Page 11 of Killer on the Homestead (Bent County Protectors #2)

Her knuckles got even whiter as she drove.

Rosalie still hadn’t decided how to handle Duncan. She figured the flirting was just for fun, or maybe even just part of his personality. Normally, that sort of thing didn’t bother her any because it was usually her MO.

But something about Duncan really scrambled things up. Or maybe it was the murder , which he should care more about than scrambling her up.

Of course, she’d seen the way he’d looked at his parents. So full of worry. She saw the way the last several days hung on him, almost as much as it hung on his dad. Their color was off, and they both managed to look…gaunt.

Maybe that was the scramble. She didn’t know this guy, not on any deeper level, but she saw things she recognized in him.

And she didn’t like it. Any more than she liked his big frame taking up space in her truck. Or that pinched look on his face when they hit a bump and his arm in the sling bounced a little and clearly hurt him.

Or the fact it made her drive slower.

She pulled to a stop in the parking lot at the sheriff’s department, then led Duncan inside.

She waved at the admin at the front desk, didn’t bother to sign in because she knew Vicky wouldn’t say anything to anyone about it, and made a beeline for the detective’s office.

Copeland wasn’t in it, and neither was the third Bent County detective, Laurel Delaney-Carson, but Hart was.

“Hart. How’s it going?” Rosalie greeted, gesturing Duncan to follow her into the room.

“Going,” the guy grumbled before glancing up. His gaze stopped on Duncan, clear recognition sweeping over him, but he didn’t linger. He moved his eyes back to Rosalie. “Something I can do for you?”

“No, came to bother Copeland. Hart, this is Duncan Kirk. His parents own the ranch where the murder was. Duncan, Thomas Hart is a detective when he’s not waylaid. Hey, look at that, you guys practically match.” She pointed to both their slings when Thomas stood in greeting.

“I’d shake your hand, but as Rosalie so helpfully pointed out, I’m a bit stuck as of yet,” Thomas said wryly.

“You’re both old. You probably went to high school together,” Rosalie offered, earning her scathing looks from both men. She smiled sweetly.

“I don’t think we did. At least we didn’t run in the same circles,” Thomas said. “But it’s nice to meet you, Duncan. Big fan.”

“I don’t suppose you blew your arm out throwing a ball,” Duncan offered with some humor.

Hart smiled kindly. “Not quite.”

“He got shot saving his wife’s life,” Rosalie said, because she knew somehow it would make them both uncomfortable. “Real hero stuff, our Thomas.”

Before the conversation could continue, Copeland stormed into the office. His eyes were narrowed, and Rosalie figured he thought she was pumping Thomas for info. As if she’d do that here. She’d visit Vi if she wanted to secretly hound Thomas.

“I’m not giving you—either of you—any information you don’t already have,” Copeland said, pointing at Rosalie, then Duncan.

When Rosalie looked over at Hart, Copeland immediately stepped in her line of sight. “And none of that. You can’t use your cousin’s connection to Hart as some sort of leverage.”

“Sure I can,” Rosalie replied good-naturedly. “Vi marrying Thomas has been quite the boon for my business.”

Copeland looked disgustedly at Hart, who shrugged. “I tell my wife everything. Don’t plan to stop. Maybe you need yourself a wife, Cope.”

“I’ll chew my own arm off first,” he muttered, returning his annoyed gaze to Rosalie. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“Maybe I have something for you .” She didn’t, of course, but he might slip up if he thought she did.

Copeland opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but his eyes narrowed. He studied her. “You don’t.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Guess you’ll never know.”

His suspicious gaze turned to Duncan. “She doesn’t.”

But Duncan, clearly in the spirit of messing with Copeland, just shrugged.

“You don’t have a lead on the murder weapon,” Rosalie said, wanting to poke at him until he gave something up. Since she really didn’t have a gosh darn lead at the moment.

Copeland didn’t react. So she kept poking.

“You don’t have a hint of a suspect,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers. “You don’t even know where to start looking for one.”

“The victim was messed up with some dangerous stuff back in North Dakota,” Copeland growled. “The most likely answer is something from his past caught up with him. We’re looking into it. Along with all other leads that have been brought to us, including a rash of missing cattle.”

But she saw it, in Copeland’s thinly veiled frustration. In that blank way he delivered the information. He wasn’t hiding anything.

“You really have nothing.”

“We’re investigating,” he said stiffly.

But Rosalie felt deflated instead of victorious. She’d been certain Copeland would have caught wind of something she hadn’t. He had more resources than she did, even if she could bend the rules a little bit.

And if he had all those resources, all these detectives , and he had nothing… It made her chest tighten. Like she was failing everyone.

She whirled out of the office and started marching back outside. It was just a setback. The cops had nothing, which meant she had to find something. She had to.

“It seems like my dad was right,” Duncan said, following along easily enough.

“About what?”

“Some city detective doesn’t belong here. No leads? What the hell is this?”

He didn’t sound mad, but the take was an interesting one. She didn’t blame Copeland’s background on no leads, but… “You just moved back after living the high life in LA and you think you know more than a detective?”

“No, but I grew up here. I know ranching. That Detective Beckett probably doesn’t know a bull from a cow. How would he know if anything Hunter was mixed up in had something to do with the ranch?”

Rosalie considered that. She didn’t fully agree, but there were little true points hidden in his not fully correct one.

And the thing was, Thomas might be from Bent, even Detective Delaney-Carson was from here, but they weren’t ranchers.

They might have an idea about things just from proximity, but they didn’t have the full picture.

“You’re right,” she said, everything clicking into her head in the way she liked. In the way that prompted action, so she could follow one tiny little clue to the next.

“I am? Hey, say that again. I get the feeling I’m going to want to live off that admission for the next five years.”

She ignored him, focused on the point . “They’re detectives. They’re not ranchers. Hart might be from here, but there’s no ranching blood there. But me? I’m both. Sort of. Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to your place, Ace.”

She had a plan.