Lock, Stock and McCullen. Rita Herron

“He had that flyer. He was looking at it.”

      She rubbed her temple, retracing her steps. “I had a glass of wine with my bath.” She rushed over to the kitchen and searched the cabinets. There were four wineglasses, all clean and dry as if they hadn’t been used.

      She swung open the pantry door to check the garbage can, but it was empty.

      “He brought a picnic. I swear he did. He must have thrown everything out.”

      “I didn’t see a garbage bin outside, but I’ll look for one.” His footsteps pounded on the floor as he headed toward the door.

      Confused, she dashed into the bedroom. The quilt was turned up on the bed, pillows placed strategically, the curtains closed—and the room was empty. Her suitcase and the wedding dress she’d hung over the doorway were gone.

      Head spinning, she darted into the bathroom. The toiletry bag she’d set on the vanity wasn’t there now. The tub looked clean, no signs of the bubble bath she’d taken earlier.

      Even her wet towel was gone.

      She felt Maddox come up behind her, smelled his masculine scent. “I didn’t find any garbage outside.”

      “I had my things in here, too,” she said, still in shock. “I took a bubble bath and my cosmetic bag was on the vanity, and my wedding dress was hanging over the door. I could see it from the tub.”

      “You’re sure this is the right cabin?” Maddox asked.

      “Did you see another one out here?” She whirled on him, hating the doubt in his voice. Did he think she was making this up? That she was delusional?

      “I recognize the furniture, the quilt on the bed.” She searched for a way to convince him. “There’s an extra blanket in the bedroom closet, and...a Bible in the nightstand.” She raced to the nightstand, opened it and pulled the Bible out. “See. It’s here.”

      He checked the closet and noted the blanket.

      But she realized that proved nothing. Most places had extra blankets in the closet.

      “Thad was shot,” she said emphatically, determined to assure Maddox—and herself—that she wasn’t going crazy. “I saw the blood, and he fell. There’s no way he could have cleaned everything out like this.”

      “I’m going to grab my crime kit from the car,” Maddox said. “I’ll be right back.”

      She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering as images of Thad holding that gun taunted her.

      She’d never seen such a cold look in anyone’s eyes, such a metamorphosis from charming and loving to...evil. She’d known then that he could kill her and not feel an ounce of remorse.

      She just didn’t understand the reason.

      * * *

      MADDOX GRITTED HIS TEETH. If Rose was a complete stranger, he might question if she was lying about what had happened tonight.

      There wasn’t a shred of visible evidence to support her story.

      Yet the fear in her eyes, the conviction in her voice, the betrayal he heard in her pained tone—none of it was fake.

      But what possible motive would anyone have to kill Rose?

      That was a question he would probe later. For now, he had to process this place and see if he could find something to corroborate Rose’s story.

      Maddox strode out to his car, opened the trunk and retrieved his crime kit. He photographed the exterior of the cabin and the driveway, focusing on the tire marks that indicated another car had been parked there at some point, then photographed the landing at the bottom of the steps where Rose indicated Thoreau had collapsed.

      Rose stood on the porch watching him as he climbed the steps. He pulled on latex gloves, and kneeled to spray luminol on the floorboards of the porch. The scent of bleach swirled around him, a sign that someone had recently cleaned.

      Which was suspicious in itself. If the place was deserted and no one had been here, why would it smell as if it had just been scrubbed?

      At first, the luminol didn’t indicate anything, but he continued to spray, visually searching each inch.

      He targeted the doorjamb and leaned closer to examine the corner. There—a small drop of blood. It had seeped into a splintered section. Whoever had scrubbed had missed it.

      He glanced up at Rose. “There is a speck of blood.”

      Her relieved sigh echoed in the air. “I told you he was bleeding.”

      “It isn’t much,” Maddox said. “But I’m going to check the rest of the house and dust for prints. Also, if he was shot, there should be a bullet casing somewhere.”

      “Thank you, Maddox.”

      He shrugged. “I’m just doing my job, Rose.” Although protecting her seemed innate to him.

      She stepped aside while he went to work. He dusted the doorways, doorknobs, table, kitchen counter and desk. Finally he found a partial on the pantry doorknob. Maybe Thad or his accomplice had left it when they’d grabbed the garbage.

      He sprayed more luminol on the floor in the doorway and found a few tiny traces the bleach hadn’t erased. Someone had definitely been hurt here.

      Which made it more suspicious that there were no fingerprints. Not even Rose’s, on the bathtub or the closet door where she claimed she’d hung her wedding gown.

      Whoever had cleaned the place knew what they were doing. Maybe Thad was a professional hit man? Or his accomplice was?

      But there was no bullet casing. No bullet hole, either. Odd. The bullet must not have been a through and through, meaning it might still be in Thoreau.

      When he finished processing the house, he found Rose on the porch again, sitting on the porch swing, her expression tormented as she stared out at the sharp ridges beyond them. “I’ll need your prints for comparison purposes.”

      Rose nodded, her expression so forlorn that he joined her on the swing.

      “You don’t think I’m crazy or that I made this up?” Rose asked softly.

      He laid his hand over hers, unable to keep himself from offering her a token gesture of comfort. “No. I think whoever cleaned up here was a pro. They knew what they were doing. But still, I found a little blood, and a partial print.”

      Hope flickered in Rose’s expression but she rubbed at her temple again as if a headache pulsed behind her eyes. “It’s strange, but when I saw Thad’s blood, I...saw flashes of blood everywhere. And all you found was a tiny bit.”

      He didn’t know what to say to that.

      “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Rose.” He squeezed her hand, his gut tightening as she looked into his eyes.

      He’d do everything in his power to fulfill his promise.

      After all, it was his job to protect the citizens in Pistol Whip. And he’d be damned if Thad or this other man would get to Rose again.

      * * *

      IT WAS WELL into the night when Maddox drove Rose home. Fatigue pulled at her, but she was too nervous to think about sleep.

      Maddox walked her to her door. “I’ll send these samples to the forensic lab tomorrow and see what we get back.” He hesitated. “Let me come in and search your house before I leave.”

      Rose nodded, relieved not to be left alone yet. She unlocked the door, her breath catching when Maddox brushed against her. She’d always thought cowboys were sexy. So why had she fallen for Thad when he was the opposite?

      A businessman. Or so he’d said. Then again, every word that had come out of his mouth might have been a lie.

      She flipped the light switch