The Cowboy's Deadly Mission. Addison Fox

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      “You think someone was murdered here?” All notes of belligerence faded from Tate’s voice, replaced by sheer disbelief. He sat down hard on the open gate of Ace’s truck, the slapping of the thick work gloves he carried beating a steady tattoo against his leg. “On our property?”

      Belle wanted to go to him. In a moment that should be about comfort, all her presence did was cause more pain. But she held her ground. Whatever Tate felt, it was nothing compared to the terror and horror the victim would have felt.

      “The amount of blood and the apparent pattern suggests that someone, if not dead, is in bad shape. We need to get this area cordoned off and the lab out here and we need to do our best to find them. Fast.”

      Ace nodded at her words before stepping back. “Do what you need to do.”

      She eyed Tate, banishing her emotions to a place she rarely visited. “I still need to question you but your reputation in the community works in your favor.”

      “Thanks.” His response was drier than land in a drought—a surprising match for the bleak disappointment in her chest.

      She was a cop. A good one. But she never expected something like this would blight Reynolds land. Or would come so close to people she cared about.

      * * *

      Three hours later, Belle finally found a moment to sit in her SUV and sip a cup of coffee from her thermos. The morning had unfurled pretty much as she expected—with half of the Midnight Pass police force descending on Reynolds Station.

      The chief had arrived within fifteen minutes of Julio’s call into the precinct. His arrival was followed shortly thereafter by several of her fellow officers and then two of the Feds assigned to the Pass. Their jurisdiction was drug and human trafficking, but until they knew what they were dealing with, the Chief had decided to play nice and proactively bring them in.

      Not for the first time, Belle considered Chief Hayes Corden. A big man, he’d worked in both Houston and Dallas in the early days of his career before coming to the Pass in his midforties. He’d been their chief for the past ten years and he ran a tight ship. He respected his cops. He let them do their work. And he played well with the Feds, who spent an increasing amount of time focused on the border.

      It had chafed at first, these interlopers who believed they knew better than the locals. She’d complained about them over beers with her fellow officers and shot them the stink eye whenever she could. And then Belle had gotten fully enmeshed in the work that needed to get done in the Pass and had finally accepted the fact that their help went a long way.

      When had things changed so much?

      She’d lived in Midnight Pass her whole life and couldn’t imagine making her home anywhere else. But recently, she had to admit to herself, things had begun to seem overwhelming.

      And now they might have to add murder to the growing list of sins?

      She was a cop—she knew people made bad choices—and they’d dealt with homicides before. But something about this seemed different. Darker.

      It was a sense more than a confirmed fact, but something about the blood spatter on the ground—and Julio’s somber features—had her instincts quivering.

      In addition to the blood and cut fence, there were those weird depressions in the earth. The more she turned it over in her mind, the more those disparate facts didn’t sit well with her. What made the depressions?

      A bag full of drugs? Or full of something else? Tools to commit murder?

      The tap on her window had her turning toward the chief. His large frame towered over the top of the car and she quickly climbed out, not wanting to seem as if she were slacking on the job.

      “Chief Corden.”

      “Officer.” The chief nodded, his dark eyes warm. “No rush. You took an early call on this. You’re entitled to a cup of coffee.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      “What are your impressions?”

      Relaxing under the kind words, she focused on the scene that spread out before them. To the untrained eye, it looked as if people ebbed and flowed over the land like mindless ants, but like those same ants, there was an underlying symphony to their movements.

      Photos of the crime scene. Forensics samples. And as of five minutes ago, a couple of K-9 handlers from El Paso to fan out over the surrounding land. Each person on-site had a job to do and they were hard at work in trying to both secure the scene and find usable information.

      “The Reynolds family has been cooperative. They’re more than willing to let us interview their employees.”

      “You think this was an inside job?”

      “It’s too early to tell, but it can’t be ruled out.”

      “First impressions?” Chief Corden’s gaze roamed the crime scene and beyond.

      “Initially, I suspected drugs. The depression I pointed out to Julio suggested a drop and we know the Pass has seen its fair share of trafficking.”

      “And now?”

      “The blood, sir—” She broke off, hesitating. “It’s concerning.”

      “Drug deal gone bad?”

      The chief’s question was a fair one, his tone level as he asked the question. Yet even she knew there was more that lay beneath.

      “It’s easy. Neat.”

      “But?”

      She turned to the chief. “Except it’s too easy.”

      “How?”

      “There’s more than enough violence in the warring drug cartels. We know that. But to commit violence like that at a drop point? It’s messy.”

      “What else?”

      “Drug traffickers want to get in and out. This property and any others they use are a means to an end. No one’s looking to spend time here and risk getting caught.”

      “Random violence happens.”

      “Yes, it does.”

      Once again, Belle struggled to explain why her gut churned so hard on this one. Yet for reasons she couldn’t fully define, ever since Julio pointed out the blood, she’d had a deeper, darker sense that something evil happened here.

      Something worse than the drugs. Worse than the greed.

      “Heard you and Julio questioned a few of the Reynolds boys this morning. Tate Reynolds in particular. Do we need to keep an eye there?”

      Annabelle nearly bobbled what was left of her coffee. “No, sir. I don’t think—”

      The chief raised a hand, effectively quieting her alarm. “I’m not questioning how you do your job, Detective Granger. Is Mr. Reynolds a person of interest?”

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