Native Cowboy (3 page)

Except now they were filled with pain.

“Cara, are you all right?” he asked, suddenly concerned. It wasn’t like her to get squeamish over blood.

“I know this woman,” she whispered. “She was one of my patients.”

Mason’s pulse began to pound. “Then you might know who did this to her?”

Cara gently placed a hand on the woman’s cheek as if to console her. “I’m so sorry, Nellie,” she said softly. “So sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

“No one deserves this,” Mason muttered. “Who is she? Does she have family?”

Cara glanced at him, the shock subsiding slightly as if she realized she had to keep it together. “Her name is Nellie Thompson. And no, she doesn’t have family.” She opened her doctor’s bag. “Did the boys see her?”

“Not like this,” Mason said. “I told them to stay back while I walked ahead. I figured it was probably a dead deer or another animal.” He paused, gulping back his own distaste. “They ran up and saw the stones and realized it was a grave. But I didn’t uncover her until the counselor arrived. When she stepped aside with the boys, I photographed the stones and the way they were arranged, then the area surrounding the grave.” He gestured toward the woods. “I’m going to conduct a wider search for evidence and hopefully pinpoint the spot where he murdered her.”

She gestured toward the grave. “You don’t think he killed her here?”

“No, but close by.” He shined a flashlight across the terrain to the left, and she noticed a streak of blood dotting the ground.

“My guess is, he attacked her somewhere near the road, then dragged her to the woods to bury her.” He frowned, thinking. “Now we need to figure out if she came on the ranch of her own volition, if they were together, maybe lovers, or if he brought her here against her will. Can you give me a firm time of death?”

Cara removed a kit from her bag and swabbed the woman’s cheek where blood and dirt were caked.

“You said she was one of your patients?” Mason asked. “You live on the ranch?”

Cara nodded and continued to take samples from the woman’s eyelids, hair and fingernails. “I offer medical services in the clinic on the BBL in exchange for a cabin.”

“Maybe she was coming to see you,” he suggested.

Her startled gaze flew to his, concern darkening her eyes. “I suppose that’s possible.”

“Was she ill?” Mason asked.

Cara shook her head.

“Then what was going on?”

“You know I can’t discuss her medical information with you.”

“She’s dead, Cara,” Mason said. “I think doctor-patient confidentiality can be waived to solve her murder.”

Cara’s mouth tightened. “I don’t see how her medical information is relevant.”

Anger knotted his chest. “Everything is relevant,” he said. “This bastard was cruel.” He gestured for her to look at the gruesome scene again. “We need to know the reason for the overkill.”

Anguish strained her face. “So you think it was personal? Someone she knew?”

“Maybe...hell, I don’t know yet.” Mason studied the damage the killer had inflicted. “But it was violent. And the burial was ritualistic. Which means something triggered his rage, and that he might just be getting started.”

* * *

M
ASON’S DECLARATION
sent a shudder through Cara. He and Miles had just closed a terrible serial killer case, and now he thought there might be another serial murderer on the loose?

Had Nellie known the killer, or had she been chosen at random? If so, why kill her in such a brutal way?

The fact that the killer had butchered her abdominal cavity might be significant....

Leaves rustled behind her, and Cara startled and stood. The baby chose that moment to kick, sending a spasm of pain down her leg, and she winced.

The sheriff strode through the woods, but suddenly Mason rose, his gaze latched on to her belly. She gritted her teeth, willing herself to remain calm, but his eyes darkened with emotions that made her chest clench.

She’d been in love with Mason ten months ago. She’d wanted a future with him, but he’d broken her heart, and she could not allow herself to fall for him again.

Or admit how much he’d hurt her.

“Cara?”

His gruff voice had once called her name in passion, but now a layer of confusion, shock and uncertainty underscored his tone. “You’re pregnant?”

He didn’t have to know it was his child, did he?

Then again, she had morals and she refused to lie.

“How observant,” she said matter-of-factly. She gave him a look that dared him to ask more.

The sheriff broke through the bushes, his expression stony, and cut off Mason’s response. “Blackpaw, you need to see this. I found her car, her purse inside.”

Mason stared at Cara another full minute, but the sheriff was waiting, and she certainly didn’t intend to discuss her pregnancy—or their situation—in front of him.

“Cara?” His gaze raked over her swollen stomach again, then he searched her face. For a brief moment, pain flickered in his eyes, then the moment passed, and his jaw tightened, making him look like a hardened, rugged cowboy cop.

“Go,” she said. “You have a case to work, and I need to finish here and get Nellie moved to the morgue.”

“You’ll perform the autopsy?” he asked.

Cara pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Not me. I’ll call in the county medical examiner.”

“Make sure her body is processed for forensics,” Mason said gruffly.

“Don’t worry, I will.” Her stomach churned. “I want whoever did this to pay.”

“Also make a list of everything you know about her,” he said. “Any detail might help us find the bastard who did this.”

A debate began in her head. She knew he was right. But there were some parts of her life that Nellie had wanted to keep private.

“You coming, Blackpaw?” the sheriff asked.

Mason muttered a sound of frustration then left her alone with the body. Cara swallowed back the tears threatening to choke her as he disappeared into the woods. She couldn’t take her eyes off his big sexy body. Couldn’t help but remember the husky way he’d murmured her name in the throes of passion.

God help her. She was always saying goodbye to him.

What would he say when he learned the baby she was carrying was his?

Would he walk away from their child, too?

* * *

A
DOZEN QUESTIONS
pummeled Mason as he followed the sheriff to the car. Questions that had nothing to do with the case he should be focusing on.

Which was the very reason he’d walked away from Cara in the first place. He couldn’t afford distractions. A personal life. To care about anyone.

But the image of her pregnant belly taunted him. Had she met someone after they’d ended their affair? He hadn’t noticed a ring...but then he hadn’t looked...

Was she married? Pregnant with her lover or husband’s baby?

Mentally he ticked off the months they’d been apart. The dates they were together.

A little over nine months ago.

The air whooshed from his lungs in an agonizing rush. Could that baby be his?

“Her car went off the road up there,” the sheriff said, gesturing toward the hill.

His voice jerked Mason back to the present. Dammit, if he didn’t pay attention, he’d miss something important.

Leaves crunched beneath his boots as he trudged through the woods, and he dragged his head back to the case. He needed to be searching for clues.

He shined his flashlight along the ground, panning it across the bushes and terrain in case the killer had dropped something, maybe a button or glove, or some other evidence. Anything could be useful.

He spotted a patch of bushes that looked as if they’d been mangled, then knelt and discovered a partial footprint in the dirt that could have belonged to a man. A torn piece of clothing was trapped in a patch of thorns.

“Hang on a minute,” he told the sheriff. “I think I found something.”

The sheriff walked over and examined the print, then watched as Mason knelt and plucked the fabric scrap from the bush with some tweezers and placed it in a bag.

“I called in a crime unit from the county,” the sheriff said. “I think we’re going to need them on this one.”

“You’re right,” Mason said. He was only one man. He couldn’t do it all. “Make sure they take a plaster cast of this partial print. It might be helpful at some point.”

A few more feet, and Mason spotted the small, rusted sedan crashed against the trees. The passenger side was intact, but the windshield was shattered, the driver’s door stood ajar, and branches and limbs had caught on the roof and door.

“You already checked out the car?” Mason asked.

“Just a visual to see if anyone was inside, but I didn’t touch anything.” He gestured toward the handbag on the seat. “Left her purse there. Thought we’d want to photograph everything before we searched it and sent it to the lab.”

“Good,” Mason said, grateful the sheriff hadn’t bungled evidence like some locals he’d encountered before. The smallest detail could prove to be important in analyzing the crime and catching this unknown subject, or UNSUB.

Mason shined his flashlight across the car interior. Blood dotted the dashboard and glass, and the seat had been torn as if someone had clawed at it.

Then he spotted a baby rattle that had rolled beneath the seat.

Hmm...did Nellie have a child?

“Look at this,” the sheriff muttered.

Mason walked around the car and stooped down where the sheriff aimed his light on the tire. “Looks like it was slashed.”

Mason’s heart pounded. “Just enough to create a slow leak so the tire would blow.”

The sheriff gestured toward the road with his hand. “Probably blew up there, she lost control, ran off the road and ended up here.”

Mason noticed drag marks by the door and tried to visualize the crime in his mind. “The killer was following her. He watched her to crash. She hit her head, she’s disoriented and he drags her out of the car.” He paused, the images playing out. “At first she doesn’t realize what’s happened. She thinks this man might have stopped to help her. Then he drags her into the bushes and stabs her.”

“But why?” the sheriff asked. “Does he know her? Did he choose her for some reason?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Mason snapped some pictures of the car and surrounding area, took several shots of the slashed tire, then retrieved the woman’s purse and rifled through it.

“ID confirms she’s Nellie Thompson. She was twenty-four, lives nearby. I’ll send a patrol man over to search her house.” He rummaged deeper and located her cell phone, but the battery was dead. He’d check it out, though. She might have had contact with her killer. Or if she was being followed by a stranger, she might have tried to call for help.

“Check the 911 calls and see if she phoned one in.”

The sheriff nodded, then the sound of an engine cut into the quiet, and they made their way back to the body to meet the crime unit.

Cara was kneeling by Nellie’s body again, her expression torn. He understood how much more difficult it was to have to work a case when it involved someone you knew. Someone you cared about.

Another reason he’d vowed never to get close to anyone again.

But she stood and pivoted, then walked toward the crime scene tech who was descending the hill, and his chest clenched at the sight of her pregnant belly.

He’d never imagined loving anyone again, not since the girl he’d fallen for when he was eighteen.

And he’d certainly never imagined having a child.

But a surge of longing hit him like a bolt of lightning during a storm.

Fool.

The baby might not even be his.

But what if it was?

Why hadn’t she told him? And what would he do if it was his child?

* * *

C
ARA TOOK A DEEP BREATH
as Mason approached. He looked larger than life as he strode up the hill, the evening shadows framing his silhouette like a tough cowboy from a movie set.

Except this scene was very real. And a patient and friend of hers was dead.

The crime techs introduced themselves, and the sheriff directed them to the burial spot.

“We found her car.” Mason’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on her belly. “Her tire was slashed, then it blew, causing her to run off the road.”

A shiver rippled up Cara’s spine as she realized the implications. “So someone targeted her before the attack. He was following her.”

“That’s the conclusion I would draw,” Mason stated, his dark eyes fierce. “The question is who.”

Cara clenched her medical bag with a white-knuckled grip.

“Tell me everything you know about her, Cara. She was your patient, did she mention that anyone was bothering her? Maybe she had a stalker?”

Cara shook her head. Although she had felt like someone had been watching
her
lately. Not that she’d seen anyone; it was just an eerie feeling every now and then that someone was behind her. Or that someone had been in the clinic.

She’d attributed it to the fact that her friend Sadie Whitefeather had had a couple of break-ins at the reservation clinic. Since the Winchester clinic wasn’t in the best part of town, it might be targeted if someone was looking for drugs, too.

“Cara?”

She jerked her attention back to Mason. “No, she didn’t mention anyone.”

“Did she have a boyfriend? Lover?”

Cara chewed her lower lip. This was sticky territory.

But in light of Nellie’s mutilated body, she had to help Mason find the woman’s killer, no matter the cost.

“A boyfriend.” She twisted her hands together. “But I don’t think he would do this.”

Mason quirked his mouth to the side. “I’ll need to talk to him. Did she mention any other adversaries? Someone she might have upset lately? A coworker? Friend?”

She shook her head no, although Nellie’s secret haunted her. What if it had something to do with her death?

“Did she work?”

“She was a waitress at a coffee shop, but she was taking classes to become a hairstylist.”

“So no one in the class was bothering her? She didn’t have a stalker from the coffee shop?”

She shifted, weighing the truth. “No. Not that I know of.”