Page 119 of Starting Over

“When Wallace gets here, I’ll ask her what we can use. It won’t be easy to get her van out here, but we’ll figure something out.” Grayson shook my hand, and he and his brothers mounted their horses and rode back to the house.

It would be at least an hour to an hour and a half before my deputies and Wallace made it out here.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that someone scared this woman so badly she was willing to take her chances with the weather in the middle of fucking December, naked.” I heard the anger in my voice, and I knew Blackwater heard it too.

“What do you want me to do?”

I looked around again. There was nothing out here. No trees to hide an old hunting cabin, no mounds hiding a hidden door to an underground root cellar or bomb shelter. There was no telling which direction she came from or how far she ran before ending up here.

“Grab a walkie, turn to channel ten. Start walking west. No more than an hour. See if there is any sign of her.”

“Why west? You have a theory?”

“No,” I said, my eyes traveling over the land, hoping to spot something I knew I wouldn’t find. “The sun sets in the west. If I was running from someone and there was nowhere to hide, I would run toward the darkness. When the others get here, I’ll send them in the opposite directions. Check in with me every fifteen minutes, whether you find anything or not.”

“You afraid I’ll get lost, boss?” I heard the sarcasm in his voice. Corbin Blackwater had been born and raised in Diamond Creek, Nebraska. His ancestors had been here longer than anyone. He knew the terrain, and he knew how to track. He was a valuable member of my team. I knew he wouldn’t get lost. But there was something about this situation that had my hackles up. I just didn’t know what it was.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

Laughing, Deputy Blackwater walked off in the direction I sent him, leaving me alone to study the body. There wasn’t much I could ascertain without being able to move her around, but it didn’t deter me.

Two hours later, Blackwater was back, and my deputies had finally arrived, along with the M.E., Dr. Elizabeth Wallace.

“Afternoon, Sheriff.”

“Afternoon, Beth.”

“What have we got?”

“Female, appears to be mid-twenties. Looks like COD could be stampede.”

Dr. Wallace looked at me, raising a brow in question.

“I know what you’re thinking, but until we know cause of death, I can’t rule this a homicide. Maybe not even then. If the cows trampled her to death, it technically isn’t a homicide.”

“Fuck your technicalities, Sheriff.”

“My hands are tied, Beth.”

Beth Wallace got in my face then. She was five foot eight with red hair and green eyes. She wasn’t Irish though.

No, she was worse.

She was a Scot.

“That is a fucking homicide. I don’t care how she died,” she shouted, her arm stretched out in the direction of the dead girl on the ground.

“Take it easy, Beth. We will find out what happened to her.”

“And get her fucking justice.”

“And get her fucking justice,” I agreed.

Over the next several hours, we painstakingly collected what scant evidence we could find, our fingers brushing against damp earth and dried grass. Despite hours of searching in every direction, my deputies returned empty-handed, their faces etched with exhaustion.

By the time I got back to the station, I was hungry and tired, and all I wanted was to go find my woman and wrap myself up in her.

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