Falcon's Run. Aimee Thurlo

“She needs the money to keep the ranch and help kids like me. I wish she could find a rich guy to marry—someone who could help run the ranch and pay the bills. Do you know any rich guys?”

      Preston heard coughing—more like choking—and Abby walked in a heartbeat later. From all indications, she’d been listening.

      “Michelle’s here, Bobby. She can give you a ride back home.”

      “Not now. Let me stay and help. You’ll need to look in Carl’s office, and if I go with you I can tell if anything’s missing or been moved around.”

      Abby looked at Preston. “Bobby’s got a photographic memory—really,” she said.

      “Not just that. I rule when it comes to puzzles and problem solving, too.” He looked at Preston. “You don’t believe me? Okay. I’ll prove it.” He gave Preston a once-over. “Betcha you spent some time outside working earlier this morning.”

      Preston smiled slowly. “How do you know that?”

      “Your boots are real dusty but the dust is darker than the ground around here. You also have some red horse hair on you and we don’t have any red horses. You were probably chopping wood or weeds or working real hard without gloves, ’cause the palms of your hands are all scuffed up. Maybe rope burns?” Bobby offered.

      Preston smiled slowly. “Good observations. You might be another Sherlock Holmes someday, kid.”

      “Maybe. So can I stay?” he said, looking over at Abby. “Please?”

      “Okay, but I need to speak to the detective alone right now. Go help Michelle feed the llamas.”

      “Sure.” He turned to Preston. “We’re counting on you, okay?” he said, then walked slowly out the door, closing it behind him. Abby waited several seconds before speaking. “I was eavesdropping because I didn’t think it was a good idea for Bobby to speak to you alone. You don’t know a thing about that boy.”

      “That was the purpose of talking to him.”

      “I still think you should have had an adult present.”

      “He found the body, but he’s not a suspect,” Preston said. “You seem to have heard pretty much everything we talked about, so why are you worried?”

      “You don’t understand. Bobby sometimes comes across as a tough kid and in a lot of ways he is, but he’s been betrayed and abandoned by people all his life. Carl was one of the few adults he trusted. Now he’s gone, too. Can you imagine what he’s going through? You have to cut him some slack and be careful what kind of questions you ask him. It’s important that he continue to remember Carl in a good way.”

      What touched Preston most was her protectiveness. When he’d been Bobby’s age, he, too, would have gone to the wall for anyone who’d cared enough to defend him.

      “I have no intention of doing anything that would hurt Bobby. I’ll be careful around him, but I’m here to do a job. That means digging for the truth even if it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear.”

      “All right. The truth doesn’t frighten me. How can I help you find answers?”

      “Let’s start with some straight talk.”

       Chapter Four

      Abby watched Detective Bowman as he checked his notes. He was handsome in a tough, streetwise way. Somewhere along the way he’d shrugged out of his police-issue jacket and was now wearing a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

      He looked muscular, like a man used to hard, physical work. His shoulders were wide, and his chest was as broad and strong as she remembered from this morning. She suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t a pretty boy. His nose was a little crooked, like he’d broken it at one time, but that just heightened his appeal.

      Detective Preston Bowman was fascinating to watch. Even as he wrote in his notebook she could sense a restless energy about him.

      As he shifted, her gaze fell to the badge clipped to his belt and, on the other side, his handgun. That reminder was all she needed to rein in her thoughts. He was a law enforcement professional here to do a job, and this was no time for distractions.

      “Carl didn’t have a vehicle, so I’m assuming he had a bicycle or drove one of the ranch’s trucks?” he asked.

      As he looked at her, she felt the power of his gaze all through her. Detective Bowman was all male, with cool eyes that didn’t miss much and left her feeling slightly off balance.

      “What is that, Detective—a trick question? You’ve undoubtedly already run his name through the MVD and know that Carl didn’t have a driver’s license. If he needed to go someplace, he either hitched a ride with one of our volunteers or rode his bicycle, which is in his office in the barn.”

      Preston held her gaze a moment longer, but she forced herself not to even blink.

      “You paid him by check?”

      “Yeah, but he preferred cash. He didn’t have a bank account,” she said.

      He looked at her, surprised. “And that didn’t seem odd to you?”

      “Carl was one of a kind,” she said with a sad smile. “He also didn’t have a credit card or a cell phone. In this day and age, that’s hard to believe, but it’s true.”

      “No prepaid cell phone either?”

      “I can’t say for sure, but I really doubt it. It just wasn’t his style.” As much as she wanted to trust him, she knew they weren’t really on the same side. He was here only to investigate the crime. Her priority was protecting the ranch and, more importantly, the work they did here.

      “After we’re done and the scene is released, do you plan to reopen right away?”

      “I haven’t decided yet,” she said, then as her voice wavered, she swallowed hard. “Without knowing why someone came after me, I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. Just being around me could endanger the kids and I can’t let that happen.”

      “I can’t give you any real assurances, but based on the evidence, the guy who jumped you didn’t want you dead. He had his chance. My guess is that he only wanted to scare you.”

      “Do you think it was the same person who killed Carl?”

      “Not likely. Woods died last night, between nine and midnight approximately. That means his killer would have had to stick around for six to nine hours.”

      “But two violent incidents that close together? That’s a huge coincidence, don’t you think? We’ve never had any trouble here,” she said. “Let’s assume the killer did stick around. What do you think he did all that time?”

      “Searching for something? You tell me. This is your ranch, so your guess will probably be better than mine.”

      Hearing a knock on the door, she excused herself and went to answer it. A tall, wiry, redheaded man in a Western shirt and jeans came in.

      “Stan,” she said.

      The man took her hand for a moment. “Abby, I’m so sorry. Carl was a good man.”

      She gestured toward Preston. “This is Detective Bowman from the Hartley police,” she said. “He’s investigating Carl’s death.” The words sounded odd even in her own ears. “Detective, this is Stan Cooper, my accountant and business advisor.”

      “You can add ranch volunteer to that list, too,” he said, brushing alfalfa leaves off his shirt instead of offering to shake hands. “I just brought in a trailer loaded with hay, saw the police and learned what happened.”

      “I’m still trying to come to terms with everything,” Abby said.

      “I know this is hard on you, Abby, but you’ve got a more