, Texas pine table that dominated the big kitchen and had taken up residence on the end of the cushioned bench seat on one side. Reynolds Station might have stood on that very spot for decades, but the storied history of the ranch hadn’t kept the Reynolds family from securing the latest technology. She was hooked up to a lightning-fast internet connection that rivaled what the Feds had brought with them when they set up shop in town. And it outpaced by a mile the molasses-in-winter one she typically experienced during the middle of the day when everyone was at work.
