Dead Certain. Carla Cassidy

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      It was when they were searching the shed that Savannah’s cell phone rang and she answered to hear Breanna at the other end of the line.

      “It’s not good, Savannah,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “Dad received several severe blows to the back of his head. The doctor isn’t sure about the possibility of brain damage, and Dad is in a coma. What’s up there? Have they found Mom?”

      “No…nothing. They aren’t telling us anything, Bree.” For the first time the full awareness of the gravity of the situation hit Savannah.

      Their father was in a coma and their mother was missing. She sank down on a bale of hay, tears suddenly blurring her vision. “Bree, I’m coming to the hospital. There’s nothing I can do here. Glen won’t let us anywhere near the house. Maybe Dad will wake up and be able to tell us what happened.”

      “I’ll stay here,” Clay said a moment later after she’d hung up with Breanna and brother and sister were walking back toward the house.

      “Come with me to the hospital, Clay. Right now Dad needs us there.” She somehow felt it was important that they all be together, in the same place. She felt as if her family was slipping through her fingers and what she needed was to hang on tightly to them all.

      Clay raked a hand through his thick dark hair, uncertainty twisting his handsome features. He stared at the house, tension radiating from him, the same tension that whipped through her. “What in the hell happened here tonight?”

      “I don’t know, Clay.” She placed a hand on his muscular forearm. “But it’s obvious we’re out of the loop here at the moment. Come with me to the hospital. Right now we don’t know where Mom is, but we know that Dad needs us.” She was half-afraid that if he remained here he would do something to get himself thrown off the police force.

      “All right,” he replied. “I’ll just check in with the chief and I’ll meet you there.”

      As Savannah headed for her car, she noticed the crowd of neighbors and the curious had grown despite the fact that it was the middle of the night.

      She recognized the Marshalls, her parents’ nearest neighbors. Their house was some distance away, but they both stood by their car, worried expressions on their lined faces. Familiar faces everywhere, and they all seemed to be watching her as she made her way to her car.

      She stopped to talk to nobody, having nothing to say, no way to assure anyone of anything. She got into her car and started the engine and that’s when she noticed him…a stranger on the edge of the crowd.

      He stood taller than most of the rest of the people, and his gaze was fixed on the house. With a cop’s training, she took in his appearance before backing out of the driveway.

      He was good-looking, with dark-brown hair and facial features that radiated intensity. People stood in front of him, making it impossible for her to see his build. A traveler who’d seen the lights and action, she thought as she pulled away from the ranch.

      Or a perpetrator watching the aftermath of his actions, her seasoned cop brain thought. She knew it was not unusual for the criminal to watch the unfolding drama, to even become involved in the investigation of the crime they committed.

      Surely one of the officers would take names and question the people who had arrived to see what was going on. It was standard procedure.

      Besides, she couldn’t think about the investigation. Despite the fact that her years as a homicide detective had seasoned her to maintain a certain amount of emotional distance, her training and experience seemed to have left her the moment she’d pulled up to the house.

      As she sped toward the hospital, she desperately sought that emotional distance, but her hands trembled and her chest felt heavy and a sickness she’d never felt before permeated every pore of her body.

      Where was her mother? Was her father going to be all right? What on earth had happened? She stepped on the gas pedal, fear consuming her from the inside out.

      Riley Frazier stood staring at the house where the bright-yellow tape contrasted with the beige house paint and hunter-green shutters and trim. The sight brought back painful memories of another crime at another house years before. As he stared at the house, snatches of conversation drifted toward him.

      “…can’t find Rita.”

      “…heard his head was bashed in.”

      “…you know they fight a lot…”

      He listened with interest as the people around him speculated on what had happened to Rita and Thomas James. He wouldn’t draw any conclusions until he heard the official word on what had happened at the sprawling, attractive ranch house.

      It was possible he was here on yet another wild-goose chase. Certainly over the past two years he’d been on many. But when he’d heard the initial report of what was going on from a reporter friend in Cherokee Corners, he’d left his home in Sycamore Ridge and driven like a bat out of hell to get here.

      It was possible what he was watching was the investigation of a domestic dispute gone bad, or a botched robbery attempt. It was possible it had nothing to do with what had happened to his parents two years ago.

      The overbright floodlights, the swirling cherry police lights and the yellow crime-scene tape brought back nightmarish memories. The sight of his father’s dead body sprawled in the middle of the living room floor still haunted him…along with all the questions the crime had produced.

      That’s why he was here, looking for answers to a crime nobody cared about anymore but him. This might be a wild-goose chase, but in the past two years his life had become a series of wild-goose chases.

      His information had told him that there were three James siblings, and he suspected he’d driven up in time to see the three huddled together with the chief of police. The man and two women he’d seen had looked like siblings.

      All had been of Native American heritage, with rich black hair and finely sculptured features. His source had even given him their names—Clay, Breanna and Savannah—and told him that each of them worked in some aspect of law enforcement.

      He’d watched as one of the women and a man had left together. Then had watched as the second woman left. Finally the man he thought was Clay James got into a car and took off as well.

      Riley suspected they were probably headed to the hospital where their father had been taken. He waited around until the police began to attempt to disperse the crowd and he saw the police chief leave, then he got into his car and headed into the small city of Cherokee Corners.

      The quickest way to find out what had happened at the James ranch was to speak to one of the children. It was too late for any of the details to get into the morning paper, and the police wouldn’t be talking to anyone until they spoke to the family members.

      He had a feeling if he wanted information, the hospital would be the place to get it. He didn’t want speculation and rumor. He wanted facts, and he had a feeling the only way to get facts sooner rather than later was to go introduce himself to the James siblings.

      The nightmare continued. Savannah sat in the hospital waiting room wondering when they would have some answers, when any of this would make sense.

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