Most people assumed that the worst part of being a sheriff was dealing with angry drunks or the mothers who screeched at him when he arrested their precious child.

The truth, as far as Mike O’Brien was concerned, was that the worst part of his job was notifying the next of kin.

It wasn’t something he had to do that often, thank God. But it was always awful when it happened. And it was even worse when he had to tell someone that their loved one had been deliberately killed.

Death came to them all. Old age, disease, or accident. It was a fact of life.

But murder was unacceptable.

Finally leaving Anne’s sister quietly sobbing in Quincy, he traveled back across the swollen river and straight to the Hamilton estate.

He felt tense, edgy. As if his skin was too tight for his body.

There was a killer out there. Hunting women and tormenting Jaci. Hell, he’d even taken a shot at Rylan Cooper.

And he was going to strike again. Soon.

Mike could feel it in his bones.

Driving up the winding road that led to the huge house on the hill, Mike was forced to halt at the gate. Pressing the button on the intercom, he waited for the barrier to swing open. Then, continuing up the driveway, he pulled his truck to a halt in the circle drive. Stepping out of his vehicle, he hesitated in front of the wide terrace.

The rain was in a momentary lull but the clouds remained low and sullen, making it look as if it was dusk rather than midday.

Mike allowed his gaze to scan the house before he was moving toward the garage and then the gardens.

Had Anne walked away from this estate and simply disappeared? Had she been strolling in the gardens and been snatched by some mysterious intruder?

Or had she seen something she wasn’t supposed to see and never made it out of the nearby house alive?

Questions that he intended to have answered before this day was over.

Retracing his steps, he’d reached the terrace when the front door was opened to reveal Loreen Hamilton. The older woman was dressed in a dark, tailored pantsuit that emphasized the slender lines of her body and the pale ivory of her skin. Her red hair was styled and her makeup perfect.

He had a sudden memory of his own mother, who’d died two years ago. She’d never had fancy pantsuits or had time to go to the hairdresser. Certainly she didn’t wear makeup unless it was to cover a bruise left by her jackass of a husband.

By the time she was fifty she’d looked at least twenty years older, and tired by a life that had been a constant struggle.

He squashed the faint spurt of envy at the thought that Loreen had spent her life pampered by money, while his own mother had never had a dime.

There was a petulant look of discontent on Loreen’s face that assured him wealth didn’t equal happiness.

Forcing his feet forward, Mike removed his hat and offered a small dip of his head.

“Mrs. Hamilton,” he murmured.

Her lips thinned. “If you’re here to collect for the orphan fund, I already sent a check.”

“Thank you for your generosity, but that’s not why I’m here.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”

Loreen stepped forward, as if she could physically prevent him from entering.

“Now is not a good time.”

He narrowed his gaze. “You need to make it a good time.”

A brittle anger tightened her delicate features. “I don’t care for your tone, Sheriff.”

His lips twisted. Loreen Hamilton was accustomed to giving orders. In truth, she was a bully who used her power and position to get her way.

There was the sound of shoes clicking against marble. Then Payton appeared to stand beside her mother.

Mike clenched his teeth.

Unlike her mother, Payton didn’t need the fancy clothes and coats of makeup to be stunning. Even with her hair pulled into a ponytail and her face scrubbed clean, she was strikingly beautiful.

And what was she wearing? It looked like some sort of workout outfit. Stretchy pants and a tight top that made his mouth go dry.

Flicking a guarded glance toward Mike, the younger woman reached out to touch her mother’s arm.

“Mother, let me deal with this.”

Mike cleared his throat. “Actually, I need to speak with the entire family.”

Loreen sent him a sharp glare. “Why?”

“Mother, please.” Payton pasted a faux smile on her lips as she tugged the reluctant Loreen away from the door. “Come in, Sheriff.”

He stepped over the threshold, ignoring the older woman’s pointed glance at his boots. A woman was dead. Loreen Hamilton could deal with a little mud on her floors.

Perhaps sensing he wasn’t leaving until he’d had his say, the woman turned to stiffly usher him across the foyer and into a room with a fancy desk and matching chairs with spindly legs. There was a wall filled with framed pictures of Loreen being honored by various charities for her generous donations. And one of her in her glory days being crowned as queen of some beauty pageant.

“There’s no need to use the formal salon. We can speak in here,” Loreen told him.

Mike didn’t miss the barb. He was being told he wasn’t worthy of a visit to the formal salon. Still, he allowed the insult to roll off his shoulders as he wandered across the tiled floor to study the large framed prints stacked on a table next to the window.

He flipped through the dozen black-and-white photos.

They looked as if they’d been taken during the mammoth snowstorm that had fallen in late December. The pristine layer of snow added a stark beauty to the pictures. As did the golden-haired woman featured in different locations around the grounds.

There was one of Payton in a white fur coat on the front terrace. Another of her turned away as she walked up the long driveway. And several of her in a provocative red dress, posed in the garden.

He frowned, oddly disturbed by the photos. On one level they were simply beautiful pictures of a beautiful woman in a beautiful setting.

On another level there was a strange intensity to each shot. As if the photographer was stripping Payton bare and leaving her exposed to the world.

“What are these?” he asked.

Loreen moved to stand next to the desk, her elegant movements clearly rehearsed.

“I hired Nelson Bradley to do a series of photographs of our estate.” An expression of pride touched Loreen’s pale face. “The house is going to be a feature story in Midwest Décor.”

Mike curled his lips. That explained why the photos were so disturbing. Nelson enjoyed seeking out the most dark and bleak settings.

Still, these were more haunting than creepy.

He lifted his head. “This isn’t his usual style.”

“No.” It was Loreen who answered, still preening at the thought of her upcoming fifteen minutes of fame. “These are quite magnificent.”

His gaze shifted to Payton, who was tensely standing next to the door.

“You look cold in the garden shots.”

She managed a small smile. “I was freezing. Nelson had me posing for hours.”

“Why not take pictures inside?”

“He said artificial light destroys the truth of his subject.” Payton gave a small shrug. “Whatever that means.”

“He’s an artist.” Loreen sent them both a glare, her limited patience at an end. “Now can we get to the point of your visit?”

Mike folded his arms over his chest, his legs spread as he turned his attention to the older woman.

“I’m sorry to be the one to bring bad news, but Anne Dixon was found dead this morning.”

He heard Payton’s pained gasp, but his gaze remained locked on Loreen’s expression. Was that relief that rippled over her face?

“Anne?” The older woman took a moment to gather her thoughts. Clearly she’d been worried he’d come there for another reason. But what? “I don’t understand,” she continued. “What happened? A heart attack?”

“We haven’t determined cause of death,” he smoothly answered.

She frowned, as if surprised by his words. “What else could it be?”

Payton stepped forward, her eyes filled with tears she was trying to blink back.

“Where was she?”

He held up his hand. “I have a few questions.”

Loreen’s earlier tension returned. “What sort of questions?”

He hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle. He’d found that acting like just another good ol’ boy helped encourage people to talk to him.

“Just trying to determine a time line for Anne’s movements, ma’am.”

Predictably, Loreen wasn’t impressed. Instead her eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Is Mr. Hamilton here?”

“No. Of course not.” She waved an impatient hand. “He’s at his office in St. Louis. He will take the commuter flight home this afternoon.”

Did she really believe her husband was in St. Louis? Or was she covering for him?

Now wasn’t the time to press.

“What about Christopher?” he asked.

Loreen jerked. Almost as if she’d been slapped. “I’m calling our lawyer.”

He met her aggressive glare with a bland smile. He’d hoped the family would cooperate, but it didn’t matter.

He was getting answers. The easy way. Or the hard way.

“That’s fine, Mrs. Hamilton. While you’re calling your lawyer, would you also call your husband and son? They need to return home as soon as possible.”

With a scathing glare, Loreen crossed the room, her heels clicking an angry tattoo against the floor.

“I warned you he was trouble,” she said to her daughter as she disappeared through the door.

Mike arched his brows. “I’m trouble?”

Payton heaved a sigh, dismissing her mother with a shake of her head. “Please tell me what happened to Anne.”

Mike tried not to notice the tears gathered in her eyes, or the wounded air of grief that shrouded her. It wasn’t his duty to tug Payton in his arms and offer her comfort.

It’d never been his duty, despite his wild fantasies.

And besides, right now everyone was a suspect in the death of Anne Dixon. Especially anyone with the last name of Hamilton.

He nodded his head toward the chairs set beside the bookshelf.

“Sit down, Payton.”

She shook her head. “Please, just tell me what happened to Anne.”

He swallowed a sigh. The one thing he’d learned when he was dating Payton was that she was as stubborn as a mule.

“As I said, we don’t have a cause of death.”

“How did you find her?”

There was no easy way to say it. “She was dumped on the gravel road that runs in front of Elmer Cooper’s farm.”

Payton wrapped her arms around her slender waist, her face ashen in the muted light.

“Dumped? What does that mean?”

“Someone drove her to that particular spot and laid her dead body across the road.”

She hissed, shock darkening her eyes. Mike watched as she apparently struggled to absorb the fact that the woman who’d been a part of her life since the day she was born was not only dead, but that she’d been found in the middle of a gravel road.

“You’re sure someone took her there?”

Mike was caught off guard by the question. “What are you asking?”

She licked her lips. Not nerves. At least he didn’t think so. More of a reaction to her intense emotions.

“I’ve heard about how people having strokes can sometimes wander off. Maybe she stumbled into the road and was hit by a car.”

He shook his head. He didn’t intend to give out details. The more information he could keep secret about Anne’s murder, the better. But Payton would have information about the housekeeper that would be vital to discovering who was responsible for her death.

“She’s been dead at least twelve hours. I would guess even longer.”

“So it wasn’t an accident?” She pressed her fingers to her lips, the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Oh God, her sister.”

Mike held up his hand. “I’ve already been to see her.”

“She must be devastated.”

He grimaced. “It’s never easy.”

Payton gave a shaky nod, her body visibly trembling. Once again Mike was forced to battle back his instinctive urge to pull her into his arms.

“I need to invite her to the house. I would like to help with the funeral arrangements. And of course, she’ll want to get Anne’s things—”

“Not yet,” he interrupted. “I don’t want anyone in or out of Anne’s room. Not until I tell you it’s okay.”

Her lips parted to protest his sharp command, only to snap shut at his grim expression.

With an effort, she wiped her cheeks and squared her shoulders. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“I need to speak with your family about Anne.”

“Why?”

He chose his words with care. “I need to know what they remember of the past weeks. If Anne said anything unusual. Or if she had any visitors.”

She studied him for a long minute. “That’s all?”

He shrugged. “I want to see the security video from the morning Anne disappeared.”

She wrinkled her brow. “I think I can get it for you.”

He hid his smile of satisfaction. He wanted his hands on the video before the damned lawyer arrived demanding warrants.

“Now?”

She gave a brisk nod, looking relieved to have something to do to distract her from her grief.

Leading him out of the room, she headed toward the back of the house. They walked without speaking, the silence emphasizing the emptiness of the grand house. Did Payton ever feel as if she was lost among the acres of marble and gilt?

He shook away the ridiculous thought as she halted at a small table that was set beside a pair of double wooden doors. Lifting a large crystal vase, she grabbed the key that had been hidden beneath it.

Mike watched as she turned to unlock one of the doors. Did Blake Hamilton leave the key there to be used by his family? Or had Payton discovered the hiding place by accident?

He was betting on the latter.

Pushing open the door, Payton headed across the Oriental rug toward the heavy armoire that was set near the massive desk. Mike slowly wandered in behind her, his lips pursing in a silent whistle.

Now, this was an office of a man who liked to think he was important.

Cherrywood furnishings that looked hand-carved. A twelve-foot ceiling with one of those fancy medallion things in the center. Towering bookshelves stuffed with leather-bound books. And charcoal etchings that were hung on the walls.

All expensive.

All designed to impress.

He gave a mental shrug. He preferred his own grubby office. At least there he could kick back in his seat and put his feet on the desk without caring about scuff marks.

Payton pulled open the armoire doors to reveal a flat-screen monitor that was attached to a DVR.

“This is the surveillance equipment.” She stepped aside, waving her hands in a vague motion. “I’ve never used it, so I’m not entirely sure how it works.”

“May I?” he asked, deliberately waiting for her to answer.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t a direct yes, but it was good enough for a prosecutor to say he had full consent to search the tapes.

Moving forward, he hit the button to turn on the monitor. Instantly the screen flickered, and four boxes with separate camera angles appeared.

The main gate. The front door. The garage. And the back terrace.

So. Daddy hadn’t been entirely honest with Payton about the number of security cameras. Why? Protection? Or the desire to know where the family was so he could slip away unnoticed?

Leaning forward, he pressed the play button on the DVR. The monitor went black. And stayed black.

He pressed rewind. Then fast-forward. Nothing.

“Shit.”

Payton pressed close to his side, her light, feminine scent a perilous distraction.

“Is something wrong?”

Mike straightened, his thoughts sifting through the various possibilities. “It’s been erased.”

Payton looked confused. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He turned to circle the room, pausing at the French doors that led onto a small, private balcony. It would be easy to move in and out of the house without being noticed from this room.

“You know, it could be programmed to erase the previous day’s recording,” Payton said. “It’s not like we have any reason to save them unless we were robbed or something.”

Mike resumed his slow inspection, moving to the desk that was scrupulously organized, with a small stack of files on one corner and a laptop in the center. There was a silver-framed picture of Payton and Christopher when they were young. None of his wife. Interesting.

“This system would simply loop back to the beginning and start recording over the older video. It wouldn’t erase it completely,” he explained. “It was either turned off so it didn’t record.” He paused, glancing toward Payton, who remained beside the armoire. “Or someone deliberately destroyed evidence by wiping it clean.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“The most obvious explanation is that they had something they wanted to hide.”

She studied him with an incredulous expression. “You can’t possibly think someone in this house could be responsible for hurting Anne?”

He held her gaze. “She lived here. And you all knew her better than anyone.”

Her features tightened with anger. “Yes, we did. She was a part of our family. We loved her.”

He snorted, his attention returning to the desk. “You might have loved her, Payton. But I find it impossible to believe everyone in this household felt the same way.”

There was a telling pause. Not even Payton believed the rest of her family felt anything toward their devoted servant.

Loreen, because she thought about nothing beyond her perfect image. Christopher, because he was a self-centered prick. And Blake Hamilton, because his world revolved around dollar signs.

“No one in this house would have hurt Anne,” she stubbornly insisted.

Mike moved toward a small glass case next to the desk. Inside were a dozen coins in various sizes nestled in a velvet lining. He assumed they must be rare, and no doubt worth a lot of money. Still, it seemed a weird thing to collect. If his father had left him a trust fund instead of a mountain of debt, he would have a storehouse filled with bars of gold, not tiny coins stuck beneath a glass case.

He moved toward the bookshelves. “Have you had any unusual visitors?”

“What do you mean unusual?” Her voice was sharp, angry.

He turned back to face Payton, belatedly realizing that he couldn’t afford to stir her animosity. Right now she was willing to talk to him. If she clammed up, he’d be forced to get his answers through a gaggle of lawyers.

That’s the last thing he wanted.

“Someone you didn’t expect?” he asked, softening his tone. “Someone who didn’t usually come by the house?”

A portion of her tension eased as she tried to think of any likely candidates.

“Not that I can think of.” She shook her head. “Mother had to cancel her garden club because of the rain, and Father has been too busy to entertain.”

“What about deliveries?”

“We have deliveries almost every day.”

Mike moved back to the French doors. From his angle he couldn’t see the front drive.

“Do they have codes to get through the gate or do you have to buzz them in?”

“We don’t give the codes to anyone.” There was absolute certainty in her voice. “Not after Christopher handed them out to a bunch of his buddies and they had a drunken orgy in the pool.”

Mike rolled his eyes. He had a vague memory of the event. It was when he’d first started working at the sheriff’s office. The old sheriff had been called to the property to haul off a dozen underage kids, but Loreen Hamilton had refused to allow her precious son to be taken with the rest of them. She claimed the kids had broken in and that Christopher was in his room sleeping the whole time.

“Where is your brother?”

“I’m not sure.” She offered a tight smile, trying to mask her concern for Christopher. It was a familiar habit. As long as he’d known Payton, she’d been fretting over her sibling. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

Mike didn’t press for a location. Instead he concentrated on who had been in and out of the Hamilton house over the past weeks.

“Has he had any visitors since he came home?”

“No.” She absently closed the doors and leaned against the edge of the armoire. “I don’t think he kept in contact with his old friends.”

“What about his college buddies?” Mike asked. “Have any of them been hanging around?”

“There hasn’t been anyone.”

“Don’t say another word, Payton.” Loreen’s shrill voice cut through the air as she stepped into the office, her expression hard with warning as she turned toward Mike. “Our lawyer is on his way.”

Any hope of getting information that could help track down Anne’s killer was squashed.

Lawyers were the kiss of death to an active investigation.

With an effort he managed a polite smile. “And what about Mr. Hamilton and Christopher?”

“I left messages on their phones.” Loreen sniffed, moving to stand at rigid attention next to Payton. “I’m sure they’ll be here as quickly as they can.”

Mike moved to take a seat behind the desk, silently assuring the older woman he wasn’t leaving until he had his answers. He smiled as she stiffened in outrage.

“Let’s hope so.”