Her Lawman Read online

  Her Lawman

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  Hildie McQueen

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also by Hildie McQueen

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Afterword

  Excerpt from Even Heroes Cry

  About the Author

  Pink Door Publishing

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  Editor: Dark Dreams Editing

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  Copyright Hildie McQueen 2017

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  * * *

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  * * *

  There is rarely a day that goes by that I don’t give thanks to God for the wonderful man he gave me as husband. I love you Kurt and every single book I write is because of your encouragement and support.

  Lastly to my readers, I wish I could hug each and every one of you!

  Also by Hildie McQueen

  Laurel Creek Series

  Jaded: Luke

  Broken: Taylor

  Brash: Frederick

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  Montana Cowboys

  Montana Bachelor

  Montana Boss

  Montana Beau

  Montana Born

  Montana Bred

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  Fords of Nashville

  Even Heroes Cry

  The Last Hero

  * * *

  Standalone

  Cowboy in Paradise

  Melody of Secrets

  Even Heroes Cry

  The Last Hero

  Chapter 1

  It was going to be a scorcher. At nine in the morning, the temperatures were already in the high eighties. About normal for the end of August. Deputy Mark Hunter reluctantly left the air-conditioned interior of his police cruiser to do a routine check on the abandoned, old warehouse at the end of Main Street, downtown Lovely, Tennessee.

  After adjusting his tan Stetson, he kicked a rock across the cracked and potholed blacktop of the parking area and walked the perimeter of the building. Every once in a while he pulled his flashlight and peered through one of the dingy windows into the dark interior.

  Upon reaching the corner of the building, Mark looked through a broken pane and noticed grass and weeds burst through some of the many crevices in the concrete floor, the tenacious plants stretched toward whatever bits of sun streamed in.

  Minutes later he returned to his car, nothing of interest noted, except for the fact that he was sweating like a pig. The warehouse patrol would probably be the highlight of his day. An empty structure, the only intruders, weeds.

  Some days he missed the chaos of being a cop in a bigger city. The bullpen, the smell of stale coffee, vagrants and prostitutes hurling insults and then there was the addition of having a partner to talk to. Everything that was once part of daily life in Nashville was in the past.

  In Lovely, a total of three made up the entire police force for the tiny town. Besides him, a young deputy, Carson Scott and sheriff Clark, shared the office spaces. Every morning, coffee was delivered fresh from the diner across the street and the sheriff's wife came in once a week to clean the office spaces and replace the flowers on a table in the entry way. Flowers for goodness sakes. Who the hell expected to see flowers at a police station?

  Since it was his choice to move to the small town after losing his partner in a shootout with gang members, he couldn't really bitch. Now two years later, he wondered if he should have waited before making the rash decision. After all, he had closure. Killed the bastard who'd shot his partner.

  Besides even if he wanted to complain to anyone, the sheriff and his wife were gone on a five-day cruise and Scott was off duty during the day since he covered the evening shift.

  For the next few days, during the daytime, he was the lone lawman in town, population eighteen hundred.

  He motored around the warehouse and down Main Street to park in front of the police office. His plan for the day was to visit a few of the local establishments and then get breakfast. Yep, he had it hard.

  The strong smell of flowers filled the air when he stepped into his office. At least the furniture remained standard issue by most public safety standards. Metal desks, chairs, and a metal bench bolted to the floor along the wall. Mrs. Clark had thoughtfully placed metal waste cans nearby in case an arrestee decided to puke. Mark shook his head. Most drunk and disorderly people arrested purposefully puked on the floor out of spite.

  He refilled his coffee mug and checked email. The only thing of interest, a sale on bulletproof vests.

  Minutes later Mark walked into Miller Hardware. Mrs. Tallulah Miller, a spunky sixty-something lady with salt and pepper hair and a quick wit waved in greeting. "Hey there, Deputy Hunter. How are ya this mornin’?"

  Her store was the one place other than the Lovely diner, where locals always stopped by for a chat. So much so that Mrs. Miller set up a sitting area of sorts next to her checkout counter. Today the chairs were empty. It was still too early in the day for visitors.

  Mark returned the greeting and neared the counter. "Anything of interest today?"

  "Other than that stray dog raiding my trash again, no. Cup of tea?" She rushed to the room behind her counter not waiting for a reply. "I just made a pot," she called over her shoulder.

  Not exactly his favorite drink. At the moment, he would have preferred cold sweet tea.

  As if reading his mind, she reappeared a few seconds later with a tall glass, the ice clinking side to side. "I figured you'd rather have something cold after being out there. It's supposed to be a record-breaker."

  He took a long drink. "Thank you. What are you planning to do with the empty warehouse? The floor is starting to crack pretty badly. Besides, teenagers are always caught in there messing around."

  She took a deep breath and lifted a cup of tea to her lips. Her eyes darted to the doorway in thought. "I am considering just tearing it down. The last person who showed interest in it was Leroy Malone," she said, referring to the owner of the car repair shop. "He was planning to move his business into it, but changed his mind after Janice left him." Mrs. Miller chuckled. "Seems she left with the dog, jewelry, clothes, and all their savings."

  The building was structurally sound and if he had his way, he'd consider buying it and turning it into a teen hang out or a bar with pool tables and dartboards. A business of the sort would be good for Lovely. Most people had to drive to the nearby town of Newton for nighttime entertainment.

  Yet Mark wasn't sure he was ready to take the chance like that with his money and energy. "Hopefully someone else will show interest before it deteriorates to the point where you won't have a choice. It would make a nice bar."

  "It would." Mrs. Miller eyed him in thought.
"And a bar would also give you boys more to do on the weekends." She chuckled.

  The bell over the door jingled and Adam Ford walked in. Adam had not too long ago returned from Afghanistan and moved to Lovely at about the same time Mark had. The loner lived outside town in an old Victorian house he was in the process of restoring. Although not a friendly sort, more silent type, Mark genuinely liked the guy.

  After Mrs. Miller greeted Adam, the men shook hands in greeting. Mark noted dark shadows under the eyes, haunted expression and a few days of beard growth on Adam's jawline. Typical of a man who'd not been well for a few days. It was well known, Adam suffered from severe PTSD, and so Mark didn't question him. Instead he motioned to the list in the guy's hand. "What you working on now?"

  "Drywall is finally all up. Starting the paint work this week." Adam looked past him to where the paint shelves were. "My mother picked out some colors. She threatened to disown me if I paint the walls white."

  "Women have a thing against white walls, I guess." Mark recalled the different colors he'd painted his townhouse in Knoxville right after his ex-girlfriend moved in. After they'd broken up, he was left with walls painted in colors named after fruits and vegetables. "Wanna grab a bite after you're done?"

  Adam hesitated and finally nodded. "Sure."

  "I'll be outside." Mark waved at Mrs. Miller and left. He'd make sure Adam had a good meal before leaving town. If he guessed right, the guy hadn't eaten in a couple of days.

  * * *

  An hour later, Mark and Adam left the diner with leftovers in carry out boxes and fresh cups of sweet tea. Adam headed across the street to Miller Hardware. Mark walked alongside having forgotten his coffee mug at Mrs. Miller's store.

  When he looked to Adam, about to say goodbye, someone ran into him so hard, Mark stumbled backward and dropped his food.

  A young woman, he recognized as Eliza Brock, the short order cook at the Lovely diner, let out a loud yelp and began to cry.

  He wasn't sure what to do. The food was beyond help, most of it splattered on the sidewalk.

  He looked to Adam, who remained frozen, his eyes on the shaken woman. As typical, both he and Adam were at a loss of what to do when a woman cried, and Eliza showed no sign of stopping, her face covered with both hands.

  Mark took her elbow and guided her to the front of the hardware store under the awning. "Miss Brock, it's not that big of a deal. I was probably not going to eat it anyway."

  "Huh?" She looked at him and he noticed a light bruise on her cheek. The pretty woman had intrigued him since first seeing her. When he'd heard she had a boyfriend, he didn't do anything about his interest. Her dark, chocolate brown eyes regarded him for a beat then flew to the spilled food as if for the first time noticing what she'd caused. "Oh goodness. I'm so sorry." Eliza pushed her hair away from her flushed heart shaped face. "So...you didn't see him yet?"

  "Who?" Both he and Adam looked around to the almost empty street. The only pedestrian was the mailman who hurried out of the heat into the cupcake shop on the corner of the next block.

  "Ed—Eddie. He's dead." She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes darting between him and Adam. "In his truck," she added pointing to a blue Ford Ranger parked down the street.

  "I'll take a look." Mark looked to Adam who seemed to be making an effort not to sprint to his own truck by the way the man kept looking between them and his vehicle. "Could you walk her into Mrs. Miller's place. I'll be there in a few."

  Without waiting for Adam's response, he rushed to the truck.

  Eddie Mason was in the driver's seat. He leaned away from the door, looked to be asleep. Mark touched his shoulder. "Eddie? You all right?"

  There was no response, so he stuck his head through the open window and peered at the now slumped man. Eddie was definitely not all right. He was dead. His throat slashed clean across from jawline to jawline. Blood had streamed down his chest and puddled in the dead man's lap.

  Just to make sure, Mark pressed two fingers to the side of his throat and felt for a pulse. There was none. The man had not been dead long, his skin still warm.

  There didn't seem to be any signs of struggle, almost as if Eddie had been caught off guard or while sleeping. Strange since it was early in the day and if he remembered right, Eddie should have been at the garage. He worked as a mechanic for Leroy Malone.

  Mark did a quick calculation. He'd driven past where Eddie's truck was parked an hour and a half earlier after his patrol of the warehouse. If he remembered correctly, Eddie's truck had not been there.

  With a gauging eye, he looked around the area, scanning first the ground around the truck and then the street and sidewalk. Other than a few blood spatters on the truck door, nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. He studied the door and handle. A possible print beside the window could prove useful.

  Once again he peered into the truck. Eddie was not holding anything. His hands were down and open, one against the door, the other palm up on the passenger seat. He wore the usual clothing for a mechanic. Stained jeans and a utilitarian blue shirt with Malone's logo on the right upper chest.

  On the seat next to him was a paper bag. Mark walked around the truck and reached in through the open window. With his pen, he pushed the edges of the bag open and looked inside. A sandwich and potato chips. A lunch indicated Eddie planned to go to work. He continued the inspection of the truck. Other than a couple of containers of oil in the floorboard behind his seat, the truck was pretty clean.

  In the truck's bed, there was a small toolbox and rope.

  Eddie had parked in front of a consignment shop, which would not open until the next day, being closed on Mondays.

  The businesses across the street were just opening. He would go and ask if they'd seen something. Next to the shop was a real estate office with two apartments above. One belonged to Eliza Brock, he'd have to talk to the other resident to see if they saw or heard anything. The real estate office did not open until eleven.

  Mark's next reaction was to radio his station and request back up. He almost laughed when realizing, he was the only deputy on duty for the moment. Up the street leaning on his truck was Adam Ford. The guy remained stock-still his gaze downcast, every once in a while he'd lift his head and looked over to where he stood.

  Keeping watch. Always a soldier.

  "Hey, Adam," Mark called. "I need your help. Get me some crime scene tape from my office and the camera. They're in the bottom right desk drawer of my desk." He tossed his keys at the approaching man.

  Next he called Doctor Wilkes. The town's coroner and local physician assured him, to be there momentarily. Not enough in the budget for the county to splurge on a coroner's vehicle, Doctor Wilkes would drive the one ambulance, which they used for these instances. Not that anything like this had happened in a long time, people usually died of natural causes in this town.

  A few minutes later Adam returned with the needed items. By then several of the town's people were milling about attempting to get a glimpse and asking him what happened. Mark ignored them, his mind on the murder.

  Jerry Pike, an older man who worked as a handyman, gave Adam a hand, keeping people from coming too close while Mark marked off the area and began to take pictures.

  Once he was done, Mark motioned for the ambulance drivers to come near and take the body out of the truck while he continued to snap pictures.

  He looked to one of the medics. "Tell Doc I'll be by later today to talk about findings." Mark watched them slide Eddie's body into the back of the vehicle.

  The first murder in Lovely in over ten years and it had to happen the week Sheriff Clark was on a cruise. Not that it would make a big difference, the sheriff would have expected Mark to handle it. After all he'd been a lead homicide detective in Nashville.

  In all his years with the Nashville police force, Mark had only investigated gang murders. Most had the same M.O. and almost identical reasoning territory, drugs, or both.

  Eddie Mason's murde
r was an altogether different ballgame.

  Mark made a mental checklist. First he got a couple volunteers to stand by and guard the crime scene. Until the CSU from nearby Newton County arrived, it was best not to allow any nosy civilian to contaminate the murder site.

  Next, he walked along the sidewalk towards the warehouse and scanned the ground for any blood droplets. The murderer took the weapon, which meant blood might have dripped from it, leaving some sort of trail. When he saw anything out of place, Mark marked it with a tented business card. All he had on hand. He walked to the end of the street, to the empty lot in front of the warehouse. It had to be where the killer had parked in order to make a quick escape and not be seen. He looked around and then up to the edge of the building. The apartment overlooking the parking lot was Eliza Brock’s.

  On his way back to the site, he called Newton's police department. A team would be there in less than an hour to go over the truck and surrounding area. Mark let out a breath and wiped at his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. He had plenty to do before they arrived.

  Once he got back to Eddie Mason's truck, he called deputy Scott and woke him up. "Eddie Malone was killed. I'm going to need your help. Meet me at the station in a couple of hours." He hung up after filling in the deputy on what happened. Scott insisted on heading in right away.

  Mark found Eliza still looking quite shaken, holding a cup of tea. She sat on one of the chairs by the counter shoulders hunched with her hands curved around the cup as if it kept her grounded. The woman’s reddened eyes darted to him before returning to the floor.

  Mrs. Miller gave him a wry look. "Don't go getting her all upset again, Mark."