Cold Case at Camden Crossing. Rita Herron

might be the only lead they had.

      He understood people’s anger and frustration.

      But why would someone want to hurt her? Then she’d never be able to tell them who else had been there that day.

      The answer hit him like a fist in the gut.

      Someone didn’t want her to remember because there had been foul play.

      And if she could identify the culprit, she could put him or her in jail....

      * * *

      HE WATCHED THE house where Tawny-Lynn slept.

      The images of the girls who’d died tormented him. He hadn’t meant to kill them all. He loved them too much to do them harm.

      But things had gotten out of hand. Then everything had gone wrong.

      His gut churned with memories of the screams of those girls in the fire. That had been...terrible. He had nightmares to this day. He would never have wanted any of them to suffer like that.

      His heart was racing as he remembered the panic that had seized him when the bus had exploded.

      Ah, sweet Peyton. So easy to love.

      And Ruth... He’d wanted her so badly back then.

      Another few months and maybe Tawny-Lynn would have appealed to him, too. She did now.

      So sexy and athletic and that soft, blond hair... She’d turned out to be pretty after all.

      Too bad she might have to die.

      Chapter Six

      Tawny-Lynn couldn’t go back to sleep. She didn’t even want to go back to sleep, and relive the same old nightmare.

      If only she could recall the face of the person who’d rescued her.

      She climbed from bed, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and yanked her hair back into a ponytail. The mammoth job of cleaning the rest of the house awaited her.

      But she needed coffee and food, and now that the kitchen was clean, she needed some groceries to get by on until she could make the necessary repairs to the ranch.

      She jogged down the stairs, but the sound of her sister’s voice called to her as if she was begging her to find her.

      She grabbed her purse and cell phone, then remembered her car was in the shop. She’d seen the keys to her father’s pickup somewhere. If it was still running, she’d take it into town.

      She glanced around the living room, daunted by the task she faced, then went back to the kitchen and remembered that she’d put the keys in the wicker basket with the bills that needed attention. Keys in hand, she jogged outside and found the truck parked beneath the makeshift carport her father had erected. The ancient truck was rusty and chugged and coughed as she tried to start it, as if it hadn’t been cranked in ages. But her father had to have driven it to pick up his booze and the junk boxes he collected.

      After three attempts, the battery finally charged to life, and she pulled from the carport. Remembering the intruder the night before, she scanned the property surrounding the ranch, but everything looked still and quiet.

      Relieved, she barreled down the dirt drive and turned on the road to town. She passed the high school, pausing for a second to watch as the teenagers began to arrive. Students had gathered in the parking lot to hang out before going inside just as she and Ruth and Peyton used to do with the team. Softball season was almost over, and a sign out front congratulated the team for making it to the state finals. They were probably beginning play-offs now. Coach Wake was sure to be ecstatic.

      She sped up, entered the town square and parked in front of the diner, desperate for coffee and breakfast. Thunderclouds darkened the sky, promising rain, and she pulled on her denim jacket and walked up the sidewalk to the diner. An old-fashioned hitching post and wagon wheel made the wooden structure look like a building from the past.

      The delicious scent of bacon and coffee engulfed her when she entered, and her stomach growled. When had she eaten last?

      She glanced around the room in search of an empty booth and suddenly felt tension charge the air. Voices quieted. Laughter died. A few whispers echoed through the diner.

      Nerves climbed up her neck.

      Suddenly Chaz appeared looking larger than life and so sexy that need spiraled through her.

      “Good morning, Tawny-Lynn.”

      She wasn’t so sure of that. “Maybe I should leave.”

      He shook his head. “No, sit down, have breakfast with me.”

      Did he know what he was doing? “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

      He took her arm and ushered her into a booth to the left. “Well, I do. I’m sheriff. People had better take note.”

      Some emotion she couldn’t define swelled inside her. She hadn’t had anyone stand up for her in a long time.

      She sank into the booth, exhausted already, and the day hadn’t even begun. Chaz motioned for the waitress, and she appeared, a pencil jammed into her bouffant hairdo.

      “Morning, Sheriff.” She glanced down at Tawny-Lynn, her penciled-in eyebrows knit together. “Hey, sugar. You new to town?”

      Tawny-Lynn fiddled with the paper napkin as she read the woman’s name tag. Her name was Hilda. “I used to live here. I’m Tawny-Lynn Boulder.”

      “Oh, right, hon, I heard you were coming home. So sorry about your daddy.” Hilda set two coffee cups on the gingham tablecloth and filled them with coffee from the pot on her tray. “He used to come in for coffee every now and then.”

      When he was sober? Tawny-Lynn couldn’t imagine.

      But she relaxed at the woman’s friendly smile.

      “What’ll you two have?”

      “The breakfast special for me.” Chaz grinned at Tawny-Lynn. “They make the best biscuits in town.”

      She noted the chalkboard. The special was three eggs, sausage and pancakes. If she ate all that, she’d be too full to get any work done.

      “I’ll take the country breakfast. Scrambled eggs with cheese.”

      “Sausage or bacon?”

      “Sausage.”

      Hilda smiled again, then called their order in and headed to the next table.

      “Did you sleep any last night?” Chaz asked.

      She fiddled with her napkin. “A little. But I dreamed about the crash.”

      He was watching her, his interest piqued, but he didn’t push. “You dream about it a lot?”

      She nodded. “All the time.”

      “What happens in the dream?”

      She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped the ponytail holder behind her ear. “I’m at the ball game. We win, everyone’s excited, cheering. Then we run to the bus. Coach says we’ll meet for pizza.” Goose bumps skated up her arms.

      “Then?”

      “Then we’re in the bus and everyone’s talking and then the bus jerks...like someone hit us, and the driver loses control.”

      Chaz sucked in a sharp breath. “That fits with our theory.”

      “You believe someone caused the accident?”

      “Yes, but we don’t know if it was an accident, or if someone intentionally slammed into the bus.”