Laney reached up to one of the shelves, her fingers brushing over the spines of a few binders before she tugged free a heavy cardboard box. She set it on the desk with a solid thump.
“This is a copy of everything in David’s file,” she said. “I’ve got the digital versions too.”
That didn’t surprise Harlan. She was a cop through and through, and he knew it had to burn like acid to have her husband’s murder sitting there, unsolved, year after year.
While she straightened the box, she added, “I’m calling the sheriff in the morning. I’m asking for a leave of absence. I want to focus on solving this… whatever this is.”
Harlan watched the small tremor run through Laney’s fingers as she brushed off the top of the box. The air between them was tight with unspoken things, heavy enough that he could almost taste the frustration, grief, and stubborn resolve coming off her. This was costing her more than she would admit, but he needed her focused.
He leaned a little on the desk, letting his tone stay even. “Walk me through the suspects again.”
Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and questioning, but she didn’t argue. He already knew the details—he, too, had been digging into the case for years—but hearing her go over them might shake something loose. The more they said it aloud, the better chance they had of catching the thread that would lead them to whoever had killed David and was now playing this twisted game.
Laney slid a folder from the box and set it on the desk between them. The man staring back from the glossy print had a hard jaw, deep lines bracketing his mouth, and eyes that seemed to glare straight through the camera.
“Billy Maddox,” she said.
Of course, Harlan remembered the name and the file that went with it. Mid-thirties. Former oilfield worker. A man who had once made himself useful to the wrong kind of people, and he had the criminal record to prove it.
“David caught Billy moving stolen explosives,” Laney went on, her voice steady but with a thin thread of tension underneath. “The explosives were traced to a storage yard that he had access to, and Billy’s DNA and prints were everywhere. It was a slam dunk case, but Billy swore he’d make David pay for ruining his operation and sending him to prison.” She paused a heartbeat. “Billy was out on bail when David was killed.”
Harlan studied the photo again, recalling some details about the man. “Last I heard, Billy was still in jail.”
Laney shook her head and slid the photo back into the file. “He got out two months ago.”
Which gave Billy the opportunity to set up what had been happening. The motive was obvious. Payback. And as for means—Billy had the skill set to build what they had found this morning. There it was. Means, motive, and opportunity, and while those three criminal aspects weren’t enough for a conviction, it certainly made Billy a top suspect.
Harlan didn’t have to ask if she thought Billy could have done it. He could see the answer in the set of her jaw.
He watched her continue to flip through the pages, her fingers steadying on the manila folder before she laid it open again on the desk. Curtis Brannigan’s mugshot stared back at him, the lines in the man’s face as hard as the set of his jaw. Lateforties, ex-construction foreman, a short fuse that had gotten him in trouble more than once.
Harlan remembered the incident well enough. David had shut down the blasting project near protected land, writing a report that left Brannigan with nothing but a wrecked deal and a bad reputation.
“Motive’s there,” she said, her gaze flicking up briefly before she went back to the file. “Same as Billy, he had opportunity. But like Billy, the means is missing, and no hard evidence ever tied him to the bombing.”
Harlan leaned a little closer, scanning the photos and handwritten notes tucked inside. He had chased these same leads and had come to the same dead ends as Laney and the rest of the cops. But standing here, the weight of David’s case spread across the desk, he could feel the pressure mounting in Laney.
In himself, too.
He knew she would keep turning over stones until something crawled out. And he also knew that whatever was happening now, with bombs, notes, and hair clips, might be the break she had been chasing for four long years, even if it came at a dangerous cost.
Her daughter was now a target. Of what, they didn’t know. And the not knowing made it worse. Give him a head-on confrontation with an asshole any day rather than deal with all this taunting shit.
Harlan kept his focus on her, noting the tight line of her mouth as she spoke. “What are you thinking?” he came out and asked.
She dragged in a long breath. “I’m thinking that Redwater Sheriff’s Office doesn’t have the resources to investigate a cold case,” she spelled out. “That’s why I asked the Rangers to come in.”
He heard the frustration under her even tone. She had been carrying this for years, pushing against walls that would not move.
“Crossfire Ops has the resources,” he reminded her. “And this is now my top priority.” His voice was flat, certain, because there was no question in his mind.
Laney’s eyes softened just enough to let him know she heard him, and she gave a small nod. “Because you promised David that you’d watch out for Evie and me.”
Harlan held her gaze. She was right, but she was also wrong. That promise had been part of it, sure. But he would have done this even without that vow he’d made to a dying friend. He didn’t need a vow or a promise to drive him toward keeping her and Evie safe. That need had been there long before David asked, rooted so deep it had never left.
Laney’s breath caught, the sound low and uneven, and before she could pull away, Harlan stepped in and wrapped his arms around her. Her cheek pressed against his chest, and he felt the tremor that ran through her. He held her tighter, steadying her while the faint scent of her shampoo rose with each breath she took.
Her warmth bled into him, and along with it came the unwanted pulse of heat that he’d spent years trying to shut down. His hand slid in slow circles over her back, meant to soothe, but his body remembered too much. The way she fit against him. The softness of her mouth the first time he’d kissed her.
