Cowboy Cop

Chapter Two

Miles had never wanted to be anything but a lawman. Not since he was young and Sheriff Silas Weatherby had saved his butt from jail and taken him in as his own.

Miles’s old man had used him to help carry out his own crimes. Cattle rustling—not murder like Robert Dugan—but it was illegal and every crime, no matter how small, hurt somebody.

Still, Silas had a code of ethics, which meant that he tried to save kids when even their own families had taught them to lie, cheat and steal.

Which was the main reason Miles had chosen to contribute to the BBL. He figured it was payback time.

Yes, Silas had taught Miles right from wrong and given him a chance to become a man and protect others.

Only that job had gotten Timmy’s mother killed.

He fisted his hands, sweat beading on his lip as he tried to control the rage burning through him. His son was drowning in a world of hurt because Miles had chosen to do the right thing.

Worse, he was hurting because he’d witnessed a crime that nobody, much less a five-year-old, should have to see.

Miles’s gut churned as he stared at the swirls of black and red Timmy had savagely drawn on the pad of paper. Not signs of a happy Christmas or the new bike Santa had brought.

No, dark swirls of colors that Timmy hadn’t even seemed to realize he was drawing.

Swirls of colors that it didn’t take a rocket scientist—or a shrink—to decipher because that sea of black and red represented the darkness and the blood that his son had seen.

Timmy’s mother’s blood.

Had he watched Dugan viciously slash her throat?

For just a moment, those images became his own, and Miles’s legs nearly buckled as guilt and pain suffused him. If only he’d gone to get Timmy that night and brought him back in the morning like Marie asked, he could have saved her.

Damn Dugan—just like the other murders, he’d left no evidence. And somehow he’d managed to fabricate an alibi for the time of Marie’s death.

It had to be a lie.

Even though Blackpaw had suggested that Marie might have had a lover or boyfriend who had killed her and copied Dugan’s M.O. to throw off the cops, he couldn’t believe it.

Dugan had promised payback and he’d gotten it.

“Mr. McGregor—Miles—” Jordan said. “I understand that you’re angry—”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Miles’s temper exploded, and he whirled on her, needing to vent his frustration, no matter who took the brunt. “Just look at my son. He’s traumatized and motherless yet his mother’s killer is walking around free. Hell, he’s probably bragging about it as he plans his next kill.”

Jordan released a low breath, then eased back a step as if she thought he might use his fists instead of just his words. But he was shaking too hard with rage to care that she was half his size and looked as if the wind could blow her over. Her expression showed concern, but she was too damn beautiful with all that flowing golden hair, he couldn’t yell at her.

His friend and the cowboy who’d started the BBL, Brody, had said she was good at what she did because she’d had problems of her own.

Hell, he didn’t care about her problems. He hated everything about this counseling BS.

Talking did no damn good. Only action did. And finding solid evidence that would put Dugan away for good.

Evidence that he might have if the sadistic monster hadn’t totally traumatized his child.

His gut tightened as he watched Timmy cover his ears with his hands and rock himself back and forth. The poor little guy was not only motherless but lost in a silent hell, and he didn’t know how to help him.

Except track down the bastard who’d done this to him.

But worry gnawed at him, unsettling and cutting deeper than any physical pain ever could.

Even if he did lock up Dugan, would Timmy, the kid who liked to chase frogs, swim in the creek and play horseshoes, ever be the same again?

* * *

JORDAN BIT HER TONGUE to stifle a gasp at the raw emotions in Timmy’s drawing. A page reflecting the horror and violence he’d witnessed.

A page he’d drawn with his eyes closed.

He was desperately trying to shut out the terrible image of his mother’s death, but she had studied psychology enough to know that those images would remain with him forever. Maybe he’d forgotten exactly what had happened. Maybe he’d blocked out the trauma as a way to cope.

Maybe he’d even bury the details and memories for a while.

But they were still there, lurking beneath the surface, threatening his psyche, gnawing at his mind until one day they would destroy him.

If he didn’t purge them first.

But purging, healing, couldn’t be forced or it might make things worse.

“What did the doctors who examined Timmy say?”

Miles adjusted his Stetson. “Physically he’s okay. He wasn’t hurt, thank God, at least the man didn’t attack him, I mean.”

Jordan nodded. “That’s good. Not to downplay emotional trauma, but physical abuse would have complicated his recovery.”

A bleak look crossed his face. “It still doesn’t change the fact that he won’t talk.” Anguish laced his tone. “Or that we believe he witnessed the man slash his mother’s throat.”

“Are you sure he saw her actual murder? Didn’t you say in the report that you found him hiding in the attic?”

Miles cut his eyes toward hers. “He was hiding, yes, but he had blood on his hands and clothes.” A pained breath. “Marie’s blood.”

Jordan twisted her hands together. “Which means he either did see it or that he came into the room and found her dead.”

This time Miles nodded. “He was in the house. He had to have heard her screaming....”

“I’m so sorry,” Jordan said, unable to imagine the depth of his pain. It was bad enough he’d lost the woman he’d obviously loved, but to have his child traumatized and left to wonder if he’d ever recover had to be agonizing.

“Do the police have any leads?”

The ice in Miles’s eyes sent a chill through her. “I know who it was. Robert Dugan, the Slasher.”

Jordan caught her breath.

“I’m assuming you kept up with the case.”

“Yes, I saw that Mr. Dugan was released when another woman named June Kelly was killed while he was in jail.”

“A colossal mistake. Dugan probably paid someone to kill that woman to make him look innocent. Either that or he had an accomplice.”

“No leads on who that might be?”

“Not yet. But I won’t give up until Dugan’s back in prison.” He cut his eyes over her again. “Or dead.”

Jordan tried to ignore the fear that rippled through her. Miles McGregor was a dangerous man on many levels.

Dangerous to women because he was so sexually impossible to resist.

Dangerous to Dugan because he had stolen someone he loved and hurt his little boy.

“You and Timmy’s mother weren’t married?”

“No,” he said tightly.

“Have you considered the fact that she might have had a boyfriend or lover who killed her?”

A storm of emotions Jordan couldn’t define registered in Miles’s eyes. Anger? Jealousy?

“My partner is looking into that possibility, but that’s just a formality,” he said sharply. “The M.O. is the same as Dugan’s.”

“Perhaps another killer wanted you to think that to throw suspicion off of himself.”

He hesitated a moment as if she’d struck a nerve, then gave her a stony look. “Why don’t you let me do my job and you do yours?”

His accusatory tone cut to the bone. But he was right. She wasn’t a cop.

However, she did understand behavior enough to consider that copying a well-known murderer’s M.O. could cover the killer’s tracks.

Still, her focus was better spent on Timmy. “It’s obvious your little boy is in pain,” Jordan began softly. “And so are you, Miles.”

If the man’s jaw could harden any more, it would have cracked. “Let’s get something straight, Miss Keys—”

“Jordan.”

His eyes carved cold slashes through her. “Jordan,” he said with a bite, “I don’t need your shrinking. I just want you to help Timmy so he can move past this, and I can put the bastard that killed my son’s mother in jail.”

“Really?” Jordan asked with a challenge to her voice. “Is that what you want? Jail? Because you look like you want revenge.”

He narrowed his eyes, then wrapped one hand around her wrist. “So what if I do? Dugan killed four women, five counting Marie. And six if he’s responsible for June Kelly’s murder. You tell me he doesn’t deserve the same torture he inflicted on them?”

Jordan winced as pain shot through her wrist. The instinct to run from this man assaulted her, but she was not one to back down from a fight.

Or a man in pain.

But she also wouldn’t allow him to run roughshod over her.

“I understand that you feel that way.” God knew, she’d been tempted to track down the teenager who’d killed her little brother and make him suffer.

But killing him wouldn’t have brought Richie back.

So, she’d decided she could do more good by helping other kids avoid falling into the kind of trouble that her brother had.

The kind that had led to his death.

“As a matter of fact, I do understand your anger, but that’s not going to help your son.” She gave a pointed glance at her wrist where he still held it. “And neither is manhandling me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but his dark eyes flickered with regret, then he released her so abruptly her heart fluttered at the missed contact.

“I just want justice,” he said in a gruff voice.

Jordan’s gaze met his, one brow raised. “And for your son to be well.”

Emotions made his taut face look even harsher. “That goes without saying.”

In spite of his tough act, guilt underscored his words, and her heart softened. Guilt was one thing she understood. Rational or not, it held a power over you that could cripple you.

But a low sound that bordered on a sob echoed through the speakers from the attached room, and she glanced back at Timmy. He needed her help.

Her job didn’t include counseling his father.

But still, she had to make Miles realize that they had to work together.

Miles removed his Stetson and raked his hand through his hair. “Do you think you can help him?”

Jordan nodded and dragged her gaze from his rumpled head. She had no business thinking that he looked sexy right now. “Yes, but like I said, it’s going to take time. You have to trust me.”

Miles tensed, his body going ramrod-straight. “I don’t trust anyone.”

Jordan gave him a challenging look. “Then you need to start.”

He started to speak, but she held up a warning hand and cut him off. “The mind is a fragile thing, Miles. If you push too hard, you could damage Timmy even more.”

Anguish deepened the lines of his face, but Jordan also saw fear.

She hated to put it there, but she had to in order to make him listen. Because there was one thing she was certain of—if Miles didn’t give Timmy time to heal, and allow him to deal with what had happened in his own time, he would never have his son back.

And that would only add to the man’s already burgeoning guilt and destroy him.

Just as her own guilt had almost done to her two years ago.

* * *

MILES TRIED TO MASK the fear Jordan’s words drove deeply inside him. If he pushed Timmy, he might hurt him more.

As if he didn’t have enough guilt dogging him. As if he wasn’t already terrified his little boy would never be normal—or happy—again.

His cell phone beeped the familiar ringtone for Mason Blackpaw, and his fingers slid inside his jacket pocket over the device. Normally he ditched it for a few days when he came to the BBL to help, but there was no way he could turn it off while Dugan was loose.

“I need to return this.” Even as he said the words, he felt the censure in Jordan’s gaze.

“It might be about the case,” he explained, irritated for worrying about her approval. But dammit, he didn’t want her to think he didn’t care about his son.

“All right. I’ll spend some time with Timmy. Are you settled into your cabin?”

Miles shook his head. “No, and I need to talk to Brody.” He glanced through the window at Timmy, who suddenly picked up the drawing he’d made and crumpled the paper into a ball between his little hands.

Suddenly he felt Jordan’s fingers close over his arm. “You should tell him that you’re going to be gone for a few minutes. He needs reassurance that you’ll be back.”

His gaze was drawn to her slender hand. Her fingers were delicate, long, thin...soft. And they felt gentle, comforting. Something that stirred a yearning he didn’t have time to contemplate.

He had let Marie down in the worst possible way. Not just by putting his job first, but...by not loving her the way he should have.

And then he’d gotten her killed.

So he gave a clipped nod, then headed to the other room. Except for a stiffening of Timmy’s shoulders, he barely responded when Miles entered.

He approached slowly, concerned about startling Timmy, then knelt in front of him. “Son, I have to talk to Brody, the rancher who runs this place. You remember him?”

Timmy’s eyes looked blank, but he angled his face toward Miles. The sheer paleness of his skin sent another pang through Miles’s chest.

“Anyway,” Miles said gruffly. “I won’t be gone long, then we’ll settle into our cabin. And maybe we can take a walk to the stables later and look at the horses.”

Timmy’s little chin quivered, and the crumpled drawing slipped to the floor at his feet. He didn’t bother to pick it up or speak.

Dammit, he looked so lost and forlorn that Miles had to blink to control the emotions clogging his throat.

Jordan gave him an encouraging smile, then lowered herself into the seat beside Timmy and gestured for him to go. “Timmy and I will be fine,” Jordan said quietly. “We’ll talk for a few minutes, then meet you at your cabin.”

Miles nodded, although leaving his little boy made him feel as though he was abandoning him somehow.

Then Jordan looked up at him with those beguiling green eyes, and her plea to trust her rolled through his head.

Dammit, he’d been lost before he’d come here.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, and even if he didn’t like shrinks or counselors or talking about problems like these head doctors insisted, he had no idea how to reach his son.

He needed her help.

Trying for some sense of normalcy, he ruffled Timmy’s hair. “See you in about an hour, sport.”

His gaze caught Jordan’s, a silent plea in his eyes.

She nodded, then walked him back toward the door. “If I need you before we meet up, I’ll call.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to talk, then stepped through the door. Worry crawled through him as he left his son, but he reminded himself that time was of the essence.

That Mason Blackpaw might have news.

So he strode out into the sunshine and breathed in the clean ranch air. Across the way, he spotted a group by the barn, another set of campers grooming the horses in the pen. Normally the smells and scenery in front of him brought instant peace, but today peace eluded him.

He leaned against the porch rail and punched Mason’s number. A second later, the detective picked up. “Any news?” Miles asked, not bothering to detail the subject line. Blackpaw knew there was only one thing on his mind.

“Nothing good,” Blackpaw muttered. “We put a tail on Dugan, but the rookie lost him last night. Haven’t caught up with him since.”

Miles cursed. “Can’t we track his cell phone?”

“Working on getting a warrant, but so far zilch.”

“How about a GPS on his car?”

“Dugan is smart,” Blackpaw said. “He had it dismantled.”

Son of a bitch.

“Can’t we crack his alibi?”

“Working that angle, too. Woman who stuck up for him is nowhere to be found.”

“You mean you lost her, too.”

Blackpaw mumbled an obscenity this time. “I mean she’s disappeared.”

A cold sweat broke out on Miles’s brow. Maybe she’d run off with him?

Or more likely...Dugan had killed her to cover his tracks.

Chapter Three

Miles paced the length of the porch, one eye catching sight of Brody’s pickup truck lumbering down the drive. “Dammit, I need to be out there looking for Dugan myself. He’s probably already killed his alibi and looking for some other innocent woman to carve up.”

“You’re preaching to the choir here,” Blackpaw said. “But you know what the lieutenant said. You’re too close to this one, McGregor.”

“Of course I’m close to it, but that’s what makes me motivated. Last time I talked to Hammond, he didn’t seem convinced that Dugan was guilty.”

A long pause followed, steeped in tension. “That’s another problem,” Blackpaw admitted. “With the Kelly woman’s murder, we both know there’s more to the case than we originally thought.”

“Don’t tell me you think Dugan was set up,” Miles growled.

“No,” Blackpaw said. “I think he’s as guilty as homemade sin. But—”

The sun slid behind a winter cloud, making the sky turn a hazy gray. “There is no but. He killed those women and he killed Marie.”

“But what about June Kelly?”

“We’re still looking into it.” Miles had no answer for that. Yet.

“You know, I did find evidence that Marie was seeing someone. Two men over the last five years.”

Miles chewed the inside of his cheek. He’d be a piss-poor cop if he ignored evidence and didn’t consider every possibility. “Go on.”