“There’s a copy of a bank statement that basically proves Leland was broke at the time he planned his son’s fake kidnapping and murder.”

“That’s old news,” Carley mumbled.

Sloan made a sound of agreement. “In fact, the reason Leland had come up with such a ridiculous scheme was because he was desperate for money.” He paused. “Unlike Donna. She had the cash, but she had it hidden away in trust funds and foreign accounts.”

Carley made a mental note of that, but she didn’t immediately know how it would help them build a case against either Leland or Donna.

Or even if there was a case to build.

“Is there anything you’ve seen in those papers and notes that’ll help us solve these murders?” she asked.

“I’ve just scanned through them, but I hope after all the pages are thoroughly examined that Lou Ann and Sarah will be the ones to give us the ammunition to make an arrest. Because Leland’s right about one thing—we can’t nail him on the fake kidnapping plot. We either get him for murder or he walks.”

“And if Leland walks, then maybe that’s because he’s innocent.” Carley didn’t wait for him to respond to that. “Of course, I’ll want to look at Lou Ann’s and Sarah’s collection of notes and papers.”

Nothing. Nada. Only that drilling stare. It seemed to last for hours before he finally nodded.

Just a nod.

Not exactly an enthusiastic endorsement for her investigative abilities, and so much for his assurance that she would assist him on this case. But it didn’t matter. She would study those papers, and this would be her chance to prove to Sloan that she was a good cop.

“I have some reports I have to do for Zane,” he let her know. “Then we’ll talk about the ground rules for Lou Ann’s papers.”

Carley was certain that she blinked. “There are ground rules?”

“Yeah. You’re guaranteed not to like them, but they’re a necessity if we want to keep you safe.” Sloan went to the cabinet in the corner and took out a small plastic evidence bag. “For now, I’ll dig out that bullet. My advice? Don’t try to assist, because all that reaching and moving will only aggravate your injury.”

She had no intentions of assisting. She needed a reprieve from Sloan. Judging from the speed with which he made his exit, Sloan needed some time away from her, as well.

Unfortunately her reprieve didn’t last long.

Mere seconds.

Before Carley heard the brass bell jingle—an indication that someone had come in through the front entrance of the Justice police station.

She checked her watch. It was a half hour too early for any of the deputies to arrive for duty, and maybe because she was still jumpy about that bullet being fired at her, she sprang to her feet. The sudden movement tugged at her injury, but Carley tried not to react. She made sure she could draw her gun if it became necessary.

“Sheriff Matheson?” someone called out. “It’s me—Jim McKinney.”

She didn’t relax one bit. In fact, she moved her hand to the butt of her gun. Because, simply put, Jim McKinney could be the person who wanted her dead.

Carley heard the footsteps come closer. Cowboy boots thudding on the hardwood floor. The thudding stopped when Jim McKinney appeared in her doorway.

“It’s a little early for a visit.” Carley nearly groaned when she heard her own voice. It was actually shaky. She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders and continued. “What can I do for you?”

Carley looked him straight in the eyes. Eyes that were obviously the genetic source for Sloan’s own intense baby blues. Jim’s, however, were cragged with wrinkles at the corners. It didn’t detract from his good looks. Nope. These were character lines.

As if that face needed anything else to give it character.

Jim slipped off his pearl-gray Stetson and held it against his chest. It was almost a submissive kind of pose, but there wasn’t anything submissive about his expression. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man who could look totally docile. Ever. The well-worn Stetson helped. The tail of a rattler dangled from the silver-rope hatband.

“I came by to talk,” Jim explained. “About the murder investigation.”

Carley didn’t want to be, but she was highly flattered. A suspect was actually treating her like the sheriff. A rare occurrence.

“I hadn’t planned to reinterview you anytime soon,” she informed him. “Mainly because Zane already did.”

Jim nodded. “But I figured you’d have some questions of your own.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Carley just hadn’t expected to be asking them so soon. Her hands went on her hips. “Okay, let me just say what’s on my mind. Most suspects don’t volunteer to be interviewed, and your presence here makes me suspicious. Making yourself readily available doesn’t mean you aren’t guilty.”

Jim appeared to fight back a smile. “You don’t beat around the bush.”

“It saves time,” she explained.

“Yeah, it does. So I’ll just put it all out there, too. Anything I do or say will make you more suspicious. It’s just the way things are, Sheriff. You’re convinced I killed Lou Ann.” He shook his head and plowed his hand through his hair. No more smile fighting. His face was somber now. “And I can’t remember half of what happened that night. But I do remember where I was nearly a week ago and, just for the record, I wasn’t anywhere near Sarah Wallace or the Matheson Inn.”

“But you knew she was back in town?”

“Not until after she was dead.” He hesitated a moment. “Sarah called me, though.”

That revelation surprised her more than Jim’s visit. “You didn’t mention that when Zane interviewed you.”

“Because at the time I didn’t know.” His breathing was suddenly weary. “I don’t think it’s a secret that my wife and I argue. A lot. Well, this morning, right after I got home from work, Stella and I had one of our disagreements. It turned a little ugly on her part, and in the heat of anger she blurted out that Sarah had called me that night. Stella thought I might be having another affair.”

“Were you?” Carley asked.

“Not on your life.”

“But your wife believed you were.”

“Stella often believes that,” he said as if choosing his words carefully. “And it’s because I’ve given her mountains of reasons to doubt me. Her doubt was misplaced this time, though. I wasn’t having an affair with Sarah. In fact, I hadn’t seen that girl in sixteen years.”

Not sure that she was buying this, Carley shrugged. “Then why did Sarah call you?”

“Probably to ask about my relationship with her mother. To try to make some sense of what’d happened.”

Off the top of her head, that was Carley’s guess, too. Sarah had apparently come to town to get a lot off her chest. “And what would you have told her about her mother if she’d asked?”

“I would have said that while I’ve done plenty of kissing, I refrain from the telling part.” He met her gaze. “It would have served no purpose for me to rehash the details of that affair. It was just that. An affair. It meant little or nothing to both Lou Ann and me.”

He was certainly convincing—about that part anyway. Partly because of that Texas charm that seemed to be ingrained in the McKinney males. Still, that didn’t make Jim innocent, and Carley couldn’t exclude him as a suspect.

“So why didn’t Stella tell you sooner that Sarah had called?” Carley continued.

“Like I said, she thought I was having an affair. Or on the verge of starting one. Stella wouldn’t have wanted to play messenger for something like that, so she likely decided to nip it in the bud.”

Carley tried to piece all of that together. “You told Zane that you were home the night Sarah was killed?”

He nodded. “I was. So was Stella.”

There was some hesitation in his voice when he spoke his wife’s name. It was the slightest pause that caused Carley to pounce on it. “You know for certain that Stella was home?”

More hesitation. But Jim still nodded. “Her bedroom door was shut, but the light was on. She was probably reading or watching TV.”