Pete scratched his head. “I talked to Ruby Redbird’s best friend yesterday and then confirmed with Ruby’s doctor. Guess what? Ruby was pregnant.”
Mia stiffened. “Can you saymotive?”
“Might not have been Erik Volk’s baby.” Pete ambled toward the wide double door.
“That’s even more of a motive.” The weight of the gun at her ankle lent her a sense of security. “I need a service weapon.”
“Yep. I have a Glock 21 for you back at the station.”
So she was Glock girl now. Good. She was comfortable with Glocks.
Pete rang the doorbell, which pealed throughout the entire house in an echo that bounced back. He scratched his head. “Why do rich people always have weird doorbells?”
“Dunno. Am I leading, or are you?”
“You’re on after I introduce you.”
A man wearing all black opened the door, his movements graceful and precise. He stood to at least six feet tall and was packing, the gun casually tucked in his waistband. His dark eyes surveyed them. “Sheriff Maxwell. The Volks have been expecting you.”
A bodyguard? These people had bodyguards?
She cut her eyes toward the sheriff, following him through an entryway that went beyond opulent toare you freakin’ kidding me? Priceless vases adorned antique tables while original oils from the masters lined the walls—mostly western paintings, several of them C.M. Russell’s. Mia’s feet twitched with the need to take off her shoes so she wouldn’t stain the Persian rug partially covering the solid pine floor.
Instead, she kept her eyes on the bodyguard’s broad back. The guy moved like an FBI sniper she’d met once. Spooky guy with great pecs.
He shoved open a pine door thicker than Mia’s calf to what could only be called a gentleman’s study. She had no clue where she’d heard that expression, but it certainly fit.
The scent of pipe tobacco hung in the air, providing a comforting vanilla whiskey smell as she stepped into the room. A wide desk sat over in the far corner, while a seating area made up of overstuffed chairs surrounding a large glass table filled the middle. Seth leaned against an intricate wood mantel adorning a tumbled rock fireplace big enough to step inside.
He wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved navy shirt with the flak boots she remembered. A two-day scruff lined his hard jaw. His bottom lip was swollen. No expression sat on his rugged face.
But the impact from those blue eyes slammed her hard in the solar plexus.
Two other men sat in chairs—one scowling and blond, the other about sixty with shrewd chocolate-colored eyes and gray hair. The door closed quietly behind the bodyguard.
The older gentleman stood. “Sheriff, how nice to see you again.”
“Same to you, Mr. Volk. This is Mia Stone, who is working on the Ruby Redbird case.”
“Benjamin, please.” He glided forward, smoothly taking her hand in his rough one. Gently. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Stone.”
“Mia.” She allowed him to pull her to sit in one of the plush chairs.
Benjamin Volk had straight, patrician features set in a cultured face. Thin lips, high cheekbones, and a direct stare. He moved with grace and a sense of strength. While he and Seth were about the same size, he lacked the wildness so apparent in his eldest son. But the edge of danger was there.
The blond stood, a charming smile flashing twin dimples in a handsome face he obviously inherited from his father. The similarities were striking. Though a bruise extended along his left cheekbone.
Had the Volk men been fighting? Why were they both bruised?
“I’m Erik.” He leaned across the table to shake her hand.
The sheriff dropped into a chair. “Is your lawyer coming?”
“Why would we need a lawyer, Sheriff?” Seth drawled, his gaze remaining on Mia.
“No reason.” Pete flashed a smile as both Ben and Erik retook their seats. “Mia just has a couple of questions.”
Benjamin turned his focus on her. “You’re a police officer?”
