Haystacks and Hoaxes (Cowboy Brand of Justice #3)

Chapter 9 Distress Signal

T oday was the day Carla Kingston was going to be arrested. Rock was doing everything he could to keep Mila distracted at the office, but they both continued to sneak peeks at their cell phones. Decker had promised to call her when it was over.

And Gage promised to call me . It was an awful way to spend a morning. Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.

While they waited, he and Mila created a forensic art studio out of his office. Since they were doing it in a hurry, the sketches plastered to his walls were taped there, not artfully framed. It still worked.

Their collection of sketches for the oil equipment robberies was mounted at eye level in sequential order. Since they felt connected to the case, Rock had additionally taped her sketches of Chester Farm — preceding the road rage incident that had started them on this journey — at the beginning of the sequence. On a whim, he’d taped a photocopy of her Christmas gift to him at the end of the sequence. There was no way he was donating the original to their case files. It was his and his alone to treasure. Besides, it was mostly fiction. He’d only taped it on the wall in the hope of cheering Mila up.

She paced in front of the sketches, occasionally letting out a gusty sigh. “We’re missing something.” She gestured vaguely at the sketches to include his entire office in her statement. “I’m staring holes through these sketches, but I’m just not able to connect all the dots yet.”

“I know the feeling.” Although his office door was propped open and anyone could walk by and see them together, he moved to stand by her side. He wished there was something he could say to reduce the shadows beneath her eyes, but all he could do was assure her he wasn’t going anywhere. “There’s a lot of extra noise crowding our thoughts today.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Her voice hitched with emotion.

Speaking of noise made him think of the Christmas carols Johnny had warbled through the house on Christmas day. Though he’d been bellowing them off key, Mila had joined in a few times. The two of them hadn’t sounded half bad singing together, which had stirred a Texas-sized streak of jealousy in Rock. At the moment, however, he was willing to try just about anything to cheer his partner up.

While she wasn’t looking, he fiddled with his cell phone. There were still no messages from Gage, making him wonder if her parents’ flight had been delayed. Unfortunately, the only thing they could do about it was keep waiting.

And maybe infuse the wait with a little holiday cheer. Though it was past Christmas, he searched the Internet for festive music mixes.

Aha! His gaze narrowed on an entry for Classic Christmas Carols. Pulling up the web channel, he tapped on the PLAY button. Sleigh bells jingled into the room, and a cheery chorus of voices started singing.

Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

O’er the fields we go

Laughing all the way. Ha ha ha!

Bells on bobtails ring

Making spirits bright.

What fun it is to ride and sing

A sleighing song tonight!

Mila shook her head at him. “Really, Rock?”

“Really, Mila.” He tucked his cell phone in the breast pocket of his dress shirt and crooked an arm at her. “May I have this dance?”

A reluctant chuckle slid out of her. “You want to dance to Jingle Bells? Who does that?”

He danced her way. “Us if you join me.”

“I know what you’re doing.” She made a face at him as she slapped her hand into his outstretched palm. “And it’s really nice of you, but—oh!” She gave a breathless squeal as he twirled her in a circle.

He spun her back in his direction and drew her closer, rocking in time to the rhythm and bells. “A week ago, I didn’t think I would ever do this again.”

Her expression softened with understanding. “You mean dance?”

“Yeah.” It was an after-Christmas miracle in the middle of a very trying morning. “Guess you inspire me.”

She tipped her head momentarily against his shoulder in the briefest of hugs. Then she started singing softly. “Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way.” She tipped her face up to his as the music continued to play. “This sounds like the same music mix Mr. Monty used to play at his Christmas festivals. He was a big fan of the classics.”

“The guy had taste.” It dawned on Rock that they were still speaking of the town’s most beloved farmer in the past tense. Since the sheriff’s department was currently investigating Monty Chester’s disappearance as if it were a missing persons case, it felt wrong. Not that anyone harbored any real hope of seeing him alive again. He’d been missing for too long. Statistically, the odds were not in his favor.

Sheriff Luke Hawling and his team of deputies had scoured every inch of Chester Farm and found no sign of life. The place had been stripped clean. According to Decker, who’d briefed their Lonestar investigative team after the fact, most of the farming equipment was gone. It was yet unclear what Troy Bentley had done with it, and Mr. and Mrs. Bentley were refusing to answer any questions about their son. According to one of Troy’s friends, he was out of town. Wherever he was, he wasn’t returning phone calls.

The Christmas song playing on Rock’s cell phone ended as he danced Mila closer to the sketch she’d given him for Christmas. Looking at it never failed to tug at his heart. Despite everything she was going through right now, she’d taken the time to draw something truly remarkable. And she hadn’t just scribbled something off the cuff. It was her finest work yet.

The sketch was a lot like the one she’d drawn during the final moments leading up to her interview at Lonestar Security — with one big exception. In the one she’d drawn for him, she’d brought Chester Farm back to life. She’d added the strands of Christmas lights back in, along with the people, food, and festivities. It wasn’t as windy in the Christmas sketch, either, since the three puffs of smoke were drifting straight up instead of blowing sideways.

Three puffs. Exactly three puffs. He grew still as the music on his cell phone transitioned to Silent Night. “Why did you draw three puffs of smoke coming out of the chimney?” He kept one hand on the small of Mila’s back while he pointed out the detail in her sketch that had been nagging at him.

She wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. “I guess it’s because I saw three puffs of smoke coming out of the chimney. It was a windy day, so they disappeared right after they came out of the chimney. That said…” Her voice faded.

“But it was three puffs? You’re sure of it?”

She nodded. “It was definitely three puffs. It reminded me of the big blue caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. I’ve always loved those enormous smoke rings he blew every time he spoke. When I was a kid, my mom bought me a bubble wand so I could blow bubbles while speaking to her to recreate that scene from the movie.” The mention of her mother made her features crumple. “Their plane should’ve landed by now, Rock,” she whispered.

“I know.” He reached for her hand and towed her toward the sketch she’d drawn right before her interview. “But what we’re doing right now is helping her more than worrying. Like you, I keep feeling that the answers we’re looking for are staring us in the face.” He parked her in front of the sketch that bothered him the most. Raising their joined hands, he touched the smoke coming from the chimney. “The thought occurred to me that exactly three puffs of smoke could amount to the universal signal of distress.”

“True.” She traced the puffs of smoke with their fingers. “In Morse Code, the universal signal of distress is three dots, followed by three dashes, followed by three more dots.” She shook her head. “But a smoke signal would look different.”

“You also drew exactly three puffs of smoke in the sketch you made me for Christmas,” he pointed out.

“Oh, wow! You’re right.” Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “But the police didn’t find anyone at the farmhouse. No evidence that the fireplace had been used recently.” Her expression wilted. “Do you think I’m crazy, Rock?”

“Nope.” His voice was firm. “You’re not crazy. So where does that leave our investigation?” He pointed at the sketch again. “You saw three puffs of smoke in a farmhouse with a fireplace that hasn’t been used in a while. Where else could the smoke have come from?”

She raised and lowered her shoulders. “A bonfire out back?”

He shook his head. “There was no evidence of a bonfire mentioned in the police report. Plus, you drew the smoke coming out of the chimney, and you happen to have an eye for detail like I’ve never seen before. What other explanation could there be?”

“I don’t know, professor.” She made a humming sound of speculation. “Some houses have double-sided fireplaces. You know…when one side of the fireplace opens to one room, and the other side of the fireplace opens to an adjoining room.”

“Do you remember seeing a double-sided fireplace at Farmer Monty’s house?”

“No.” She sounded glum. “I was just brainstorming.”

Strike two. “Keep brainstorming,” he urged.

She tapped the sketch. “Is it possible that a fireplace on a lower level might share the same chimney as the one in the living room? ”

“Theoretically, it’s possible.” It was an interesting possibility. “Does Farmer Monty’s house have a basement?” He doubted it, since it hadn’t been mentioned in the police report.

“No.” She shook her head. “It has a storm cellar, though. It’s where he kept his homemade pickle canisters while they were pickling. The big carnival-sized ones. He served them on sticks at the snack shack.” Nostalgia crept into her voice. “Every kid in this town probably sampled them at one time or another.”

He nodded slowly. “Funny. No one mentioned searching a storm cellar yesterday.”

“Maybe they didn’t know about it?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “There’s a trapdoor to it in the living room.” Her voice gathered energy. “Under the area rug.”

As far as he was concerned, it was worth mentioning to the sheriff. “Is there a wood stove or fireplace in the cellar?”

“Honestly?” She sounded perplexed. “I don’t remember. It was pretty piled up down there with shelving, crates, urns, gallons of water, and…” She stopped and sucked in a breath. “Oh, my goodness, Rock! There was a pile of firewood in the corner.”

Rock reached for his cell phone and stepped away from her while he dialed Luke Hawling. He moved to stand behind his desk while it rang.

The sheriff picked up, sounding distracted. “Kind of busy here, Rock.” There were voices in the background and the muted sound of weeping.

Rock’s heart pounded at the realization he was interrupting the arrest of Mila’s mother. “I’ll make it quick. My partner drew three puffs of smoke coming out of Monty Chester’s chimney roughly an hour before her interview at Lonestar Security.”

“And your point is?” Luke sounded impatient.

“Three puffs of smoke,” Rock repeated. “The universal signal of distress. About a week and a half ago.”

“Monty Chester’s farmhouse was a dead end,” the sheriff informed him flatly. “It was buried in dust and cobwebs. No sign of anything being used in the kitchen, living room, bathrooms, or bedrooms. There were no dishes in the sink, no ashes in the fireplace. The only sign of life was a spider, and he was moving pretty slow.”

Then explain this. “Mila says Farmer Monty kept his homemade pickles in the storm cellar.”

“Nope. We didn’t find a storm cellar.” Luke’s voice sharpened. The background noises grew fainter, as if he’d stepped away from the scene of the arrest.

Rock knew he had the sheriff’s attention now. “She said the trapdoor is beneath an area rug in the living room.”

Luke sounded impatient again as he retorted, “There’s a solid concrete floor in there!”

Rock’s gaze snapped to Mila. “The sheriff says there’s a solid concrete floor in the living room.”

She recoiled in surprise. “No, there isn’t! At least, there wasn’t when Mr. Monty was alive. It was a hardwood floor built on top of a crawl space. There’s a flap under the back porch you can open and look clear across the bottom of the house.” She waved a hand. “Except where the storm cellar is, of course. It’s enclosed in concrete.”

Rock barked into the phone. “My partner says the living room was a hardwood floor over a crawl space when Monty Chester was alive. The only exception is where the storm cellar is located. Trust me, sheriff, she knows what she’s talking about. Not only did she volunteer there for years, he was like a grandfather to her.” The only reason Rock mentioned that last part was to underscore that she’d been inside his home many times.

Luke was silent for a moment. “I’ll check it out, alright? We’ll bring a jackhammer if we have to.” He grunted. “And since I know you’re wondering, Carla Kingston has been taken into custody, and her attorney isn’t cutting any deals. He insists she’s innocent and that he’ll prove it. Oh, and Chet Kingston is posting her bail. Mila’s mother will be under house arrest, more or less, while awaiting her court date.”

Rock sent up a silent prayer of thanks. It was good to hear that Carla Kingston’s husband was giving her the support she needed right now. Really good. It spoke volumes about her character that wouldn’t be lost on a judge and jury. “Thank you for the update.”

“Felt like I owed you for the tip about the trapdoor.” Luke’s voice held an edge of humor. “I’ll let you know if we find a storm cellar.” He sounded impatient to get going.

“We’d appreciate that.” Rock disconnected the call and repeated everything the sheriff had told him.

“Poor Mom,” Mila breathed, looking stricken over the verification that her mother had been taken into custody. “Part of me was hoping my stepdad would find a way to keep her out of the country.”

Rock was very glad that wasn’t the case. “It would’ve only made her look guilty.”

“I know.” Mila gave a damp sniffle and dabbed at the edges of her eyes. “It helps to know my stepdad is sticking by her side.”

“It certainly puts her actions in a better light,” he agreed.

“As for Mr. Monty…” Her voice cracked. “The smoke I sa w was a week and a half ago, Rock.” She bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet, glancing toward the door. “Between ten and eleven days. If anyone is still down in his storm cellar…” She stopped and swallowed hard.

Yeah, he’d already considered the fact that whoever was down there might no longer be alive. “You want to go for a drive?”

“Yes, please!” She was already yanking her jacket off the back of the chair in front of his desk, where she’d tossed it earlier.

They jogged to the front of the building to collect Hawk from the bodyguard pen. Many of their coworkers were still on holiday vacation, so there was only a skeleton crew on duty today. However, Hawk was present since Mila was present.

He seemed glad to have something to do. “Where to?” He hurriedly threw on his jacket and clapped his uniform ball cap backwards over his inky black hair.

“Chester Farm,” Rock supplied as he led the three of them on a quick detour to the supply room. There was no way he was taking Mila anywhere near Chester Farm without being properly geared up. Under his watchful eye, she grudgingly donned a bulletproof vest again. Only after the three of them strapped on protective gear did they hurry down the long hallway toward the parking garage.

Hawk shot a curious look at them while he buckled his seatbelt. “Didn’t the police tape off the place?”

“Dunno,” Rock retorted cheerfully. “Probably,” he added, unsurprised that Hawk knew about the raid. Word traveled fast in a town the size of theirs. “Let’s go find out.”

As he drove to the outskirts of Heart Lake, he kept sneaking glances at Mila in the passenger seat .

She was unusually silent, though her fingers were moving as she typed up a storm on her phone.

“Everything okay over there?” He angled his head at her phone.

“Not really.” She flipped it face down on her leg. “I’m still trying to get in touch with my mom. She reads my messages, but she doesn’t respond.”

Possibly at the advice of her attorney. However, Rock sensed that Mila needed to hear more than that. “She will.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from, only that they were true.

“You don’t know Carla Kingston.” Despair reverberated in her voice.

“She will,” he repeated.

He could feel her searching his profile. “How can you be so sure?”

“I have faith.” The fact that Hawk was seated behind them was the only thing that kept him from reaching for her hand. “I’ve been praying for you and your safety nonstop since we started working together.”

“Really?” Her voice grew shy.

“Yep.” He winked at her. “I’ve got a great partner, one I’m not looking to replace anytime soon.” Unless, of course, her brother insisted on splitting them up after he figured out that his lead forensic artist was falling in love with his junior forensic artist.

“It’s been one big rollercoaster ride, hasn’t it?” She turned away from him to stare out the window.

“I happen to like rollercoasters,” he announced cheerfully.

“I don’t.” She shivered. “I prefer to keep my feet on the ground.”

He immediately pictured talking her into a rollercoaster ride someday, just so she would cling to him throughout the entire ride.

Chester Farm came into view over the next small rise in the road. As Hawk had predicted, the farmhouse had yellow police tape crisscrossed over the garage and the front door. The entry gate was padlocked shut, too. Rock parked in front of it and idled his motor, debating what to do next.

Mila abruptly reached for his arm. “There’s smoke again! Please tell me you guys see it, too” She pointed at the chimney. It was jutting at a slight angle from the roof of the farmhouse. Parts of the home were more than a century old, so it had long since settled and lost its original squareness.

“Yep, I see it,” he assured grimly. It wasn’t the usual tendril of smoke from a fire burning at a constant rate, either. It was puffing the same way she’d drawn it the other day. Big, fluffy balls of whiteness were coming from the chimney in unmistakable intervals of three. Puff. Puff. Puff. Pause. Puff. Puff. Puff. Pause. Rock’s brain scrambled to explain what he was seeing.

“I see it, too.” Hawk chimed in from the backseat.

“It’s possible there’s a damper installed inside the flue.” It was the only explanation Rock could come up with at the moment. “You might get those kinds of puffs if someone was repetitively opening and closing the damper.” Someone like Monty Chester, perhaps?

Hope leaped into his chest over the possibility that the aging farmer might still be alive. He hurriedly dialed the sheriff again, half afraid the guy wouldn’t pick up a second time.

He was wrong.

“Now what?” the sheriff’s voice barked across the line .

“We’ve got chimney smoke out at Chester Farm.” It was impossible to hide his excitement.

The sheriff snorted. “You know what? I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing out there.”

“I’ll tell you, anyway.” Rock was only too happy to explain. “It was a slow day at the office, so we’re out chasing our latest theory. We never expected to find more smoke. You know what this means, right?”

“Yep. The farmhouse isn’t empty after all.” He drew a deep breath and blew it out. “It could be where Troy is holed up.”

“Or where he may have stashed a prisoner,” Rock countered.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Luke warned. “I’ll be on my way shortly with the fire department and a jackhammer.”

In less than twenty minutes, he roared up to the farmhouse, sirens screaming, and nosed his cruiser behind Rock’s SUV. Instead of honking or using his loudspeaker to order Rock out of the way, he hopped out of his vehicle and strode around the Lonestar vehicle to unlock the gate. Then he waved them through.

The fire engine arrived soon after, along with an ambulance and a whole cluster of deputies in their cruisers. They surrounded the house with their vehicles and stood behind their open driver’s doors with their weapons pointed at the house. Rock parked behind the policemen, careful to keep out of their way.

A pair of paramedics hopped out of the ambulance and opened the back door of it, poised to pull out a stretcher if their services were required. Only after the first responders were in position did the sheriff and a team of deputies burst through front and back doors of the farmhouse. They returned only seconds later to give the all-clear sign. The firemen rushed inside with their equipment and went to work.

Rock could hear the jarring sounds of a jackhammer. It went on and on. Then it grew abruptly silent. It felt like an eternity before one of the paramedics lifted a walkie talkie to speak into it. Then he and his fellow paramedic leaped into motion, pulling the stretcher from the back of the ambulance and rolling it toward the porch.

The limp figure of a man emerged from the house, carried between two firemen.

“It’s Mr. Monty,” Mila sobbed. Her fingers dug convulsively into Rock’s arm. Then she pushed open the passenger door and cannon balled from the armored vehicle.

“Mila, wait!” Rock lunged her way, reaching for her arm. Even with a bulletproof vest on, it was unwise to expose herself like that.

Fortunately, she’d launched herself straight into Hawk Chesney. Since he’d been seated behind her in the vehicle, there’d been less distance for him to exit the vehicle and reach her side.

Rock hurriedly leaped to the ground to join them, fully intending to help provide a human shield around Mila. He didn’t have the heart to keep her away from the beloved old farmer she’d thought was dead. He could only imagine what was going through her mind right now. After her mother’s arrest, she desperately needed some good news.

A gunshot echoed off the surrounding hills. “Get down!” He hit the ground and low-crawled the rest of the way around the hood of the vehicle to reach Mila and Hawk.

Hawk shoved her behind him, sandwiching her between his tall frame and the vehicle, while she scrambled into the seat he’d recently vacated. As he spun around to follow her, a second bullet was fired.

Hawk’s body jerked violently. Then he dropped to the ground.

Rock low-crawled over to him, reaching up to slam the door behind Mila.

A third bullet slammed into the door only inches from his hand.

He yanked it back, circling his body around Hawk’s head. “You alright?” He shouted the question to the wheezing bodyguard.

A deputy cruiser skidded to a halt beside them, spraying dirt and gravel everywhere.

Rock curled to a sitting position, grateful for the buffer between him and the shooter. “Man down!” Surely the paramedics would have room to squeeze another patient into the back of the ambulance.

“It’s a war zone out there,” the deputy wheezed as he climbed outside through the passenger door and joined them on the ground. He had a First Aid kit in hand. “Where’s he hit?”

“I’m…fine.” Hawk rolled to his side, coughing and wheezing. “Took a bullet…to the ribs. Caught it with…my vest.”

A fourth bullet zinged off the window of the passenger door above their heads.

“Stay down,” the deputy advised, flattening to his belly on the ground beside them. He lifted a radio to his mouth. “Shot was taken by a bulletproof vest. Victim is winded, but that’s it.”

“Wait!” Hawk struggled to catch his breath. “I saw the shooter’s position.” He described the location in the foothills where he’d glimpsed the flash of a scope in the sunlight. “It’s a bit of a climb, but there’s a cavern up there,” he explained. “It’s a popular hangout for teens on the res, even though it’s technically not on the res.”

Rock had been in Heart Lake long enough to pick up on some of the local jargon. The res was what the locals called the Comanche reservation that butted up against the south side of town.

Nodding, the deputy lifted his radio back to his mouth to relay what Hawk had shared.

By the time the police made it to the yawning cavern, however, the shooter was gone. He must have left in a hurry. Four bullet casings were scattered around the dirt, along with a cigarette butt that was still smoking. It didn’t take the Heart Lake Police Department long to match the DNA found on the cigarette to Troy Bentley’s rap sheet from his younger days. His record included multiple speeding tickets, one count of vandalism that had resulted in a stint of community service, a DUI that his parents had done some fancy legal footwork to get dismissed, and — miracle of miracles — a drug screening.

A warrant was drawn up for his arrest, and an all-points bulletin was released with his photo. It was accompanied by a warning that he was armed and dangerous.

Rock paced the waiting room of the Heart Lake Medical Center’s emergency room, unable to take a seat until he received word about Monty Chester’s condition.

In a gratuitous turn of events, Mila had been allowed into the emergency room bay with the older gentleman while he was being treated. It was another one of those small-town things that might not have happened in a bigger town. However, the APB for Troy Bentley made it clear he was a fugitive from the law. And since his parents weren’t cooperating, Mila was the next closest thing he had to family.

It felt like forever before the door leading to the emergency room bays burst open. It was Mila. Rock’s heart leaped with alarm as she scanned the room, found him, and flew in his direction.

Fearing the worst, he did the only thing he could do. He held out his arms to her. “Is he—?” His question was cut off when she slammed into him. It felt like a football tackle in full gear, since they were both still wearing bulletproof vests.

She looped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Rock!” She sighed the words against his throat. “He’s going to make it. Mr. Monty is going to live!” Tears flooded her face, drenching his collar.

“Glad to hear it.” He was equally overjoyed by her nearness. The way they were wrapped in each other’s arms wasn’t the typical greeting of coworkers. His better judgement warned him that anyone could walk in on them at any minute and misread the situation.

Hawk was probably already suspicious about their relationship. He’d refused medical treatment and was instead pacing the opposite side of the waiting room.

Rock met his questioning gaze over the top of Mila’s head. “Looks like Monty Chester is gonna pull through.”

Hawk’s expression lit as he strode their way. “Finally, some good news!” He broke into a victory jig that made Rock think of an ancient tribal dance around a bonfire. “This calls for some coffee.” He danced his way toward the hallway. “You two want to join me in the cafeteria downstairs? ”

Normally, Rock would’ve agreed, but Mila was still clinging to him. “We’ll catch up with you,” he promised.

“Suit yourself.” Hawk disappeared around the corner.

“Mila,” Rock said quietly.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” She snuggled closer to him. “The whole story about Mr. Monty’s passing and Troy’s inheritance was nothing more than a hoax. I can’t believe the whole town fell for it, myself included.” Self-recrimination shuddered through her.

He didn’t understand why she was being so hard on herself. If she hadn’t captured the smoke signal and multiplying haystacks in her sketches, Troy might’ve gotten away with murder. Instead, he was going to jail just as soon as he could be located. At the moment, he and the elusive Helen were in the wind, and Troy’s parents still weren’t cooperating with the investigation. The attorney they’d hired had stonewalled every attempt at questioning them.

“It was a carefully crafted hoax,” he agreed. “Fortunately, my partner saw through it.”

“I had some pretty incredible help,” she returned softly, which brought him back to what he originally wanted to say to her.

“Mila?” It was time to clear the air between them, though he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I know, I know,” she murmured, still not letting him go. “I need to pull it together. I need…” She raised herself on her toes to touch her mouth to his.

She needed him.

He needed her just as badly. He accepted what she was offering, tenderly plundering her lips the way he’d been dreaming of doing for days. In some ways, it was inevitable that they’d end up in each other’s arms. From the moment they’d met, there’d been something between them. Something special and real. Something he hadn’t been trying all that hard to resist. Something he was going to have to confess to her brother. Soon. Today.

If being with her ultimately required turning in his badge at Lonestar Security and finding another job, then so be it.

A man cleared his throat from somewhere nearby, making Rock break off their kiss sooner than he wanted to. It was a sound he recognized all too well. He turned with Mila still in his arms to face his boss. He hoped the guy could read the apology stained across his features.

“Deck!” Mila trilled out her brother’s name and wrenched herself away from Rock to sail in his direction. “Mr. Monty is going to make it!”

“I heard.” His arms came around her. “Good work, you two.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“It was mostly Mila.” Rock inclined his head humbly. “The answers were in her sketches all along.”

She leaned back in her brother’s arms. “But he was the one who figured out the smoke signal. We make a great team, don’t we?”

Rock hid his mortified yelp with a cough.

Decker merely chuckled. “Ain’t no denying that.” He sobered. “Especially after what I just witnessed.” He pinned Rock with a piercing look. “When were you two planning on telling me you’re dating?”

“We’re not,” Mila insisted, blushing. “I’m the one who?—”

“I’m in love with her,” Rock interrupted. There was no way he was letting her take the fall alone. He’d returned her kiss because he’d wanted to, and he’d known what he was doing. No one had forced him.

“So…you’re not dating?” Decker looked mildly pe rplexed as he dropped his arms from around Mila. His gaze swiveled between the two of them.

“Not yet, but I want to.” Rock attempted to clear the air. It was probably a good thing he’d been too busy to contact his realtor to put a bid on the log home he wanted to purchase. “If you want my resignation on your desk?—”

“No!” Decker’s answering bellow made Mila wince. “No,” he repeated in a quieter voice. “The last thing I want is to lose either of you. Monty Chester is alive because of how well you two work together. Admittedly, I didn’t realize until a few minutes ago exactly how well you work together.” He gave a dry chuckle.

The tension in Rock’s shoulders eased. He was in no hurry to leave Lonestar Security. Quite the opposite. It was quickly turning into a second career that he could see himself staying with for the long haul.

“Just give me a few hours to figure this out.” Decker lifted his ball cap to run a hand through his hair. “It’s a private company, so I’m sure we can find a work-around.” He settled his ball cap back on his head. “It might involve moving our new forensics department under Gil Remington, which probably makes more sense, anyway. It may also involve making you both report directly to him.”

Rock nodded at what he was leaving unsaid. It meant Rock would no longer be Mila’s supervisor. He could certainly get on board with that. It might even amount to a pay raise for her.

The moment Decker took off, Mila swung Rock’s way. “Did you really mean what you said about…?” She fell into blushing silence.

“Yep.” He moved her way to stand in front of her, tangling their fingers together. “I meant every word.”

“When did this happen?” Her eyes glinted with more unshed tears, happy ones this time.

He was all too eager to admit the truth to her. “I think it started when I was reviewing job applications.” No joke. “The first time I laid eyes on your sketches, they spoke to me. I immediately wanted to meet the artist who could spin that kind of magic with a pencil or a pen.” He tipped his forehead against hers. “Or a piece of charcoal. Or a tray of watercolor paints. That kind of beauty only comes from within.”

“No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Her breath mingled with his. “No one has ever really seen me at all.”

“I see you,” he whispered back. He knew she was referring to more than her sketches. She was referring to a lifetime of doubting where she fit in her mother’s affections. Carla Kingston’s many secrets, including the shadowy overseas financial predators she’d gotten mixed up with, had left their marks on her stepdaughter.

Because of Rock’s upbringing in foster care, it was easy for him to identify with Mila’s craving for love and acceptance. He craved the same things.

But not anymore. Now that he had her in his life, the clawing edge of those needs had vanished. An ancient verse from the Bible drifted through his mind.

Three things will last forever — faith, hope, and love — and the greatest of these is love.

It was a passage that a lot of couples incorporated into their wedding ceremonies. He’d memorized them years ago, hoping to recite them to his own bride someday.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Mila said softly. “I know things are a little crazy on my end right now, which may make you doubt what I’m about to tell you.” She brushed her lips against his again. “But I’m going to tell you, anyway. I love you, too, Rock. So much, that if it had come to one of us being asked to leave Lonestar Security over it, that someone would’ve been me.”

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” he growled.

“Fortunately, it’s something we won’t have to fight over.” A note of humor entered her voice. “Because I can think of much better ways to spend our time.”

She coaxed another kiss from him that he never wanted to end.