Native Cowboy

by Rita Herron

  “Check the 911 calls and see if she phoned one in.”

  The sheriff nodded, then the sound of an engine cut into the quiet, and they made their way back to the body to meet the crime unit.

  Cara was kneeling by Nellie’s body again, her expression torn. He understood how much more difficult it was to have to work a case when it involved someone you knew. Someone you cared about.

  Another reason he’d vowed never to get close to anyone again.

  But she stood and pivoted, then walked toward the crime scene tech who was descending the hill, and his chest clenched at the sight of her pregnant belly.

  He’d never imagined loving anyone again, not since the girl he’d fallen for when he was eighteen.

  And he’d certainly never imagined having a child.

  But a surge of longing hit him like a bolt of lightning during a storm.

  Fool.

  The baby might not even be his.

  But what if it was?

  Why hadn’t she told him? And what would he do if it was his child?

  * * *

  CARA TOOK A DEEP BREATH as Mason approached. He looked larger than life as he strode up the hill, the evening shadows framing his silhouette like a tough cowboy from a movie set.

  Except this scene was very real. And a patient and friend of hers was dead.

  The crime techs introduced themselves, and the sheriff directed them to the burial spot.

  “We found her car.” Mason’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on her belly. “Her tire was slashed, then it blew, causing her to run off the road.”

  A shiver rippled up Cara’s spine as she realized the implications. “So someone targeted her before the attack. He was following her.”

  “That’s the conclusion I would draw,” Mason stated, his dark eyes fierce. “The question is who.”

  Cara clenched her medical bag with a white-knuckled grip.

  “Tell me everything you know about her, Cara. She was your patient, did she mention that anyone was bothering her? Maybe she had a stalker?”

  Cara shook her head. Although she had felt like someone had been watching her lately. Not that she’d seen anyone; it was just an eerie feeling every now and then that someone was behind her. Or that someone had been in the clinic.

  She’d attributed it to the fact that her friend Sadie Whitefeather had had a couple of break-ins at the reservation clinic. Since the Winchester clinic wasn’t in the best part of town, it might be targeted if someone was looking for drugs, too.

  “Cara?”

  She jerked her attention back to Mason. “No, she didn’t mention anyone.”

  “Did she have a boyfriend? Lover?”

  Cara chewed her lower lip. This was sticky territory.

  But in light of Nellie’s mutilated body, she had to help Mason find the woman’s killer, no matter the cost.

  “A boyfriend.” She twisted her hands together. “But I don’t think he would do this.”

  Mason quirked his mouth to the side. “I’ll need to talk to him. Did she mention any other adversaries? Someone she might have upset lately? A coworker? Friend?”

  She shook her head no, although Nellie’s secret haunted her. What if it had something to do with her death?

  “Did she work?”

  “She was a waitress at a coffee shop, but she was taking classes to become a hairstylist.”

  “So no one in the class was bothering her? She didn’t have a stalker from the coffee shop?”

  She shifted, weighing the truth. “No. Not that I know of.”

  “Cara, please,” Mason said, obviously picking up on her nerves. “Tell me what you know.”

  She hated to broach the subject, especially in light of her own condition, but she had to do everything possible for Nellie. And that meant finding justice for the brutal way she’d died.

  “We need to talk in private,” she said quietly.

  His gaze shot to her stomach again, and she shook her head, warning him that her pregnancy wasn’t important right now. While he and the sheriff had examined the car, Kim had driven the kids back to the camp, so she gestured for him to follow her to the rocks where they’d been sitting. When she reached the boulder, she sat down, relieved to take the pressure off her lower back.

  Mason didn’t sit, though. He stood and folded his arms, waiting.

  God, he could be insufferable like that. Quiet, brooding and...dark. Intense.

  Almost scary.

  And sexy as hell.

  “Cara?”

  “Nellie recently had a baby,” she said in a low voice.

  He hissed between his teeth. “Dammit, I saw a rattle in the car. You think this man kidnapped the child?”

  “No, and the baby may not have anything to do with her murder, but...she gave the child up for adoption when it was born.”

  Mason’s frown deepened, carving grooves in his chiseled tanned jaw. “And the boyfriend? Did he know about the adoption?”

  Cara sighed. This hadn’t been her secret to tell. And it could open a can of worms between her and Mason.

  Still Nellie’s mangled body taunted her. “He knew,” she said in a low whisper. “But I...”

  “You what?” Mason asked harshly.

  “I think he changed his mind after the baby was taken away.”

  Miles released a curse. “Meaning he had motive.”

  * * *

  FROM HIS PERCH on the hill, he watched the scene unfolding. That Indian cop uncovering the stones.

  The bastard knew what they meant.

  Did he know what the woman had done to deserve to die?

  Why he had to take it upon himself to rid the world of unclean women like her?

  Laughter bubbled in his throat as he spotted the sheriff with those crime guys. Let them look for evidence all they wanted.

  Hell, he’d been careful. They wouldn’t find anything he didn’t want them to find.

  He dug the toe of his boot into the dirt, wished it was that bitch Winchester’s face. It was her fault he had to do what he did.

  Her fault that Nellie had to die.

  That the others would die just like her.

  And then it would be Dr. Winchester’s turn.

  Yes, he would save her for last.

  And he’d make her suffer.

  Chapter Three

  “I need the boyfriend’s name, and the name of the adoptive parents,” Mason said. “If Nellie’s boyfriend killed her, he may have gone after the baby.”

  Panic flared inside Cara. She hated to violate any patient’s privacy, but he was right. She couldn’t allow a vicious killer to touch that innocent child. “I don’t know his name, but it’s in my files at the clinic.”

  Mason made a low sound in his throat. “All right, let’s go.”

  Cara stood, fumbling with her bag, doubts needling her. “The timing seems off. It looks like Nellie has been dead for at least a day or two. Maybe longer. If someone had tried to kidnap the baby, the parents would have reported it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Mason said. “The killer may have needed time to find out the adoptive parents’ names and address. Besides, we have to check it out. It’s our only lead right now.”

  Cara blinked as more headlights appeared. The ambulance had arrived to transport the body to the morgue. “Let me talk to the medics for a minute, then I’ll go.”

  Mason followed her to meet the paramedics. “Wait until the crime unit is finished processing the body before you move her to the morgue,” Cara said. “I took some samples as well to send to the lab.”

  The medics nodded in understanding, then followed her to the burial spot to confer with the crime unit.

  Cara handed off the evidence she’d collected, and they signed the necessary forms for chain of custody. “Both the sheriff and I need to be notified of the autopsy results.”

  A female investigator named Erin made a note of it.

  Mason took a few moments to detail specifics for the team to analyze, handed
off a fabric sample he’d collected in the woods, and reminded them to process the victim’s car and the stones.

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the guy left some DNA.”

  “I doubt it,” a tall lanky CSI tech said. “Guy probably wore gloves...”

  Mason frowned. “A loose hair, fiber from his clothing, even a partial print could be helpful. Hell, maybe the guy sneezed on the car or on her, or maybe she scratched him and we can lift DNA from her fingernails.” He paused and handed the tech Nellie’s phone. “Search her phone log and send me the names and numbers of her most recent calls.”

  The tech assured him they would be thorough, and Mason followed her up the hill to her car. Cara’s back was hurting again, but she refused to draw attention to her condition so she refrained from rubbing it.

  Still, when they reached her vehicle, she had to draw a deep breath before unlocking the door.

  Mason gripped her arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s just Nellie...poor Nellie. And her baby...I’m worried about her.” Nellie had loved her child and thought she’d done the right thing by giving her to a nice couple, a family. Was her little girl safe?

  “I’ll follow you to the clinic,” Mason said. “Maybe you’re right and this murder had nothing to do with the adoption or the child. But we have to explore every angle.”

  Cara shut out images of the brutal way Nellie had been left as she slid into the driver’s seat. Knowing Mason was behind her gave her a small sense of relief. Although it also rattled her nerves in a different way and triggered memories she didn’t want to dwell on.

  Memories of the two of them dancing together in the dark. Of hot, loving nights and sweet mornings where they drank coffee and read the paper together.

  Of the long lonely months since he’d left and the baby kicking inside her.

  God.

  They still had to talk about her pregnancy.

  But first she had to find out if Nellie’s child was in trouble.

  * * *

  SHE DEFINITELY wasn’t wearing a ring.

  Mason stewed over the implications as he followed Cara into town. Was she married, or did she simply not wear a wedding band? And whose baby was she carrying?

  The instinct to confront her made him clench the steering wheel tighter. Surely if the baby was his, she would have told him. She was one of the most honest people he’d ever met.

  Another reason he hadn’t wanted to dirty her with his ugly world.

  A sliver of disappointment wormed its way through him, but he swallowed it. He had walked away from Cara. He had no claims on her. No right to be jealous that she’d moved on with someone else.

  The fact that she’d opened a clinic in town and helped with the kids on the BBL didn’t surprise him, though.

  She had loved practicing on the reservation, and probably still volunteered her time on the res with Carter Flagstone’s wife, Sadie Whitefeather.

  But as he wove through the small town, and he realized the clinic was in a low rent section, worry gnawed at him. He admired the bleeding heart aspect of Cara’s personality, but he didn’t like the idea of her working in a high-crime area.

  Night had fallen, the dark sky making the area look sketchy and dangerous as she cut through an alley then a side street and parked in front of a weathered cement building with peeling paint, an awning that was tilted sideways and weeds choking the small patch of land.

  A wooden sign with the name Winchester Clinic dangled in the breeze, Cara’s name etched below it. She’d overcome obstacles that she hadn’t wanted to talk about to earn her degree, and he hadn’t pushed for answers about her past, although he sensed she had secrets she didn’t want to tell.

  But the fact that she’d struggled and overcome whatever demons she had in her past had only intensified his attraction to her.

  Hell, he’d feared he was falling in love with her, so he’d had to keep his distance. Leave her while he could.

  Besides, he’d been assigned an undercover mission, one that had taken him away for months. One he’d known would be dangerous and could have gotten anyone who’d been close to him killed.

  Cara slid from her vehicle, clutching the door for support as she righted her pregnant frame. He stifled a curse as his body tightened.

  Dammit, he’d never thought a pregnant body was beautiful, but Cara made it look almost...sexy.

  Perspiration beaded on the back of his neck. Hell, what was wrong with him?

  She was not his and never would be. He had to remember that.

  But the past still taunted him with the possibility that her child might be his. As soon as he got the information they’d come for, he’d find out the truth.

  He checked his gun in his holster, pushed himself from the seat, and followed her up the small walkway to the front door of the clinic.

  Cara clutched the rail as she climbed the steps to the front stoop, then unlocked the door. Mason followed her, his cop instincts kicking in as she flipped on the lights.

  In contrast to the weathered exterior of the building, fresh paint and colorful curtains made the interior look cheery.

  But the office had been tossed. Papers were scattered all over the floor, and file drawers hung open, the contents rifled through.

  Cara gasped, and Mason pushed her behind him, reached inside his jacket for his gun and lowered his voice. “Wait here—let me make sure the intruder’s gone.”

  A banging sound echoed from the back. The wind whistled.

  But he didn’t hear voices or footsteps.

  Still, that didn’t mean the place was clear. The intruder might be hiding.

  “How many rooms in the back?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Two exam rooms, one on each side of the lab,” Cara whispered. “My office is in the back.”

  He gave a clipped nod, once again gesturing for her to wait while he searched the premises.

  The scent of antiseptic suffused him as he inched past the waiting room. Two more steps and he spotted the lab. Scale for weighing was in the corner. Gauze, bandages and other medical supplies were organized in jars on the counter.

  The door to the medicine cabinet stood open, and vials had been overturned.

  Whoever had broken in had been looking for drugs. No surprise in this neighborhood.

  But why toss files in the front office?

  Pulse drumming, he pushed open the door to the exam room. A sliver of the streetlight outside illuminated the room just enough for him to do a visual sweep.

  At first glance, he didn’t see anything amiss. Basic exam table, medicine cabinet above a sink, first aid supplies.

  A thorough search and a moment later, he deemed it clear.

  Keeping his shoulders squared, gun braced, he moved to the room on the left. He paused to listen before he opened the door, and gripped his weapon tighter as the banging sound echoed again. This room was dark, too, same basic layout except a few stuffed toys filled a basket in the corner and bright cartoon characters were painted on the walls.

  But no one was inside.

  Relieved, he sucked in a sharp breath, then stepped back inside the lab and crossed to the office. It was small and cramped with a filing cabinet and tiny desk, a bookcase with medical books on one shelf, toys and a jar of lollipops on another.

  Empty, as well.

  The slapping sound continued, and he tensed and whirled around, then stepped from the office.

  Dammit. The intruder was gone, but now he knew how he’d gotten in.

  The back door was open, flapping in the wind.

  * * *

  CARA HELD HER BREATH while Mason searched the building. She had worried about a break-in before, but in light of the murder, the timing aroused suspicion.

  Careful not to touch anything, she visually noted the disarray on Sherese’s desk. Thank God the break-in had occurred after hours and her assistant hadn’t been here.

  The day’s patient files that hadn’t yet been put away la
y scattered in a mess. And the files in the cabinet had been shuffled through, pages tossed on the floor. It would take time to sort through them and see if anything was missing.

  What had the intruder been looking for? A specific file? But whose?

  And why?

  The sound of Mason’s footsteps echoed across the cement floor, then he appeared, tucking his gun back inside his jacket. “It’s clear. But someone broke into the drug cabinet.” He cut his gaze across the disheveled office and files.

  “If they wanted drugs, why toss the files?” Cara asked.

  “Good question.” Mason folded his arms. “The back door was open. Looks like the lock was picked.”

  “I’ll get it fixed,” Cara said.

  “You’ll do more than that. You need some deadbolts, a security system and cameras.”

  Cara shrugged. “I can’t afford all that, Mason.”

  “Well, I can,” Mason said. “I’ll set it up.”

  Cara’s heart pounded. “I can’t let you do that.”

  Mason glared at her. “Yes, you can. Consider it a charitable donation.”

  Cara chewed her bottom lip, fighting the urge to argue, but decided to forgo her pride and conceded. She didn’t know if Mason had money or not, but the clinic could use donations. She had major plans to expand the women’s pavilion to offer medical and counseling services, a rape crisis hot line, and consultants for family planning. Eventually she wanted a

  children’s wing, as well. But she needed funding to pull it off.

  “Can you tell if anything’s missing?” Mason asked.

  Cara pushed her hair from her eyes and began to sort through the folders. “Not yet. I’ll ask my assistant Sherese to check in the morning.”

  Mason nodded. “I’ll call a locksmith and the sheriff and report this. He can send another team to process the rooms.”

  “That’s going to be difficult,” Cara said. “Do you have any idea how many people I see daily?”

  Mason shifted, looking frustrated. “No. Getting his print may be a long shot, but we have to cover all the bases.”

  An image of Nellie’s blood-soaked body taunted her. “Do you think this could be related to Nellie’s murder?”

  Mason shrugged. “It’s possible. Maybe the killer was looking for the adoptive parents’ names and broke into the drug cabinet to throw us off.”