Trace Evidence in Tarrant County. Delores Fossen
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And then bam. Next thing I knew, I was face-first in the dirt and it felt as if someone had set fire to my ribs.” She drew in a hard breath. “I really want to catch this SOB.”
Oh, man. More vulnerability. She didn’t quiver or tremble. There was no deep level of emotion in her voice. But that bullet had robbed Carley of something that Sloan understood all too well.
Peace of mind.
“You’ll heal,” he told her.
She angled her eyes in his direction. “The voice of experience?”
He nodded. “Eighteen months ago, while chasing down a kidnapper, I took one in the shoulder.”
The silence settled uncomfortably around them.
Carley looked away, cleared her throat. “The surveillance disk is in my office. I was just about to review it, but then I heard someone skulking around out here, so I came outside to check things out.”
Sloan frowned. “I wasn’t skulking.”
“Then what were you doing?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Oh, wait. This was a trip down memory lane, wasn’t it? You’re reliving the good old days when you wore this badge and had the town at your feet?”
That last comment set his teeth on edge. “Sure. I do that all the time. Relive the past. Reminisce about that badge.” He made sure the sarcasm dripped from his drawl.
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” she said with dripping sarcasm, as well. Carley started for the back door but then stopped, turned and faced him. “If you’re looking for your brother, Zane’s not here.”
Oh.
She didn’t know.
He figured this was about to get real messy.
“Zane’s tied up with the grand jury,” she added. “Probably won’t be back for days. Maybe even weeks.”
Sloan didn’t think it was his imagination that Carley seemed smug and pleased about that. She no doubt thought that meant there’d be no Texas Rangers around to interfere with her investigation.
He caught onto her arm to prevent her smug exit. “The mayor and the D.A. don’t think you’re a hundred percent.”
She blinked and took her hands from her pockets. “Excuse me?”
“Neither does Zane. By all rights, you should be in your apartment, recovering.”
Carley threw off his grip. “Is this leading somewhere or are you trying to undermine my authority? Because you’re no longer sheriff of Justice.” She hitched a thumb to her chest. “I am.”
Sloan searched for the correct way to say this and decided there wasn’t one. The only thing he could do was lay it all there, even though he was dead certain it would cause the argument to escalate.
“It’s leading somewhere,” Sloan told her. “Since Zane is busy with the grand jury, someone needs to take over the investigation.”
That got her hands back on her hips. “That’s why I’m here at work, so I can do just that.”
“You’re on the case, Carley.” This was about to get even messier. “But only to assist.”
She shook her head, opened her mouth, closed it and shook her head again. Her confusion and denial morphed into anger. “Assist whom?”
Sloan braced himself for the inevitable fallout. “Me. I’m in charge of the case now. For the remainder of this investigation, I’m your boss.”
Chapter Two
Carley figured it was physically impossible, but she thought her blood might be boiling. She certainly felt something fiery-hot racing through every inch of her body.
“My boss?” she repeated. Not easily. She nearly choked on the words.
Sloan nodded. “Zane is leader of the task force for this murder investigation.”
He didn’t need to add more to that. Carley quickly got the picture, and it wasn’t a picture she liked very much at all. It’d been Zane’s call as to whom to put in charge and he’d chosen Sloan.
Not her.
To an outsider, Zane’s decision would seem like nepotism or even cronyism, but Carley knew for a fact that Zane and Sloan were brothers in name only. They hadn’t been real siblings since their father’s arrest sixteen years ago. That arrest had parted them like Moses had the Red Sea, with Zane refusing to get involved in anything but his own sterling career. Sloan, on the other hand, had involved himself to the hilt so he could convince everyone, including his brother, that their father was innocent.
“Zane must really be desperate to ask you for help,” she mumbled.
Sloan stood there in his crisp Ranger outfit: a white western-cut shirt, jeans, hip holster, snakeskin boots and his shiny silver-peso badge. He was studying her and probably trying to interpret her reaction. Carley didn’t have to interpret her reaction to him. She didn’t want him back in Justice and she didn’t want him meddling in her investigation.
Why Sloan McKinney of all people?
Their history wasn’t pleasant—and it wasn’t all limited to her testimony against his father. Seven years ago, he’d beaten her out for the deputy’s job. That still stung, even now. Carley had wanted that job more than she’d wanted her next breath. And why? Because it was a stepping stone to the next rung in her career ladder: being the top honcho—sheriff.
Something that Sloan had accomplished in record time by becoming the youngest one in the entire county.
He hadn’t changed in the handful of years since Carley had last seen him. The same short and efficiently cut dark brown hair. The same sizzling blue eyes.
Bedroom eyes, the girls had called them.
He still had that athletic physique on that six-foot-three-inch body of muscles and, well, good looks. That was his problem, she decided. Sloan McKinney had always been too sexy for his own good. It had opened doors for him. Plenty of them.
“I know you’re upset,” he commented. “But Zane thought that folks around here would be more likely to talk to me than him. Or you.”
Sloan had probably used that leisurely Texas drawl to soothe her, the way he used to soothe horses on his granddaddy’s ranch.
It. Did. Not. Calm. Her.
“Zane and you think folks are more likely to talk to you because you used to be sheriff,” she clarified through clenched teeth.
Sloan gave her a yep-that-about-sums-it-up nod. “And there’s that whole part about Zane knowing that you weren’t medically ready to resume your duties. This is a double murder investigation, Carley. A cold case—and a red-hot one. He needs someone who’s a hundred percent and he’s not convinced that you are.”
She would have argued if at that exact moment the pain hadn’t pinched at her side. Mercy. When was her body going to heal? It’d been nearly a week. She couldn’t take any more time off. Look what these seven days had done. She was no longer in charge of her own investigation.
Sloan was.
Fate was having a really good belly laugh about that. Sloan, her boss. Her working for him.
Because that was practically an unbearable thought and because her blasted side wouldn’t quit pinching, Carley went inside so she could sit down. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to do that right away. Sloan had those bedroom-blue eagle eyes nailed to her. He was observing her every move—and that wasn’t good, because she wasn’t moving so well.
Carley casually strolled inside, plucked the surveillance disk from the machine and tried to be equally casual by continuing to stroll into her office.
“You’re