Colter. Bones. Marcie. Her thoughts raced. Had something happened at the site?
She sat up and kicked off the covers, squinting at the clock on the bedside table.
Four o’clock in the morning. She’d been asleep for over three hours. It didn’t feel like it.
“Son of a…No. You stay there.” Wyatt’s voice, even through the connecting door, was deep, harsh, commanding.
She held her breath listening, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone. She pressed her hand against her chest.
Fear? No. She wasn’t afraid of Wyatt Colter. Maybe a little intimidated by his larger-than-life presence. But her reaction was definitely not fear. Now, if she were a criminal, she’d be afraid. Or a subordinate who’d screwed up.
“Have you called Hardin?”
Something had happened.
She shot up out of bed, grabbed her jeans and pulled them on, balancing on tiptoe as she zipped and fastened them. She didn’t even bother combing her hair, merely twisted it into a ponytail as she thrust her feet into her muddy work boots.
“Call him. I’ll be right there!” Wyatt’s voice brooked no argument.
Just as she pulled the Velcro straps on her boots tight, Wyatt’s door slammed. The picture hanging over her headboard and the glass lamp on the bedside table rattled.
She shoved her arms into her hoodie and threw open the door to her room. Wyatt’s broad shoulders were just disappearing down the stairs.
“Hey, cowboy. Wait for me!” she called.
His head cocked, but he didn’t slow down.
She started out, then realized she didn’t have her camera. It took only a fraction of a second to decide. If she went back, he’d be gone.
She vaulted down the stairs two at a time, landing at the bottom with a huff and a scattering of dried mud.
“What the hell are you doing?” Wyatt growled. “Go back to bed.”
Betty Alice poked her head out from the door behind the desk in time to hear Wyatt’s words. Her eyes sparkled, and she snorted delicately.
Nina’s face heated, and she sent Betty Alice a quelling glance. To someone who didn’t know what was going on, she supposed Wyatt’s words had sounded suggestive.
“Go on.” Wyatt sounded like he was shooing a disobedient dog.
“Not a chance, cowboy. Where are we going? Did something happen at the site?”
“We aren’t going anywhere.”
“You can’t keep me away from my bones,” she declared pugnaciously.
“Your bones?”
Now Betty Alice’s pupils were dark circles surrounded by white.
“It might be your crime scene, Lieutenant, but I’m the forensic anthropologist. They’re my bones.” Nina lifted her chin. “That was Deputy Tolbert, wasn’t it? Something happened at the site.”
Wyatt blew air out in a hiss between his teeth and tossed a peppermint into his mouth.
“Got another one of those? I didn’t get a chance to brush my teeth.”
He glowered at her, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. Finally he dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a cellophane-wrapped disk and tossed it toward her. She swiped it out of the air with no effort.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll pay you back.” She was pretty sure she heard another growl as he spun on his boot heel and headed out the front door.
WYATT DIDN’T SAY a word on the drive out to the crime scene. He was in no mood to deal with Nina Jacobson. Against his better judgment—almost against his will—he cut his eyes sideways. They zeroed in on that red lacy thing that peeked out from under her half-zipped hoodie.
The red lacy thing and the creamy smooth flesh that it barely covered. He growled under his breath as his body reacted to what his eyes saw.
Snapping his gaze back to the dirt road, he clenched his jaw and lifted his chin. Forget what Nina Jacobson is or isn’t wearing, he warned himself.
He had enough on his plate right now. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to separate his personal and professional life.
Yeah. Separate them so well that one of them no longer existed. His awareness turned to the slight weight of the star on his chest. That star, with its unique engraving and aged patina, represented who he was.
Wyatt Colter, Texas Ranger.
And as he knew very well, there was no place in a Ranger’s life for personal complications.
“Would you at least tell me what Shane said?”
Nina’s voice broke into his thoughts. It was breathy and low—sultry. Like a hot summer Texas storm. Like her.
He didn’t bother to answer her.
Shane Tolbert had sounded groggy, embarrassed and angry all at the same time. But that was nothing compared to how he was going to sound—and feel—once Wyatt had ripped him a new one, right before he did the same for Sheriff Reed Hardin.
Wyatt’s first act upon hearing about the discovery of the bodies less than forty-eight hours ago had been to demand two guards on the crime scene twenty-four hours a day. Sheriff Hardin had countered that one guard per eight-hour shift was plenty. “Nobody’s bothered the scene,” the sheriff had said. “There were a few folks who drove up there on the first day, right after the road crew discovered the bones. Most notably Daniel Taabe and a couple of his cronies, who wanted to know if what the road crew had unearthed was a historical burial site. But after that…nothing. My deputies can handle things just fine.”
Wyatt had requested the extra men from his captain, but the captain had sided with the sheriff.
Now, as he’d known he would be, Wyatt had been proven right. If there had been two men guarding the site, this wouldn’t have happened.
He roared up to within a few feet of the crime-scene tape and slammed on the brakes.
To his amusement, Nina uttered a little squeak when the anti-locking brake system stopped the Jeep in its tracks.
He jumped out, leaving the engine running. He stalked over to Sheriff Hardin’s pickup, where Deputy Tolbert was sitting on the tailgate, with Doc Hallowell and the sheriff hovering over him.
“Need to go to the hospital?” Sheriff Hardin was asking as Wyatt walked up.
Doc Hallowell shook his head. He reached inside the black leather bag sitting beside Tolbert.
“Sheriff,” Wyatt said.
“Lieutenant.” Hardin didn’t look at him. He pointed a pocket flashlight at Tolbert’s head. “That’s a nasty cut.”
“I’m going to stitch it right here,” Doc Hallowell said, searching in his bag, “as soon as I can dig out my suture kit.”
A doctor making a house call or a crime-scene call. Wyatt shook his head. Small towns. They were a mystery to him.
“What happened?” Nina asked from behind him.
Wyatt wished he could pick this damn crime scene up and transport it to a secure location. He desperately needed some time alone here. Just him and the crime scene, and maybe Olivia Hutton, the top-notch crime scene analyst. He could use her expertise, but while she was available to him as part of the task force, she hadn’t been called in yet, since this was classified as a cold case. He made a mental note to call her and ask her opinion.
Tolbert looked up at Nina sheepishly. “Got myself conked over the head. I heard something and went to investigate. I’m thinking there were at least two of them. One to distract me and the other to bash my skull in.” He winced as Doc Hallowell poured alcohol on the gash on the back of his head. “Ow! I guess I’m lucky I’ve got a thick skull.”
From the corner of his eye, Wyatt saw the thinly disguised look of disgust on Nina’s face. She really didn’t like Tolbert.
“Doc,” Wyatt said. “can I look at that cut before you start working on it?” He pulled out his own high-powered flashlight and shone it on the deputy’s skull.
The gash looked fresh, of course. And it was edged by an inflamed strip of scalp, which disappeared into Tolbert’s hair. As far as he could tell, it had been made with a honed-edged instrument, like the edge of a plate or a b
oard, or maybe even a hatchet, if it wasn’t too finely sharpened.
The doctor had trimmed the hair around the gash, and now he was stitching it, quickly and neatly. Wyatt watched with casual interest as he tied the stitches. He counted seven.
“Any idea what they hit you with?” Wyatt asked.
Tolbert shook his head. “No clue. Something with an edge. Maybe the back side of an ax. You see how much it bled.”
Wyatt gestured to Nina. “Professor, can you get a couple of photos of the wound?”
“Hey,” Tolbert said, ducking his head. “It’s humiliating enough without a record of it.”
Nina snapped a couple of shots.
“I need it for a match with a possible weapon,” Wyatt explained.
“Stay still, Shane,” the doctor said. “I’m almost done.”
“They just hit you once?” Wyatt asked.
“Ow, Doc!” Tolbert exclaimed, blinking as Nina’s camera flashed. “Are you done yet?”
Hardin took a step backward. “Lieutenant Colter? Looks like Doc’s getting Shane fixed up. Why don’t we check out the crime scene?”
Wyatt looked at Tolbert, then at Hardin. He had a lot more questions for the deputy, but the sheriff obviously wanted him at the crime scene—or away from Tolbert.
“You mean nobody has checked out the damage yet?” Wyatt replied.
When Wyatt turned to head over to the burial site, he saw that Nina was there. As he watched, she crouched down to sit on her haunches—the exact position she’d been in earlier.
Only this time he knew who she was. How could he have thought she was a middle-aged, sedentary professor of anthropology? Granted, it had been raining and she’d been cloaked by that oversize black hooded sweatshirt. But looking at her now in the same position, he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken the feminine curve of her back and behind for a male’s.
She pushed the hood of her sweatshirt off her head and shone the beam of her high-powered flashlight along the ground.
By the time they walked up beside her, she had sat back on her heels, her face reflecting disgust and anger.
“One of my bones is missing,” she said.
Chapter Four
“Which one?” Wyatt burst out. “Which bone is missing?”
Nina shook her head. “Whoever did this made a mess. Tromped all over the site. But I think it’s the largest one. The one that had a piece of pelvis attached to it.” She looked up at him, her dark eyes snapping.
Wyatt shone his flashlight over the ground. “Can you get casts of these prints?” he asked the sheriff.
Hardin crouched down and studied the ground. “It’s pretty wet, and he was slipping in the mud. But yeah.”
“You’re sure?” Wyatt asked.
Hardin nodded. “Deputy Spears can handle it.”
“Make sure he finds the sharpest print,” said Wyatt.
Hardin frowned. “Look, Lieutenant, if you want to call in your own crime scene investigator—”
“No!” Nina exclaimed.
Wyatt’s gaze snapped to her.
“Sheriff, if your deputy can cast the prints over there, I’d appreciate it.” She pointed. “I really don’t want anyone else trampling the site.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Professor—”
Nina stood. “First of all, I’m a certified crime scene investigator, so I can do it if you insist. But I have no doubt that Sheriff Hardin and his men know what they’re doing. Let them cast the prints over there while I extract the other two bones. I’ll process this area for trace evidence while I’m at it.”
It probably couldn’t hurt for her to handle the crime scene. And the boot prints at the edge of the shallow hole were clearer, anyhow. He nodded at Hardin.
Beside him, Nina sighed in obvious relief.
The sheriff rose, dusting his hands against each other, then propping them on his hips.
“Can we get them done now?” Wyatt asked.
This was why he didn’t like small towns. Everything moved at a snail’s pace. This was a crime scene—a major crime scene. It might tell them of the disappearances that had haunted Comanche Creek for the past several years. It might hold evidence of what had happened to Marcie James.
And yet the people who could provide the answers—the doctor, the sheriff, the deputies—seemed to operate with a “we’ll get around to it” mentality.
Hardin sent Wyatt a hard glance. “Can we get a thing or two straight, Lieutenant?”
“Happy to. As long as it cuts down on the delays.” Wyatt nodded.
“This isn’t Austin. We might be kind of slow here compared to your Texas Ranger pace, but we can do the job,” Hardin replied. “I’ve already called Deputy Spears and told him to get back out here. Once he’s here, he’ll get the footprints cast. Do you think that’ll be time enough for you?”
Wyatt clenched his jaw. “That’s fine. Spears. He’s the one who abandoned the crime scene, isn’t he?”
“He didn’t abandon it.” Hardin countered. “Dr. Jacobson, a member of your task force, assured him that she would be responsible for the scene until Tolbert came on at midnight.”
“Nobody on my task force but me has that authority, Sheriff. Is that clear?” Wyatt grumbled.
Reed Hardin’s mouth flattened, but he nodded.
Wyatt felt a twinge of regret for his tone. “Thanks,” he muttered. “When can I talk to Deputy Tolbert?”
“Any time, Lieutenant. I would like Doc to release him first.”
Wyatt nodded. “What’s the story with him, anyhow? I know he and Marcie James were dating at one time. Apparently she told Nina he could be abusive.”
“I said mean,” Nina interjected as she bent down again to study the indentation where the missing bone had lain.
Hardin nodded. “Right. Abusive might be too strong a word. Shane’s got a temper, but he’s a good deputy. He’s competent. Might even call him a go-getter.” Hardin’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has his sights on being sheriff one day.”
“You trust him that much?” asked Wyatt.
“Whether or not he could become sheriff has nothing to do with how much I do or don’t trust him. It’s a matter of competence,” replied Hardin. “In fact, that’s one of the things I admire about him. He’s gone to school on his own time to take classes on crime scene investigation. He’s pretty knowledgeable.”
“Yeah?” Wyatt’s mental radar buzzed. So Tolbert was pretty knowledgeable about CSI. “Where’d he get his degree in hostility?”
Hardin shrugged. “That he comes by naturally. His dad, Ben Tolbert, has always been a drinker and a woman chaser. Knocked Shane around some until he got big enough to fight back.”
“And once he got big enough?”
“I doubt you’re asking that question without knowing the answer.”
Wyatt nodded. “He has a suspension on his record. Excessive force.”
“It was a domestic dispute. Single mother’s boyfriend came home drunk and decided to whale on her eight-year-old for leaving his bike in the driveway. He broke the boy’s arm. Shane broke the guy’s nose.”
Wyatt looked at Hardin with new respect. Suspending the deputy was the right thing to do, but it couldn’t have been easy to put a black mark on his record for avenging a child. Especially given Tolbert’s own childhood.
“Ever hear anything about trouble between him and Marcie James?”
Hardin shook his head. “You know how people can talk sometimes. I remember once she hurt her arm. Claimed she’d pulled a muscle playing tennis.”
“Did you check it out?”
“Doc said it could have been twisted in a fall.”
“Could have.”
Hardin nodded. “I kept an eye on her, but I never saw anything else. Shane seemed to care about her. I don’t remember why they broke up.”
“What do you think about the missing bone? Who in Comanche Creek would attack your deputy and steal one of the bones?” Wyatt looke
d toward the burial site, toward Nina. As he watched, she stood and shed the hooded sweatshirt, leaving her in nothing but the little red thing. He swallowed.
“I don’t have a clue,” Hardin said. “I know there were people who were upset about Marcie testifying in the land fraud case, but it’s hard to imagine that any of them could have killed her.”
“The professor says the bones are recent.”
Nina tugged the red camisole down over her low-slung jeans as far as it would stretch, which wasn’t far, then picked up a fallen branch. After testing it with her weight, she stuck one end into the ground and braced herself as she reached across the shallow mud hole. She stretched precariously, straining toward something Wyatt couldn’t see.
“What are you getting at?” Hardin asked.
“Could Shane have faked the attack so he could destroy evidence?”
Hardin sent him a questioning look.
“Maybe he knows whose bones are buried in there.” Wyatt spoke without taking his eyes off Nina. The scrap of shimmery red material rode up her back, leaving a good eight inches or so of bare midriff between its hem and her jeans.
“You’re suggesting Shane killed Marcie James? No way. He was torn up about Marcie’s disappearance.”
Wyatt swallowed, trying to concentrate on Hardin’s words. “I want to question him as soon as possible,” he said gruffly.
Nina reached a fraction of an inch farther, and Wyatt got a view of the underside of her breasts. He winced. In about three seconds, she was going to fall face-first into the muddy crime scene—not to mention expose her breasts—if somebody didn’t rescue her.
At that very instant, she almost lost her grip on the branch.
“No problem,” Hardin answered. “You can talk to him later this morning at my office. Say ten o’clock?”
“Make it nine. I’ll be there,” Wyatt tossed over his shoulder as he stalked quickly over to the shallow hole.
He bent and scooped Nina up with one arm, grunting quietly. She was more solid than she looked. And her breasts were soft and firm against his forearm.
“Ack!” she squawked as he plopped her down a couple of feet away, on solid ground. “What? You!”
Classified Cowboy Page 4
