Own the Night. Debbi Rawlins

met the old-timer’s bloodshot, beady eyes. “I suggest you think about how you’re phrasing that accusation, Avery.”

      His brown weathered face creased in confusion and he swayed to the left. With a light touch to his shoulder, Noah brought him back to center. The guy was still active, but damn, he felt frail.

      Hell, Noah didn’t need something else to worry about. Since he’d moved back to Blackfoot Falls, his plate was full enough with his aging parents. They were the main reason he’d returned—that and he didn’t care for city living. “Why don’t I drive you home?”

      “I got my own truck. How else you think I got here, boy?” Still frowning, Avery rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Don’t go mixing up my words, either. I ain’t accusing the McAllisters of thieving, but it is their fault things have gone missing, what with them inviting all them strangers to town.”

      For three months Avery and his cronies had been ranting about the influx of tourists, and Noah was getting damn tired of it. Although part of his irritation had to do with the fact that he hadn’t made any headway in solving a rash of thefts that had plagued the county since the McAllisters had opened their doors to guests.

      Sure, the economy was bad and a lot of folks were out of work, but he knew most everyone for miles, and they were good, honest, God-fearing people. Transients had come through looking for work over the summer, but the timing was off. They’d all been long gone before the first theft occurred, so he knew they weren’t responsible.

      Some of the stolen property had been recovered, but no thanks to him or his deputies. Harlan Roker’s trailer had been abandoned in a field ten miles south of his ranch. The Silvas’ water truck had gone missing for two days, then turned up in back of Abe’s Variety Store.

      It almost seemed as if someone was toying with Noah, showing him they could do whatever they wanted and he couldn’t stop them. But he’d been sheriff of Salina County for three years, and to his knowledge he hadn’t made any enemies. Yeah, he’d broken up the occasional bar fight or been called to settle a squabble between neighbors, but nothing serious. He’d worked as a Chicago cop after the army and college, before returning to Blackfoot Falls. Normally he could handle the job here with his eyes closed.

      “Look at ‘em.” Avery pointed a gnarled finger at a green rental car that pulled up in front of the Salina Gazette’s office next to the Watering Hole. Three young blondes dressed to kill climbed out.

      “Quit pointing.”

      Avery ignored him. “That’s when the trouble all started. When that dude ranch opened. Those damn McAllister kids … their poor father is turning over in his grave.”

      Noah forced the man’s arm down. “Shut up, Avery, or I swear to God I’ll lock you up on a drunk and disorderly charge.”

      “Don’t you talk to me like that, boy—”

      Noah saw that one of the women had noticed them. Afraid she would head his way, he grabbed hold of Avery’s arm, while reaching behind and opening the door. “Get in my office.”

      The old man’s eyes bulged. “You locking me up?”

      “Not if you come quietly.” Noah spotted Roy’s truck pulling to the curb, and he motioned for his deputy to meet him inside.

      Avery started yapping before the door was closed. Noah tuned him out, glanced through the open blinds to see Roy approaching, and then turned his attention to the whirring groan of an incoming fax.

      The machine was ancient, but they didn’t use it much since they’d gotten the new computer, and Noah couldn’t justify the expense of replacing it.

      “What’s up, boss?” Roy looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed with his spiky hair and wrinkled uniform shirt.

      “Tuck it in,” Noah said, snorting when Roy tried to suck in his sizable gut. “The shirt.” Noah shifted a mislaid stack of papers from the corner of his desk to the top of the gunmetal-gray file cabinet. “Then take Avery home.” He cut off the old man’s protest with a stern glare before picking up the fax.

      The silence lasted only a few seconds, but the arguing faded as the pair left the office, leaving Noah to concentrate on the fax sent from the Potter County Sheriff’s Department. He knew Roland Moran, though not well, because Potter County was located south, clear down near the Idaho border. Sheriff Moran was old-school and had personally sent the fax.

      Noah studied the piece of paper, seeing that he was one of four sheriffs who’d been notified that a pair of con artists might be headed north toward the Canadian border. Huh, grifters … that was something you didn’t see every day. The man had a medium build, was in his mid-thirties with dark hair; the woman in her late twenties, brown hair, brown eyes, tall, attractive, the brains. Moran believed they were married but might be traveling separately.

      Noah rubbed the tense spot in his right shoulder. Great, just what he needed. More trouble.

       2

      “MY BAGS?” ALANA PROMPTED when the cabbie pulled his atrocious ancient noisy sedan to the curb and just sat there, gazing out the windshield in apparent admiration of the cheap Halloween decorations that heralded Main Street.

      “What? Oh, yeah, sure thing.” Harvey popped the trunk, then made no move to get out and retrieve her luggage. He simply relaxed against the cracked vinyl upholstery, his impressive paunch testing the buttons of his plaid flannel shirt. “Easiest money I ever made. You gonna need a ride back to the airport later?”

      “God, I hope not,” she muttered, and dug in her purse for her wallet.

      “What’s that?” he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.

      “Your muffler,” she said louder. “It needs replacing.”

      He just grinned and nodded.

      Guess she was getting her own bag. At least it wasn’t terrifically heavy. She sighed and passed him the fee she’d negotiated for him to drive her the hour and a half to Blackfoot Falls. To be fair, the man wasn’t really a cab driver. She’d arrived at the tiny airport to find one car rental counter, and that was it. Since she didn’t have a driver’s license she supposed she was lucky to have gotten a ride from the rental agent’s brother-in-law.

      She climbed out of the car and yanked her bag from the trunk, setting it on its wheels before grabbing her carry-on and laptop, which she nested on top of the bag, anchoring everything securely to the pop-up handle. Normally, she was good at packing. But the last-minute trip and the mad dash to John F. Kennedy Airport to catch her plane had resulted in her purse ending up a catch-all that weighed heavily on her shoulder.

      Alana watched Harvey make a U-turn, then sputter down the highway, tufts of disgusting black exhaust in his wake. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed her arrival in the awful car, although she’d been careful to have him drop her off at the edge of town. He wasn’t familiar with the Sundance, but she figured that as long as he got her to Blackfoot Falls, that was good enough. She just hoped there was someone around who could give her directions. The place looked deserted.

      She tucked her hair behind her ear and smoothed down the front of her jacket while searching for signs of life. Farther down the street there were several cars parked in front of storefronts, but the place was ungodly quiet for … she checked her watch, did a quick calculation and set the Rolex back to four-thirty, local time.

      It wasn’t exactly the dinner hour, so where was everyone? Main Street looked to be about five blocks long, though surprisingly wide, with a small square of grassy semigreen in the middle, its centerpiece a huge tree with most of the leaves gone or faded to autumn-yellow. From the bare branches hung paper ghosts fluttering in the brisk breeze.

      Not a single stop sign was in sight and definitely no traffic lights, even though there seemed to be a couple of residential side streets. Closest to her was a gas station, then a gun shop, and next to it a hardware store. Across the