Six-Gun Investigation Page 4

  Her gaze snapped to his and she swallowed. “Everything?”

  He nodded, clenching his jaw. Everything. Zane didn’t like the way his body went on immediate sexual alert.

  “Can I—may I take a shower?”

  Whoa, boy. The image that slammed into his brain when she’d said shower surprised and stirred him.

  He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him tonight. In all the years he’d been a Ranger, he’d never imagined a victim or a witness naked. Naked and wet, with rivulets of water running between her small perfect breasts and over her flat tummy.

  He clenched his jaw and gave himself a mental shake. Anna was a witness. His most important witness, because she’d found Sarah’s body.

  He forced himself to consider her question with his usual focused objectivity. He was sure she hadn’t lied about touching her sister’s body. But she was lying about something. He could sense it. He could almost see it. She wasn’t comfortable with lying and it showed.

  He had her fingerprints. Once the crime scene was processed, he could approximate how long she’d been in the room and what, if anything, she’d done before she called the sheriff. He could get a hair sample at any time and skin tags from her clothing.

  He shrugged, keeping his eyes averted. “Sure. Go ahead. But hand me your clothes first. I need to get back to my crime scene.”

  A strand of hair that had slipped out of her barrette lay across her forehead. She pushed it back with a shaky hand and met his gaze. “Thank you.”

  He hadn’t seen her cry, but he hadn’t missed the deep sadness and horror in her green eyes. A flash of insight told him she was about to lose her grip on her emotions. She’d probably cry as soon as she stepped into the shower.

  “Put everything in that plastic bag. Everything.”

  Her cheeks turned pink as she went into the bathroom and closed the door.

  The bathroom was tiny. Anna set her overnight bag on the toilet seat and opened it. It was disconcerting that Zane had touched her things. She looked at her bikini panties. All her things.

  Now he wanted every stitch she had on to process for evidence. She wondered if he was just torturing her. What possible need could he have for her underwear? What if she hadn’t had a change of clothes in her car? What would he have done?

  The answer to that question hit her like a freight train. Her pulse raced and she cursed under her breath.

  If she’d been thinking clearly, she could have pretended she didn’t have any clothes. Maybe he’d have brought her Sarah’s suitcase.

  “Come on, Anna. Zane McKinney is no fool. The suitcase is evidence. Think like an investigator,” she muttered as she slipped off her tailored gray slacks and unbuttoned her blouse.

  A discreet but insistent knock sounded at the door. “Hurry up. Hand your clothes out and I’ll leave you to take your shower.”

  She slipped out of her panties and bra and dropped them into the bag on top of her shirt and pants and shoes, then thought better of it and pushed them down to the bottom of the bag. She couldn’t bear thinking of him touching her intimate things—the things she’d worn all day. It was excruciatingly embarrassing, and yet at the same time it sent a perverse little thrill through her.

  She could only hope it was as unsettling for him as it was for her. So far, his commanding presence had made her feel as awkward and self-conscious as she’d been back in high school.

  With shaky hands she wrapped a towel around her body and tucked the corner in to secure it. Then she opened the bathroom door a crack and tossed the bag out onto the floor.

  “There. I hope you enjoy pawing through my clothes.”

  “I don’t paw. Thank you. I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

  She listened intently until she heard him press the lock and shut the door.

  He was gone. Finally. She was alone. Relief made her eyes sting and her throat close up. From the moment she’d found Sarah’s body, she’d been clinging to control like a drowning man clutching a life preserver. But now nobody was watching. A sob erupted from her chest.

  No. She clenched her fists. She would not break down. The last thing she needed was to be crippled by emotion.

  She turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature. But before she stepped into the tub, she reached over and locked the bathroom door, not really sure why, except that it made her feel better.

  She stepped under the hot, peppering spray. And as the refreshing water washed the clinging odor of death from her nostrils, she finally gave in and cried for her sister.

  ZANE HEADED BACK to Room One. As he approached the yellow crime scene tape, he saw a stranger standing next to Jon Evans. The doctor was peeling off his exam gloves and talking to the stocky middle-aged man.

  Jon glanced up as Zane stalked toward them.

  “Zane. This is Deputy Brian Enis. He went with Carley to the hospital.”

  Zane eyed the man. He looked familiar. “Deputy. You should have sent someone to the hospital with the sheriff. Your primary job was to secure the two crime scenes.”

  Enis’s face turned brick red. He tugged on his belt. “Well, McKinney, I reckon it’s a good thing you’re here. You can handle everything yourself, just like you did back in high school.”

  Enis. Zane remembered now. Brian Enis’s younger brother Billy had been second-string quarterback Zane’s senior year. He’d only played in one game. Obviously, Enis still resented Zane for outshining his brother. He’d just have to get in line.

  “Are we going to have a problem here, Enis?”

  The deputy smirked. “Nope. I’ll be tickled pink to prove your daddy killed Sarah Wallace just like he offed Lou Ann.”

  Anger sent blood roaring through Zane’s ears. It took all his self-control not to deck the man. The hell of it was, he needed him. Until he had time to think about putting together a Ranger task force, he had to rely on local law enforcement.

  He leveled a gaze at the smirking deputy and watched in satisfaction as sweat popped out on the man’s florid temples. “Anyone working with me needs to be unbiased. Do I need to ask for your badge, Deputy?”

  Enis swallowed and puffed out his chest. “You can’t. I’m in charge when Carley’s not here.”

  “Not this time. I’m the lead investigator on this case and that means I’m in charge of this town. If you can’t— or won’t—work with me, I’ll make sure the mayor and the governor both know that.”

  Enis dropped his gaze to his shoes.

  “I guess we understand each other. Now take this kit and process the room. It’s contaminated, so it’s going to be difficult. Be sure to preserve all of Ms. Wallace’s belongings, and catalog everything. I want your full report and every bit of the evidence at the police station by 7:00 a.m.”

  “But it’s nearly midnight.”

  “Then that gives you seven hours, doesn’t it?”

  The deputy fumed but he didn’t say anything, just stomped out of the room.

  Zane spoke briefly with Dr. Evans but the doctor didn’t have any further information.

  “I’ll have my report for you by seven,” Evans said with a smile.

  “Thanks, Jon. What about the body?”

  “I’ve called for an ambulance to transport her to County General. How do you want to handle the postmortem?”

  “I’ll call Dallas and have them contact you.”

  Zane walked downstairs with Jon, only to find the lobby filling up again with curious people. He stalked over to the desk.

  “I told you to keep everybody out.”

  The surly desk clerk shuffled his feet and pulled the ear bud microphones out of his ears. “Ain’t no way. Nobody’s listening to me.”

  As angry as Zane was, he could see the boy’s point. Still— “Did you think about locking the doors?”

  “Front door don’t lock. At least, I don’t have a key for it.”

  That gave Zane pause. “Where’s Bill Matheson?”

  “Out of town.”

&n
bsp; Nobody had mentioned that. “Have he and his wife been notified about the murder?”

  The boy shrugged. “Not my job. I just work here.”

  Zane turned on his heel and faced the small crowd of people who were watching him with blatant curiosity.

  “All you people. Unless you have information pertinent to Sarah Wallace’s death, go home. Let us do our job.”

  A woman decked out in a pricey pantsuit and jewelry that was too understated to be fake stepped forward. “I’m Donna Hendricks. You may not remember me—” She paused, obviously expecting him to contradict her.

  Zane obliged. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I do.” He would have known her anywhere. Her bright red hair and air of superiority made the air around her crackle.

  Her little boy had disappeared just a few days before Lou Ann Wallace had been murdered all those years ago. As far as he knew the child had never been found. The tragedy had made national headlines.

  At the time, Zane had been away at school, and already sick and tired of Justice and everybody in it. In his opinion, the town could have been lifted right out of a particularly sleazy soap opera with Donna and Leland Hendricks as its two main stars.

  They’d been married for fourteen years and divorced for two at the time of the murder, and their fights were legendary, as was Donna’s substance abuse problem. Their two children, a teenage daughter and a toddler son, were pawns in their hurtful game.

  After a messy divorce and an even messier court battle, Leland and his new trophy wife, Lou Ann Wallace, had gotten custody of the children.

  Donna laid a perfectly manicured hand on his sleeve. “I just want you to know that Leland doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  Zane’s brows rose along with his level of frustration. “Ms. Hendricks, you shouldn’t be here. Why don’t you go on home? Someone will talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t try to dismiss me, Zane McKinney. This is important.”

  “Okay, then. How do you know the time of the murder?”

  Donna’s pale blue eyes wavered. “I heard it was some time around seven o’clock.”

  Zane sighed. “You heard it. From whom?”

  “What difference does that make? I’m telling you, Leland could have killed her.”

  Zane recognized the near hysteria in her voice. He wished he had time to indulge her desperate need to discredit the man she blamed for the death of her child. It was possible she had a tidbit of information he could use, but she would have to wait.

  He couldn’t do everything at once, and besides, Donna Hendricks was not at the top of his list of credible witnesses.

  “Ms. Hendricks, you need to go on home. I’ll get someone out to interview you as soon as I can.”

  He faced the crowd again. “I meant it, folks. It’s after midnight. Go home. Go to bed. There’s nothing more to see. And you’re hindering a murder investigation.”

  A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd, which had begun to slowly file out of the large, richly appointed lobby of the Matheson Inn. How was he going to keep nosy townspeople away from the inn? He wiped a weary hand over his face.

  “Zane?”

  He froze, his hand at his mouth. “Mom?”

  Stella McKinney stepped in front of him. A bright pink jogging suit hung on her slight frame. On her feet were pink running shoes and her hair was stiffly sprayed into the same tight style she’d always worn.

  Zane’s heart squeezed in a combination of compassion and sadness. She looked so small, so beaten down. And it was all his dad’s fault.

  “It’s been a long time, honey.”

  Okay, not all his dad’s fault. Zane knew exactly how long it had been since he’d seen his family. It was five years ago on Christmas. He remembered as if it were yesterday.

  His dad hadn’t changed. Maybe his good humor had seemed forced, and his skin had looked a little big for his body. To Zane, it hadn’t altered the fact that his affair with Lou Ann Wallace and the mystery surrounding her death had destroyed their family.

  Every Christmas, his mother had tried to keep up tra dition for Zane and Sloan. She’d decorated the house and baked cookies, but each year her heart was less and less in it.

  That year, on Christmas Eve, she’d given up and retreated to her room. Zane had left town the same day, and he’d never been back.

  “I know, Mom. I’ve been busy.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled like baby powder and hair spray. The familiar scents took him back to a time when her face hadn’t been etched with bitter lines and the look in her eyes wasn’t resigned and distant. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

  Her eyes darted around the room like a bird’s and her knuckles grew white. “I just wanted to see you. See how you were doing.”

  Guilt gnawed at Zane’s gut. “You should be at home. I was going to come by.”

  She nodded jerkily. “Have you seen your father?”

  “Yeah.” So that was it. She was afraid his dad had done this. “Mom, is there something you need to tell me? Something about Dad? About tonight?”

  “No. No, of course not.” Her voice was shrill and edged with panic. She unclasped her fingers and folded her arms. “You look thin. You don’t eat enough.”

  Zane smiled. Now she sounded more like his mother. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve been working out.”

  “Sloan says he doesn’t see much of you.”

  “Look, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow or maybe the next day, okay? Right now I’ve got a lot of work to do. Let me get somebody to take you home.”

  “No need for that.” Jim McKinney’s voice boomed in Zane’s ears. His father pushed past the few remaining rubberneckers to grip his wife’s arm. “Come on, Stella. Let’s go home.”

  His mother’s eyes grew dark and cold as she pulled her arm free. “Now you want to go home?” Her voice dripped ice.

  Jim tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she ducked away. “I was worried about you,” he said.

  She sniffed and started for the door.

  Zane watched them leave, his heart heavy. He shook his head and tried to dislodge the gnawing guilt that threatened to overtake him.

  He had to focus. He had to think like a lawman—like a Ranger. And as a Ranger, he knew what he’d just heard was vitally important to his investigation.

  His dad had told him earlier that he was home eating dinner at the approximate time Sarah died. But from his mother’s comment, it sounded like Jim McKinney hadn’t been home all evening.

  Zane took out his PDA and made a note as a cautious formality—a habit. He shook his head at himself for even bothering to note it, because there was no way he’d ever forget his mother’s telling words.

  His stomach clenched.

  Once again, just like sixteen years before, a murder had been committed in Justice, and his father didn’t have an alibi.

  Chapter Three

  Anna heard a noise. Startled, she turned off the shower and stood still, listening. She tried to place the sound—give it substance—but she couldn’t. It had sounded creaky, vaguely metallic. Maybe it was the groaning of the old hot water pipes. Goodness knew she’d given them a workout.

  She ran her fingers through her wet hair. All the shampoo had been rinsed out long ago, yet she’d continued to let the hot water pour over her heated skin, wishing all the while it could wash away the horrible truth and send her back to her structured, secure life. The life that had crumbled like a sand castle when her sister had called the day before.

  She reached out to push the shower curtain aside and heard the sound again. It was definitely metallic—a click, like a door closing.

  She froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers gripped the plastic curtain.

  Calm down, she admonished herself. She was just spooked by her sister’s death. Lord knew she had a right to be. The inn had been built before the Civil War, and old buildings made noise. The walls were paper-thin. The sound had probably been a door to another ro
om opening and closing.

  Taking a deep breath, Anna pushed the curtain aside and grabbed a towel. After quickly drying off, she hurriedly slipped on her camisole and beige underwear from her overnight bag. As soon as she dried her hair she could go to bed. Although if the building kept up its odd creaking, she wouldn’t sleep a wink. Not tonight.

  Looking in the mirror at her shiny-clean face, she couldn’t help but see the face of her dead sister. Poor Sarah was in that room downstairs alone, being pawed over by the doctor and Zane McKinney.

  Tears glistened in her eyes. How could she sleep, knowing Zane wouldn’t rest until he’d been over every square inch of the room where Sarah had died? Until he’d touched everything her sister had brought with her.

  Everything. Her pulse sped up until it hammered in her ears. If he looked hard enough, he just might find Sarah’s secret.

  And that couldn’t happen. Not yet. She had to go back down there. She needed to be there, to protect her sister and her sister’s things.

  She squeezed droplets of water out of her hair with one hand as she searched in the overnight bag for her hairbrush. Of course it wasn’t there. It was in her purse, which she’d left on the bed.

  She opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the bedroom, shivering when cool air hit her damp skin. Her purse was on the far side of the bed. She propped a knee on the mattress and reached for it.

  All at once the door swung open.

  Anna shrieked, lost her footing and sprawled across the bed.

  Zane McKinney halted in the doorway, shock and irritation darkening his already grim expression. His gaze swept her from head to toe and a flicker of something hot flared in his blue-gray eyes. Then his brows drew down and his jaw clenched.

  “Why is this door unlocked?”

  “How did you get in here?” Anna asked at the same time. She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, hyperaware of her state of undress. She tugged at the bedspread, hoping to use it to wrap around her, but it was tightly tucked in.