Chapter Three

      Scarlett swallowed as she studied the dead man’s face, half obscured by his bushy beard and mustache, some sort of tattoo creeping up his neck with an L and a C intertwined. She’d never been a portraitist, but if she had been she’d want this guy’s likeness on canvas. Even in death, he wore his life story on his face, etched in every line and wrinkle.

      She blew out a breath. “I don’t know him. Jim?”

      “Never saw him before in my life.”

      The EMT tugged the sheet back over the man’s face and loaded him into the ambulance.

      Unger returned with his deputies. “The county sheriff’s department should be out here shortly, Scarlett. They don’t need to disturb you tonight, but the lead detective will probably want to talk to both of you tomorrow. Going anywhere, Kennedy?”

      “I’m staying at my...my place.”

      Scarlett glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The Kennedy cabin had been the closest residence to hers, but nobody had lived there since she’d bought the Butler place. Apparently, Jim Kennedy, the town enigma, had been off to war with the army rangers all these years.

      When the EMT had lifted the covers on the dead man, Jim had moved away from her. She hadn’t minded his arm draped over her shoulders or the solid presence of his muscular frame, although she’d never been one to lean on a man. Her own father had died in a car accident along with her mother, and her uncle had been a black sheep, ostracized from the reservation.

      She scooped her hair back from her face. “I’m going to call it a night. Tell those county deputies they can talk to me anytime they want, but mornings are best, before I get to work.”

      Unger smacked the side of the ambulance as its engine started. “I’m going to back out and let these guys out of here, but I’m sticking around to wait for the county guys.”

      “Okay if I leave, Unger?” Jim shoved his hands into his pockets where he must’ve still had his weapon stashed.

      If the man had been shot instead of stabbed, would Jim have told Unger about his gun? If he had a gun, maybe he had a knife.

      Scarlett closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath. Nothing about Jim screamed cold-blooded killer, but she couldn’t shake the coincidence of his appearance followed by the discovery of a dead body on her property.

      “You can leave. Again, just be available in case anyone wants to ask you any more questions.”

      Scarlett pivoted on the gravel. “Hope you can figure out what happened to that poor man.”

      Jim drew up beside her with his flashlight. “I’ll walk you back to your place, if that’s okay.”

      “If you want, but I think I’ll be fine with half the Timberline Sheriff’s Department on my property and the county sheriffs showing up in a few.”

      “I can take a look around and check your doors and windows—for when all those deputies leave.”

      A little chill zapped the back of her neck, and she hunched her shoulders. “That’s a creepy thought.”

      “Not my intention to scare you, but sometimes a little fear is a good thing.”

      They returned to her cabin and Jim flicked the broken dead bolt. “You can start here by getting this replaced, and you might want a peephole in the door so you don’t have to look out that window.”

      “Funny enough, I noticed those deficiencies myself when you banged on my door.”

      “Why don’t you give me a tour?”

      She spread her arms. “This is the great room, perfect for entertaining three guests at one time.”

      His lips twisted as he checked the front window. Then he moved to the other two. “At least they all have working locks.”

      “At least?”

      “Anyone can smash a window.”

      “Thanks for that.”

      “But then you’d wake up and the intruder would lose his advantage, and you could always come at him with this.” He strolled to the fireplace and replaced the poker she’d snatched for her defense when he’d first come to her place. “Do you have a gun?”

      “A gun? I hate guns.”

      He pulled his own gun from his pocket and caressed the handle. “You hate guns because you’re afraid of them. If you learned how to take care of a gun and all the safety measures associated with gun ownership, you might feel differently.”

      Shaking her head, she gritted her teeth. “I doubt it. Almost everyone around here has at least a shotgun and spends a lot of their time hunting defenseless animals.”

      “I agree. You don’t have anything to fear from a wild animal.” He returned his gun to his pocket. “I spent my time in the army hunting a different kind of animal—definitely not defenseless.”

      “You used to hunt, though, didn’t you?” She snapped her fingers. “That’s why you became a sniper. You were a great shot.”

      “Something like that.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Do you have a back door?”

      “Two of them—a side door off the kitchen and then a back door from the addition. That’s another thing I liked about this cabin. The Butlers had added a room to the back of the house, which made a perfect studio.”

      He checked the kitchen door and tapped the wood. “You need a dead bolt on this door, too.”

      “I’ll get someone out to do both doors, same key.”

      He stood in the middle of her kitchen, dwarfing it. He’d even been buff as a teenager. Instead of playing team sports for the high school, Jim had spent his time working out and lifting weights.

      From the way his shoulders filled out his jacket, he hadn’t given up the weights.

      “You know what you need in this kitchen?”

      “Besides