Ginger put her nose to the ground. Patiently, Serena followed as Ginger led her around the side of the house to the flower bed beneath the bedroom window.
Two boot footprints marred the earth.
Heart racing, Serena had a feeling these belonged to the Red Rose Killer who’d obviously stood here spying on Cindy.
Though she knew the sheriff or Deputy Burnside would have already photographed and documented the prints, she snapped off a few images of the prints using her cell phone, noting the smashed Ashe juniper seeds in the tracks of the boot’s tread. She quickly glanced around. No Ashe juniper nearby.
Serena pointed to the prints in the dirt. “Sniff.”
Ginger put her nose to the earth and smelled the print and the grass all the way to the street, and then she lifted her head, nose twitching in the air. She faced east, her tail straight, one paw lifted.
Anticipation revved Serena’s blood. “Go find.”
The dog didn’t hesitate; she took off with Serena hurrying behind her, holding the end of the lead. Ginger stopped more than six miles later, panting at the fenced property line of the Double Pine Ranch. Serena hadn’t met the new owner of the ranch, Jason Hargrove, but she’d seen him around town and had heard from the townsfolk that he kept to himself.
Could he be the Red Rose Killer?
* * *
He almost had her.
Jason Hargrove held the bridle and spoke in soothing tones to the big roan. When he’d taken ownership of the Double Pine Ranch, he’d discovered several wild horses living on the land. For the past six months he’d been doing everything he could to care for the animals. This beautiful girl was learning to trust him and had even followed him into the corral.
A dog bark. The sound echoing on the breeze.
The horse reared up on her hind legs, clearly spooked.
“Whoa there, girl.” Jason backed away. The horse, he’d yet to name her, took off for the far end of the fenced pasture.
The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck sent an alert through his system. His hand automatically went to his side but he wasn’t carrying. Hadn’t been since he left the Dallas police force.
Gritting his teeth in agitation, he turned and found himself facing a petite pixie standing on the other side of the fence. She wore the brown uniform of the Dill Sheriff’s Department. Beside the woman sat a compact little red-and-white dog with big brown eyes and a brown nose.
“Hands in the air,” the pixie of a deputy shouted in a raspy voice that shimmied down his spine and made his toes curl.
Only then did he notice the gun held steady in her hands, aimed at his heart.
What part of his past had caught up with him now?
“What can I do for you, Deputy...?” Jason paused and hoped she’d fill in the blank, because at this distance he couldn’t see the name etched on the gold pin on her brown uniform.
“You can keep your hands where I can see them and step closer, Mr. Hargrove.”
So she knew his name. Interesting. “You can call me Jason.”
Deciding it would be better to comply and not risk her getting a twitchy trigger finger, he kept his hands up and strode forward.
Sunlight gleamed on the ends of the red braid hanging over her right shoulder. And though the brim of her brown cowboy hat shaded her face, he might not know her name, but he knew she had deep blue eyes. It had been hard not to notice the pretty deputy on the rare occasions that he ventured into civilization.
He stepped through the slats of the fence, stopping two feet from her. His folks hadn’t raised a fool, so he remained very aware of the Glock leveled at his chest. Her little dog pranced forward to sniff his booted feet. Not finding anything interesting, the dog turned away, her nose twitching in the air as she followed the corral fence west.
The deputy frowned. “Ginger,” she said. The dog halted, glancing back. “Stay.”
Ginger sat and lifted her twitching nose.
Meeting the deputy’s gaze, Jason said, “She’s well trained.”
“She’s working,” she replied and tucked her weapon back in its holster, apparently deciding he wasn’t a threat. “I have some questions, and I want answers.”
Now that he didn’t have a gun aimed at his heart, the coiled tension left his muscles in one big rush. He leaned against a fence post to hide his relief. “I may or may not have answers.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who else is on the ranch?”
“My housekeeper. Rosa came with the place.” He hadn’t had the heart to turn her out. She had no family in the area. Besides, she made the best chili con carne he’d ever tasted.
“Where were you last night and early this morning?”
“Here. What is this about, Deputy—” he asked again, and now that he stood closer to her, he could read her name tag “—Evans?” A bad feeling crept through him, reminding him of his days on the force before his world exploded. Tension tightened his gut. “What are you tracking?”
Her posture stiffened at his question. “Can your housekeeper verify that you were here?”
“I haven’t left the ranch in two days.” He pushed away from the fence post. “And yes, Rosa can provide me an alibi.” But to what crime?
He glanced around, realizing for the first time there was no car in sight. “Where did you come from? And why all the questions?”
“Police business.” She turned and headed for her dog.
He followed her. “Police business on my land? What gives?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You’re on private property, Deputy, and unless you have a warrant, you’re not going any farther.” He was the one who wanted answers now.
She whirled around and stared at him, her blue eyes flashing fire. “Then maybe I should just take you in.”
His jaw dropped. He held back a laugh. “How do you plan to do that? Piggyback?”
Her mouth pressed into a flat line. Her gaze accessed him as if deciding whether to draw on him again or not. Finally, she said, “We’re on the hunt for the Red Rose Killer.”
Indignation reared, but he tapped it down. “And you think I’m him?”
She tucked her thumbs into her utility belt. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Ginger doesn’t seem to think I’m the
