Murder And Mistletoe. Barb Han

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter Three

      “Of course, I did. Clara never lied to me,” Leanne responded with a little more heat than she’d intended. So much for keeping things cool in front of the sheriff.

      Bethany made a harrumph sound and pushed to her feet. “I’d like to speak with the sheriff alone.”

      Leanne started to protest but the sheriff cut her off.

      “There’s coffee at the end of the hall and everything said here will go into my report,” he said, motioning toward the door.

      It was his witness, his investigation. With no other viable choice, Leanne stood and walked out the door. She’d been too harsh with her fragile half sister and this was going to be the price. Everything had balance, a yin and yang, she thought, except for her personal life, which had been turned upside down since having a baby six months ago. She wouldn’t change a thing about her life with her baby girl, except maybe more sleep. Definitely more sleep. And if she could turn back time, she would make sure that Mila’s father wouldn’t have died on her watch.

      Dalton followed her out the door and she could feel his strong presence behind her.

      “Coffee’s this way,” his low rumble of a voice said, and the sound penetrated a place deep down, stirring emotions she had no desire to acknowledge as existing anymore. Her traitorous body wanted to gravitate toward the feeling and bask in it. A little reality and a strong cup of coffee was all she needed to quash those unproductive thoughts.

      She stepped aside, allowing the man with the strong muscled back to lead her down the unfamiliar hallway. He made a left before what she figured was an interview room. She closed up her coat, shivering against the cold temperature in the building.

      A dark thought struck that the sheriff might be hauling her sister to the interview room any minute. Bethany had no idea how much her actions were about to impact her life, and a mix of protectiveness and frustration swirled in Leanne’s chest. Bethany might be clueless but she’d had a rough start, had cleaned up her act, and Leanne knew deep down that her sister was trying her best. Was it good enough? Before having Mila, Leanne might’ve judged her sister more harshly. After having a baby, she realized the job wasn’t easy and didn’t come with instructions.

      “The coffee here doesn’t taste like much, but it’s strong,” Dalton said, pouring two cups and handing one to her.

      She took the offering, wondering why he knew so much about the quality of the coffee at the sheriff’s office. “I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage here. You already know my name and more about my personal life than I share with even my closest friends, but I don’t have the first clue who you are.” The part about having close friends was almost laughable. Happy hours after work and shopping with the girls had never been high on her list of priorities. She’d worked hard to make detective by thirty and there hadn’t been room for much else in her life.

      “Dalton Butler. And I’m pleased to meet you.” He switched hands with the mug and offered a handshake.

      She took his hand—his was so much larger and rougher than hers—and realized making physical contact had not been a good choice. Electricity exploded through her, bringing to life places she didn’t want awakened. She reasoned that it had been a long time since she’d had sex and her body was reacting to the first hot man she touched, but there was so much more to it, to him, than that.

      From the callouses on his skin, she deduced that he must work outside, which in these parts most likely meant on a ranch. His outfit of jeans, boots and a denim jacket had already given the same impression.

      “Why does that name sound familiar?” She examined him, his clear blue eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets. She was beginning to hate secrets.

      “My father owned a famous ranch in the area,” he conceded as the contents of his mug suddenly became very interesting.

      “Maverick Mike Butler of the Hereford Ranch?” That explained why the man seemed to know the layout of the sheriff’s office so well. At first, she’d feared he might have been previously on the wrong side of the interview table, especially with the way he related to the sheriff. Now, she realized he’d been there because of his father’s murder. The fact that the case still wasn’t solved would explain his chilly response to Sawmill.

      But what did he want with this investigation?

      “What’s on your camera?” she asked, figuring she could ask at another time why the son of a famous rancher—and one of, if not the, richest men in Texas—would have so many callouses on his hands. There were other things she didn’t want to notice about him, like the half-inch scar above his left brow at the point where it arched. And the crystal clearness of his blue eyes.

      He fished his phone out of his pocket and held it out on his palm between them. Leanne stepped closer to get a better look at the screen and that was another mistake because she inhaled his scent, a mix of outdoors and warm spices. A trill of awareness shot through her. She blinked up, trying to reset her body and thought she caught the same reaction from him as his pupils dilated.

      Chalking the whole scene up to overwrought emotions, she studied the picture he brought up on his phone.

      “Why is this important?” She shot him her best don’t-feed-me-a-line look.

      “It’s the type of knot used.” He enlarged the hangman’s rope and her heart squeezed, looking at the device that had killed her niece.

      “Which is?”

      “The trucker’s knot,” he supplied.

      “Why is this significant other than I’m guessing that only a Boy Scout would know how to tie it?” Examining the knot shot pain through her. She had to set aside her personal feelings, block out emotion and focus on finding the jerk who’d done this to Clara. “Justice for Clara” was Leanne’s new marching orders.

      “Right. A Boy Scout would know this and that has to be taken into consideration in finding the killer, but the person who did this gave them an out.” His inflection changed and she could sense his relief at talking about this... But relief from what?

      “You said killer. How do you know this wasn’t a suicide?” She latched on to the first piece of good news in hours. Hours that felt more like days.

      “Was your niece ever a Brownie? Girl Scout?” he asked, ignoring her question.

      Leanne shook her head and his lack of surprise made something dawn on her.

      She blinked up at him, searching his eyes.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ