But the questions went unheeded as the dark focus of the man’s eyes never left Kate.
“Are you in charge here?” His dark voice was just as coolly efficient, just as menacing, as the gun and badge next to the hand splayed at his hip.
Rarely at a loss for words, Kate cursed the splutter of hesitation she heard in her voice. But she shook off the foolish reaction and came up with a diplomatic answer. “I’m part of the task force that’s in charge—Hey!”
Apparently, something she’d said was good enough for him. Immune to the flash of lights and uncaring of the public recording of the scene he was making, the cowboy closed his grip around Kate’s arm and pulled her aside. If he hadn’t been wearing a badge that identified him as law enforcement, Kate might have protested further.
“Lady, I’ve been driving ever since the report came over the wire early this morning.”
“What report?”
With the interview effectively ended, she quickened her pace to keep up with his long strides. And though she tugged against his hand, his hold on her never wavered.
“What can you tell me about the woman you found in that alley?” he demanded.
“Excuse me, but we have rules about how a press conference is conducted here in Kansas City. We also have rules about interdepartmental investigations. If you need to speak to someone about a case, then you—”
“I’m only interested in this case.” She nearly pitched off her pumps when he abruptly stopped to test the door on a nearby storefront. That same strong hand kept her upright and pulled her inside the boutique beside him, beyond the flashes of cameras and noise of the reporters and curious onlookers. Once he released her and shooed away the store clerk who offered to help them, Kate could face him. Only then did she see the jet-black hair with shots of silver at the temples. Only then did she clearly make out the chiseled jaw and six feet or so of height. Only then did she detect the scents of leather and man and some unnamed emotion that made her back up half a step.
“Who are you?” she asked.
This time, he answered. “I’m sheriff of Alton County.”
Alton County? Central Missouri? “What are you doing here …?” Temper turned to confusion. She sputtered again while her brain shifted gears. “How do you know about the murder? We haven’t even released her name to the public, pending notification of her family.”
“You’ve notified them,” Sheriff Cowboy stated. “My name’s Boone Harrison. Jane Harrison is … was … my baby sister. I want to know who the hell killed her, and what you’re doing to find him.”
Chapter Two
Boone paused at the doors leading from the medical examiner’s lab into the morgue and autopsy room. He pulled off his hat, working the brim between his fingers as he looked through the glass windows to the stainless steel tables inside.
He watched a dark-haired woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat working beneath the bright lights at the middle table. She wore gloves and a surgical mask. And as she circled around the table, the front of her lab coat gaped open, revealing a baby bump on her belly.
But it wasn’t the pregnant medical examiner who had his attention. He wasn’t even shocked by the tray of wicked-looking tools or the cart filled with saws and hoses, glass containers and evidence bags.
Boone touched his fingers to the cool glass partition, wishing he could reach through the glass and erase the images before him. It wasn’t his first dead body or even his first murder. But it was his first and only baby sister lying there—her life cut short, her beautiful laugh silenced forever.
His jaw ached with the tight clench of muscles holding back the tears and curses. And his gut was an open pit of anger, grief and failure, eating him up from the inside out.
“You don’t have to do this, Sheriff Harrison.” The firm, slightly husky tones of the blonde woman standing beside him filtered into his brain, tossing him a lifeline back to the reality at hand. Dr. Kate Kilpatrick stood shoulder to shoulder with him, viewing the same scene he was, maintaining a calm strength he couldn’t seem to find within himself. “Certainly not right now. Give us some time to work first, and then I’ll call you. I promise.”
He flattened his palm against the glass and pushed the swinging door open. “I need to see her.”
Startled, the medical examiner looked up from her work. She zeroed in on Boone and straightened to attention. “You shouldn’t be in here. Hi, Kate.”
“Sorry, Holly.” Dr. Kate’s hand on his arm slowed him a step, giving her the chance to reach the steel table before he could. “Dr. Holly Masterson-Kincaid, medical examiner. This is Sheriff Boone Harrison from Alton County.” But she wasn’t much of a wedge when it came to stopping him. Boone moved in beside her, looking down at the raven-haired woman on the table. “He believes the victim is his sister.”
“Well, then, he really shouldn’t be in here right now.” The M.E. reached for the sheet draped at the foot of the table. “I’m just about to start … Hey!” She swatted Boone’s hand from across the table. “Don’t touch her. Please.” She covered the body up to the shoulders as gently as if she was tucking a child into bed. “There may be evidence on her.”
“I won’t compromise anything.”
“Sheriff?” He felt Kate’s hand on his forearm again, but there was more comfort than warning in this particular touch, and his gaze locked on to the elegant, pale, practically manicured fingers resting on his sleeve. “Perhaps we should wait outside and let the doctor work.”
But he’d already seen the bruises on Janie’s knuckles and the torn fingernails. He’d already noted the sticky-looking mat of hair beneath her head, indicating the blow that had ended her life. The worst of the bloody wound was hidden from view. There was nothing the M.E. or the police psychologist needed to hide from him. The loss had already imprinted itself in his brain, and deeper—in his heart. Boone’s sister had been a firecracker in life. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her this still, not even in sleep.
But the shell of the girl he’d grown up with was still there.
“It’s her. It’s Janie.” He lifted his gaze to the moss-colored eyes looking up at him. But the emotion there quickly shuttered, neutralizing their color to a grayish-green before Dr. Kate pulled her hand away. With that unconscious bit of caring denied him, Boone cleared his throat and looked over at the dark-haired doctor. “Jane Beatrice Harrison. Named for both our grandmothers. She’s twenty-eight. Born and raised on a ranch outside Grangeport, Missouri. Moved to K.C. about a year ago. She’s single, but dating, I think. Worked at a florist’s shop. Taught evening art classes at one of the community colleges here.”
The M.E. picked up a computerized clipboard and started logging in some of the details he was sharing.
Boone’s breath got stuck in his chest and he exhaled a big sigh before he could continue. “I talked to her on the phone just last week. But I haven’t seen her since the Fourth of July. The family gets together for a big celebration—fireworks, food. One of my brothers has a cabin on the lake. She got a sunburn out tubing on the water with our nieces and nephew.” Something numbing and merciless was eating its way through every nerve of his body, robbing him of rational thought. “Janie loved those kids.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us about her life here in Kansas City?” Dr. Kilpatrick asked. “Any specifics about her daily routine?”
The answers drifted out of his brain. For a few moments, it seemed it was all he could do to stay on his feet and take in the world around him. Boone was aware of the two women processing everything he’d said. Holly Masterson-Kincaid was dark, dressed in white. Her hair was long and wavy and anchored in