Scene of the Crime: Bridgewater, Texas. Carla Cassidy

and stood in an obvious attempt to dismiss him. “I guess we’re done here.”

      He rose to his feet, obviously getting the clue that she was finished with him. She walked with him to the motel room door and stepped outside into the warm July air.

      “Jenna, this town and this murder investigation isn’t big enough for us to share. Take care of whatever you need to with Miranda’s estate, but leave the investigation to me.” With these words he left her and walked to his car without a backward glance.

      She watched as he got into his patrol car and left the parking lot. She leaned against the outside of her unit and closed her eyes against the bright sunshine.

      Miranda, what happened here? Again a wealth of grief clawed up the back of her throat, but she swallowed hard against it.

      Who did you meet that killed you? Who could have plunged a knife through your loving, kind heart? Who could have hated you that much? And why? Why did this happen to you?

      A faint chill swept through her despite the warmth of the sun. She had felt the creepy feeling she was being watched.

      She opened her eyes and gazed around as the disturbing sensation continued. She saw nobody around, but couldn’t dispel the feeling that somebody was nearby, staring at her with malevolence.

      The killer?

      She’d only introduced herself to Sally. Had the waitress talked about the FBI agent who had come to town? Did the killer already know she was here? Was he stalking her like she intended to stalk him?

      “Bring it on,” she whispered just beneath her breath as she went back into her room and locked the door behind her.

      

      “JOEY, I’M HEADING OVER to Maggie Wendt’s place for another interview,” Matt said to his young deputy the next morning. “If you need me, you can either reach me by radio or by my cell phone.”

      “Got it,” Joey said.

      Matt left the office and stepped out into the hot morning air. Not even nine o’clock yet and the sun was already a fireball in the sky.

      That wasn’t all that was hot this morning. As he thought of the dream he’d had the night before, his temperature raised several notches.

      Special Agent Jenna Taylor had been the center of his dream, beckoning him into bed with her mysterious blue eyes and a smile that had heated his blood to the boiling point. And he’d been a willing participant, tumbling into the sheets with her and making hot, wild love.

      He got into his patrol car and started the engine. It had been a long time since he’d thought about sex, let alone had a dream where he’d awakened panting and aroused and wanting to remain asleep to experience it all over again.

      It was an indication that the grief he’d suffered for so long had truly passed. He would forever hold Natalie in his heart, but she was gone and he was ready to move on.

      He was only thirty-five years old, far too young to contemplate living the rest of his life alone. Besides, he knew what it was to love. He knew what it felt like to be in love and he wanted that again.

      Why he’d dreamed of Jenna was a mystery to him. She’d been in town only twenty-four hours and already he found her to be a major pain.

      He shoved away thoughts of Jenna and instead focused on the matter at hand. He’d done an initial interview with Maggie immediately after she’d found Miranda’s body, but she’d been so distraught that he’d had to call a halt to the interview.

      He’d tried to talk to her the day before as well, but she’d indicated that she was still too upset to talk about her murdered friend.

      He was hoping that today she’d be able to discuss what she knew about Miranda, might be able to give him some details about the murdered woman’s life that would help him find her killer.

      It concerned him that they had so little to go on. None of Miranda’s neighbors had seen or heard anything on the morning of her death. The only real evidence they had was a vase of roses, five long-stem roses in various stages of bloom and the sixth that had been found on the center of her bloody chest.

      Nobody knew about the roses except the officers who had processed the scene. He and his team were trying to chase down where the roses might have come from, but with Bridgewater being only forty miles from Dallas, it was possible they were bought in the bigger city where there were hundreds of florists. It could take weeks or even months to chase down that particular lead.

      He hadn’t wanted to admit to Jenna just how little they had, just how stymied he was in finding the killer. The last five years it had been easy to be sheriff in Bridgewater. The worst of the crimes were an occasional robbery, bar fights and domestic disputes. Murder hadn’t been an issue until now.

      Maggie Wendt lived in a small rental home three blocks from Miranda’s house. When Matt pulled up in front of it he muttered a curse as he saw the familiar rental car in the driveway. The woman who had visited his dream the night before seemed definitely determined to get on his bad side.

      Even though he was irritated that she was here, he couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for her sheer tenacity. Wouldn’t he be doing the same thing if his best friend had been murdered?

      He knocked on the door and Maggie answered. “Sheriff Buchannan,” she said in surprise. “Please, come in. I was just speaking with your partner.”

      His partner? He shook his head ruefully as he followed Maggie through the small living room and into the kitchen where Jenna sat at the table with a cup of coffee in front of her.

      Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him but she offered him, a bright smile as if they were best buddies. “Sheriff, I was just chatting with Maggie,” she said.

      She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless blue blouse that exactly matched her eyes. The top two buttons of the blouse were unfastened, giving him a glimpse of creamy breasts as she leaned forward to wrap her fingers around her coffee mug.

      “I’m so glad you’ve called in the FBI,” Maggie exclaimed. “I want everyone in the world looking for Miranda’s killer.” She gestured Matt into a chair at the table next to Jenna. “Let me get you some coffee,” she said.

      “Thanks, that sounds good.”

      As Maggie went to the coffeepot on the countertop, Matt looked at Jenna. She shrugged, as if to say that she couldn’t help herself.

      “I was just telling Agent Taylor what a wonderful friend Miranda was for the three months that I knew her,” Maggie said as she set a cup of coffee in front of Matt. “Everyone at the café loved her and she and I clicked right away.”

      Maggie joined them at the table and grabbed a napkin from the bright red rooster-shaped napkin holder in the center of the table. “I can’t get the picture of her out of my head, her lying on the bed covered in blood.”

      Jenna reached across the table and patted Maggie’s hand. “Eventually you’ll forget the horror of it. Time will help.”

      Maggie nodded. “It’s just still so fresh.”

      “Maggie, I know I asked you this before, but you’ve had a couple of days to think about things, can you think of anyone who might have been angry with Miranda? Somebody here in town who was giving her problems?”

      Maggie shook her head as tears glimmered in her eyes. She unfolded the napkin and used it to dab at her tears. “I know everyone at the café loved her. She never complained, even when she took extra shifts. The customers all loved her. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her. Maybe it was a robbery?” she asked hopefully, as if somehow that would make it all better.

      Matt shook his head. “As far as we could tell nothing was stolen.”

      “Did she mention anyone she was interested in? Maybe a man who’d caught her eye?” Jenna asked.

      “No,