Cowboy Swagger. Joanna Wayne

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      “I haven’t talked to Eleanor.”

      “Then who let you in?”

      There was no good way to tell her this. “There’s a problem, Collette.”

      A siren sounded in the distance.

      “What kind of problem?”

      “An attack.”

      “On whom?” Her eyes widened. “Where’s Eleanor?”

      “In the kitchen. She’s hurt. I’ve called an ambulance. They should be—”

      Collette bolted toward the kitchen. He followed her, feeling helpless when she went ghostly white and fell to her knees beside her friend.

      “Eleanor. Eleanor, say something. Who did this to you? Talk to me. Please talk to me.”

      “I’ve called 911.” As the wail of the sirens grew louder, Dylan knelt beside her and explained what he knew and how he’d come to find the body.

      She shuddered and leaned against him. He put his arm across her shoulders, feeling awkward. He’d never handled emotion well.

      She pulled away as the ambulance stopped in front of the house and a rush of footsteps sounded on her front porch. “It was him, Dylan.”

      “Who?”

      Her eyes were moist, but her tone was harsh and accusing. “The man who keeps calling me. He must have come here looking for me, but he found Eleanor instead.”

      “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions.” He stood and tugged her to her feet as the room filled with paramedics. By the time they had Eleanor inside the ambulance, more sirens sounded and two squad cars arrived on the scene.

      Four armed men in khaki uniforms got out. Two of the deputies had guns pulled, both aimed at Dylan. For the first time, it hit him that he’d put himself into a very compromising position.

      The oldest uniformed man glared at him before stepping between him and Collette. “What happened here?”

      “My friend Eleanor was spending the night with me. Someone broke in and attacked her while I was photographing Isabelle Smith’s wedding. She was hit at least once on the head and stabbed with one of my kitchen knives. The ambulance just left. They’re taking her to the hospital.”

      “Did she name her attacker?”

      “She was unconscious. She’ll be afraid when she comes to. I need to go to the hospital so that I can be with her.”

      “You’ll need to answer a few questions first.”

      Dylan stepped forward. “I’m the one who found the body. I can probably tell you more about the situation than Collette can.”

      The man turned toward him. “Who the hell are you?”

      “Dylan Ledger.”

      The lawman rested his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “And I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire, so you better have a damn good explanation for what you’re doing in my daughter’s house.”

      COLLETTE CRINGED at her father’s reaction to Dylan. Could he for once just listen to the facts before going off half-cocked?

      “Dylan is here because I invited him here.”

      “I hope you have a hell of a good reason for doing something that stupid.”

      “Did you ever think that he might have saved Eleanor’s life by arriving when he did? He may have saved mine, as well.”

      “Right now I’m thinking how the Ledgers are back in town one day and we already have a brutal attack. What’s Eleanor’s last name?”

      “Baker. Eleanor Baker. You’ve met her before, Dad. She visited our house frequently when we were in college.”

      The sheriff rubbed his chin. “Eleanor? Isn’t that the reporter who writes about ghosts?”

      “Yes.”

      “I warned you about hanging out with the likes of her and Melinda Kingston. Kooks attract other kooks. One day you’re gonna start listening to me.”

      Dylan walked over to stand next to Collette and slipped a hand to the small of her back. “You might want to cut Collette some slack, Sheriff. It’s rough enough that her friend was attacked.”

      “I don’t need advice from the offspring of a murdering son of a bitch.” He turned back to Collette. “Do you know of anyone who had it in for her?”

      Collette took a deep breath. “I don’t think she was the intended victim. I think the man was here because of me.”

      His brows arched. “Why would anyone want to hurt you?”

      “I’m not sure that’s what he intended, but some man has been calling and harassing me over the past few months. He claims to be in love with me, but I don’t even know him.”

      The sheriff glared at Collette. “You’ve been stalked by a psycho for months and you never bothered to mention it to me?”

      “He never threatened to hurt me.”

      She couldn’t tell if it was anger or frustration that pulled her father’s face into deep lines and caused the veins in his face and neck to pop out.

      “I should have told you,” she said, “but you’ve told me before that there’s not much you can do if there’s no threat of violence.”

      “Did you at least change your phone number when he started calling?”

      “I couldn’t very well do that. My cell is the only number clients have to reach me. It’s on my business cards and my Web site.”

      “Did he always call you on your cell phone?” the sheriff asked.

      “Always.”

      “Let me see the phone.”

      “It won’t help,” Collette said, handing the phone to her father. “The caller ID always said Unavailable or Out of Area.”

      The sheriff checked out the phone before handing it back to her.

      “There are only two vehicles parked outside,” the sheriff said.

      “Eleanor’s car must be in the garage. Mine would be, too, except that I stopped out front when I saw Dylan’s truck.”

      “Check the garage, Brent,” he told one of the deputies. “Be nice if the perp stole the victim’s car, so we’d have a known vehicle to chase.” Sheriff McGuire turned to Dylan. “Where was Eleanor when you arrived?”

      “Facedown on the kitchen floor.”

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