Page 4

Outside, the wind was stronger than she’d expected. She grimaced and eased carefully down the steps in deference to the slippery conditions. The tracks in the snow were definitely human shoe prints. Big—probably male. They didn’t come up the steps to the back door. Instead, they went to the pair of side-by-side windows that looked into the kitchen. The trampled snow in the area suggested the trespasser had lingered at the windows for a bit.

What the hell now? She’d had way more than her share of snooping reporters and other lookie-loos over the past few months already. Enough was enough.

Irritation flaring, Vera stepped back inside and grabbed her father’s shotgun from behind the door. Then she followed the tracks. The cold seeped through her coat and into her bones far more quickly than she had expected as she trudged along. The temperature wasn’t as low as it could be, but the wind gave the cold a sharp bite.

The tracks passed the potting shed and well house without veering off and led straight toward the barn. She was out of breath by the time she opened the double doors of the big old structure. Though she had restarted her workouts a few months ago, trudging through the snow and cold was a little tougher than a typical run on the treadmill.

No tire tracks that she could see. Evidently, the trespasser had parked at the road and snaked his way through the woods and into the barn on foot, then walked to the house. Unless he had arrived before the snow, then waited. If that were the case, maybe the tracks were a message. She’d been sent a few since her return. You didn’t help bring down bad guys without making an enemy or two along the way.

Vera flipped the switch for the lights inside the barn. With the fixtures hung so close to the cavernous ceiling, the combined glow still left far too many shadows. Not to mention that the array of farm equipment and other junk provided way too many spots for hiding. She braced the butt of the shotgun against her shoulder, held the barrel at the ready, and performed a walk-through. She didn’t really expect whoever had been here to still be in the barn, but the question was, had he taken anything?

Or left something?

She would prefer the former to the latter. Better a thief than someone setting a trap.

She looked through each stall, the tack room, and the larger side of the space, which had once housed cows and horses but now served as storage. Her search revealed nothing out of place. She stared upwardfor a moment before walking to the ladder that ascended to the loft. She climbed it slowly, considering the shotgun she carried. Once her head was higher than the floor, she scanned the space. A few bales of old hay but nothing else.

She climbed down. Settled one foot back on the ground, then the other.

A crash made her jump around to face the front.

It took a moment for her heart to calm and her brain to assimilate the realization that the wind had blown hard enough to send one of the doors slamming shut.

Damn. “You need more coffee, Vee.”

She shut off the lights, closed the remaining door, and headed back to the house. She stalled long enough to take a few pics of the tracks with her cell phone, zooming in to get the tread imprints.

On the back steps, she stamped her feet to rid her boots of the excess snow, then went inside. She locked the door and set the shotgun aside. She’d just gotten her coat hung up when the doorbell rang. Given the hour—not quite seven in the morning—and the snow, she was surprised to have a visitor.

Taking her time, she made her way to the front of the house and peered out a window to see who was on her porch.

Bent.

The usual trickle of heat rushed through her. It annoyed her immensely that even after all these months, she hadn’t gotten past that initial reaction each time she encountered him. It wasn’t like he was naked, or all dressed up. For God’s sake, he wore jeans—always. This morning he’d added a denim jacket with a sherpa lining over his usual Lincoln County Sheriff’s Department shirt. But she knew, damn it. She knew it was the cowboy hat and those well-loved boots that gave him that little extrasomething. Something she refused to define.

Maybe if she wasn’t so deep in denial about her physical needs ...

“Stow it, Vee,” she grumbled as she unlocked the door. She plastered on a big smile and opened it. “Morning, Sheriff. You’re out early.”

A smile stretched across his lips—slow, easy, as if he had all day. He removed his hat, like the gentleman he was, and gave her a nod. “Morning to you, Vee. You mind if I come in?”

“Sure.” She backed up, opened the door wider. Once he was inside, she closed out the cold air. “You up for some coffee?”

“Actually”—he held his hat in his hand and pinned her with the blue eyes that had always made her weak—“I need your help.”

So this was work. Okay. Good. “Let me get my coat.”

On the way to the kitchen, she grabbed her cell phone, tucked it into her back pocket, then pulled on her less-than-sexy boots and retrieved her coat. Like the boots, the down-filled lightweight jacket was a purchase she’d made after moving here. Also like her boots, it was black. She might not be fashionable, but at least she matched.

“What happened?” she asked, pulling on her coat as she walked back toward Bent.

“You been keeping up with the Time Thief case?”

“I have. Sort of. We talked about it that once.” There had been three disappearances so far.

“We have another one.”

She frowned, reached for the buttons of her coat. “You’re not calling in help from TBI?” He’d mentioned something to that effect before.