“Here. Crouch down and look.”
The man was nearly seventy, but he had a quick mind and a small, spry form. He duckwalked back a few steps so she could take his place. “What am I looking for? Did you find another depression? Another bag?”
“Just look and tell me what you see.”
Belle scanned the area, taking it in like he’d taught her. A broad look to see if anything was out of place, then careful quadrants as she mentally cataloged everything she saw.
Blades of grass, intermittently broken up by rocky scrub.
A small patch of Indian paintbrush doing its best to bloom in the early April weather that had been unusually cold.
A dry, patchy area of dirt where even the scrub wasn’t growing, spattered with—
“Julio?” She whirled, coming to her feet in an instant. “Is that blood?”
“It looks like it.” He got to his feet.
“There’s a lot of it. Not just someone who might have gotten cut on the wire fence. And it looks like it continues into the brush beside it.”
“I know, Bella.” She nearly moved toward it when Julio laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get a few more things from the car.”
Their field kits.
As Belle trudged behind Julio, a heavy pit cratered her stomach. That sinking feeling only grew harsher when she looked up to see Ace and Tate watching from a distance. Whatever frustration rode them, it was nothing compared to the news she and Julio needed to share.
If her instincts—and Julio’s somber gaze—were any indication, Reynolds Station had been home to a murder.
“Smooth.”
“Bite me.” Tate spat out the words before slapping the thick gloves he needed to repair the barbed wire on his thigh. They needed to get that line of fence back up and he needed to get back to work. Lollygagging out here all day hadn’t been on the agenda.
“Belle looks good.” Ace’s gaze never even drifted Tate’s way as he watched Belle and Julio do their work. “She’s a fine representative of the Midnight Pass police force. And wow, is she easy on the eyes. ’Course, she always was.”
The simmer in his blood rolled on toward a slow boil at the evident appreciation in Ace’s voice. Belle was a gorgeous woman and he’d never known a police uniform—pants, a button-down shirt—and a badge could look so damned sexy when covering high, firm breasts and a slim waist that begged for the span of a man’s hands.
As vivid images of curling his fingers against that warm flesh consumed him, Tate fought the urge to slug his brother. They weren’t kids any longer and he was well able to take him in a fight.
Which was further proof of just how badly Annabelle Marie Granger got under his freaking skin.
The woman was a poison. A lethal one, like something that came out of an exotic flower. Only instead of death, this one drove a man into a sort of ever-loving madness.
They saw a lot less of each other than in the past, but she was still around. An off-hour trip to the feed store might produce her walking down Main Street, a sexy swing to her walk as she worked the beat. Or a stop off for a cup of coffee in downtown Midnight Pass at the Drop-In Diner might turn her up at a front table, having lunch with a fellow officer. Hell, he’d actually had times where he’d seen her and gone the other direction, not willing to live with the emotions she managed to churn up for days.
“Keep your eyes off Belle.”
“I don’t take orders from you, little brother.” Although the threat was real, Tate didn’t miss the humor that threaded through the words. “No matter how badly you want me to.”
Tate was about to reply, determined to keep up the line of stubborn, verbal territory-marking when Belle and Julio abruptly stood and headed in his and Ace’s direction.
“That was fast,” Ace murmured.
“Too fast.” Tate watched them march closer, their matched looks of concern pushing thoughts of punching his brother out of his mind.
“You find something?” Tate asked.
Belle nodded. “I’m afraid we did.”
Tate moved to walk toward the patch of scrub Belle had been bent over when she laid a hand on his arm. “I need you to stay here.”
“This is my land.”
“Right now it’s my crime scene. And I need to ask you a few questions.”
Ace had remained quiet, but moved to stand beside Tate. “What’s this about?”
Annabelle’s voice was quiet but strong in the light breeze that whipped tendrils of hair around her cheeks. “What brought you out here this morning, Tate?”
“I told you. I couldn’t sleep and Tot and I headed out.”
“Do you normally go out this early?”
“No.” Something hard hit the bottom of his stomach. “What’s with the questions? You gonna read me my Miranda rights?”
* * *
The question was legitimate, but the taunt underneath scraped at her nerves. How was it the man managed to toss her profession at her at every turn? It was yet one more example of how little respect he had for her.
Or how little had changed in their war of wills.
She knew she walked a dangerous line, but she’d never been very good at backing down from that challenge. The urge to pull out the small, laminated card she’d carried on her since graduating from the academy dogged her, but she kept her focus on Tate.
“Do I need to?” If she had to take him into custody, she’d be required to read him his rights, but he wasn’t a suspect.
Or damn it, he shouldn’t be.
But standing there, staring at Tate Reynolds, she wasn’t sure what to think. The man wasn’t a killer, that was for certain. And since the hardest thing she’d ever seen him touch was a lone tequila chaser along with a beer at Tabasco’s place, she didn’t think drugs when she thought of him. So how did blood end up on his property and how was it Tate was the one to kick that discovery off with a cut fence?
“You think I did something?” Something dark and cold settled in the depths of his green eyes. “What the hell is going on?”
She ignored the heavy feeling that made her feet feel like they were cased in concrete, rooting her to the spot before him. “I’m trying to find out. Part of that is asking a few questions.”
“I know my rights,” Tate bellowed, the sound surprisingly similar to his father’s. “This is my land and my home. I have a right to roam it whenever I damn well please.”
Ace stepped in. While the move didn’t stem the storm clouds in Tate’s eyes, it did have him moving back a few steps. “What’s this about?”
Belle hated the necessary distance that had her stiffening up. She’d known all of them since she was small and didn’t truly believe any of them were guilty. But she had to do her job. Assumptions and innuendos didn’t make cases, nor did they set the basis for good cop work.
She had to keep her focus and she had to be above reproach.
“We need to call in a team.”
“A team for what?”
Ace ignored Tate’s question and continued with his patient, calm questions. “We already agreed to having you talk to the staff. We’ll