murder of Veronica Earnshaw. She was the police-dog master trainer, right?”
“You’re well informed.”
“I like to keep apprised.”
The officer sighed, taking in the flattened front tire. “Anyway, we were doing a search, and he’s still learning. He’s determined, but he takes off once in a while and breaks the rules. Hawk wins the prize for having to take the most retraining courses.”
“I guess I could use some retraining, too. I was going too fast.”
“Yes, you were, now that you mention it,” he said with a grin. “It’s thirty-five along this stretch. You from out of town?”
“Not far out. I live in Tuckerville with my sister.” At least, if their disagreement from the night before hadn’t driven Kate away. Things are getting better, Mads. Remember that. After years of estrangement, desperation had finally driven Kate back. “She got a job in Desert Valley just yesterday.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Good for her. Not much work around here to be had.”
He was right. Kate had combed Tuckerville and all the nearby towns until she’d finally landed a job, which gave Madison an even greater motivation to help solve the crime spree here in the tiny town. Kate might not want the close relationship that Madison craved, but Madison intended to do what she could for her only sibling, one way or another. At least the town where she worked would be safer if she could help nab a few killers. You’ll thank me later, Kate.
“So, Officer, are you going to give me a ticket?”
He shot her a rueful grin. “In view of the fact that my dog was misbehaving, I say we call it a draw.” He extended a hand. “James Harrison.”
“Madison Coles,” she said, noting that his eyes were such an intense blue they seemed lit from the inside, like sunlight playing through stained glass. His palms were strong and warm, tough enough to indicate he worked with his hands when he wasn’t on duty—or maybe the calluses were from hauling on a leash all day. And the faint scent of garlic was more enticing than any cologne. “That sounds fair to me.” She went to the trunk and fished out a lug wrench.
“Let me change that tire for you,” he said, taking the tool from her hands and hefting the spare from the trunk.
“I can do it,” she said quickly. Take care of yourself, Mads.
But he was already crouched over, easily detaching the lug nuts. “I’ve never let a lady change her own flat, and I’m not about to now.”
“Thanks,” she said. She hadn’t expected to find chivalry in this desert nowhere. It both pleased her and kicked up some anxiety. He’s a cop, Mads. Perfectly okay to let him change your tire. “What were you searching for, anyway?”
“Just following a hunch.”
The trees behind them were thick with tangled branches, the perfect place for someone to hide. A killer, perhaps?
“So, you’re following a lead on Veronica Earnshaw’s murder? Or maybe the attack on Marian Foxcroft?”
He frowned. “We’re all doing our best.”
“You must be making progress. You’ve got a lot of extra rookies assigned to this town, not to mention the dogs.”
He knelt to remove the tire. “Yes, that’s true. The town is practically crawling with K-9s until we’re reassigned elsewhere.” There was a touch of cynicism in his voice. “Why are you so interested?”
She shrugged. “Who isn’t? Murders and a bludgeoning attack in a small town like this? How is the investigation going?”
He paused in the act of wrestling on the spare. “Slowly.”
“In your opinion, is the Earnshaw case linked to what happened to Marian Foxcroft?”
He didn’t answer.
She pressed on eagerly. “And those deaths on the night of the police fund-raiser. Officer Ryder Hayes’s wife was murdered, and two other deaths were ruled accidental. What’s your take on it?”
He kept his eyes on the tire this time, and she drank in his strong profile, noting that his full mouth was now drawn into a tight line. “Why is this beginning to sound like an interview?”
She ignored the question. “Murders, assaults. What is going on in this town?”
They were interrupted by the arrival of another car. This time an older officer got out, late thirties with thinning hair and a gaunt look about him except for his well-padded waist. Hawk greeted him with a flapping of his enormous ears. He scratched the dog’s fleshy jowls, earning a lick, which he wiped from his cheek.
“Hey, James. Afternoon, ma’am,” the officer said.
“This is Officer Ken Bucks,” James said by way of introduction. “Madison Coles.”
Bucks eyed her and the car. “Got some trouble? Shall I call for a tow?”
“I’m taking care of it,” James said. “Just needs the spare put on.”
Bucks quirked an eyebrow. “Madison Coles. I know that name.” His eyes shifted in thought, sparking when he’d made some connection. “You might want to let her change her own tire.”
James shot him a look. “Why?”
Officer Bucks raised his chin at James. “She’s another reporter, Canyon County Gazette. Carrie said she’s called three times this week.”
Great. Now she’d get the cold shoulder from these two cops. Carrie Dunleavy, the Desert Valley Police Department secretary, hadn’t given her any information Madison hadn’t read herself in her own employer’s newspaper. Was the secretary even passing along her messages to the chief and officers? Probably.
“I wouldn’t have had to call so much if one of you had bothered to return my messages.”
“We’re a small town,” Bucks said. “We like to respect the privacy of our citizens and play things close to the vest, and we’ve had our fill of reporters nosing around in police business. Isn’t that right, Officer Harrison?”
The change in James’s expression from the moment the other cop outed her as a reporter was dramatic. It was as if someone closed the shutters, cutting off all the light from his expression. “You’re a reporter?”
She nodded.
He finished the tire and stood. “Should be good to go now. Sorry for the trouble.” There was none of the previous warmth in his voice. He handed her a business card. “I’ll pay to get you another spare since the accident was my fault.”
He summoned the dog, and they walked toward his car, which she now spotted some twenty feet up the road. Bucks remained behind, next to Madison.
“Wait. Can I ask you a few questions?” she called to James.
“No, ma’am,” he threw over his shoulder.
“Why
