Sheriff Mike O’Brien returned to his office with a tight ball of frustration lodged in his gut.

It’d been an impulsive decision to travel to Quincy and speak with Anne Dixon’s sister. The older woman was fiercely concerned for Anne, reinforcing Payton’s insistence that Anne was a creature of habit who would never, ever take off without telling people where she was going.

She’d also been a font of information. Finding relatives who were close to their missing loved one was always an asset to law enforcement.

It was those people who cut off all ties to friends and family who were the most difficult to track down.

The morning away from his office, however, meant that he was far behind on his routine duties. And it didn’t help to discover that Sid hadn’t returned from the short field trip Mike had sent him on.

Closing his door, he moved to settle in his chair and reached for the phone on his desk. Punching in the numbers, he waited for the call to be transferred to the appropriate department.

“Hey, Jenkins,” he said when a male voice at last answered. “Did you have time to look at the locket I sent you?” Mike grimaced as the man released a string of swear words that were remarkably inventive. Waiting until the forensic analyst was forced to halt and take a breath, Mike jumped in. “I know the DNA hasn’t been processed, but can you give me a blood type?” There was another angry burst, but without the swear words. “Just let me know as soon as possible,” Mike said, replacing the receiver with a click.

Yeesh. The lab rats could always be grumpy when he was trying to urge them to work faster, but Jenkins was downright pissy.

Taking off his hat, Mike was running his fingers through his hair when the intercom buzzed. Swiveling in his chair, he turned to look at the monitor that showed Rylan Cooper standing on the other side of the connecting door.

For a long minute Mike considered ignoring the unwelcomed visitor. Finally, he gave a shake of his head. If he didn’t open the door, Carol would be calling to make sure everything was okay.

Pressing a button on his desk, Mike heard the lock click open, and Rylan stepped into the office.

“And now my day is perfect,” Mike said, watching Rylan cross the floor to stand directly in front of the desk.

“I’m glad one of us is happy,” Rylan growled.

Mike resisted the urge to rise to his feet. He didn’t like the feeling that Rylan was looming over him, but he’d be damned if he revealed his unease.

This was his office, by God.

“I’m really not,” he said. “What do you want?”

Rylan’s jaw tightened. He looked like his mood was about as good as Mike’s.

“Did you manage to get the locket examined?” he demanded.

Mike leaned back in his seat. Suddenly he understood why Jenkins had gone a little nuts on him.

“This is Heron, not Hollywood. Testing takes time,” he said. “And even if I did have any information, I wouldn’t share it with a civilian.”

Rylan planted his fists on his hips. “I’m not exactly a civilian.”

“Unless you carry a badge, you’re a civilian.”

“Fine.” Rylan’s lips stretched with a humorless smile. “I’d hoped that we could work together to protect Jaci, but I can call in my private associates.”

“This is my investigation, Cooper,” he warned.

“And we both know that I have the technology, not to mention the direct contacts that can fast-track any forensic evidence,” Rylan said.

Mike’s hands clenched with anger. He’d already done some snooping last night. Rylan and his partner, Griffin Archer, had created a company that had revolutionized hunting down cyber-criminals, and then continued on with programs that were used by federal agencies around the world. Hell, he’d been publicly praised by the director of the FBI.

Mike didn’t need to be told that this man had the sort of connections and resources any lawman would envy.

“I may be a small-town hick, but I’m capable of doing my job without your fancy equipment or bigwig contacts,” he snapped.

Rylan narrowed his gaze. “Why are you making this into a pissing match?”

Mike had a dozen different answers for that particular question, but he stuck with the only one that mattered.

“I don’t want you screwing with my investigation,” he said. “When we catch whoever is responsible, I have to take my evidence to trial. Something that’s not going to be possible if you screw with it.”

Rylan drew in a slow, deep breath. No doubt silently counting to ten.

“Then I’m here to report a crime,” he at last said.

Mike rolled his eyes. The day already felt too long. Having to deal with Rylan Cooper wasn’t making it any shorter.

“Now what?”

“Someone took a shot at me.”

Mike studied him, waiting for the punch line. “Are you serious?”

The light brown eyes flared with anger. “I don’t joke about near-death experiences.”

Mike leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk. This meeting just went from being an annoying waste of his time to attempted murder.

“Where?”

“I’d just driven out to the old Johnson place—”

“What were you doing out there?” Mike interrupted.

“Trying to figure out if someone could have walked from there to Jaci’s without being seen by Andrew.”

Oh. That actually made sense. He’d been too busy to sit down and work out the mechanics of how the stalker had placed the locket on Jaci’s door.

“Could they?” he asked.

“It’s possible, but doubtful,” Rylan said. “You’d have to wade through the culvert that’s been turned into a swampy mess with all the rain.”

Mike gave a slow nod. It wasn’t just the Mississippi that had been flooded by all the rain. Every tiny creek and tributary in the county was swollen with water.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I’d just pulled out of the drive and onto the road heading to my father’s house when my back window was shattered.”

“You’re sure it was someone shooting at you?” Mike asked. He wasn’t trying to be a dick. Well, not entirely. But it’d been years since Rylan had driven on gravel roads. It was easy to forget the dangers. “A rock could have flown up and busted it.”

A muscle twitched in the man’s jaw, but grimly swallowing his hot words, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out that was hidden in his hand. Then, leaning forward, he opened his fingers and allowed a half dozen tiny balls to bounce on Mike’s desk.

“I’m sure,” Rylan snapped.

Mike pressed his finger against one of the balls, easily recognizing it.

“Buckshot,” he said, lifting his head to meet Rylan’s icy glare. “Did you see who was shooting?”

“No, I was too busy ducking,” Rylan retorted. “By the time I got out to look around the bastard had disappeared.”

Mike frowned, trying not to jump to conclusions. The one thing he’d learned over the past few years was that his job as sheriff meant that he had to be the one to see the “big picture.” He couldn’t just assume he knew what had happened. He had to have the facts to back up his conclusion.

“It could have been a poacher,” he said.

“It could also be someone who isn’t happy that I’m around to protect Jaci.”

Mike instantly bristled. The man talked about Jaci as if he had some right to claim her.

“Clarify your protection,” he commanded.

Rylan studied him for a long moment before answering. “I’ve installed a new security system,” he said. “And this morning I went with her on her deliveries.”

Mike forced himself to sit back in his seat. Right now nothing mattered but keeping Jaci safe. Even if it meant swallowing his instinctive male need to compete with Rylan Cooper.

“It’s possible the stalker is trying to drive you away.”

“I’d say they were more interested in putting me in an early grave.”

“Or it could have been whoever rented the Johnson place,” Mike continued. “You know as well as I do that people don’t like trespassers in this area.”

“True,” Rylan surprisingly agreed. “They obviously have something to hide.”

“Why do you say that?”

Rylan folded his arms over his chest, peering down the length of his nose.

“I have information from one of my contacts you claim you’re not interested in.”

“Christ, you’re annoying,” Mike snarled, shoving himself to his feet.

Rylan shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

Mike took a second to leash his temper. It was ridiculous to let the man get under his skin.

“What did you discover?” he asked.

“The house is being rented by a Vera Richardson,” Rylan said.

“Vera Richardson.” Mike repeated the name, a faint memory teasing at the edge of his mind. “Why is that name familiar?”

Rylan snorted. “Maybe you attended her funeral.”

What the hell was he talking about? “She’s dead?”

“Yep,” Rylan drawled. “Three years ago.”

Mike thought back to when Frank had made a passing comment that he’d finally rented out his old place. At the time Mike hadn’t paid much attention. But he did know it hadn’t been three years ago.

“The house has only been rented for the past six months. Maybe less,” he at last said. “It has to be a stolen identity.”

“Or a miracle,” Rylan said in dry tones.

Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll run out there and do some checking.”

The sudden ring of the phone sliced through the air, and with a sound of impatience, Mike reached to grab the receiver, pressing it to his ear.

“O’Brien.” He felt a chill inch down his spine as he listened to Jenkins’s brief report. “You’re sure?” he demanded before he could halt the words. “Okay, got it,” he soothed the analyst. “Thanks for getting back so quickly.”

He replaced the receiver, lifting his head to discover Rylan watching him with an unwavering gaze.

“Was that about Jaci?” the older man demanded.

Mike paused before releasing a slow sigh. As much as he wanted to toss Rylan from his office, the phone call had been a sharp reminder that this was bigger than him and his pride.

Right now he needed any help he could get.

And as Rylan Cooper was so quick to point out, he could provide resources that were way out of Mike’s reach.

“A hunch,” he at last admitted.

“And?”

Mike grimaced. “This isn’t public information, but Anne Dixon is missing.”

Rylan gave a sharp lift of his brows. “Are you sure? We ran into Payton and she said her housekeeper was on vacation.”

“I’ve asked her not to talk about Anne until we know what’s happened,” Mike said, relieved to learn that Payton was actually doing as he asked.

Surprise, surprise.

“Did you find her?” Rylan asked.

“No.” Mike tapped his finger on the top of his desk, his mind absorbing what the latest information meant. Anne might be technically a missing persons case, but he was already preparing for the worst. “I spoke with her sister this morning, and while I was there I asked her Anne’s blood type.”

Rylan was smart enough to guess why he would be interested in her blood type.

“The locket?”

Mike nodded. “The blood type matched.”

Rylan’s nose flared, as if he was struggling to hold back his burst of emotion. No doubt he was already thinking of Jaci, and how this was going to impact her.

“Has the DNA been run?” he asked.

“No.” Mike’s lips tightened. “All I know is that the blood type is A-negative.”

“Rare,” Rylan said.

“Yep.”

“So the blood on the locket belongs to the missing housekeeper.” The words were a statement, not a question.

Mike shrugged. “I’m not prepared to leap to conclusions.”

Rylan nodded. He’d worked in a sheriff’s office before. He understood that Mike wasn’t going to commit himself. Especially not to someone who wasn’t on the payroll.

“What about the body in the field?” Rylan moved to the next logical question. “Do you have an ID?”

“No.” Mike didn’t bother to hide his impatience. “Like I said, this isn’t Hollywood. Testing takes time.”

Rylan held his gaze. “I can make a few calls and get the evidence fast-tracked.”

Mike’s muscles clenched, but he forced himself to give a sharp nod. “Then do it,” he said, lowering himself back into his seat as he sent his companion a dark glance. “Now, I have work to do.”

As if sensing Mike had reached the end of his patience, Rylan turned to stroll toward the door. Of course, he couldn’t let Mike have the last word.

Pulling open the door, he glanced over his shoulder. “One more piece of information.”

“What?” Mike snapped, understanding why someone had taken a potshot at this man.

He wanted to squeeze off a couple bullets himself.

Not to kill, but . . .

Rylan’s lips twitched, clearly reading his annoyance. “You might ask Christopher Hamilton what he’s been doing the past two years.”

Mike frowned. Okay, he hadn’t been expecting that. “He was in St. Louis,” he said.

“Maybe,” he said. “But if he was there, he wasn’t attending college.”

Stepping out of the room, Rylan shut the door behind him and Mike released a hissing breath as the throbbing behind his right eye amped up to a full-blown headache.

“Crap.”

What had Christopher been doing for the past two years? And why had he been driving past Jaci’s house yesterday? And when was the last time he’d seen their housekeeper?

Questions that clearly needed to be answered.

Unfortunately, he’d dealt with the powerful Hamilton clan before. As soon as they realized that he was trying to dig up information on the precious Christopher, they would lawyer up. Mike wouldn’t have a chance of having a reasonable conversation that would easily clear Christopher of any suspicion.

Trying to decide how he could investigate without wading through the Hamilton lawyers, Mike’s dark thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and his deputy stepped inside.

He frowned as the young man strolled forward, his black Windbreaker lightly coated with raindrops. “Where have you been?”

Sid tilted his head, as if confused by the question. “You wanted me to go to the airport, didn’t you?”

Mike deliberately lifted his arm to glance at the watch strapped around his wrist. He’d called Sid before dawn this morning to ask him to wait in the airport parking lot to see if Blake Hamilton was one of the passengers.

“The plane took off hours ago,” he said.

Sid shrugged. “I stayed for the second and third flights. Just in case he overslept.”

Mike swallowed his angry words. Sid was a good deputy, but he’d been born and raised in Heron. Under normal circumstances he couldn’t leave the office without stopping to chitchat with every person who crossed his path. With the dead body as the center of town gossip, it was going to be impossible for the younger man to complete a task without taking time to savor the limelight.

“I’m assuming Hamilton didn’t make an appearance?” he asked.

“Nope,” the deputy said. “They haven’t seen him for two days. Of course, they said it wasn’t that unusual. One of the pilots said Mr. Hamilton told him that he intended to do more work from home and only go to his office on days when he sees his clients. Do you want me to track him down?”

Mike considered before giving a shake of his head. He’d deal with the Hamiltons.

“No.” He scribbled a name on a sticky note and held it out. “I want you to do a search on this name,” he commanded.

Sid reached for the paper. “Vera Richardson?” he read out loud. “Who is she?”

“Supposedly she rented the old Johnson place. I want to know everything you can find out about her.”

Sid shrugged, turning to leave the office. “No problem.”