Free The High Country Rancher by Jan Hambright Page A

the interrogation room.
    “I’ve got to make a quick stop by the house, and we can get on the road.”
    “No problem.” He put on his seat belt and leaned back. “I take it your boss isn’t too happy?”
    She looked both ways and pulled out onto Main. “Let’s just say Endicott’s missing persons case isstalled. My father is one step away from calling the FBI. If we can’t catch a break, and soon, we’ll have the feds crawling all over the place.”
    He hated the sound of that. They wouldn’t go easy on him. They’d make his life hell, and maybe hers, too. “I’ll take the damn poly, if it’ll help.”
    She braked at the stoplight and turned left onto Sycamore. “I can get the examiner out of Spokane down here next week.”
    He watched a smile turn her mouth as she maneuvered the car onto Cottonwood Street and pull into the driveway of her house.
    “Give me a time and place. I’ll be there.”
    She put the car in Park and shut off the engine. “It’s as much for you as it is for me.”
    “Somehow I doubt that.” He saw her wince. “I know I haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the only one who needs convincing.”
    Mariah didn’t dare look at him for fear he’d see right through her. More than anything she wanted to believe him on all counts. “I’ll just be a minute.”
    She pulled open the door latch and climbed out of the car, with her emotions at war. A battle of good cop, bad cop ragged inside of her. She’d settle for just cop at this point, because she wasn’t acting much like one where Baylor McCullough was concerned.
    Fiddling with her key, she shoved it into the lock and turned the knob.
    She pushed open the door and the pungent odor of turpentine hit her full force.
    Mariah backed out onto the porch nearly colliding with Baylor, who’d gotten out of the car and now stood next to her.
    “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    “Someone broke into my house!”
    Baylor took a step toward the entry and stared into the once-inviting living room.
    Anger stirred in his blood as he looked at the beautiful painting he’d admired the first time he’d been in her home. Someone had doused it with turpentine. The once-majestic images now streaked and running down the canvas, dissolved by the paint thinner. He didn’t paint, but he was pretty sure an artist and her art were like a cowboy and his favorite horse—inseparable.
    He put his arm around her shoulders, caution coursing through him. What if she’d been home alone when the intruder broke in?
    “I’ve got to call this in. Maybe the jerk left something behind.” Her voice broke. “Something I can nail him with.” She moved away from him and he followed, determined to protect her somehow from the ugliness inside. The destruction of her artwork, the seed of her passion, the key to her soul, he guessed.
    He listened to her phone call and waited with her until the first cruiser rolled up on scene before stepping back into the shadows.
    Was the sniper attempt on their lives somehow related to this? And if so, how in the hell did he look after a cop whose job it was to serve and protect?
     
    S HE HAD TO QUESTION Ray Buckner, Mariah decided as the last of the crime scene investigators put their equipment away and stepped out of her living room. He was supposed to be back from Missoula today.
    CSI Worchester and his team’s hours of searching hadn’t revealed a single fingerprint or one identifiable speck of evidence with which to nail the SOB who’d invaded her home. He’d come through a rear window to trash the place, and left her feeling vulnerable in a setting she’d always felt safe in before.
    Baylor stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, arms crossed as he studied her. “They’ll catch him, Mariah.”
    She wished she could take hold of his words and believe them, but she’d seen her share of unsolved break-ins.
    “With prints, you’re right, but he didn’t leave anything. And then there’s this.” She