his notes?”
C.J. shot him a disbelieving glance as she raised her hands to take in the ransacked room. “Let me just grab them for you.”
“I’d be happy to help you look.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said. “For all I know, you’re the one who tore the place apart.”
“And then came back to confront you and pretend to look for my own file? How clever of me. If I couldn’t find it when this place wasn’t a mess, why would I think you could now?”
She saw the logic, but hated to admit it. “Or maybe you didn’t find what you were looking for and hope that I’ll find it for you.”
He grinned. “I admire the way your mind works, though I find it a little disturbing.”
C.J. bristled. Was he flirting with her?
“You really think I’m the killer cozying up to the partner? Pretty darned gutsy of me.” He shook his head. “Hit-and-run is a coward’s way of killing. Your killer wouldn’t have the guts to come waltzing in here and face you.” He had a point. “But don’t you want to call the cops and report the break-in before you destroy any more evidence?”
* * *
“I ALREADY CALLED THEM.”
Boone heard the anger in her voice as he noticed the old photographs framed on the walls. “They weren’t helpful?” he asked as he got up to inspect them with the flashlight on his cell phone. The snapshots were of the same man, Hank Knight, no doubt, with a variety of prominent men and women and even a couple of celebrities. From the looks of the photos they were old. Which meant Hank Knight had been doing this for years.
“The local cops, helpful?” C.J. let out a laugh. “They don’t believe the hit-and-run was murder because we normally don’t take those kinds of cases.”
“I would think any kind of case could turn violent under the wrong circumstances,” he said, turning from the photographs on the wall. “Look, I’m not leaving town until I get some answers. So what do you say? Let me at least help you look through the files. Other than one on the McGraw kidnapping, what are we looking for?”
She glanced up at him and her gaze softened a little toward him as he took off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his Western shirt. “Fine. While you’re looking for something on the kidnapping, keep an eye out for any recent entries, even in the old files.” She showed him what to look for on one of the files. “Hank had his own way of doing things.”
“I can see that,” Boone said as he scooped up more folders.
“We did work closely. Until recently. I did a lot of the legwork. I have to admit, the last few weeks... I hadn’t seen much of Hank.”
So, just as he’d guessed, she was looking for a needle in a haystack and had no idea what had gotten her partner killed. He dropped the folders on the desk next to the others and began going through them quickly. “I suppose you know from the news. One of the kidnappers was found. Dead, unfortunately, so one is still out there. But it’s put the kidnapping back in the news. More information was released. That’s why I assume your partner called. Also my brother Oakley’s been found, although that information hasn’t been released.”
She looked up in obvious surprise. “I thought the man who came forward proved to be a fraud?”
Boone nodded. “Vance Elliot was an impostor, but surprisingly he helped flush out my real biological brother. The news media doesn’t know about it because he doesn’t want the publicity, which I can’t blame him for. In fact, he wants nothing to do with my family. Another reason why I need to find Jesse Rose. Hopefully, she won’t break our father’s heart.”
* * *
THE NEWS TOOK C.J. by surprise. A son who wanted nothing to do with his family? The subject, though, appeared to be closed as he went back to work. Not that she wasn’t curious, but right now she had to find out who had wanted Hank dead.
Sometimes she forgot he was gone. She’d spent so many hours in this office with him growing up... She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Hank had meant everything to her. The thought of him being gone... She pushed it away, telling herself she owed it to him to find his killer. That’s what she had to focus on right now. Later she would have time for grief, for regrets, for the pain that lay just beneath the surface.
She reached for more files from the floor, her fingers trembling. She stopped to squeeze her hands into fists for a moment. If there was one thing C.J. hated to show, it was any kind of weakness. Maybe especially to a man like Boone McGraw. She could look at the set of his jaw or gaze into those frosty blue eyes and she knew what kind of man he was. Stubbornly strong, like a tree that had lived through everything thrown at it for all its years. Just like Hank.
“It’s not here,” Boone said after an hour had passed. “Unless your partner didn’t write it down. Or if he did, whoever tore up this place took the information with him.”
With a sigh, C.J. carried a handful of case files over to one of the cabinets and set them inside just to get them out of the way. Files were everywhere. Then again, this was pretty normal for Hank’s office. He’d never been organized. It was one reason they’d never been able to share an office.
She took a moment before she turned to look at Boone McGraw. The cowboy took up a lot of space. The broad shoulders, the towering height—all that maleness culminated into one handsome, cocky cowboy. She bet most women swooned at his feet and was glad she wasn’t one of them.
“So we’re back to square one,” she said, sounding as discouraged as she felt. She’d looked through all of the files, including those that Boone had also looked through. Not only hadn’t she found anything about the McGraw kidnapping, she hadn’t seen any old case that might have gotten Hank killed.
“Not necessarily,” Boone said as he put both palms on the desk and leaned toward her. “Your partner knew something about the kidnapping. Hank Knight asked questions about Jesse Rose and an item that was taken from her crib the night she was kidnapped. His questions led our lawyer to believe Hank had knowledge about the crime and possibly where Jesse Rose is now. I think he got too close to the truth. Too close to the kidnapper’s accomplice. And if I’m right then you can help me prove it.”
C.J. pulled up Hank’s old leather chair and dropped into it. She was too tired, too wrung out, too filled with grief to take on this cowboy. Nor could she see how she would be able to prove anything.
She pushed a stack of old files out of the way and dropped her elbows to the top of the scarred desk to rest her chin in her hands. She watched Boone McGraw pick up files and put them back into the filing cabinets. He was actually cleaning up the office. The sight would have made her laugh, if she’d had the energy.
What she needed was sleep. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Hank’s death. She doubted she would tonight, but sitting here wasn’t helping. As she started to get up, she pushed off the desk only to have the worn top shift under her hands.
With a start she remembered something she’d seen Hank do when he was interrupted by a walk-in. Sitting back, she felt into the crack between the old oak desktop and the even older one beneath it. Hank had loved this desk and hadn’t been able to part with it even after one of his cigars had burned the original top badly. Rather than replace it, he’d simply covered it up.
She’d seen files disappear from view only to be retrieved later after a client left. Her fingers brushed against something that felt like the edge of a file folder. She worked it out, her heart leaping up into her throat as she saw the name printed on it in Hank’s neat script: McGraw.
“Did you find something?” Boone asked, stopping his organizing to step closer.
She looked