Trailers and pickups packed the parking lot at the fairgrounds and people moved around setting up tents and food-vending caravans. Brightly colored signage pointed to different arenas. A massive poster hung over the front gate proclaiming cowboys and cowgirls would perform death-defying feats of athleticism on the wildest beasts in the west.

As Jenna made her way from the parking lot, murder was not foremost in her mind. Deputy Wolfe’s words at the crime scene filtered into her brain at a relentless rate. You are one of the best profilers I know. A trickle of worry ran down her spine. Kane had not mentioned knowing the new deputy, and in fact, the body language between them on meeting had been more like two stags during mating season rather than acquaintances. Yet after their visit to Aunt Betty’s Café, they acted like old friends, and then Wolfe had practically ordered her to a meeting. She trusted Kane and could find no reason why he would withhold information about Wolfe from her. What is going on?

She turned to Kane and could not temper the harsh tone of her voice. “Have you met Shane Wolfe before? You seem to get on like old friends.”

“This morning was the first time I laid eyes on him but I like him. He has experience in all the areas we need—especially today.”

His gaze had been direct, his manner convincing; either he was the best liar she had ever met or he had told her the truth. She nodded. “I agree. I wish we had another six like him.”

“I’m not sure if you can twist the mayor’s arm for another six—maybe one and a rookie.” Kane indicated with his chin toward a poster stuck to a board beside the ticket office. “I’ll speak to the guy in the ticket office but I would say, looking at the events, Lucky Briggs is a bull rider and roper; no doubt he is taking part in quite a few events.”

She stared at the pixelated image of a dark-haired man, his face shadowed by a black Stetson. “That photograph isn’t much to go on but he is obviously well known. I had no idea there would be so many events, including a Rodeo Queen competition. I’ve always preferred to remain in town during the celebrations to handle the complaints.”

“There is a dance on Friday night as well. I’ll buy tickets.”

Jenna gaped at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Apart from it being inappropriate after what has happened, we’ll be on duty not boot-scooting, even if I knew how to boot-scoot.”

“I should be crushed but I wasn’t exactly asking you out on a date. Don’t you agree, blending in is sometimes the best way to find out information? Liquor loosens people’s tongues.” His mouth quirked up at the corner. “I’m sure you can manage a Texas two-step after living here for over three years.”

“Not really but I guess we could use it as an excuse to keep an eye on the locals and see if anyone is acting suspicious.” She shrugged. “I don’t have time to shop for an outfit. We’re running a murder investigation, in case it slipped your mind.”

“An undercover assignment works for me.” He grinned. “These dances are not formal. I’m sure you have a pair of blue jeans, boots, and a shirt with a fringe. You’re wearing a cowboy hat.” His smile flashed white. “Well?”

After informing her he had suffered a painful breakup, they had become close friends and spent a lot of downtime together. She placed both hands on her hips and blew out a long sigh. “I’m sure you are used to having women fall at your feet but we are trying to do a job here.”

“Exactly.”

Jenna threw her hands up in the air and turned away. “Fine, I’ll go to the dance with you but only to back up the deputies on duty—understand? Go and buy the tickets. I’ll check the stables and ask around if anyone has seen our suspects.” She headed toward the row of horse trailers lined up alongside a building. From the smell blowing in her direction from the freshly painted barn, it had to be the stables.

Sidestepping the piles of steaming manure and streams of urine, she moved inside the humid building. The scent of horse, straw, and leather wafted toward her from the dark abyss. Coming out of the bright summer’s day, she paused in the entrance, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Streams of sunlight dancing with dust motes spiked down from skylights in the roof and illuminated rows of horses’ heads peering over the stall gates.

She strolled along a center aisle, past a rack of saddles, and approached a man filling a wheelbarrow with horse dung. She waited for him to lower the pitchfork then cleared her throat.

“Have you seen Lucky today?”

“Maybe I have and maybe I’ve not.” The attractive man in his late twenties moved his dark gaze from her face slowly down her body then back up again. “They sure don’t make deputies like you in my neck of the woods. Ah, Lucky don’t get on with cops but if you want a date for the dance, come see me. I love a woman in uniform.”

Jenna wanted to cringe at his sexist remarks. As handsome as he was, he made her feel dirty, but she could play his game. “What’s your name?”

“Storm Crawley but you can call me Storm.”

A chill walked its way up Jenna’s spine and she forced her hand away from the handle of her Glock. He could be the killer and armed with a pitchfork. Absently, she waved a hand toward the horses and took a step closer to the nearest stall, feigning interest. “Do you ride?”

“Oh, yeah.” A smile slashed across his tanned face. “Maybe I’ll show you how good I am after the dance?”

Ignoring his not so subtle innuendo, she pushed her lips into a semblance of a smile and turned her attention to the back of the barn. “That sounds like fun but right now, I have to speak to Lucky. Do you know where I can find him?”

“See the door right down the end there?” He jabbed the handle of the pitchfork in the direction. “He’ll be in there cleaning his saddles. I’m all finished here and need to wash up, so I’ll see you at the dance.” He sauntered away in a chink, chink, chink of spurs.

The arrogant asshole had not even asked her name. No doubt the notches on his belt did not require names. Then again, his total disregard for her as a person could reflect a psychopathic killer. She had learned more intricacies on profiling since Kane arrived. Turning, she stared toward the entrance, hoping Kane would be close behind her. Walking into an enclosed space with a potential killer was a fool’s errand.

The sound of a tap running caught her attention and she turned. Standing shirtless on the other side of the building, Storm was splashing water from a tap over his face and chest. Confident that bathing would occupy him for some time, she waited four beats of her heart and strode to the room at the back of the stable. Seeing the door ajar, she pushed it open and peered through the entrance.

A tall man, muscles bulging as he hoisted a saddle onto a rack, lifted a sinfully handsome face in her direction. As he raked her with his eyes, a frown wrinkled his brow.

Immediately accosted by the smell of saddle soap, leather, and stale sweat, she moved inside the room. Her gaze moved down his frame looking for weapons, and she absently wondered if he had his jeans sprayed on. He would be more lethal as a lover than a killer. Wanting to slap herself for ogling a potential psychopathic killer, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Are you Lucky Briggs?”

“Yeah.” He turned his back on her and strolled deeper into the room. “I didn’t touch her.”

A wave of fear clutched her chest. No one had released any information about the murder. She moved into the room, kicking the door wide open until it clicked onto a stop. “Didn’t touch who?” She followed him past the rows of saddles.

“I didn’t ask her name.” He collected rags and a tin of saddle soap then dropped them into a box. “I met her at the Cattleman’s Hotel at the bar. She followed me back to the motel but I’d been drinking and wasn’t interested… if you know what I mean? I’d been driving all darn day and I just wanted to sleep. Man, I even told her Storm would be willin’ if she was needy.”

Jenna watched him closely. “Then what happened?”

“She went ballistic, tore her shirt, and came at me with her nails. Said she would call the cops and say I raped her.” He turned to face her and displayed a line of scratches down his neck. “I pushed her out the door and went to bed—alone.”

The chink, chink, chink of spurs and the sound of footsteps came from behind her. She glanced around the room seeking an alternative means of escape but found nothing. The hair on the back of her neck stood at attention and every muscle went on alert. Storm is behind me. If they jump me, I’m trapped.