Texas Sheriff's Deadly Mission
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Karen Whiddon
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Chapter 1
Looking up at the tall, muscular and very tattooed man who strode into her sheriff’s department, Rayna Coombs flushed, all over her body. Mary Leeds, who usually worked the front desk, had just stepped out to grab them both lunch. Though Rayna wished she could let someone else assist this citizen, right now she was the only one there. Holding down the fort, as they liked to say.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone cool and professional, despite the way her every sense had sprung to life at the sight of him. From his massive chest and arms, cleft jaw and enigmatic brown eyes, he was everything that made her entire body sing. In other words, trouble. She’d learned the hard way to stay far, far away from men like him. Outside, she saw a black-and-chrome Harley. A custom job from the looks of it. Which only made him even more attractive, dang it.
“I’m looking for the sheriff,” the sexy stranger drawled, his Texas accent letting her know that yes, he was from around these parts.
Though inwardly, she sighed and tried like hell not to melt, she kept her demeanor remotely law enforcement officer polite. “You’ve found her,” she responded, bracing herself for his response. She’d more than earned the respect of the locals, but sometimes strangers, particularly men, had trouble accepting a woman in a position of power. Even in this day and age.
At first, he didn’t reply. Instead, he looked her up and down, as if waiting for her to laugh and say she was joking. Instead, she let her gaze travel over him in the same sort of slow assessment. “Now, once again, how may I assist you?”
Finally, he jerked his rugged chin in a quick nod. “Parker Norton,” he said, holding out his hand. “Sam Norton is my uncle.”
Briskly, she shook it. Sam had been sheriff before her and the one who’d originally hired her as a patrol officer. “Then you know Sam’s living the retired life down in Corpus,” she said.
“I do.” He glanced around before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a photograph, sliding it across the counter toward her. “My friend’s little sister disappeared somewhere around here. Her name is Nicole Wilson. She was driving to Dallas from Texas Tech, where she was going to school. I’m here to get your help in locating her.”
She instantly knew who he was referring to, but went ahead and studied the photo anyway. “We’ve already looked into this,” she said. “Sam called and asked us to prioritize it as a favor to him. We did and we found nothing to indicate she’d even been in Getaway. She didn’t stay at either of the motels, or get gas at any of the filling stations. We even reviewed video from some of the shops on Main Street, looking for a 1995 yellow Camaro. Nothing.”
“She was here,” he replied, his stubborn certainty at complete odds with what she’d just explained. “My friend John got a text from here at the city line. She took a picture with the sign. Here.” This time he slid his phone over to her, revealing a photo of a smiling, carefree young blonde woman, posing in front of the Getaway sign. This was a popular spot with both tourists and those on their way to other places. Their little town northwest of Abilene was best known for its name.
“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice gentle. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
He looked down at that, gathering himself. She braced herself for insults or cuss words, not enough to get him arrested, but probably enough for her to be able to ask him to leave.
Instead, he swallowed hard and met her gaze. The pain in his dark eyes stunned and moved her. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “John is my best friend and he’s dying. Colon cancer. Nicole was on her way to Dallas from Lubbock to see him when she disappeared. All John wants in this world before he dies is to see her again and know she’s safe. I’ll do whatever it takes to give this to him.”
“Again, while I sympathize, I’m not sure what you want me to say. We’ve already done an exhaustive search. We found nothing to indicate Nicole came in contact with foul play here in Getaway.”
Though he winced at the words foul play, he didn’t look away. “What I want, Sheriff Coombs,” he said through clenched teeth, “is for you to help me find her.”
With sudden clarity, she realized he wasn’t going to go away. No matter what she said or did. “You want me to reopen a closed case, is that correct?” Her crisp tone put her right back in professional mode. Sam’s nephew would get what he wanted. She owed Sam that.
“I do.”
She nodded. “All right. Will you text me that photo, the one of her with our city-limits sign? I’d like to print it out.”
If her rapid capitulation surprised him, he gave no sign. He asked for her number, entered it, and a moment later her phone chimed. “Got it,” she exclaimed, pushing the icon to send it to the printer. “Now, how can I reach you? I assume you’d like to be notified if there’s any news on this case.”
“You’ve got my number,” he pointed out. “Just save it in your phone. I’m staying at the Landshark Motel, room 233. I’ll be there for the next several days.”
Damn. She managed to keep her face expressionless, despite her dismay. She should have known someone as determined as him wouldn’t leave town until he had what he wanted. Which might just be pretty damn impossible.
She thought about explaining how thorough they’d been. Sam Norton never asked for personal favors and when he did, well, she sure as hell would work her fingers to the bone to try and get answers. Except nothing had turned up. Zero, zilch, nada. If Nicole had been here, she’d simply passed through. Whatever had happened to her must have occurred somewhere between Getaway and Dallas. Though Rayna had even called a state trooper friend of hers and had him check. Even then, nothing had turned up. No sign of Nicole Wilson’s Camaro had been found.
Glancing at the hard line of the masculine jaw in front of her, she understood Parker Norton didn’t care what might have been done before. He wanted them to try again. And again, until they somehow got the results he wanted. She couldn’t blame him. She’d be the same way if someone she loved had simply disappeared.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly. “And we’ll be in touch with you if anything turns up.”
“Thank you.”
Again, she felt a sizzle low in her belly as his gaze met hers. Pushing it down, she gave a curt nod and turned away. Only when she heard the door close behind him and his motorcycle start up did she release the breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding. Her entire body tingled, even though she’d barely touched him. Ridiculous.
Needing a distraction, she sat down in front of her computer and reviewed the case files regarding the search for the missing Nicole Wilson.
Mary returned a few minutes later, toting two Whataburger bags. “Here you go,” she said, dropping one on the counter in front of Rayna. “Eat it while it’s hot.”
About to walk past, the older woman caught sight of the photo Rayna had printed. “Isn’t that the girl Sam asked us to check on?”
“It is.” Rayna sighed. “Sam’s nephew came by a few minutes ago and asked us to reopen the case. I’ll have Larry take another shot at investigating her disappearance when he comes in this afternoon.”
Shrugging, Mary took her lunch to her desk. After a moment, Rayna did the same. She only wished she could put the thought of Parker Norton out of her mind. Because the images running through her mind were not the slightest bit respectable or sheriff-like. She’d only had this kind of reaction to one other man, and that had nearly cost her not only her job, but her life. Acting on something like that was not a mistake she would ever make again.
Biting down into her burger, Rayna savored every morsel. Usually, her lunch consisted of salads or wraps—healthy food. The rare occasion she allowed herself a burger, she always, without exception, had a bacon-mushroom burger with pepper-jack cheese and a side order of fries. She wouldn’t allow herself to taint her enjoyment of this rare meal with all these sensual images of the first man who’d piqued her interest in years.
By the time Larry Newsome arrived for his shift, Rayna had refreshed her memory with every aspect of the previous investigation into Nicole Wilson’s possible disappearance. The family had filed a missing-person report, not only with Getaway PD but with the county.
Larry blinked when Rayna filled him in on what she needed him to do. “But didn’t we already look into this?”
“Yes. But we’re going to take another look. Sam’s nephew came by and requested it.”
Immediately, Larry’s frown cleared. Anyone who’d ever worked for Sam would do just about anything for him. Larry was no exception.
“I’m on it,” Larry said. “Where would you like me to start?”
“We’re going to begin an entirely new investigation,” Rayna answered. “All new interviews, reviewing camera footage, the works. As far as you’re concerned, none of this was done before. Start from scratch.”
“Sounds good.” Larry ambled back to his desk, booted up his computer and started his own preliminary work. Rayna relaxed, knowing the investigation was in good hands.
“It’s nearly five,” Mary said, bringing a short stack of forms over for Rayna to sign. “I’m heading home right after this. How about you?”
Slightly surprised to find out the time, Rayna couldn’t resist glancing at the clock to double-check. Yep, 4:58 p.m. Time to head home to her small family. Just the thought of seeing her baby girl made her smile. Her mother, Wanda, watched over Lauren during the day while Rayna worked, an arrangement that suited all of them just fine.
“I’m right behind you,” Rayna said, rolling her shoulders a bit to help relax some of the kinks.
“I’ll start making a few calls tonight,” Larry promised. “I won’t call anyone too late, but maybe I can question a few people over the phone in between the time they get home from work and eat supper.”
“Sounds good,” Rayna responded. “Let me know if you learn anything new.”
Driving home with the summer sun still high in the sky, Rayna managed to keep her thoughts from returning to the handsome biker. She knew better, honestly she did, and she couldn’t fathom why she’d even consider allowing herself to get all worked up over a guy who could only bring drama to her life. Everything about him screamed bad boy, from his black leather vest, tattooed muscular arms, right down to the custom black Harley he rode.
She knew the type well, she thought grimly. She continued to remind herself that her involvement with one had nearly cost her everything. She couldn’t take that kind of risk again. Never ever.
Pulling up in front of the tidy ranch-style house, she parked and went in through the front door. The instant she stepped inside, five-year-old Lauren launched herself at her.
“Mommy!” she squealed. “You’re home!”
“I am.” Rayna bent down and scooped Lauren up in her arms. “Let me look at you. Yep, your hair is still red.”
Lauren laughed and laughed, green eyes sparkling, her amusement real, even though Rayna said this every single time she came home. Heart full, Rayna hugged her daughter tightly before putting her back down. “Let me go change and I’ll meet you and Grandma in the kitchen.”
Nodding, Lauren went skipping off, her routine every evening.
In her bedroom, Rayna approached her closet and punched in the code to unlock her gun safe. Once she’d stored her weapon, she quickly shed her uniform, changing into a pair of running shorts, a tank top and flip-flops. In her small bathroom, she quickly washed off her makeup, scrubbed her face clean and tied her hair back into a ponytail.
Her mother sat at the kitchen table, cutting up a cantaloupe. “How was your day?” Wanda asked softly.
Rayna shrugged. She knew better than to discuss any aspects of her job with her mom. Wanda would worry herself sick if she had even the slightest knowledge of Rayna putting herself at risk. Today had been one of those days where she hadn’t even left the office, but others she wasn’t so lucky.
“I made a tuna casserole for dinner,” Wanda continued. “Lauren asked me to, even though it’s kind of too hot to use the oven, I did. It’ll be done in about fifteen minutes.”
“Sounds great.” On cue, Rayna’s stomach growled. “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate all that you do around here.”
A bright smile lit up Wanda’s still-pretty face. “Honey, I really appreciate you putting a roof over my head and food in my belly. It’s so nice not to be waiting tables and worrying about if I’ll have enough money to make rent. Moving here was the best thing we ever did.”
“I know.” Looking over at her daughter, playing happily with stuffed animals in the small living room, Rayna smiled back. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure we’re always safe here.”
Expression clouding, Wanda nodded. They hadn’t been safe in Conroe, even though Jimmy Wayne had gone away to prison. He’d had too many contacts on the outside who might be willing to carry out the vengeance he’d sworn against Rayna. Even though he’d been incarcerated before Rayna had learned she carried his child, she’d never stopped looking over her shoulder.
Parker Norton rode away from the sheriff’s office, his powerful Harley rumbling underneath him. He’d been surprised as hell by his physical reaction to the tiny redheaded sheriff. When she’d looked up at him, eating him up with her hot emerald-eyed gaze, his body had responded powerfully. Despite cruising aimlessly around town, he still hadn’t settled down, which meant he’d need to head back to the motel for a cold shower, or find an isolated pond and go skinny-dipping. With the brutal afternoon heat of the west Texas sun burning down on him, he was inclined to search out the latter.
In fact, he still remembered a few of those refreshing ponds from his teenage years, if they were still there. He’d bet it was ninety-eight or ninety-nine in the shade.
He’d always loved Getaway, Texas. When he’d been a kid and his uncle Sam had been sheriff here, Parker spent almost every summer here. His mother drove northwest from Houston the first weekend after school let out, delivering Parker on her brother’s doorstep with an indulgent and exhausted admonition that he stay out of trouble. Until his teens, Parker didn’t have a problem promising his mother he would. Of course, once he noticed girls and cars, in that order, trouble practically became his middle name.
Only Sam, with his calm, confident manner, had been able to settle Parker down. Since Parker never had a father figure in his life, he looked up to the sheriff and respected him. What Sam said, went.
And Sam had known Rayna Coombs, too. In all the summers he’d visited Getaway, Parker knew he’d never met her. He sure as hell wouldn’t have forgotten a woman like her. Ever.
Sam claimed she was good people, bestowing on her his highest compliment. He’d told Parker he hired her away from the Conroe Police Department, where she’d run into some kind of trouble, though Sam didn’t elaborate on what that might have been. She’d worked as a patrol officer in Getaway for a few years, which must have been during the time Parker had been in the Marines. And when the time had come for Sam to retire, she’d run and won the job of sheriff hands down. If anyone could find Nicole, Sam said, Rayna Coombs could. Even though she’d already tried once and failed, Sam urged Parker to enlist her help again and give her another shot. Sometimes clues turned up that were overlooked or not present the first time, Sam had said.
Desperate to find Nicole before John died, Parker had agreed. And that was how Parker found himself back in the dusty west Texas town of Getaway after far too long an absence. After getting out of the Marines, he’d kicked around the country for a while. He’d hang glided in Tennessee, rode the waves off the coast of California and mountain climbed in Colorado. He’d somehow managed to forget the arid beauty of the flat, rugged land in west Texas. He’d always loved the expansive sunsets, tinting the sky with vivid oranges and pinks and reds. And downtown Getaway held fond memories, with its lovingly restored old-timey buildings and cafes, bars and shops where even now, folks still remembered his name.
If he’d been a settling kind of man, Getaway would be the kind of place he’d choose. Instead, he’d come to find Nicole, so John would know his sister was okay. All John wanted was to see her before he died. That hope was the only thing that kept John hanging on. Parker’s gut clenched even thinking about it.
Both Texans, Parker and John had served together in Afghanistan. Though they hadn’t even known each other before being assigned to the same unit, by the time they’d done their time and managed to get out alive, they’d become best friends. The kind of bond they’d forged wasn’t easily broken. In fact, the instant Parker had learned of John’s diagnosis of late-stage colon cancer, he’d abandoned his rental on Maui, where he’d been teaching scuba diving, and flown on a red-eye to Dallas.
Even though he’d come immediately, he’d been shocked by John’s condition. A human skeleton, skin stretched over brittle bones. He knew right then John wasn’t long for this world. What really sucked was that colon cancer was easily taken care of with early detection. John had simply not bothered to get himself checked out until it was too late. “I thought I was invincible, man,” John had said, smiling a weak yet sardonic smile. “After surviving Afghanistan, I didn’t think anything else would have the balls to go after me.”
He had a point. This was why Parker had taken so avidly to extreme sports. He’d survived hell on earth. Nothing else would dare to touch him.
Clearly both he and John had been wrong.
Shaking off the melancholy, Parker eyed the road ahead of him. Pavement shimmered in the heat. Heading west, always west, he left downtown, drove through the stately restored Victorian houses, and then left the city limits behind. Past sunbaked fields of brown grass, the old grain silos near the train tracks, and the fruit-and-vegetable stand on Farm to Market Road 1560. He passed the cattle pasture where he, along with several other bored teens, had hauled a keg of Bud Light and built a huge bonfire. Kids started showing up before sunset, many even driving in from nearby towns. The party had been the talk of Getaway for months, especially after the bonfire had gotten out of control and nearly burned down the nearby cornfield.
If he remembered right, a huge stock pond sat around the curve in the road.
There. Smaller than he remembered, but easily accessible just the same. Pulling his bike over onto the dirt shoulder, he cut the engine. And sat for a moment, allowing the heaviness of his task to weigh him down. Due to the length of time Nicole had been missing, Parker figured she was most likely dead. If proof of this were found and delivered to John, the horrible news would most likely kill him.
Parker thought of his friend, dying and worried about his sister, and his stomach clenched.
As he pulled off his leather vest and T-shirt, his cell phone rang. His uncle’s name appeared on the screen.
“Uncle Sam,” Parker greeted him. “How are you?”
“Good. Any news on Nicole?”
Parker explained he’d met with Rayna earlier.
“Ah, Rayna.” Sam chuckled. “What’d you think of her? She’s single, you know.”
Amused, Parker grimaced. “Tell me you’re not matchmaking.”
“I’m not. At least not much. She’s a pretty little thing, though, isn’t she?”
Parker conceded she was. “But she’s the sheriff,” he pointed out. “The one who’s going to find Nicole.” Might as well be positive.
“Hopefully,” Sam replied. “But I don’t see what her being sheriff has to do with you dating her.”
“Aha! You are matchmaking.”
“Of course I am,” Sam groused. “She’s alone and stubborn—so are you. You’re both around the same age, and I think you might like each other, if you’d take a chance and get to know her.” He paused, then chuckled. “Plus, she’s easy on the eyes.”
Parker didn’t reply. No way in hell did he intend to agree with Sam, even though he found Rayna more than easy on the eyes. As far as he was concerned, she was downright beautiful.
“Maybe, but I’m not going to be here long enough to start dating anyone,” Parker pointed out. “All I care about is locating Nicole. Once that happens, I’ll be taking her back to Dallas to see John.”
Sam understood what John meant to his nephew. After all, Sam had been the one Parker had talked to when those late-night demons had come calling, urging him to either do something really stupid or drown his sorrows in a bottle of Crown. He often joked that while he might have left Afghanistan, the things he’d experienced there had never left him. He’d often despaired if they ever would.
John had been the same way. It was one of the things he and Parker had in common.
But then cancer had come calling, and John had discovered he had worse demons to fight. Helpless, Parker could only stand by and offer support.
“Keep me posted if you get any new leads,” Sam said. “And if there’s anything I can do for you from a distance, give me a holler.”
Promising he would, Parker ended the call.
That night, he grabbed a to-go burger and fries from Hardees, a pint of beer from Quick Trip and stayed holed up in his room watching television.
Once asleep, he dreamed of the beautiful sheriff, intermingled with John begging to see his sister, and IEDs going off in the desert. He woke sweating, his heart racing, and struggling a moment to remember where he was.
After showering, he went in search of breakfast and a cup of coffee, finding both at the Tumbleweed Café. Though barely seven o’clock, the café was crowded with ranchers wearing Stetsons and boots, farmers in overalls, truck drivers with big rigs parked in a gravel lot across the street and several shop owners needing a warm meal before their day started. Most of the customers appeared to be locals, except for maybe the truckers. Parker’s motorcycle was the only one in the parking lot.
He took a seat at the breakfast bar and ordered coffee while checking out the menu. The waitress poured him a cup, piping hot, and promised to be back to take his order.
He decided on a basic breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns. Order placed, he drank his coffee and listened to the ebb and flow of conversation around him.
Most of the talk from the table behind him seemed to be about the drought and what that might mean for the crops. From two tables over, he could hear two men discussing the best route to take a load to Kansas without hitting too many weight stations. And he’d be willing to guess that group of men occupying three tables pushed together were talking about cattle prices or some such thing.
No one discussed a missing woman. Of course, that would be old news. Two weeks had passed since Nicole had disappeared. The local sheriff’s department had investigated, found nothing, and only then had John’s parents called Parker. If they’d told him sooner, he’d have been here much earlier. As it was, he’d come quick. Like, immediately. He’d packed and hopped on his bike the instant he hung up the phone. All he told John was that he was going to get Nicole. John’s parents had been emphatic that John not be told his sister was missing.
Talk about stress. Not only did they have to worry about losing their son to cancer, but now they had to worry because their daughter had disappeared. Parker couldn’t imagine how it would feel to lose both your children at the same time.
His food arrived and he abandoned his efforts to eavesdrop and instead focused on his breakfast. While he ate, he figured out what he was going to do with his day.
The small town of Getaway was known for two things. First, its name. Legend had it that the first settlers wanted to keep strangers out of the area, so they named it Getaway. Despite some people taking the name the opposite way, claiming they’d found their own getaway in Getaway, the name had stuck.
The other thing was that syndicated advice columnist Myrna Maple lived on a farm about ten miles outside the city limits. Though eccentric, the older woman had been known to dispense random gems of wisdom to people she met on the street.
One of the reasons Nicole had detoured to Getaway had been a hope of meeting Myrna. Therefore, Parker felt talking to the advice columnist would be a good place to start.
Except he didn’t know how to find her. He’d done an internet search of the county property tax records and nothing had come up under her name. Which only meant that Myrna Maples wasn’t her real name or she’d purchased property under a corporation. Hell, she might even be a renter, for all he knew.
He’d bet the sheriff had her location. They’d probably even talked with her. Though Parker knew he could simply call her, the thought of seeing the gorgeous redhead again felt infinitely preferable.
Plus, he needed to keep an eye on things in person, right?
Signaling for the check, he slugged down the rest of his coffee. When the check came, he handed the waitress a twenty and told her to keep the change. He’d managed to kill an hour, which put it a little after eight.
Outside, the early-morning temperature only hinted at the heat to come. He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, inhaling the unpolluted air, and then climbed onto his motorcycle. Even with the single stoplight turning red, he made it from the motel to the sheriff’s office in just under three minutes. It wasn’t until he pulled into the parking lot that he wondered if the sheriff would even be on duty this early.
If not, he’d wait until she came in.
Parking his bike, he removed his helmet and strode in through the front door.
“May I help you?” An older woman with steel-gray, close-cropped hair, small silver glasses and a no-nonsense expression greeted him. Her name tag proclaimed her name to be Mary Leeds, dispatcher. She held a disposable up of coffee and took gulps from it as she eyed him. She appeared to be the only person in.
“I’m looking for the sheriff,” he said, taking a second look around the place just in case he might have missed her the first time.
“She’s not here right now,” Mary said. “I can take a message or perhaps Officer Newsome can help you?”
A uniformed man pushed up from his desk behind a cubicle and joined them. Judging from his bloodshot eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. His name tag read Larry Newsome. Eyeing Parker, Officer Newsome patted his paunch. “What can I do you for?” he asked.
Parker repeated himself. “I’m looking for the sheriff. She and I spoke yesterday and she’s checking into something for me.”
Appearing unconvinced, the deputy scratched the back of his neck and yawned. “Why don’t you let me check on that for you? Rayna—the sheriff—always logs everything into the system. That’s how we work. That way, if something happens to one of us, the others can still work the case.”
Which made sense. “Okay,” Parker conceded. “She’s looking into a missing-person case.”
“Oh, you must mean Nicole Wilson.” Straightening, Officer Newsome nodded. “Actually, she assigned that one to me. I refamiliarized myself with the files all last night. I got about four hours’ sleep because I got so caught up in poring over them. I’m not even supposed to be here yet, but I’ve got so many people to talk to that I figured I’d give it a head start.”
While Parker appreciated the other man’s work ethic, one thing stood out to him. Sheriff Rayna Coombs, the woman his uncle Sam said could be relied on, didn’t even care enough to work Nicole’s case personally. She’d assigned it to this guy, Larry Newsome.
Infuriated and disappointed, he bit back a sharp response. “Any idea when the sheriff will be in?”
The other two exchanged glances. “Her daughter is sick,” Mary finally said. “She’s taking the day off to stay home with her.”
“But in the meantime—” the deputy leaned forward, elbows on the counter “—I’ll be more than happy to keep you in the loop on the case.”
Jaw clenched so hard it hurt, Parker forced himself to nod. “That would be awesome,” he managed to say. “When do you plan to start talking to people?”
“Unfortunately, it won’t be today,” Mary chimed in, her tone brusque. “With the sheriff out, we like to have an officer here at all times, just in case. We’ve got a couple others who are out patrolling.”
The phone rang just then and Mary went off to answer it. Both Parker and Officer Newsome watched her go.
A moment later, Mary came back. “Well, you’re in luck,” she told Parker. “That was Rayna. Her little girl’s fever broke. Wanda’s going to keep an eye on her, so Rayna is on her way in.”
“Wanda?” Parker asked before thinking better of it.
“Rayna’s mother,” Mary answered. “She lives with Rayna and Lauren.”
Interesting. Though he knew he shouldn’t have cared, Parker filed this information away.
“I see.” Parker walked over to one of the hard metal chairs in the waiting area. “I’ll just sit here and wait until she arrives.”
