Shotgun Sheriff. Delores Fossen

chest. The man was certainly solid. There were lots of corded muscles in his chest and abs.

      Both of them cursed this time.

      And Livvy shook her head. She shouldn’t be noticing anything that intimate about a man whom she would likely end up at odds with. She shouldn’t be noticing his looks, either. Those eyes. The desperado stubble on his strong square jaw and the tousled coffee-brown hair that made him look as if he’d just crawled out of bed.

      Or off a poster for a Texas cowboy-sheriff.

      It was crystal-clear that he didn’t want her anywhere near the crime scene or his town. Tough. Livvy had been given a job to do, and she never walked away from the job.

      Sherriff Hardin would soon learn that about her.

      By God, she hadn’t fought her way into the Ranger organization to be stonewalled by some local yokels who believed one of their own could do no wrong.

      “What cell phone?” Reed asked.

      Because the adrenaline and anger had caused her breath and mind to race, it took her a moment to answer. First, she glanced at the road and saw the mayor inching his way back up toward them. “One I found in the fireplace when I was going through the front room. You no doubt missed it in the initial search because the ashes were covering it completely. The only reason I found it is because I ran a metal detector over the place to search for any spent shell casings. Then, I photographed it, bagged it and put it on the table. It’s missing.”

      His jaw muscles stirred. “It’s Marcie’s phone?”

      “I don’t know. I showed it to Deputy Spears, and he said he didn’t think it was Shane’s. That means it could be Marcie’s.”

      “Or the killer’s.”

      She was certain her jaw muscles stirred, too. “Need I remind you that you found Deputy Shane Tolbert standing over Marcie’s body, and he had a gun in his hand? Marcie was his estranged lover. I hate to state the obvious, but all the initial evidence indicates that Shane is the killer.”

      Livvy instantly regretted spouting that verdict. It wasn’t her job to get a conviction or jump to conclusions. She was there to gather evidence and find the truth, and she didn’t want anything, including her anger, to get in the way.

      “Shane said he didn’t kill her,” Reed explained. His voice was calm enough, but not his eyes. Everything else about him was unruffled except for those intense green eyes. They were warrior eyes. “He said Marcie called him and asked him to meet her at the cabin. The moment he stepped inside, someone hit him over the head, and he fell on the floor. When he came to, Marcie was dead and someone had put a gun in his hand.”

      Yes, she’d already heard the summary of Shane’s statement from Deputy Kirby Spears. Livvy intended to study the interrogation carefully, especially since Reed had been the one to question the suspect.

      Talk about a conflict of interest.

      Still, in a small town like Comanche Creek, Reed probably hadn’t had an alternative, especially since the on-scene Ranger, Lieutenant Colter, had been called back to the office. If Reed hadn’t questioned Shane, then it would have been left to his junior deputy, Kirby, who was greener than the Hill Country’s spring foliage.

      The mayor finally made his way toward them and stopped a few feet away. “What’s wrong?”

      “Where’s the cell phone that I’d bagged and tagged?” Livvy asked, not waiting for Reed to respond.

      Woody Sadler first looked at Reed. Then, her. “I have no idea. I didn’t take it.”

      “Then you won’t mind proving that to me. Show me your pockets.”

      Woody hesitated, until Reed gave him a nod. It wasn’t exactly a cooperative nod, either, and the accompanying grumble had a get-this-over-with tone to it.

      The mayor pulled out a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and a handkerchief and keys from the front ones. No cell phone, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken it. The man had had at least ten minutes to discard it along the way up or down the hill to his vehicle.

      “Taking the cell won’t help your friend’s cause,” she pointed out. “I already phoned in the number, and it’ll be traced.”

      Woody lifted his shoulder. “Good. Because maybe what you learn about that phone will get Shane out of jail. He didn’t kill Marcie.”

      Reed stared at her. “Can the mayor go now, or do you intend to strip-search him?”

      Livvy ignored that swipe and glanced down at Woody’s snakeskin boots. “You wear about a size eleven.” She turned her attention to Reed. “And so do you. That looks to be about the size of the footprints that I took casts of over in the brush.”

      “So?” Woody challenged.

      “So, the location of those prints means that someone could have waited there for Marcie to arrive. They could be the footprints of the killer. Or the killer’s accomplice if he had one. Sheriff Hardin would have had reason to be out here, but what about you? Before this morning, were you here at the cabin in the past forty-eight hours?”

      “No.” The mayor’s answer was quick and confident.

      Livvy didn’t intend to take his word for it.

      “You can go now,” Reed told the mayor.

      Woody slid his hat back on, tossed her a glare and delivered his parting shot from over his shoulder as he walked away. “You might do to remember that Reed is the law in Comanche Creek.”

      Livvy could have reminded him that she was there on orders from the governor, but instead she took out her binoculars from her field bag and watched Woody’s exit. If he stopped to pick up a discarded cell phone, she would arrest him on the spot.

      “He didn’t take that phone,” Reed insisted.

      “Then who did?”

      “The real killer. He could have done it while Kirby and you were casting the footprints.”

      “The real killer,” she repeated. “And exactly who would that be?”

      “Someone that Marcie got involved with in the past two years when she was missing and presumed dead.”

      Livvy couldn’t discount that. After all, Marcie had faked her own death so she wouldn’t have to testify against a powerful local rancher who’d been accused of bribing officials in order to purchase land that the Comanche community considered their own. The rancher, Jonah Becker, who also owned this cabin, could have silenced Marcie when she returned from the grave.

      Or maybe the killer was someone who’d been furious that Marcie hadn’t gone through with her testimony two years ago. There were several people who could have wanted the woman dead, but Shane was the one who’d been found standing over her body.

      “See? He didn’t take the cell phone,” Reed grumbled when the mayor didn’t stop along the path to retrieve anything he might have discarded. The mayor got into a shiny fire-engine-red gas-guzzler of a truck and sped away, the massive tires kicking up a spray of mud and gravel.

      “He could be planning to come back for it later,” Livvy commented. But probably not. He would have known that she would search the area.

      “Instead of focusing on Woody Sadler,” Reed continued, “how about taking a look at the evidence inside the cabin? Because naming Shane as the primary suspect just doesn’t add up.”

      Ah, she’d wondered how long it would take to get to this subject. “How do you figure that?”

      “For one thing, I swabbed Shane’s hands, and there was no gunshot residue. Plus, this case might be bigger than just Shane and Marcie. You might not have heard, but a few days ago there were some other bodies that turned up at the Comanche burial grounds.”

      “I heard,”