Cowboy Conspiracy. Joanna Wayne

he heard what sounded like gunshots from the Whiting home, but that the alarm system hadn’t gone off. When we got here we found the back door wide open, so we came in that way and then unlocked the front door for you guys.”

      “Have you talked to the neighbor?” Wyatt asked.

      “We figured Homicide would want to be the first to do that,” Bower said.

      The front door banged shut. Either the wind had caught it or someone had joined them. Wyatt’s hand instinctively flew to the butt of his weapon.

      “Mother.”

      The voice coming from the foyer was youthful, male and shaky with panic.

      Wyatt and Alyssa rushed to the hallway.

      “What’s wrong?” the boy asked. “Where’s my mother?”

      The boy looked to be twelve or thirteen, the same age Wyatt had been when his world had exploded. A man in a blue flannel robe stood beside him, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Has something happened?”

      Alyssa flashed her badge. “Alyssa Lancaster, Atlanta P.D. Are you Derrick Whiting?”

      “No. My name’s Culver. Andy Culver. I live across the street and a few doors down. Josh, here, was spending the night with my son Eric. He woke up and saw the squad cars in front of his house. Was there an accident?”

      “There’s a problem,” Alyssa admitted. “Josh, do you know where your dad is?”

      “He’s out of town on business.”

      “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Wyatt asked.

      “No.”

      “Any other relatives who live nearby? Grandparents or maybe an aunt?”

      “My grandparents live in Peachtree City. Why? What happened to my mother?” His voice had turned husky, as if he were fighting back tears.

      “Why don’t we step out on the porch while I explain the situation,” Alyssa said.

      Explain? As if they were talking about the boy’s math homework instead of the end of life as he’d known it. Thankfully, Alyssa was better at talking to the family of a victim than Wyatt was, especially when they were kids.

      Wyatt could handle the cold, hard facts of the crime, but he needed the sharp edges of personal boundaries to keep distracting emotions in check.

      “Where’s my mother?” Josh’s voice had become almost a wail.

      “I’m sorry, Josh.” Alyssa stepped toward him.

      Josh broke loose from the cluster and made a run for the living area where his mother’s lifeless body lay drenched in blood. Wyatt grabbed for him as he scurried past, but Josh went in for the slide as if he were stealing home. By the time Wyatt reached him, the boy was standing over the body, his face a ghostly white.

      Josh trembled, but he wasn’t crying yet. That would come later. Now he was in a state of semishock, consumed by the nightmare and ghastly images his mind wouldn’t let him accept.

      “Mom’s dead, isn’t she?” His voice broke.

      Alyssa slipped an arm around his shoulders as Wyatt took a position that hid the worst of the scene from the boy’s line of vision. But nothing either of them could say or do could protect Josh from the horror or the agony that would follow. No one knew that better than Wyatt.

      The best Wyatt could do was to apprehend the killer and see that justice was served for Josh’s mother. That was a hell of a lot more than anyone had done for Helene Ledger.

      Chapter One

       Three months later

      “The chief wants to see you in his office.”

      Wyatt looked up at the young clerk who had just stuck her head inside his cubicle. “Did he say why?”

      “No, just that he wants to see you.”

      Wyatt shoved the letter he’d been sweating over into a folder and pushed his squeaky swivel chair back from a desk piled high with case files. He picked up the folder for the Whiting case. He hadn’t even finished his written report yet, but he was sure last night’s developments would be the topic of the chief’s discussion.

      He wouldn’t be thrilled that Derrick Whiting would not be standing trial for the murder of his wife. But neither would he be walking the streets a free man, with insurance money in the bank and the sexy mistress in his bed.

      Whiting had shot himself last night when Wyatt and Alyssa had shown up at his door, arrest warrant in hand. Fortunately, Josh was not there to witness the event. He’d moved in with his grandparents over a month ago.

      Alyssa caught up with Wyatt just before he reached the chief’s door. “So you were summoned, too.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Think Dixon’s pissed that we couldn’t stop the sick bastard from killing himself?” she asked.

      “I’m sure he’d have preferred to have the guy stand trial, but it is what it is.”

      The door was open. Martin Dixon waved them both inside. He stood and moved away from his desk to welcome them. He wasn’t exactly smiling. He never did. But his eyes and stance said it all. He was glad this was over.

      “Hell of a job! Both of you. I wish we could have brought Whiting in to stand trial, but I can see why he took care of his own death sentence. And if he hadn’t, the evidence you’ve collected would have guaranteed a conviction. No juror in his right mind would have let him off.”

      “It’s the jurors not in their right minds I always worry about,” Alyssa said. “But thanks for the kudos.”

      “The mayor called this morning,” the chief continued. “Said to tell both of you how grateful he is for the way you handled the investigation. He wanted to congratulate you himself, but he’s getting ready for a joint press conference he’s giving with me in about an hour.”

      Wyatt grimaced. “You’re not going to thank us by making us spoon-feed the details to the media sharks, are you?”

      “No. The mayor and I will make statements. Louis will handle the questions about the case, but I need both of you to brief him.”

      “That, I can handle,” Wyatt said.

      Louis was in charge of APD public relations and he had a way of feeding the media just enough to keep them happy without releasing any gratuitous details.

      “Anyway, good work,” the chief said again.

      “Thanks,” Wyatt said. “Just doing my job, and I’m certain the guy who ate the bullet was guilty as sin.”

      Wyatt and Alyssa had eaten and slept that case for three months. The murder had been carefully planned, and almost perfectly executed to make it look like a startled burglar had committed the crime. But Derrick had made a couple of fatal errors. Most murderers did.

      Thankfully, Derrick Whiting was Josh’s stepfather of just over two years and not his biological father. Josh admitted they’d never been close, though Derrick had painted a picture of perfect family harmony to his coworkers.

      At least now Josh wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge that his real father had killed his mother in cold blood. He wouldn’t be forced to endure the cruel taunts of schoolmates for being a murderer’s kid or have to wonder if the evil that possessed his father was buried deep in his own DNA.

      “You’re both up for a promotion,” the chief said. “I’ve decided to skip a few bureaucracy hurdles and move that along.”

      “Now you’re talking,” Alyssa said.

      The announcement caught Wyatt totally off guard. Great for Alyssa, but so much for the letter of resignation he’d been laboring