have camped out here, but he hadn’t exactly had the manpower to do that with just him and two deputies, including the one behind bars. He’d had to process Shane’s arrest and interrogate him. He had been careful. He’d done everything by the book so no one could accuse him of tampering with anything that would ultimately clear Shane’s name. Kirby Spears had guarded the place until around midnight, but then Reed and he had had to respond to an armed robbery at the convenience store near the interstate.
Lately, life in Comanche Creek had been far from peaceful and friendly—even though that was what it said on the welcome sign at the edge of the city limits. Before the spring, it’d been nearly a decade since there’d been a murder. Now, there’d been four.
Four!
And because some of those bodies had been dumped on Native American burial ground, the whole town felt as if it were sitting on a powder keg. With the previous murder investigations and the latest one, Reed was operating on a one-hour nap, too much coffee and a shorter fuse than usual.
He glanced around. “How’d you get up here?” he asked the sergeant. “Because I didn’t see a vehicle.”
“I parked at the bottom of the hill just off the county road. I wanted to get a good look at the exterior of the crime scene before I went inside.” She glanced around as well. “How’d you get up here?” she asked him.
“I parked on the back side of the hill.” And for the same reason. Of course, that didn’t mean they were going to see eye-to-eye on anything else. Reed was betting this would get ugly fast.
“Reed?” someone called out, the sound coming from the cabin.
Reed cursed some more because he recognized that voice. He lowered his gun, huffed and strolled toward the front door. It swung open just as Reed stepped onto the porch, and he came face-to-face with his boss, Mayor Woody Sadler. His friend. His mentor. As close to a father as Reed had ever had since his own dad had died when Reed was seven years old.
But Woody shouldn’t have been within a mile of the place.
Surrogate fatherhood would earn Woody a little more respect than Reed would give others, but even Woody wasn’t going to escape a good chewing-out. And maybe even more.
“What are you doing here?” Livvy demanded, taking the words right out of Reed’s mouth. Unlike Reed, she didn’t lower her gun. She pointed the Blackwater right at Woody.
Woody eased off his white Stetson, and the rattler tail attached to the band gave a familiar hollow jangle. He nodded a friendly greeting.
He didn’t get anything friendly in return.
“This is Woody Sadler. The mayor of Comanche Creek,” Reed said, making introductions. “And this is Sergeant Livvy Hutton. A Texas Ranger from New York.”
Woody’s tired gray eyes widened. Then narrowed, making the corners of his eyes wrinkle even more than they already were. Obviously he wasn’t able to hold back a petty reaction either. “New York?”
“Spare me the jokes. I was born in a small town near Dallas. Raised in upstate New York.” As if she’d declared war on it, Livvy shoved her gun back into her shoulder holster and barreled up the steps. “And regardless of where I’m from, this is my crime scene, and you were trespassing,” she declared to Woody and then fired a glance at Reed to declare it to him as well.
“I didn’t touch anything,” Woody insisted.
Livvy obviously didn’t take his word for it. She bolted past Woody, grabbed her equipment bag from the porch and went inside.
“I swear,” Woody added to Reed. “I didn’t touch a thing.”
Reed studied Woody’s body language. The stiff shoulders. The sweat popping out above his top lip. Both surefire signs that the man was uncomfortable about something. “You’re certain about that?”
“I’m damn certain.” The body language changed. No more nerves, just a defensive stare that made Reed feel like a kid again. Still, that didn’t stop Reed from doing his job.
“Then why didn’t you answer when I called out?” Reed asked. “And why’d you break the lock on the window and go in there?”
“I didn’t hear you calling out, that’s why, and I didn’t break any lock. The door was wide open when I got here about fifteen minutes ago.” There was another shift in body language. Woody shook his head and wearily ran his hand through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “I just had to see for myself. I figured there’d be something obvious. Something that’d prove that Shane didn’t do this.”
Reed blew out a long breath. “I know. I want to prove Shane’s innocence, too, but this isn’t the way to go about doing it. If there’s proof and the New York Ranger finds it, she could say you planted it there.”
Woody went still. Then, he cursed. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“I believe you. But Sergeant Olivia Hutton doesn’t know you from Adam.”
Woody’s gaze met his. “She’s gunning for Shane?”
Probably. For Shane and anyone who thought he was innocent. But Reed kept that to himself. “Best to let me handle this,” he insisted. “I’ll talk to you when I’m back in town. Oh, and see about hiring me a temporary deputy or two.”
Woody bobbed his head, slid back on his Stetson and ambled off the porch and down the hill, where he’d likely parked. Reed waited until he was sure the mayor was on his way before he took another deep breath and went inside.
He only made it two steps.
Livvy threw open the door. “Where’s the mayor?” she demanded.
“Gone.” Reed hitched his thumb toward the downside of the hill. “Why?”
Her hands went on her hips, and those ice-blue eyes turned fiery hot. “Because he stole some evidence, that’s why, and I intend to arrest him.”
Livvy was in full stride across the yard when the sheriff caught up with her, latched on to her arm, whirled her around and brought her to an abrupt halt.
“I’m arresting him,” she repeated and tried to throw off his grip.
She would probably have had better luck wrestling a longhorn to the ground. Despite Sheriff Reed Hardin’s lanky build, the man was strong. And angry. That anger was stamped on his tanned face and in his crisp green eyes.
“I don’t care if Woody Sadler is your friend.” She tried again to get away from the sheriff’s clamped hand. “He can’t waltz in here and steal evidence that might be pertinent to a murder investigation.”
“Just hold on.” He pulled out his cell phone from his well-worn Wranglers, scrolled through some numbers and hit the call button. “Woody,” he said when the mayor apparently answered, “you need to get back up here to the cabin right now. We might have a problem.”
“Might?” Livvy snarled when Sheriff Hardin ended the call. “Oh, we definitely have a problem. Tampering with a crime scene is a third-degree felony.”
The sheriff dismissed that with a headshake. “Woody’s the mayor, along with being a law-abiding citizen. He didn’t tamper with anything. You said yourself that someone had broken the lock, and Woody didn’t do that.”
“Well, he obviously isn’t so law-abiding because he walked past crime-scene tape and entered without permission or reason.”
“He had reason,” Reed mumbled. “He’s worried about Shane. And sometimes worried people do dumb things.” He looked down at the chokehold he had on her arm, mumbled something indistinguishable, and his grip melted away. “What exactly is missing?”
“A