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C HAPTER T HIRTEEN

O n Sunday morning, Sam drove into town for the ten o’clock service at First Community Church. He’d never been much of a churchgoer, but he was hoping to speak to the reverend about Ethel Grishman. Showing up for the meeting would be his best chance.

Arriving early, he took a seat in the back pew, where he could see the people who came in. Most of them were strangers, although he recognized a few he’d seen in town. Some had already taken their seats. Sam studied them from behind. One woman with her graying hair pulled into a bun looked vaguely familiar. At first, he couldn’t place her. Only when she turned her head, giving him a view of her profile, did he recognize Rachel McKenna, Roper’s mother.

For now, he abandoned his intent to meet with the reverend. That could wait. Questioning Rachel about her son could be the key to wrapping up this murder case.

Did Rachel know that Roper was the target of his investigation? Sam would bet against it. Even if Roper knew, it wouldn’t be like him to tell his mother. He wouldn’t want her to worry.

Sam wasn’t about to tell her either. He just wanted her to relax and talk to him. If he could get her to admit that Roper might’ve left the house the night of Frank’s murder, that would be pay dirt.

The service began with an opening hymn that Sam didn’t recognize. The sermon, delivered in a droning voice by the middle-aged minister, was mostly lost on Sam because his mind was racing ahead to the hoped-for encounter with Rachel. How would he approach her? How could he question her in a way that would encourage her to talk about her son?

What he planned to do wasn’t kind, but getting information from family members was part of his job. He’d long since learned to steel himself against any twinge of guilt. But the guilt was there, below the surface. Maybe that was why, when the collection plate was passed, he laid down a $20 bill.

After the closing prayer, the parishioners rose and began to file out of the chapel. Sam kept his eyes on Rachel. As she passed him on the way out, he fell into step behind her.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he remarked as they cleared the front steps of the church.

Rachel turned to look at him, one eyebrow shifting upward. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as Sam. Roper may have gotten his height from her. “I didn’t know you were a God-fearing man, Agent Rafferty,” she said.

“Calling me that is probably a stretch.” Sam adjusted his stride to hers. “I don’t usually have time for church. But today I just needed a bit of spiritual refreshment.”

“Since you’re still around, I take it you’re still looking for Frank’s killer,” she said. “How is that coming along?”

“Not as well as I’d hoped. I’ve been going over my notes, looking for something I may have missed. And I’ve been following up with people I interviewed earlier. But I seem to have hit a dead end. That’s why I’m especially glad to see you this morning. I hope you don’t mind answering a few questions—just to help me tie up some loose ends.”

Her expression was distrustful. Maybe he’d come on too strong. He could have already struck out with her. “I won’t keep you long,” he said. “I just need to verify some things I’ve already been told.”

Her mouth tightened, the lips narrow and bare of makeup. “You can walk me to my car,” she said. “But I can’t talk long. I need to get home and start dinner.”

“Is your family at home?”

“The younger ones are gone. They’ll be back tonight. If I make ham and beans, I can warm everything up when they get home.” She began walking toward the curb, where the cars were lined up in front of the church. As Sam fell into step beside her, he recognized the older sedan he’d seen in the McKennas’ yard.

“I need to verify the alibis of the people in your family,” he said. “It’s just procedure.”

“That’s easy enough,” she said. “Cheyenne and the boys were on the road. Kirby and I were in bed. And Roper was home, too.”

“In my notes, I have something about Roper getting up to chase a skunk off the porch. Do you remember that?”

She nodded. “The dog barking woke me up. I’m a light sleeper. Not like Kirby—an earthquake wouldn’t wake him. I called to Roper in the next room. A couple of minutes later he came back in and said the dog had been barking at a skunk. He’d chased the skunk away and put the dog in the barn so he wouldn’t go after it.”

“What time was that?”

“After midnight. I didn’t look at the clock, but it was still dark.”

“You say you got up. Was that when you heard the dog or later?”

“It was right after I heard the dog. I put on my robe and waited for Roper in the kitchen.”

“When Roper came inside, did you see what he was wearing?”

Rachel shook her head. “Neither of us turned on the light. No need. But I could hear his boots on the floor. He would’ve put them on before he went outside. It’s not safe to walk around barefoot in the dark. Anything could be out there—stickers, scorpions, maybe even a rattler.”

“You say you heard him outside. Did you hear anything earlier, like the sound of a vehicle?”

They had reached her car. She stopped and turned to face Sam. Her eyes were slits of anger. “That’s enough. If you think my son would kill Frank, you’re dead wrong. Roper’s a good man. I raised him by the holy book. He’s honest to the bone. He loves his work, and most of what he earns goes to help our family. You keep coming back to that skunk story. I could see skunk tracks the next morning. The dog was shut in the barn, just like Roper said.”

She fished her keys out of her purse and opened the car door. “Our family never did think much of the Culhanes—Frank and that fancy-pants wife of his, with their big house and their cars and their money. But the McKennas are God-fearing people, and murder is a sin. If you want to find out who killed Frank, maybe you should look closer to home.”

With that, she climbed into the car, slammed the door, and started the engine. Sam stood looking after her as she drove away. She’d put up a passionate defense of her son. Had she protested too much? That remained to be seen. The story of the skunk sounded plausible, but Sam didn’t know enough about skunks to judge.

Still, Rachel’s account had left some openings. Evidently, she hadn’t heard Roper go outside. So he could have gone out earlier and awakened the dog when he came home. The skunk story could have been real or a fabrication.

Also, she said she hadn’t seen what Roper was wearing. If he’d been fully dressed, that would argue for his having gone to the Culhane place, killed Frank, and returned.

How much did Rachel know? How much was she hiding?

Only one person could give him more answers—Roper McKenna.

When he got back to the ranch, he would find a time to corner Roper and ask some probing questions. Meanwhile, he would put that issue on the back burner while he spoke with the reverend about the death of Ethel Grishman.

* * *

After working with Fire Dance and Milly for most of the afternoon, Roper decided to take a break and go home for supper. He was tired and hungry. Besides, Cheyenne and the two boys were due back this evening. He looked forward to hearing about the rodeo and talking with Cheyenne about her future plans. Rowdy, still on bail awaiting trial, would be sulking as usual. Roper could only hope the young man had learned his lesson. So far, that didn’t seem to have happened. Rowdy was surly and defiant, insisting that the lawyer he’d hired would get him off and then he’d be free to do whatever he wanted.

By now, the workers had gone. Roper was about to leave the arena, thinking he might come back after the meal and spend more time with One in a Million, when his eyes caught a movement in the shadows near the entrance. His pulse leaped with the hope that it might be Lila. But the tall figure stepping into the light was Sam Rafferty.

Roper’s nerves clenched. Lila had already told him that the agent had zeroed in on him as Frank’s most likely murderer. Was Sam planning to spring a trap on him? Whatever was about to happen, Roper would need to be prepared.

Stopping in the middle of the arena, he waited for Sam to come to him. The agent crossed in the fading light, his shadow falling long across the trampled floor.

Roper kept his silence until the two were within speaking distance. “Is there something I can do for you, Sam?” he asked.

“This won’t take long,” Sam said. “I just want to clarify some things your mother told me earlier. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Right here is good enough for me,” Roper said. “For starters, I’ll answer one question before you ask. Whatever you might be thinking, I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill Frank.”

“Then you won’t mind accounting for your time on the night in question.” Sam kept his gaze level and his voice flat, like a TV cop. Roper had once viewed him as a friend. He should have known better.

“Go on,” Roper said. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Fine. Where were you between midnight and four a.m.?”

“At home. Mostly asleep. My parents vouched for that. They were in the next room. Nobody had a reason to leave the property.”

“Your mother mentioned that you were outside.”

“I was. I heard the dog barking in the night. We get coyotes, feral pigs, and skunks around the ranch. I pulled on my boots, grabbed the pistol I keep by the bed, and went out through the kitchen to see what it was.

“A skunk was on the back porch, eating the dog food. The dog was about to go after it. I grabbed the dog, hauled him to the barn, and shut him in.”

“And the skunk?”

“It ran off. I left the dog in the barn, took the food dish, and went back into the kitchen.”

“And your mother was in the kitchen when you came in?”

“Yes. She’d gotten up after I went outside. I told her about the skunk, and we both went back to bed. You know all this. Why go over it again?”

“I just need a few more details,” Sam said. “You say she didn’t hear you leave the house.”

“I can’t say what she heard. But she was up when I came back in.”

“Were there any lights on?”

“No. But the moon was up. That’s how I could see the skunk.”

“And in the kitchen? Was the light on?”

“No. I could’ve turned on the light, but I wasn’t dressed. I sleep in my skivvies. My mother’s a modest woman. It would’ve made her uncomfortable to see me like that.”

“You’re saying that when you heard the dog, you pulled on your boots and ran outside in your underwear.”

“I needed to stop the dog from tangling with whatever he was barking at. He’s an old dog. If I’d taken the time to get dressed, he could have been sprayed, bitten, or even killed.”

“So even if you’d been dressed, your mother wouldn’t have been able to see what you were wearing?”

“Probably not.” Roper’s patience had begun to fray. “What are you getting at? I told you I didn’t kill Frank. If you don’t believe me, just say so, and we’ll take it from there.”

Sam took a moment, as if to organize his thoughts. “I believe you killed Frank because he was standing in the way of what you wanted. As of now, I have no solid proof. You claim you didn’t kill him. But you could have left your ranch without being heard, killed Frank, then accidentally awakened the dog when you returned. The skunk story may have been true or invented to satisfy your mother.”

“But how would I have known Frank would be in the stable at that hour?”

“That’s an easy question. You could have called him about an emergency—maybe some trouble with the stallion. Or maybe you wanted to talk about your relationship with his wife. Any number of things could have gotten him there.”

Roper bit back a curse. “Anybody else could have done the same. I told you, I didn’t kill him.”

“That’s what you say. Only you can’t prove it—no more than I can prove you did kill him. But I’m on the trail of something that could change that. All I can tell you now is, don’t leave town. That would only make things worse for you.” Sam turned to go.

“Anything else, as long as you’re here?” Roper’s question was tinged with sarcasm.

“If you want to talk more, you know where to find me.” Sam walked out of the arena and disappeared into the twilight.

Roper stood alone in the darkening arena, waiting to make certain the agent had gone. Sam’s accusation had shaken him to the core. But that was something he couldn’t change. He could only hope that Sam would discover the truth for himself. Meanwhile, all he could do was focus on preparing the horses and himself to score high in the Run for a Million.

Even though, when the time comes, I might not be free to compete.

Roper was about to walk out and go home when something stirred in the shadows. His breath caught as he realized it was Lila. She paused for an instant, then flew across the distance that separated them and flung herself into his arms.

Roper caught her close. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest as he held her, breathing in the fragrance of her skin. He knew he should scold her for being here. But right now he needed her, more than he’d ever imagined he could need anyone.

“You heard?” he asked her.

“I followed him when he came out here. I heard everything.” She raised her head for his kiss. Her lips clung to his, warm and damp and passionate. He drank in her sweetness and her reckless courage.

“It doesn’t look good, Boss,” he said. “Sam needs to wrap up this case and find somebody to charge. He’s picked me as an easy target.”

“Then we’ll fight him!” Her arms tightened fiercely around him, her fingers gripping his back. “I’m here for you, Roper. I know you’re innocent. I’ll stand by you—with my lawyers if it comes to that.”

“We agreed not to be seen together,” he reminded her. “I might go down, but I’ll be damned if I’m taking you with me. You know what people will say—with Frank gone just a few weeks and me a suspect in his murder.”

“They’re already saying it—and the ones who are talking were never my friends. I don’t care.”

“But you will care. Don’t be a fool, Boss. I love you too much to drag you into this mess.”

She gazed up at him, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Say that again.”

He sighed, surrendering. “I love you, Lila. God help me, if things were different, I’d give anything for what we might’ve had. But I’ve got to face this alone. I’d rather go to jail than see you hurt by the vicious things people would say—not just behind your back but to your face.”

She touched a finger to his lips. “Enough. We can’t know what lies ahead. The future will have to take care of itself. Just kiss me, Roper. Just love me. For now.”

Straining upward, she pressed her eager mouth to his. Roper tasted the saltiness of summer sweat and fresh tears. Deepening the kiss, he felt the heat going through him, igniting the hunger that had been simmering in him since their first meeting. And he felt the ache of knowing that he had nothing to offer her—no promises, no security, no future. All he could give her was his love.

Taking her hand, he led her out of the arena, back toward the stable wing. Silent and trusting, she let him guide her. Roper knew that possessing her, with all her passion, wouldn’t be enough. He wanted her to be his. But more than that, he wanted to be completely hers, to give her love and pleasure as if this might be the last time.

The stable was silent except for the chuffing and nickering of horses and the low murmur of the ventilation fans. The security lights, which had come on at dusk, glowed softly above the corridor.

The vacant stall, prepared for the next new horse, had been scrubbed, the floor layered with fresh straw. A clean blanket hung over one side. Roper spread the blanket over the straw. Something prompted him to apologize for bringing her to such a place. But when Lila pulled him close and melted against him, he forgot about everything except wanting to make love to this woman.

Their first time together, in the sprinkler shed, had been frantic, with clothes yanked aside and bodies jammed against the wall. This time would be different.

Kissing her, he unfastened the front of her blouse, sliding each button through its silken hole until the garment fell free and slid to the floor. The lacy bra fastened in front, held by a tiny clasp. She undid it herself with a mysterious flick of her fingers, freeing her breasts. Roper lowered her gently to the blanket and moved to kneel over her.

Bare above the hips, she lay in the soft glow of the security light. She had a mature woman’s body. The slight sag of her breasts and the faded stretch marks from the long-ago birth of her daughter made her even more beautiful to Roper than she might have been as a young girl. She gazed up at him, her eyes soft with desire, with need, and with love.

He buried his face between her breasts, burrowing into their softness, inhaling the heavenly womanly fragrance of her skin. Her breath caught as he found a nipple and sucked it into his mouth. Her flesh hardened against his tongue, her body arching upward to deepen the sensations.

Roper’s arousal threatened to burst through his jeans, but he willed himself to make the pleasure last. She whispered his name, twisting and thrusting beneath him as he unfastened her slacks.

“Please, I’m . . .” The words trailed off as he bent to work her slacks off her feet and ease his way between her legs. His tongue caressed the moist honey folds and the sensitive nub in their center. She gasped. Shudders passed through her body as she came, then came again. Breaking the intense contact, she reached down, pulled open his belt buckle, and tugged down the zipper. He gasped as her seeking fingers found him. His jeans came down. After taking an instant to protect her, he entered with a gliding thrust.

He was home.

Moist, warm, and welcoming, she cradled him as he moved inside her. She met his every thrust, pulling him deeper into the sweet, dark mystery of her body. He felt her giving everything she had to give, and he gave in return—in desire, in passion, in bittersweet joy as the sensations swirled, mounted, and burst.

As they lay spent in each other’s arms, he felt the wetness of tears on her face. He knew what she must be thinking. He feared it too. He was innocent, but with so much circumstantial evidence against him, he could be arrested as soon as tomorrow. Any hope for the future would be gone as if it had never existed.

* * *

Sam had seen Lila enter the arena after him and slip into the shadows. Later, when she didn’t come out, it was easy enough to guess what was happening. Let it happen , he told himself. He already knew that Lila and Roper were lovers. Sam’s focus now was on proving that Roper had killed Frank Culhane. If he could establish that, the only remaining question was whether Lila might have helped him.

What if Simone’s wild claims about the pair had been spot-on?

He settled into the chair on the porch of the bungalow. The air was cooler after the torrid heat of the day. A light breeze whispered through the oleanders that bordered the driveway. A train whistle echoed through the distant darkness. Bittersweet memories of Jasmine in his arms and in his bed tormented his thoughts. What if their forced separation had changed her mind about him? What if he’d already lost her?

But brooding over a woman wouldn’t helping him wrap up his case here. He had a solid lead. But he needed to follow through with evidence that would hold up in court.

The construction noise from Charlie’s ranch had ceased for the night. Would Charlie be getting ready to hunt that wretched elephant? Sam listened for vehicles and scanned the distance for lights. But there were no signs of activity. Ending the man’s cruelty was not in Sam’s job description. But if there was a way to stop him, Sam couldn’t walk away—especially when it would mean so much to Jasmine.

His conversation at the church, after Rachel’s departure, hadn’t given Sam all that he’d hoped for. But he had learned something new. The reverend had mentioned that Ethel Grishman had been in good health for most of the time he’d known her. A few weeks before her death, she’d stopped coming to church.

Concerned, the reverend had finally called the ranch. He’d reached Charlie, who told him his grandmother was resting and couldn’t talk on the phone now. In the background, the reverend could hear a woman’s voice, which seemed to be calling for help. When asked, Charlie said it was only the TV, which Ethel turned up loud because she was hard of hearing.

Charlie had ended the call, saying he needed to go. The reverend hadn’t called back, but he’d had an uneasy feeling about the situation. A few days later, he heard that Ethel had died. Charlie had declined his offer to conduct a funeral service. Ethel hadn’t wanted one, he’d said. She’d already been buried on the ranch.

“About that feeling I had,” the reverend had told Sam. “I think the good Lord was trying to tell me something. Sadly, I didn’t listen. I may have to answer for that when I meet Ethel in the hereafter.”

Had Charlie murdered his grandmother to get his hands on the ranch? The reverend’s story sounded plausible. But again, the woman’s voice he’d heard might have really been the TV. Charlie could have declined an autopsy because it was inconvenient, or because he didn’t want to subject the body to the indignities of cutting and opening. There was no proof of how the good woman had died.

But if Charlie had killed Ethel, and Frank somehow knew about it, that could throw a whole new light on Frank’s murder.

Why couldn’t things be simple for once? But Sam knew better than to ask that question. He also knew that he mustn’t be blindsided by his need to close this case.

A mosquito settled on Sam’s arm long enough to sample his blood. Sam flattened the pesky insect with a slap, but another one was buzzing around his ears. With a muttered curse, he rose, walked back inside, and closed the door behind him.

The air inside the bungalow was warm and stale. Sam was about to turn on a fan when his phone rang. The caller was Nick.

“Is everything all right, Nick?” Sam’s first concern was for his boss’s health.

“If you’re asking about me, everything’s on track. No need to fuss.” Nick sounded tired. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Complications around every corner. But my money’s still on Roper McKenna. All I need is solid proof.”

“Then I might have some good news for you,” Nick said. “I asked the folks in the lab to take a closer look at that syringe from the creek. Still no prints, but they did find a trace of blood in the needle. There wasn’t enough of it to run a DNA test, but the B-negative blood type is the same type as Frank’s. It’s rare enough that I’d say we can assume our syringe is the murder weapon. Now, if our techs can trace the serial number, then track where it came from and who bought it, the search could give us the evidence we need.”

After the call ended, Sam walked back outside. Ignoring the mosquitoes, he gazed toward the horizon, where the moon was rising above the distant hills. If Nick was right, he could be making an arrest in days. He should be excited, even elated. But his instincts told him that something was missing from the picture—something he should have noticed earlier.

What was it?

What the hell was it?