FOUR

      Becca was eager to find something—anything—to refute her theory about being the target of last night’s explosion. If only she could uncover incriminating evidence in the project manager’s trailer that would point to his involvement in an illegal operation. Drug smuggling, embezzlement, even human trafficking. Bottom line, she needed a motive for his death that would draw attention away from her.

      She and Colby arrived at the trailer and were joined by two officers from the Freemont Police Department. Wearing vinyl gloves, they searched all the logical places where a perpetrator would hide anything he didn’t want the police to find.

      When their search proved futile, Becca turned to more ingenious hiding spots, but even then she found nothing that seemed questionable.

      If she couldn’t uncover evidence relevant to a crime, her initial assumption about Jacob Yoder being alive might prove true, which made her even more determined to keep looking.

      After searching Arnold’s bedroom, she pounded her fist against the wall.

      “Take it easy, Becca,” Colby cautioned from the hallway.

      Undeterred by his comment, she tapped again. “Hear that hollow sound? It could be a secret hiding compartment.”

      Brody ran his fingers over the walls and stood close enough for her to notice his aftershave. She took a step back, needing to keep her focus on the search instead of his strong hands and the heady scent that wafted around her.

      Eventually, he shook his head. “The wall’s secure. No cubby holes. No secret hiding spots. Let’s keep looking.”

      He was right, of course, yet she was frustrated by the fruitless search as well as her less than professional response to Colby’s nearness. She moved into the living area, forcing her thoughts back to the case. Nothing could be ruled out at his point, but even the idea of a drug deal gone south seemed remote.

      The trailer had been in pristine condition when they first arrived. Neat and tidy with a number of scrapbooks containing pictures of Mr. Arnold receiving awards from his superiors. Religious books were stacked on the coffee table, as well as a scattering of pictures of his wife and kids, all of which indicated that he was a salt-of-the-earth type of guy. A well-worn Bible lay on the couch as if he’d read scripture before he had left for work.

      More than likely, Arnold’s death was a wrong-place, wrong-time incident. Making his rounds last night, he had seen the broken windowpane and entered the BOQ to check it out, never expecting the perpetrator to be inside. Instead he should have called the military police on post and asked them to investigate.

      As Colby drove them back to post, Becca kept her eyes on the road ahead instead of on him. She was becoming much too interested in Colby, and instead, she needed to come up with a logical reason for the initial break-in. She quickly narrowed it down to two options. Either the killer entered the empty BOQ because he wanted a place to hole up overnight, or he was there to do her harm.

      “You’re quiet.” Colby broke the silence. “Want to share what you’re thinking?”

      Exactly what she didn’t want to do.

      She tried to act nonchalant. “Just wondering about the killer.”

      “Anyone giving you a hard time recently?” He flicked a sideways glance her way. “We make enemies in this business. Wilson said as much last night. Is there someone who has a beef with you? Someone you sent to prison and now he’s out? Even an old boyfriend who wasn’t happy when you dumped him?”

      “No old boyfriend.”

      Colby nodded as if relieved, which made her smile.

      “That’s one down,” he said. “Anyone grumbling about being set up or complaining you pushed too hard?”

      “Probably everyone I’ve arrested.”

      “Do you remember anyone who was more vocal than the rest, more agitated, more out to seek revenge?”

      She shook her head. “No one comes to mind.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Yes, I’m sure.” She straightened her skirt, still frustrated with her own response to his nearness. “You sound as if I’m under interrogation.”

      “Of course not. It’s just—” He tapped the steering wheel. “I get this feeling you’re holding something back. Is there anything you’re not telling me that might have relevance to this investigation?”

      If only she could tell him about Jacob, but an investigation depended on facts and not some pie-in-the-sky suspicion that a buried killer could come back to life.

      Becca had worked hard to get to this point in her career and still walked a tight rope to fit in with a predominantly male work group. She didn’t need to spout nonsensical supposition.

      “As we both know,” she offered, hoping it would ease the tension between them. “The simplest explanation is often the one that proves true. The guy who broke in probably needed a place to hole up overnight. He could have been cold and tried to light the stove to keep warm. If the pilot light was out, the gas could have filled the apartment and caused the explosion.”

      Colby glanced at her. “And this homeless guy seeks refuge on an army post complete with gate checks and 24/7 security?”

      “I admit it doesn’t sound likely.” He was right. Security was tight on Fort Rickman. If the project manager hadn’t seen the broken window, the military police would have.

      “You want to hear my theory?” he asked.

      She licked her lips, not knowing what to expect. “Okay.”

      “The perp was interested in you, Becca.”

      She held up her hand. “That’s ridiculous.”

      “I beg to differ. It’s the most plausible explanation.”