Lawman-in-Charge

Seeing the figure dressed in black

disappearing through her motel room

window had shaken Megan badly.

But the evidence he’d left behind

was almost worse.

The killer was taunting her. Mocking her. Daring her to find him.

He’d turned the murder of a young girl into something personal.

When Luke pulled up in his squad car, she was relieved. “Are you all right, Megan?” he said. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, breathing deep to control her emotions. “No, I’m not hurt.” She turned and gestured to the interior of the motel room. “You’d better take a look, the intruder left evidence behind.”

“So that leaves one question,” Luke said slowly.

She tensed, knowing he’d come to the exact same theory she had.

“Why has Liza’s killer targeted you?”

LAURA SCOTT

grew up reading faith-based romance books by Grace Livingston Hill, but as much as she loved the stories, she longed for a bit more mystery and suspense. She is honored to write for the Love Inspired Suspense line, where a reader can find a heartwarming journey of faith amid the thrilling danger.

Laura lives with her husband of twenty-five years and has two children, a daughter and a son, who are both in college. She works as a critical-care nurse during the day at a large level-one trauma center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and spends her spare time writing romance.

Please visit Laura at www.laurascottbooks.com, as she loves to hear from her readers.

Lawman-In-Charge

Laura Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom

shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—

of whom should I be afraid?

—Psalms 27:1

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Nicole,

who has been reading my books

long before I sold my first manuscript.

Nicole, I love you and am very proud of you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Megan O’Ryan kept a wary eye on the black sedan staying two cars behind her. She’d noticed the sedan the moment she’d hit the highway, and the driver had kept pace with her all the way into the small town of Crystal Lake.

A nagging itch settled between her shoulder blades. She’d felt the same sensation of being followed just two days ago. Was someone really tailing her?

With an abrupt move, she cranked the steering wheel to the right and pulled into the first vacant parking space on Main Street.

Moments later, the black car passed her by. Wrenching her neck to peer after it, she noticed the driver kept his head averted, but not before she saw the usual dark T-shirt and baseball cap. The tag number was nothing but a blur by the time she switched her attention from the driver to the license plate.

Megan climbed out of her car and stood for a moment, pretending to debate where she should go but really tracking the black car out of the corner of her eye as it pulled into the Gas N Go station located a few blocks north on Main Street.

No way could this be a coincidence. Not again. Not after experiencing the same thing for the third time in the past week. The cars weren’t always the same make or color, but the guy behind the wheel invariably wore dark clothing and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes.

Megan stifled a surge of alarm as she turned toward Rose’s Café. She wasn’t hungry, but Rose’s was always packed with people, especially in the summer with tourists aplenty, and she could at least get a cup of coffee while she tried to figure out why on earth anyone in Crystal Lake would want to follow her. Three months wasn’t long enough to have made enemies. Especially considering she’d been holed up in her cabin most of the time, leaving only to go to work and back. She’d spoken to just a handful of people.

“Megan! Wait up!”

Katie? The young voice was so much like her sister’s that she spun toward the sound, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She blinked against the brightness of the sun to see a lithe young woman with long, silky blond hair walking toward her. Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. Hoarsely she called, “Katie? Is that you?”

“Teagan, wait up. Didn’t you hear me?” The blond-haired girl changed directions, moving toward another girl, this one a petite redhead. The blonde caught up and gave the red-haired girl’s shoulder a playful shove. “There’s no rush. It’s not like the guys are going to leave without us.”

Not Katie. Her vision blurred as the loss hit with the force of a tsunami, sucking every bit of oxygen from her lungs. Katie hadn’t been calling her name because Katie was gone.

Megan blinked, forcing her vision to clear, and watched the girls cross the street heading toward a group of boys who stood waiting on the grassy bank of Crystal Lake. She focused on a scowling boy who held himself aloof, dressed head to toe in black with long dark hair that could have used a comb. He looked like trouble with a capital T. Someone she was tempted to warn the young girls about. Except he wasn’t her problem.

Blindly, she turned her attention back toward Rose’s Café, her stomach tight with nausea, as if she’d been sucker punched.

Katie wouldn’t be heading off to her sophomore year at college in the fall, or hanging around with undesirable boys. Katie was dead.

Murdered.

Logically, she knew her younger sister was gone. Yet in that one brief moment when she’d imagined she’d heard Katie calling her name, she’d wanted so badly to believe Katie’s death was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t. Katie was gone.

Her church pastor tried to tell her Katie was in a much better place, but she didn’t buy that theory. The real question was why hadn’t God stopped her sweet sister from being murdered? Why hadn’t he taken her, instead?

Desperately trying to get a grip on her rioting emotions, she paused outside Rose’s Café and glanced once again toward the Gas N Go station, where the black car had pulled in. There was no sign of the vehicle now. With a frown, she scanned the entire area, including the various businesses.

The black sedan had disappeared.

Or she’d imagined the whole thing, just like she’d imagined she’d heard Katie.

Exhausted and shaken, Megan slumped against the building, putting a hand to her throbbing head, and swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. “No. No way. I absolutely refuse to be crazy.”

“You refuse, huh?” A tall man stepped forward, blocking her view of the sun. He stood with his arms crossed over his uniformed chest, looking down at her with an arched brow. “So how’s that working for you?”

She grimaced, realizing she’d spoken out loud. Wasn’t it true that insane people didn’t believe they were crazy? Shaking off the bitter fear that plagued her, Megan straightened and belatedly noticed the crisp tan uniform along with the shiny badge pinned to the stranger’s chest.

A cop. Great. This was not what she needed in the middle of her nervous breakdown. She strove for a light tone. “So far, it’s working fine, thanks. Excuse me.” She ducked past him, seeking refuge in Rose’s Café.

She slid onto the only vacant stool at the counter, figuring she wouldn’t be there long. The main reason she’d come at all was to get a good look at the guy driving the black car.

“What can I get for you, sweetie?” Josie, the middle-aged waitress, called all her customers “sweetie.” Megan suspected Josie thought the term was easier than trying to remember so many names, especially in the height of the tourist season.

“A cup of coffee, please.” She glanced back in time to see that the cop who’d followed her into the diner had joined another officer in one of the booths that lined the wall. She turned her attention back to Josie. She wasn’t paranoid enough to think he’d followed her inside to keep an eye on her. Cops had to eat too. “Cream, no sugar.”

“Is that all?” Josie arched an exasperated brow, propping a hand on her plump hip. “Sweetie, you picked the middle of the lunch rush to order a measly cup of coffee?”

Josie obviously wasn’t pleased she’d taken a seat that an otherwise paying customer may have occupied. Since Megan wasn’t sure her legs could hold her weight if she left, she tried to recall the menu. “Ah, I almost forgot. I’ll take a grilled chicken sandwich too.”

“Coming right up.” Josie poured her coffee, pushed a container of cream at her, and then disappeared to give her order to the cook.

Megan sipped her coffee, trying not to notice how several of the locals stared at her with obvious suspicion. Since she’d taken over her aunt’s property, a small cabin on the north shore of Crystal Lake, her status was barely one step above the tourists, but not by much. She’d moved here from Chicago, and people in the town of Crystal Lake, Wisconsin, seemed to carry a grudge against people from Illinois. She should be used to the sensation of being the unwelcome newcomer by now.

Crystal Lake wasn’t a large town, but it was right in the middle of Hope County, which made it the hub of all county activities. The courthouse, the post office and the sheriff’s department headquarters, to name a few. Her tiny log cabin was located ten miles outside of town on a very deserted road with an awesome view of the lake, nice and private, the way she preferred. So what if the general population of Crystal Lake considered her little more than a weird hermit? She didn’t care.

Except when she was being followed.

She turned her head to peek at the pair of cops seated behind her. The taller of the two had impossibly broad shoulders and black hair kept military-short, which did nothing to soften his broad, rugged features. His square jaw was strong and firm, but his nose looked as if it may have been broken at one point. He had dark eyes and tanned skin that made his teeth look shockingly white when he smiled. He was definitely attractive, if you appreciated a tall man in uniform. Since the other cop was much older and shorter and had a slight paunch around his middle, she knew it was the taller man who’d overheard her talking to herself outside. With the sun glare in her eyes, she hadn’t gotten a very good look at him.

What would he say if she went over to announce she thought she was being followed? Probably not much, since she’d also practically told him she was insane.

So how’s that working for you?

Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head, deciding not to bother. There was no point when she hadn’t even managed to get a simple license plate number. Once she had something solid to give them, she’d go to the authorities.

She took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the warmth of the mug despite the sunny day outside. A group from the back of the diner passed behind her on their way out. An elbow hit her hard in the back, causing her to spill her coffee down the front of her green blouse.

“’Scuse me,” a gruff male voice muttered as the group left.

She clenched her teeth against a wave of annoyance and dabbed at the stain. A moment later, Josie set her chicken sandwich in front of her.

“Need anything else, sweetie?” Josie asked, automatically refilling her coffee cup.

“No, thanks.” She forced a smile and gave up on her blouse. Josie slapped her bill upside down next to her plate and sashayed away to attend to her other customers.

She didn’t want to believe the jab to her back had been done on purpose, but she couldn’t help but think so. Why she’d become a target, she had no idea. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She wasn’t even in town very often. She was either in her cabin or working her part-time and rather mundane job of processing DNA samples at the State Crime Lab in Madison.

Obviously, her level of paranoia was already several standard deviations from the mean. Picking at her chicken sandwich, she took only a few bites before pushing her plate away.

Post-traumatic stress disorder. Diagnosed by her psychologist after she’d testified against the serial killer who’d strangled Katie as his last victim. PTSD brought on from being the lead crime scene investigator in a series of murders that included her sister’s. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Katie’s body lying sprawled on the asphalt with the bright orange hollow-braided rope wrapped around her neck.

The image would haunt her forever.

Her boss had forced her to step back from being the lead investigator, but she’d continued working on the case in the lab until she’d gathered enough evidence to nail the man who’d killed her sister. It was small consolation to know Paul Sherman was serving a life sentence in a high-security Illinois prison as a result of her work.

Megan sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She wasn’t being followed. The people of Crystal Lake weren’t out to get her. And Katie, the sister she’d raised since their parents had died in a tragic car wreck, wasn’t ever coming back.

She’d come to Crystal Lake to heal. To take a break. To find herself. Somehow, she needed to get over her loss. Now that the trial was over, she couldn’t seem to find something to focus on. She tossed down some cash to cover her tab and Josie’s tip before sliding off the stool and heading toward the door.

She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.

Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.

Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she’d looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank’s gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. “Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?”

Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan’s lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff’s department, Frank was one of the few who didn’t begrudge Luke’s position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. “Yeah, that’s Megan O’Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother’s sister.”

Luke nodded, noting the make of her car, a white Pontiac Sunfire, as she pulled away from the curb. He memorized the tag number, thinking he might run her DMV record just for fun. “What’s her story?”

Frank lifted a disbelieving brow. “What, have you been living under a rock? How could you not have heard about Megan O’Ryan? She’s the infamous crime scene investigator that helped convict the St. Patrick’s Strangler down in Chicago earlier this year. Her younger sister was the perp’s last victim.”

Ouch. That must have been rough. He vaguely remembered the story now. It had hit the national news because the crime scene analyst who’d helped put the pieces of the puzzle together had been removed from the case when they’d discovered her sister was the latest victim. But she’d continued working the case in the lab and had testified in court against her sister’s killer.

No wonder she’d been talking herself out of going crazy.

“Which one is the old Dartmouth place?” he asked, curiosity winning out against his better judgment.

“Ten miles north as the crow flies, on the dead end of Barker Road.” Frank flashed a knowing smirk. “Why? Thinking of dropping by for a neighborly visit?”

“Of course not,” he responded, just a little too quickly. He tossed some money on the tabletop to cover their bill and stood. “Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to be late for my meeting with the mayor.”

As they left, he thought again about Frank’s directions to Megan O’Ryan’s cabin. He knew exactly where it was, even if he hadn’t known the locals referred to it as the Dartmouth place. The cabin was isolated, being so far off the main highway. Was Megan O’Ryan afraid to be out there alone? Maybe he should make sure the deputies covered the cabin in their weekly rounds. Luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Crystal Lake.

He brought himself up short. Why this sudden surge of concern about Megan O’Ryan? She might be the most attractive woman he’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not now, maybe not ever.

After his wife’s death three years ago, his life had spiraled out of control. He’d hit the proverbial rock bottom, losing his job and almost losing custody of his son when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol. With the help of his pastor and God, he’d managed to pull himself together. But he’d soon realized Sam had gotten involved with a scary group of kids, so he’d packed up their things and moved them to Crystal Lake.

Working as a deputy on staff had been good enough for him, but he’d been given the job as interim sheriff three weeks ago when his boss had suffered a major heart attack and had subsequent quadruple-bypass surgery.

Despite the obvious resentment from his former peers, everything was going fine. Except for his relationship with his seventeen-year-old son, Sam. Over the past year and a half, things had gone from bad to worse. In fact, there were days he honestly believed his relationship with Sam would never recover.

Not that he intended to stop trying. He prayed every day for God to help guide them both.

Teenagers, he reminded himself. Teenagers were tough on parents. If he survived Sam’s teenage rebellion, he could survive anything.

Luke finished his meeting with the mayor. He had wanted to know if Luke would consider throwing his hat into the running for the permanent job of sheriff now that Dan Koenig, humbled from his close call with death, had announced his retirement. Luke had promised to think about it, but in reality he knew life would be more difficult than ever if he took that course of action.

Besides, he’d never get elected sheriff. Not when most of the guys in the department figured they had a better chance of winning the election and barely tolerated his presence in an interim role.

There was too much paperwork associated with being the sheriff anyway. Back in his office he stared at the mound that seemed to grow by the hour. He sighed. Likely a few of the deputies would throw their name into the race. They considered him an outsider because he hadn’t lived and worked for most of his life in Crystal Lake. The fact that he’d been a Milwaukee homicide detective for ten years didn’t seem to matter here, where the good ole boys’ club still played poker every Friday night.

Luke wasn’t much into playing cards.

Well after five o’clock, he headed home, knowing the minute he hit the driveway that Sam wasn’t there. Sam was never home if he could help it, and most of the time Luke had no idea where Sam was. Mayor Ganzer would never have offered to support him in the election for sheriff if he’d known Luke couldn’t keep tabs on his own kid.

Sam had promised to be home, but of course he wasn’t. So much for trying to talk, even to ask how his son’s day had been.

He looked for a note from Sam, and after finding no clues to his whereabouts, he pulled a cold bottle of water and a plate of leftovers from the fridge. Outside, he plopped into a wide plastic deck chair overlooking the lake. He closed his eyes and murmured a quick prayer before digging in, eating the spaghetti cold as he watched the activity on the water. Boats sped by, some towing skiers, others inner tubes, as locals and tourists made the most of the too-short Wisconsin summer.

Sam had a cell phone that Luke paid for. Not expecting much, he pushed the speed-dial connection for his son.

And almost fell of his chair when Sam answered. “Yeah?”

Nonplussed, he tried to think of something to say. Yelling at Sam for not being home wouldn’t work. “Hey, how are you? I’m sorry I missed you.”

“Fine.”

He grimaced at the one-word answer but doggedly tried again. “What are you up to? Have big plans for tonight?”

“No.”

Pulling every tooth out of his head without novocaine would be easier than carrying on a conversation with his son. “Oh yeah? So you’re just hanging around? With anyone I know?”

A pause. “Doug. Look, I gotta go. See ya later.” Sam hung up before he could remind his son that his curfew on Friday nights was twelve-thirty.

Luke snapped his phone shut, trying to look positively on the one-sided conversation. His son had answered the phone. And he’d admitted he was hanging out with Doug. Maybe Sam was mellowing out a bit. Maybe Sam wasn’t just biding his time until he was eighteen and finished with high school and could blow his father off for good.

Too bad he didn’t really believe that.

The ache in his chest intensified, and he rubbed the area over his heart with his hand. Sam’s resentment hurt. Luke was very afraid of losing his son, hardly able to find remnants of the good kid Sam had once been before Shelia died. Sam’s lack of respect made him so angry. Yet Sam had only started getting in trouble after Luke lost control when cancer stole Shelia’s life.

How long would his son pay for his own sins? He hoped and prayed it would not be for long.

Luke stared out over the water long after the hubbub of activity had died down. No-wake rules after dusk usually put an end to the fun. Or rather, he thought with a grimace, the fun took another form, like bonfires and parties.

Is that where Sam was now? Partying somewhere with the other high school kids? Drinking? Drugs? Sex? He had no idea what Sam was doing these days. He’d searched Sam’s room for incriminating evidence but had yet to find anything. Sam was too smart to make it easy. Sam rarely invited anyone from high school over to the house, so he didn’t really know his son’s friends very well, except for Doug, who lived on the other side of the lake.

Sam hadn’t exactly blended into the crowd when they’d moved in, and Luke wasn’t sure how much had changed in the past year and a half.

He kept his police radio close at hand. He was always expected to be on call in case something happened. Luckily it almost never did. The worst thing he’d experienced was when Eric Landers got drunk and put a gun to his head. They didn’t have access to a crime team, so he’d used his old homicide skills to make sure they weren’t missing something. After examining the evidence, Dan Koenig and the ME had both ruled Eric’s death a suicide. There had only been one other death in his short tenure here, a hunter who had been shot by accident when he’d stayed out past dusk. Tragic, but not a homicide. The two events had created a lot of stir amongst the locals, providing gossip fuel for weeks.