Colton 911: Baby's Bodyguard. Lisa Childs

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      Maybe she’d thought the hole would drain away the water.

      But as Forrest drew nearer, he peered into the hole and discovered it wasn’t water filling it. Something else lay inside it, something all swaddled up in linen material smeared with mud and grime.

      “What the hell...?” he murmured.

      He swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. His boot slipped on the muddy ground, but he used the horse to steady himself. Like all of the horses for the Cowboy Heroes, Mick was well trained and helpful. Forrest patted his mane in appreciation before stepping away from his mount and turning toward the hole. He leaned over and peered inside it, and his boot slipped again.

      This time he didn’t have the horse to steady himself, so his leg—his bad leg—went out from beneath him. As he began to fall, he reached out to catch himself. But like his boot, his fingers slipped on the mud, too, and he slid into the hole, knocking the loose dirt into it with him. It sprayed across that weird material.

      Whatever it was, it had contoured to the shape of the object beneath it. But it wasn’t an object.

      It was a body with arms and legs and a face.

      A mummy...like the one his brother Jonah had found. But unlike that body, Forrest suspected the storm hadn’t turned up this one. Someone else had either dug it up or dug the hole to bury it here, like someone had buried the woman by the pharmaceutical company.

      But why here? Why in Rae Lemmon’s backyard?

      Forrest reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He needed to call in a team to process the scene. Hopefully he could remove himself from it without compromising any evidence. After he called the coroner and some crime-scene techs, he shoved his phone back into his pocket and tried to pull himself out of the hole. Using his good leg, he dug his boot into the side of the hole and climbed out. As he pulled his boot free, some dirt tumbled down into the hole, next to the body, and the sun glinted off it.

      It wasn’t just dirt. There was something shiny beneath the mud and grime. Something metallic. Like coins or...

      Buttons?

      Had those belonged to the victim or the killer?

      * * *

      Rae closed her eyes and savored the silence. She would have to get up soon for work, but she had a few minutes to rest her eyes and relax. And after Connor had spent most of the night crying inconsolably, she needed some peace. He’d finally fallen back to sleep.

      The pediatrician suspected the baby had colic, for which Rae blamed herself. The stress of law school, her job and single parenthood had affected her ability to produce breast milk and she now had to supplement with formula. When she’d called the doctor’s service last night, she’d been told to switch to a soy-based formula, which she would do today on her way to bring Connor to day care.

      Exhaustion gripped her, pulling her into oblivion. But she had been asleep for only a moment when a noise startled her. It wasn’t the light beep of the alarm, but a loud pounding at a door. Worried that the knocking would wake up Connor, she rushed out of her bedroom without bothering to grab a robe. The only people who visited her were Bellamy and Maggie. Maybe Bellamy was back.

      But she probably would have just let herself in; she had a copy and knew where the spare key was hidden. Disoriented for a moment from lack of sleep, Rae rushed to her front door and opened it. But nobody stood on her porch. If someone was there, they probably would have rung the bell.

      The back door rattled as that fist pounded again. And a soft cry drifted from the nursery. Connor wasn’t fully awake, but he was waking up. She ran across the living room and kitchen to pull open the door. “Shh,” she cautioned her visitor. Then she gasped when she recognized the man standing before her. “What—what are you doing here?”

      What the hell was he doing there? Especially now?

      She had to look like death—after her sleepless night—with dark circles beneath her eyes, and her hair standing on end. And her nightgown...

      She glanced down at the oversize T-shirt an old boyfriend had left behind. At least she’d gotten something comfy out of the relationship. But she hadn’t expected much. Her experience with her father had taught her to never count on a man to stick around, and every boyfriend she’d ever had had reinforced that lesson.

      That was why she’d chosen to be a single mother. She didn’t need a husband to have a family. She didn’t need a man. But this one...

      He was so damn good-looking, even with mud on his clothes and smeared across his cheek. A fission of concern passed through her. “Did you get thrown?” she asked. Over his shoulder—his very broad shoulder—she caught a glimpse of a dark horse pawing at the muddy grass. “Are you okay?”

      “I did not get thrown,” he said, his voice sharp as if she’d stung his pride.

      Or maybe that was just the way he always talked. He’d sounded that way when he’d told her that she couldn’t be serious about asking him to dance.

      Her face heated with embarrassment, but she didn’t know if it was because of what had happened then or how unkempt she looked now. And with the way he kept staring at her, he couldn’t have missed it. He was probably horrified.

      “Then what are you doing here?” she asked again.

      “I’ve called the police.”

      “I thought you were the police,” she said. She knew, from the news reports and the gossip around Whisperwood, that the chief and his brothers had successfully talked him into investigating the murders.

      “I am,” he said. “That’s why I called. I need to tape off your backyard. It’s a crime scene.”

      Despite the heat of the August day, a cold chill raced down her spine and raised goose bumps on her skin. “Crime scene?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

      “I found something in your yard,” he said.

      “Why were you searching my property?” she asked. “Did you have a warrant?”

      His face flushed now.

      “I know my rights,” she said. “If you didn’t have a warrant, your search was illegal.”

      “I was surveying the flood damage,” he said, “and your yard was in plain view from the field behind it.”

      Which was his family’s property. In Whisperwood, the Coltons’ ranch was second in size only to the Corgan spread.

      “So you weren’t even acting as a lawman when you performed this illegal search?” she asked. “You were just riding around your own property?”

      His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off with a, “How dare you!”

      She’d thought she’d let it go—her embarrassment over how he’d rejected her request to dance. But now that embarrassment turned to anger, which she unleashed on him.

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