to think about that.
The gunman had called her by name and come to the barn. Plus, nothing was missing from his house. If this had been a robbery, they would have taken his wallet and anything else of value. They also would have had a vehicle stashed nearby, and so far, one hadn’t turned up.
“And the second man, the one who’s lying about me, any ID on him yet?” she queried.
“Rohan Gilley.” Owen watched for any signs of recognition.
She repeated the name several times, the way a person would when they were trying to jog their memory. But then Laney shook her head. “He had a record, too?”
Owen settled for a nod. Gilley’s rap sheet was almost identical to Dayton’s, just slightly shorter. They’d even served time together.
“Gilley’s lying to save his hide,” Laney grumbled. “Or because someone put him up to it.” She added some muttered profanity to go along with that.
The last five hours hadn’t improved her mood much. She was just as wired as she had been during the attack. At least, though, she wasn’t trembling now. For reasons he didn’t want to explore, the trembling got to Owen, and right now the only thing he wanted to feel for this woman was the cool indifference he felt toward anyone who’d been involved in any way with a crime.
But indifference was impossible.
If she was telling the truth about not hiring Gilley—and he believed that she was—then that meant she was a victim, one who’d saved his daughter by getting her out of harm’s way. Hard for something that big not to be on the proverbial table.
Laney’s tough exterior, or rather the front she’d tried to put on for him, cracked a little. She didn’t go back to trembling, but it was close, and before she could gather her composure, he caught another glimpse of nerves.
Big ones.
She was a PI—he’d confirmed that—but this could have been the first time she’d actually been in the middle of an attack. Maybe the first time she had been a target, too.
Along with having a good aim, she had an athletic build and was on the petite side, only about five-three.
And attractive.
Something he hated that he noticed, but it was impossible to miss. Being a widower hadn’t made him blind. However, he still had plenty of common sense that reminded him that Laney had way too many secrets behind those cool blue eyes.
“The CSIs found a jammer,” Owen went on a moment later. “That’s how Dayton and or Gilley cut off the electricity.”
She stayed quiet for a moment. “That proves I’m innocent. I wouldn’t have needed to jam the power since I was already in the house.” Her eyes widened. “Did you check to make sure Francine really had an emergency? Those men wanted me there, and they could have tricked Francine into leaving.”
At least Laney wasn’t accusing the nanny of any wrongdoing, but it was a clever observation. An accurate one, too. “The call from the nursing home was bogus.” Of course, Francine hadn’t learned that until she’d gotten there to check on her mom. By then, the attack at the ranch had already been in progress.
“More proof,” Laney said under her breath. She looked up, her eyes meeting his. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have kept Addie there. I would have told Francine I couldn’t watch the girl so that Francine would have had to take Addie with her.”
That was the way Owen had it figured, too, which was why he was leaning toward the conclusion that Laney was innocent. Of the attack anyway. But there was a boatload of other troubling concerns here. Not just the lies that she’d told him about her identity and work résumé, but there was also the problem with the accusation about Emerson.
“Go back over what you told me in the barn,” Owen insisted. “Tell me about your half sister’s murder.”
This would be a third round of Laney doing that, but thanks to an emailed report he’d gotten from the San Antonio PD in the past hour, Owen knew that Hadley’s death had indeed been ruled a murder. She’d died from blunt-force trauma to the head. No eyewitnesses, no suspects. Well, no official suspects for SAPD. Laney clearly felt differently about that.
“Hadley and Emerson had an affair.” Laney stared at him. “I’m not going to change my story, no matter how many times you have me repeat it.”
That was what he figured, but this was another square filler, like calling out his identity to the intruder. It was especially necessary because she’d lied to him about who she was.
Something that still riled him to the core.
Hell, here he was a cop, and he hadn’t known one of his employees was living under an alias. Of course, there was no way he would have hired her had he known who she was and what she was after. That got Owen thinking—exactly what was she after anyway?
“Did you think I was covering up about my brother-in-law?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her answer came quickly, causing him to huff. If she truly believed Emerson had murdered her sister, then she’d just accused Owen of assorted felonies by not reporting the crime and obstructing justice. An accusation she must have realized because her gaze darted away. “I know you’re close to him.”
Yeah, he was. Emerson had helped him get through Naomi’s death. Those days had been so dark, Owen would have slid right down into the deepest, darkest hole if it hadn’t been for Addie and Emerson.
Of course, Emerson had been grieving, too, since he’d lost his only sister that day. Naomi and Emerson had been close, and while Owen didn’t have the deep connection with Emerson that Naomi had, Owen respected the man, especially after Naomi’s death when Emerson and he had been drawn together in grief. Maybe “misery loves company” had worked for both of them. Though there were times when Owen wondered if anything had actually worked. The grief could still slice through him.
“Tell me why you think Emerson killed Hadley,” Owen demanded. “And stick to only what you can prove. Gut feelings don’t count here.”
Her mouth tightened a little. “Hadley told me it got ugly when her relationship with Emerson was over. Like I said, she threatened to tell his wife, and then Emerson threatened her. He said he’d hurt her if she didn’t keep her mouth shut.”
Emerson could have a hot head. Owen had even been on the receiving end of one of his punches in high school when they’d disagreed over the score in a pick-up basketball game. But it was a big stretch to go from a punch to hurting a woman, much less killing her.
“That isn’t proof,” Owen quickly pointed out. “It’s hearsay.”
Laney didn’t dodge his gaze this time. “I have pictures.”
That got his attention. There’d been nothing about that in the police report. “Pictures?” he challenged.
She nodded. “Of Emerson and Hadley together.” Another pause, then she mumbled something he didn’t catch. “Hadley told me about them and said she kept them in a safe-deposit box.”
Owen wasn’t sure what to react to first. That there could be pictures or
