case is his old flame, Belle Granger.
Belle hasn’t fully gotten over her relationship with Tate, which ended because of his unwillingness to accept her job choice. Their decade-long feud has always churned up a fair amount of gossip in the Pass on account of the sparks that still fly whenever the two of them get within striking distance. But when town gossip shifts to a new subject—a serial killer on the loose—Belle has to work with Tate and his family to uncover what evil lurks at the edges of the ranch.
When she uncovers a threat that’s far closer than anyone could have suspected, Tate will need to make a decision. Will he keep his distance from the woman he let go of all those years ago? Or will he hold her close and try to protect her from a dangerous killer?
I hope you enjoy The Cowboy’s Deadly Mission, the first in my new Midnight Pass series. Tate’s siblings, Hoyt, Ace and Arden, have their own stories still to come and I hope you’ll love the Reynolds family as much as I do.
Best,
Addison Fox
For Grant
Sweetness and light and giggles and love. How wonderful it will be to watch you grow.
I’m so lucky to be your aunt.
And, in the immortal words of Monica Geller, “I will always have gum.”
Contents
Midnight Pass, Texas, had exactly three things to recommend it: the finest pool hall in all the state; thick, rich, foamy beer brewed off the waters of the Rio Grande; and the Reynolds boys, who had grown into the finest-looking cowboys in the entire Southwest.
Annabelle Granger was well aware she’d been born with the gift of keen observation and a tendency to exaggerate what she saw, but there was nothing exaggerated about the swagger that gripped Ace Reynolds’s hips when he walked. The firm grip of Hoyt Reynolds’s long, thick fingers on his Stetson. Or Tate Reynolds’s wicked smile that had removed the panties of more than a few lucky women.
Belle, sadly, had been one of them.
Tamping down on the old feelings that had no place in a criminal investigation, she ignored the cocky grin Tate shot her across the wide expanse of damaged fence she’d been sent out to investigate.
“Thanks for coming, ma’am.”
“It’s Detective.”
“Of course.” He nodded. “Detective Ma’am.”
Tate wasn’t remorseful—the infuriating man didn’t do contrite. And she was convinced he’d never used the word “sorry” in his life. Yet try as she might, she couldn’t quite work up the degree of anger required to squelch the demon bats that dive-bombed her stomach every time they got within thirty feet of each other.
“‘Detective Granger’ will be just fine. Or have you managed to forget my name after thirteen years of school, one miserable year as biology lab partners and a rather ill-advised date to the Sadie Hawkins dance senior year?”
She avoided mentioning the
