Chapter Three

In the couple of hours of sleep that Hayes had managed to get, he’d dreamed about hell. About missions years ago where he’d waded through hot sand and warm blood. Where people had died, and he’d come close to dying right along with them.

Then, he’d awakened in an unfamiliar room to another kind of hell.

No hot sand here in the Sunset Inn at the edge of town. No military mission but there had been plenty of blood.

And people had died.

Lots and lots of people. A sonofabitching massacre.

The final count was sixteen. Fourteen deputies, the sheriff, and the dispatcher. Yeah, definitely hell. Now, he needed to load up on caffeine and dive in to see what he could do to help.

Owen had already started the helping process by procuring the use of the town’s only hotel to set up a temporary police station. A necessity since the actual station was a crime scene and was being processed by county CSIs and other forensic experts that Owen had called in. A necessity, too, since both Owen and Jemma needed a safe place to stay while they began piecing together what the fuck had happened.

One problem that Hayes had gotten off his hands was Petey. Thankfully, two uniformed cops from San Antonio PD had shown up in the wee hours of the morning to take custody of him and haul his sorry ass out of town. No one in Outlaw Ridge had time to deal with a prisoner right now. Unless, of course, that prisoner was the killer who’d wiped out most of the police station.

Hayes grabbed a quick shower in the bathroom that’d been clearly designed for someone much smaller than his six- three, two-hundred and twenty pounds. Ditto for the room and the bed where he’d crashed around five AM. But he hadn’t had a choice about the crashing since by then he’d been awake for going on thirty-six hours. God knew how many hours it’d be until his next break.

He dressed in the clothes from his go-bag, stepped into the hall, and was beyond thankful when he caught the scent of coffee. Since it seemed to be coming from the bottom floor, he headed toward the stairs.

And nearly smacked right into Jemma.

She was coming out of her room that was next to his, and while she’d obviously showered and changed into a clean deputy’s uniform, Jemma had the same shell-shocked look as she had when they’d first found the two dead deputies.

Hayes figured it was a look she’d be sporting for a while.

Part of him, that stupid part, wanted to pull her into his arms and offer her a shoulder to lean on. But that wasn’t a bright idea. For one thing, no shoulder could dole out that much comfort. And for another, this attraction between them could turn from heat to urgent need on a dime. A tornado of emotions fueled by that shock and fatigue. Best not to risk playing with that kind of firepower.

“Uh,” she muttered. “I just came up for a quick shower, but there’s coffee downstairs.”

“Yeah. Headed there now. What’d I miss while I was asleep?” he asked.

She tucked some strands of her still-damp hair behind her ear, and the breath she took in seemed to be a mix of fatigue and frustration. “Everything’s still in the preliminary stages. Lots of moving pieces. Lots of chaos,” she added in a mutter. “I needed to shower because there was blood on my clothes.”

He remembered her slipping in the water and blood in the breakroom. Her fellow deputies’ blood. He could totally understand Jemma needed to wash that away even though this wouldn’t be a case of out of sight, out of mind. No way was Jemma going to push all of these deaths out of her thoughts.

“Owen arranged for other county units and the Texas Rangers to send out their CSI teams,” Jemma went on as they made their way down the stairs. “There’s a team at each of the crime scenes, and they’re collecting evidence now. They might find something.”

Hayes had to believe they would. Multiple crime scenes meant multiple chances of a killer leaving something incriminating behind.

They threaded their way down the narrow, winding stairs to the bottom floor and a reception area where his brother, Declan, was sitting at an absurdly small, ornate wooden desk. He was working on a laptop, but Hayes had no doubts that he was also standing guard. After all, there was a killer at large.

Or maybe, killers .

Declan and he locked gazes for a second, and a whole lot of questions passed between them. Questions that apparently neither could answer because they both shook their heads.

“Jemma,” Declan greeted. “Owen’s finished setting up an office in the dining room.” He tipped his head to his right. “The county sheriff and the Outlaw Ridge mayor are with him.”

Hayes had met both men, but he’d never had any dealings with them. He soon would though. Both could end up being key players in this investigation.

“Owen said as soon as you were back down that he needed to speak with you,” Declan added to Hayes.

Hayes had expected that. He only hoped there’d be enough coffee to go along with the updates, verdicts, and whatever the hell else had happened in the past four hours.

“Is anyone else dead?” Jemma asked Declan, taking the question right out of Hayes’ mind.

Declan shook his head. “Owen wants to keep it that way. He’s putting lots of security in this place, and he’ll want to talk to you about that.”

“Because I’m a target,” she muttered, and her tone let Hayes know she’d likely dealt with her own version of hell while she’d showered and changed out of those bloody clothes.

Declan, who wasn’t much of a sugar coater, didn’t tone anything down now. “Yeah, you are. Probably Hayes, too. Hell, probably anyone linked to the murders is likely a target.”

That’s because they didn’t have a motive for the killer. Without a clear motive, there was no telling who the hell would end up on the receiving end of that assault rifle.

“Did anyone find the black truck?” Hayes pressed. Or more specifically, the driver of the truck.

“Nope. I figure we’ll find it ditched or burned out somewhere in the next couple of hours,” Declan admitted.

Hayes was betting on a thorough burning. That way any and all potential trace or DNA would be destroyed.

“I’m sure Owen has a lot more stuff he has to tell you,” Declan went on a moment later. “It’s a hell of a mess.”

It was indeed that, and sadly, there was no end anywhere in sight to this particular mess.

Jemma and Hayes stepped around the reception desk, and they only had to go a couple of feet down a narrow hall before they reached the dining room.

And some coffee.

Hayes spotted that right away. A big-assed restaurant sized stainless steel pot of it on a table near the front of the room, and it was surrounded by all sorts of breakfast pastries.

All of the other five tables had been arranged like desks, and each had a computer on it. Someone had brought in a large whiteboard, no doubt to be used for posting info about the investigation.

The room wasn’t as brightly lit as it usually was because the heavy curtains had all been drawn, and there were huge panels positioned in front of them. Thermal and infrared blockers. It would prevent anyone from using a heat seeking device to pinpoint the locations of anyone inside.

A fellow operative, Reed Winston, was at one of the desks, and a Strike Force tech, Molly Trudeau, was at another. Owen was standing in the center of the room with the lanky, dark-haired mayor, Clive Rodriguez, and the tall, barrel-chested county sheriff, Jeb Harlan. The men all turned in Jemma’s and his direction.

“Get some coffee,” Owen instructed.

They did. Both Jemma and he filled their cups to the brims before they made their way to Owen, Harlan, and Rodriguez.

“The entire town is obviously in shock,” Rodriguez said, speaking to Jemma. “I understand both Owen and you were attacked as well.”

Jemma nodded, sipped her coffee. “Someone shot at Hayes and me in the parking lot outside the police department. I’m okay,” she tacked onto that.

That last part was almost certainly bullshit, but if asked, Hayes would tell the same lie.

“What will happen?” Jemma continued a moment later. “Is the county sheriff’s office taking over?”

“No, the county doesn’t have the manpower or resources for something this catastrophic,” the mayor replied, sliding glances at both Owen and Sheriff Harlan. “The county will assist, but I had an emergency meeting with the town council, and we’ve appointed Owen as the temporary sheriff.”

Hayes looked at Owen to see how he felt about that, but his boss wasn’t giving away anything with his stony expression.

The mayor shifted to Hayes. “And Owen will deputize a dozen members of his Strike Force team to assist. Those deputy appointments will be temporary as well until we can hire a new police force.”

Now, it was Owen who looked at Hayes, no doubt to gauge his reaction to that. Hayes shrugged. He’d treat it like any other mission, but instead of the military rank of captain or the title of Strike Force operative, he’d be a deputy.

Alongside Jemma.

Hayes definitely didn’t shrug about that. Apparently, his strategy of avoiding her wasn’t going to be an option for a while. What he could do though was shorten that “a while” by launching right into the investigation.

“What do we know so far about the murders?” Hayes asked.

The mayor and county sheriff must have taken that as their clue to leave since both of them shifted away from Owen. Sheriff Harlan slipped on his Stetson. The mayor took out his keys.

“Owen’s already briefed us,” the mayor said, “so we’ll leave so he can fill you in. If there’s anything Sheriff Harlan and I can do to help, just ask.”

The two men muttered their goodbyes and walked out. As Hayes had expected, Owen didn’t waste any time launching into what he’d learned.

“I got my first reports from the CSI teams about twenty minutes ago,” Owen started, turning his laptop so he could read from the screen. “And here’s what we have. Seven of the deputies, Crawford Billings, Henry Sanchez, Jolene Mercer, Avery Dawson, Morgan Riley, Travis Boone, and Cody McCoy were all shot and killed at Sheriff Bonetti’s fishing cabin about a mile outside of town.”

“Sonofabitch,” Hayes spat out before he could stop himself. His imagination was way too good for this sort of thing, and he could see the tangle of dead bodies that the killer or killers had left in their wake.

“Those deputies all received texts from Sheriff Bonetti, asking them to come because he needed to talk to them…about Jemma,” Owen added, giving her an apologetic glance.

“About me?” she questioned, but then she sighed. “Let me guess. The texts were bogus, probably spoofed from the sheriff’s number, and those deputies were lured there because they finally thought Bonetti was going to fire me.”

A muscle tightened in Owen’s jaw, and he nodded. “Right on all counts. I take it those officers didn’t approve of you being on the job?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jemma admitted. “They were the most vocal anyway, and it was the reason the sheriff put me on the night shift. All those deputies worked either days or swing.” She paused. “So, someone got them to come and then just…what…walked in and shot them?”

“Pretty much,” Owen verified. “The text said to come to the cabin at nine and that this wouldn’t be a social visit. That was probably to make sure one of them didn’t bring their spouse or significant other.”

Hayes made a sound of agreement. That was a smart move on the killer’s part. And a good thing for the spouses or significant others who likely would have become collateral damage.

“Only two deputies had drawn their weapons so whoever opened fire on them either did it quickly or before they could all react,” Owen tacked onto his explanation.

“Or else they knew their killer,” Hayes finished for him. “I’m guessing no one saw or heard anything?”

Owen shook his head. “I’ve been to that cabin, and it’s a good mile from any other properties.”

Which was likely the reason the location had been chosen. And that meant the killer was either local or had taken the time to learn the best places in Outlaw Ridge to slaughter a good portion of the police force. Either was a possibility, which meant that narrowed down exactly squat.

“There are four medical examiners working to determine the time of death,” Owen continued after he downed some coffee. “And they believe the seven deputies in the cabin were killed first, shortly after nine pm. Sheriff Bonetti was likely murdered soon thereafter. It appears the killer shot him through his living room window.”

Again, that was another remote location since the sheriff lived outside of town on a small horse ranch. Added to that, Bonetti lived alone, so the killer wouldn’t have necessarily alerted anyone.

“That accounts for the sheriff, the seven deputies in the cabin, and the two in the police station,” Jemma said, obviously doing a mental tally. “How did the killer get to the other six?”

“The MEs and CSIs can’t tell us yet who was murdered next,” Owen admitted, “but sometime between ten pm and midnight, Deputy CiCi Barker and the dispatcher, Kevin Granger, were shot in the driveways of their homes as they were leaving for work. The killer probably used a silencer for that since the neighbors and spouses heard and saw nothing suspicious.”

Hell, this asshole killer had gotten damn lucky. Then again, Outlaw Ridge was a small town, and few people were out and about at those hours.

“As for the other four deputies, that’s a mixed bag,” Owen went on. “Mickey O’Hara and Jimmy Stanwick were killed in the parking lot of the Salty Dog. The killer waited until they were out of the bar and in their vehicles before he shot them at point-blank range. That happened probably around eleven pm. Closing time.”

“They’re good friends. Were good friends,” Jemma amended. “Jimmy’s wife is expecting their first child.”

Owen made a sound of agreement. “She wasn’t with him. And neither was O’Hara’s wife.”

Again, that was a sliver of a silver lining. “And what about the last two deputies?” Hayes asked.

“Maria Vasquez’s body was found in her car that was in a ditch over on Old Sawmill Road,” Owen explained. “Guessing here, but it looks as if she was shot while driving home. She lives with her folks, but they didn’t report her missing because they figured she was working late.”

“That leaves Jack Larson,” Jemma said. “He’s been on the job for nearly thirty years and was about to retire.”

Owen nodded, cursed under his breath. “He was also shot on the way home after filling up his truck at the gas station. His wife did report him missing. Or rather she tried, but she couldn’t get anyone to answer.”

Because they’d likely all been dead by then.

“The gunman shot at Hayes and me right at midnight. When were you attacked?” Jemma asked Owen.

“About fifteen minutes before that.” Owen paused. “I think Jemma and I were the last targets. The MEs might say differently, but at this point, it appears all sixteen of the others were dead before the killer came after us.”

“Maybe because we were low down on the proverbial totem pole,” she suggested. She tapped her badge. “Me, a rookie cop, and you a reserve deputy.”

“Yes, but the killer still wanted the two of us dead,” Owen pointed out. He stopped, held up his index finger. “Before we get into the reasons for that, let me bottom line something. You can help with the interviews that’ll need to be done, or I can keep you tucked away here at the hotel where I can have a better chance of protecting—”

“No,” Jemma interrupted before Owen could finish. She tapped her badge. “I need to be a cop and not a potential victim. I’ll do the interviews or whatever else that has to be done.”

Owen nodded. Clearly, it was the answer he expected, so he continued. “Good because we’re going to need all the help we can get.” He motioned around the room. “This will be our headquarters for a while. There’s significant water damage in the police station, and the floors, ceiling, and some walls will have to be replaced.”

That didn’t surprise Hayes since he’d seen the damage firsthand. Those sprinklers had probably been spewing for a good half hour or more before Jemma and he had arrived.

“The plan is for us to all sleep here at the hotel,” Owen went on. “Easier to maintain security that way. So, sometime this morning, write out a list of things you both need from your houses, and I’ll have someone collect the items and bring them here. I don’t want you going to your place,” he added, spearing Jemma with his intense gaze. “I haven’t had the manpower yet to have it searched, and the killer could have set some kind of explosive or death trap.”

The slight gasp she made let him know she hadn’t considered that. But sooner or later, it would have occurred to her that the killer might make another attempt to end her life.

“Jemma, is there a current investigation that someone wants to stop cold?” Owen asked, obviously shifting the conversation to a new direction. “Something that’d maybe explain why the sprinklers were set off? I would just check the case files, but the computers and most of the physical records were destroyed from water damage, and my tech will have to retrieve what she can from the storage cloud and any repairable hard drives.”

“I’m working on it,” Molly said from across the room. “But there isn’t a lot there on the cloud.”

“Mainly what will be there are the files that I’ve been digitizing,” Jemma supplied. “We were basically in the dark ages when it came to recordkeeping. Statements and reports were typed into the computers, but most weren’t diligent about transferring them to the cloud.” She paused, shrugged. “But it’s possible the deputies had records or at least notes on their own work or personal computers.”

“We’re checking on that, too,” Owen assured her. “Tell me about your current investigations. One that might have triggered these murders and attacks.”

Jemma shook her head. “There’s nothing current that would warrant this. Two robberies, one of farm equipment and the other of Bertie Sanderson’s old truck.”

“What about complaints, grudges or vendettas against anyone in the department?” Owen pressed.

“My stepmother, Cordelia,” Jemma said without hesitation. “She’s filed three harassment complaints against me.” She swallowed hard. “I believe she’s responsible for my mother’s death, so I’ve been pressing hard to get to the truth.”

“Did you harass her?” Owen came out and asked.

“Yes,” Jemma admitted. “I talked to her business associates, pushing for any and all info. I’ve followed her to meetings, and I’ve brought her in twice for official interviews.”

“I’m guessing your stepmother wasn’t happy about any of that,” Owen commented. “And your father? Did he file complaints, too, or ask you to stop?”

“No.” Another pause. “As you’re probably aware, my father is a, um, complicated man.”

The muscles in Owen’s jaw stirred again. “He is. Could he have orchestrated these murders?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Especially not the attempt to kill me. However, there’s someone else other than Cordelia who might have done this. Duane Gorman.”

“His file was on the cloud,” Molly supplied. “I’m forwarding it to you now, Owen.”

Owen muttered a thanks but kept his attention on Jemma. “I know Duane Gorman, but you tell me why you think he could be responsible.”

Jemma nodded and had a sip of coffee before she launched into the details. “Duane’s a rich soldier wannabe who runs a school of sorts for troubled young men. He lives there, too. On the surface, it looks legit enough, but at least four of his former students have ended up in militia groups.”

Hayes had heard about the school. Heard about the rumors surrounding both Duane and it, too. Some believed that Duane was basically a crime boss who loved playing war games. Some also believed that Duane was a psychopath. If so, he’d fit the profile for this massacre.

“About six months ago,” Jemma continued, “two of the deputies arrested one of Duane’s students, Caleb Preston, for underage drinking. Caleb died in the backseat of the cruiser after he choked on his own vomit. The deputies were cleared of wrongdoing, but Duane accused them, the sheriff, and the entire department of a cover-up. Duane’s bad news,” she tacked onto that.

Owen took a moment, clearly processing that. “All right. I’ll work on getting Duane in for an interview. Or I’ll go out to the school to see him.” He volleyed glances at Hayes and her. “You two are partners now. Joined at the hip.” He didn’t give either of them a chance to object to that.

“Partners?” Hayes muttered, wishing that hadn’t sounded like a complaint.

“Partners,” Owen verified. “Be careful and watch each other’s backs.” He handed Hayes a shiny silver star badge. “Your first assignment, Deputies , is to go to the Salvetti estate. Use the cruiser parked out front. And find out fast if Cordelia Salvetti is a cold-blooded killer.”