Wrangled. B.J. Daniels

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СКАЧАТЬ could just make out the phone in the shadowy darkness under the bed—and what was left of the lamp that had been on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. The lamp lay shattered between the bed and the closet.

      Refusing to think about that right now, he reached for Courtney’s phone.

      It wasn’t until he pulled it out and heard Dakota gasp that he noticed the cell phone was smeared with something dark red. Blood.

      He dropped the phone on the bed, realizing belatedly that he should never have touched it. He had a bad feeling it would be evidence—against him.

      As he turned, Dakota took a step back from him. The frightened look in her eyes hit him like a blow. There were tears in her eyes; the look on her face was breaking his heart.

      “I didn’t harm your sister. Dakota, you know me.”

      “I knew you, Zane, but that was a long time ago.”

      “Not so long. I haven’t changed. Drunk or sober, I would never hurt a woman. You have to believe me.” But how could he keep telling himself that nothing bad had happened last night when the evidence just kept stacking up?

      They both turned toward the front of the house as they heard a vehicle pull up. Zane moved quickly to look out, hoping it would be Courtney and he could get this cleared up and relieve his mind.

      But it wasn’t Courtney’s lime-green compact with the MSU plates.

      It was a Whitehorse County Sheriff’s Department patrol SUV.

      “MRS. CROWLEY,” EMMA cried when she saw the woman’s bandaged hand.

      “It’s nothing.”

      “Oh, here, let me see it.” She reached for the woman’s hand.

      “I said it was nothing,” Mrs. Crowley said, taking a step back and drawing her hand behind her. Her face had closed up, her one good eye glinting as hard as the tone of her voice.

      Emma fell silent. She’d held out hope that she would like the woman Hoyt had hired as her housekeeper-babysitter. Being close in age, she’d thought they might have things in common.

      But every time she had reached out to Mrs. Crowley, offering her friendship, it had been quickly rebuffed.

      “Just let me do my work,” the woman said now. Her wrecked face caught the light; the burn scars looked angrier today than usual.

      Unlike Hoyt, Emma made a point of looking Mrs. Crowley in the eye. She refused to be put off by her injuries—or her manner.

      Hoyt just steered clear of the woman and often apologized for hiring her.

      “She’s fine,” Emma always said in Mrs. Crowley’s defense. She suspected that the woman had trouble getting other positions and couldn’t afford to lose this job. Hoyt paid her well and the living accommodations were probably nicer than any she’d had before. Not that Emma’s kindness or the house or the pay had softened Mrs. Crowley in the least.

      “Whatever happened to her has made her push people away,” Emma told her husband. “We just need to keep trying to make her feel at home here.”

      Hoyt had been skeptical. “You probably pick up stray dogs, too, don’t you? Honey, this time I don’t think even you can make that woman civil—let alone happy.”

      Emma couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Mrs. Crowley that made her like this. She suspected it was more than whatever accident she’d had that had left her disfigured. But Emma doubted she would ever know. It wasn’t like Mrs. Crowley was going to tell her anytime soon.

      “DID YOU CALL THE SHERIFF?” Zane asked without looking at her as Dakota joined him at the window.

      “No.” With a sinking feeling, Dakota watched Sheriff McCall Crawford climb awkwardly out of the patrol vehicle. Dakota saw that the sheriff was pregnant, a good seven or eight months along.

      “Maybe Courtney called her, or—”

      Or Courtney had been found. Dakota didn’t let him finish that thought. “Courtney wouldn’t have called the sheriff.” If her sister had had any intention of calling the sheriff, wouldn’t Courtney have done so last night instead of calling her?

      Whatever Courtney was up to, Dakota suspected the sheriff was the last person she wanted involved.

      “Well, if you didn’t call her, and Courtney didn’t …” Zane let the thought hang between them.

      Dakota glanced over at him, saw his freshly scratched face in the glow of the afternoon sun coming through the window and could guess what was about to happen.

      Once the sheriff saw the scratches, she wouldn’t need to hear about the phone conversation Dakota’d had with Courtney in the wee hours this morning. Nor would the sheriff need to see the bloody phone from under Zane’s bed before hauling him off to jail.

      Common sense told Dakota, given the evidence, jail was probably the best place for him. But not if she had any hope of him helping her find her sister.

      “Here’s what I want you to do,” she said as the sheriff’s footfalls echoed on the old wooden porch. “Go in the bathroom and stay there. Let me handle this.”

      Zane shook his head as the sheriff knocked at the front door. “If you think I’m going to hide behind your skirts—”

      “What you’re going to do is help me find Courtney, and you can’t very well do that behind bars,” Dakota said through gritted teeth as the sheriff knocked again. “Turn on the shower. There’s something I haven’t told you about Courtney. Now trust me.”

      She shot him an impatient look and waited until he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door before she went to answer the sheriff’s third knock.

      AS THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, Sheriff McCall Crawford couldn’t help her surprise.

      “Dakota Lansing?” McCall said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She’d been several years ahead of Dakota and they’d gone to different schools—McCall in Whitehorse, while Dakota had gone to Chinook—but they’d crossed paths because of sports.

      “I’ve been living in New Mexico. I only recently returned. For my father’s funeral,” she added.

      “Yes, I heard. I’m sorry.” The sheriff looked past her. “Is Zane around, by any chance?”

      “He’s in the shower, but you’re welcome to come in.” She stepped back and McCall entered the house. “He’s getting ready so we can go out for dinner.”

      McCall glanced around the small house. There wasn’t much to see. Zane Chisholm obviously wasn’t into decorating. She doubted he spent much time here.

      “I came out to talk to Zane, but since you’re here …” McCall said. “Is there a problem I should know about?”

      Dakota looked confused by the question. “A problem?”

      “I got a call that there was a domestic disturbance СКАЧАТЬ