Outlaw Ghost

by

Kat Martin

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2018 by Kat Martin

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Wolfpack Publishing

katmartin@wolfpackpublishing.com

Click here to subscribe to Kat Martin's mailing list.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Author’s Note

KAT'S LATEST RELEASE: THE DECEPTION (BOOK 2)

BUY LINK:  THE DECEPTION

THE CONSPIRACY (BOOK 1)

BUY LINKS:  THE CONSPIRACY

MAXIMUM SECURITY SERIES

Links to more of Kat's romantic suspense books!

Chapter One

Sweet Springs, Texas

A harsh wind pulled at the branches outside the window.  The howl of a coyote echoed mournfully from the hills overlooking the property at the edge of town. Beneath the old-fashioned quilt on the antique iron bed, Callie Sutton listened to a different sound, this one coming from inside the old Victorian house.

It was an eerie sound, disturbing, a strangely human sound.  As if someone walked through the silent rooms then climbed the stairs.  As if someone opened the door and came into her room.  As if he stood at the foot of her bed.

Since the door was firmly closed and locked, it was impossible, yet the feeling of being watched would not go away.

The tempo of her heart increased and her nerves stretched taut as Callie searched the darkness but found no one there.  She told herself it was all in her mind, nothing more than the normal creaks and groans of a house this old.  The Victorian home she had inherited from a distant aunt had been empty and in disrepair for more than thirty years.

But the moment she had seen the charming turret in front and wrap-around porch, the lovely built-in bookcases, molded ceilings and ornate woodwork, she had fallen in love with the place.

The renovations she’d had done before she moved in were mostly finished, the kitchen and baths remodeled, the hardwood floors refinished, the fireplace repaired and a fire crackling in the hearth in the evenings.

The work that remained was mostly superficial and of course she had a ton of decorating to do.  Callie was looking forward to that.  Or at least she had been until the ghostly sounds in the house at night continued to grow more pronounced.

Awake now, Callie stared up at the ceiling, her ears straining for any indication of a threat, but the house had fallen silent.  Eventually, her heartbeat returned to normal and her body relaxed.

She yawned, sleepy from a long day at the clinic and putting up wallpaper in the kitchen when she got home after work.

As a veterinarian technician, she had been hired by the county vet, Dr. Reynolds, who was badly in need of help.  Callie worked mostly with small animals, while Doc Reynolds specialized in large animals, a necessity in a ranching community like the tiny Texas town of Sweet Springs.

Since the clinic at the end of Main Street was always busy, Callie would be facing another hectic day tomorrow.  She needed to get some sleep.  She yawned again and her eyes drifted closed as an odd sense of peace stole over her.  It had happened before and perhaps that was the reason she wasn’t more afraid.

She didn’t believe in ghosts.  On the other hand, if there were such a thing, this one seemed strangely protective.  A smile touched her lips as she drifted deeper into sleep and Callie started to dream.

He was tall, in snug dark pants, a full-sleeved white linen shirt, and tall black boots.  He wore a black flat-brimmed hat, and a gun belt hung from his lean hips, the pistol strapped to a muscled thigh.  She tried to see his face beneath the brim of the hat but caught just the hint of a hard jaw covered by several days’ growth of dark beard.

He stood at the foot of the bed as if he watched over her.  He looked like an outlaw, she thought in some corner of her mind, a gunslinger right out of the Wild West.  She should have been frightened but she wasn’t afraid.  Instead she felt safe, protected.

She settled into an even deeper sleep and didn’t wake up until morning, the dream no more than a hazy memory.

Callie showered and dressed in jeans and a lightweight sweater just warm enough for the end-of-October weather, then headed downstairs for coffee and toast before she drove to work.

She loved her newly remodeled country kitchen.  She’d almost had the servant’s stairs removed but they were part of the original structure so she had left them.  Turned out they were handy and added a certain charm.  She’d found an antique oak table and topped it with pretty yellow placemats that matched the walls, making the big kitchen feel cozy.

Callie glanced at the table, an uneasy feeling creeping through her.  At the sight of the single red rose lying on top, her insides tightened.  Someone had been inside the house!

Her hands shook as she pulled the phone out of her pocket and dialed 9-1-1.  Dear God, was the intruder still somewhere inside? Her gaze shot to the back door, saw that the lock had been pried open, and a chill rolled down her spine.

She thought of the eerie sounds in the house last night and how she had felt safe and protected.

Clearly she wasn’t as safe as she thought.

Chapter Two

“Sweet Springs Sheriff’s Office,” a woman’s voice answered.  “Millie speaking, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone broke into my house last night. They left a rose on my kitchen table while I was asleep upstairs.”

“A rose, huh?  Old boyfriend, maybe?”  Clearly a town the size of Sweet Springs didn’t have a lot of crime.

“I don’t have any old boyfriends,” Callie said.  “I just moved here.  I-I’m afraid he might still be in the house.”

Millie’s voice sobered.  “What’s your address?”

Callie gave her the property address on Pecan Lane.  “It’s the old Victorian at the edge of town.”

“Stay on the line.  I’m calling Sheriff Trask.  He isn’t that far away.”

Callie’s stomach churned for the entire five minutes that passed before she heard the crunch of gravel and the engine of a vehicle pulling up in front.  Through the dining room window, she saw a white extended cab pickup, the word SHERIFF in big blue letters on the door.

The sheriff got out, a tall man in dark brown uniform pants and a light beige short-sleeved shirt, a badge pinned to the front.  He wore a beige cowboy hat and a pistol holstered on the belt at his waist.

“He’s here,” Callie said to Millie with relief.  The call ended and she hurried to the front door to let him in.

“Callie Sutton?” the sheriff asked, looking down at her from beneath the brim of his hat.  He had the bluest eyes Callie had ever seen.

“That’s me.  Please come in.”

“Sheriff Brendan Trask.  Let me take a look around then we’ll talk.”

“Thank you.  I don’t think he’s still here, but I don’t know for sure.”

He nodded and started moving silently through the house.  She noticed he unsnapped the flap on his holster, and the chill returned.

Callie was five foot three, the sheriff at least a foot taller.  He was swarthy and with his strong jaw and incredible blue eyes, he was handsome.  A pair of powerful biceps stretched the sleeves of his uniform shirt.  His shoulders were wide, his waist and hips narrow.

If he wasn’t married, he was probably the most eligible bachelor in Sweet Springs County.

He returned a few minutes later.  “Nobody here.  Looks like he came in through the back door.”

“I guess I should have bought a better lock.”

“Rob Solomon over at the hardware store can sell you something reliable.  He can put it on for you, too.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Millie mentioned the rose.  You found it on the kitchen table?”

“Yes.  I haven’t touched anything.”  She glanced toward the kitchen.  “I suppose it could be kids or someone’s idea of a joke.  If it is, it isn’t funny.”

“Breaking and entering is never a joke, Ms. Sutton.”

They walked together into the kitchen and he took a second look around, focused his attention on the rose.  “You didn’t hear anything?”

How to answer.  She heard the same noises she’d been hearing every night, the sound of a man’s boots on the stairs and someone walking into her bedroom.  But she couldn’t tell the sheriff there might be a ghost in the house.

It was ridiculous.  She didn’t even believe in ghosts.

“I didn’t hear anything that sounded like a door being forced open or anyone moving around in the kitchen.  Just someone upstairs in my room. But she didn’t think a ghost could force open a door or carry a rose into the kitchen.

“I want to dust the door for prints.  I’ll be right back.”  The sheriff disappeared outside and returned with what she assumed was a fingerprint kit.

He set his hat aside as he dusted the door and the table, and she admired his thick, slightly too long, dark brown hair.  He bagged the rose as evidence and asked her a few more questions, then she walked him to the door.

“Be sure and take care of that lock,” he said.

“I’ll call Rob Solomon right away.”

He nodded, glanced around the living room.  “You did a nice job restoring the place.  Looks like it must have more than a hundred years ago, only better.”

She smiled at the compliment.  “Thank you.”  Not many people had been over for a visit since she’d moved in, just her best friend, Lanni Bridges, who’d come down from San Antonia, and one of the girls who worked part time for Dr. Reynolds.

The sheriff pulled open the front door.  “Like you said, it’s probably just kids, but you don’t want to take any chances.”  Those amazing blue eyes fixed on her face.  “I’ll give you my cell phone number.  I don’t live far away.  If you hear something, call me.”

She punched his number into her phone.  As the sheriff put his hat back on and settled the brim low across his forehead, Callie felt a warm tug in the pit of her stomach.

She blinked in surprise.  She hadn’t felt the least attraction to a man since she and Adam had split up almost a year ago.

“I’ll keep you posted on what I find out,” Sheriff Trask said.

Callie watched him walk away and tried not to think he looked nearly as good from the back as the front.  She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t married or seriously involved with someone.  A man like that had his choice of women.

Not that it really mattered.  She was too busy getting settled at the clinic to think about a man.

Well, other than the ghost upstairs.

Chapter Three

After a hard day at the animal clinic that included a battle with a wily Siamese cat named Hugo armed with the sharpest claws Callie ever had seen, she prayed for an uneventful evening.  Besides working late to help the doctor sew up a car-chasing dog hit by a pickup, she had worried about her intruder all day.

The house was quiet when she got home, no sign of anything out of place.  She zapped a frozen lasagna dinner in the newly installed microwave, ate and went straight up to bed.  She drifted off more easily than she had expected and settled into a deep slumber.

She wasn’t sure when she started to dream, only that the tall outlaw cowboy was back in her room and this time he was in her bed.

He was leaning over her, kissing the side of her neck, his big hands lightly caressing her breasts through her thin white nylon nightgown.  She moaned as he trailed kisses along her throat and over her cheek, and soft male lips settled on her mouth.

Warmth spread through her, slid into her core.  It’s a dream, she told herself as a memory of last night’s dream returned.  Why not enjoy it?

Parting her lips, she opened to invite her dream lover in and the kiss turned hot and deep.  A hard chest pressed against her breasts and big calloused hands roamed over her body.

It had been so long since anyone had touched her that way, so long since she had actually felt this kind of desire.

The dream shifted a little and he was naked, his body hard and muscled over hers.  She could feel his heavy arousal nestled between her legs--for a dream, it was incredibly real.

She allowed the fantasy to continue, her body responding to the skillful touches of the outlaw’s hands and the saturating pleasure of his mouth moving hotly over hers.

When a noise downstairs penetrated her senses, threatening to disturb the dream, irritation trickled through her.  Damn, she didn’t want the dream to end.  With a sigh of resignation, Callie stirred awake and opened her eyes, expecting to be looking at the ceiling above the bed.

Instead, she stared into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Callie screamed.

Chapter Four

In an instant, the man was gone, vanished like the ghostly vision he had been.

Her heart was racing, her body still flushed with heat.  Callie tried to tell herself the face of the outlaw she had seen was just part of the dream, that she hadn’t awoken and seen a blue-eyed man in bed with her who looked almost exactly like the handsome county sheriff.

It was the almost that was the problem.  The outlaw had a scar along the bottom of his jaw that the sheriff did not have.

The noise came again, pulling her back from the fantasy, the sound of glass shattering downstairs--someone breaking the window in the kitchen.  Fresh fear assailed her.  The ghost was gone but what about the man who had broken into her house last night?

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and hit the sheriff’s contact number.

“Trask,” he said, his voice crystal clear, as if he’d instantly come awake.

“Sheriff, it’s...it’s Callie Sutton.  He’s…he’s in the house.   He broke out a window.  Oh, God...he’s...coming up the stairs.”

“On my way.  Lock yourself in the bathroom, Callie.  Stay there till I tell you to come out.  I’ll keep the line open, but the call may drop.  I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

She heard fabric rustling as Trask pulled on his clothes.  Callie grabbed her white terry robe and hurriedly shrugged it on.

As she turned toward the bathroom, she heard sounds outside the bedroom door.  A struggle, some kind of fight going on, a foul curse, then the heavy thud of something crashing down the stairs.

Oh, dear God.  “Sheriff?  Sheriff Trask are you there?”

But as he had warned, the call had dropped and the line was dead.  He’s on his way, she reminded herself.  All I have to do is survive until he gets here.

Her gaze shot to the bedroom door.  Rob Solomon had installed a new lock on the kitchen door downstairs, but the lock on the bedroom door was old and hadn’t been replaced.  She should barricade herself in the bathroom as Sheriff Trask had told her, but the lock was no better in there and she didn’t like the idea of being trapped inside.

Callie listened.  The only sound was the fierce beating of her heart.  Instead of the usual creaks and groans, the house was eerily silent.  Too silent, she thought, a shiver running over her skin.

Headlights flashed into the bedroom.  She hurried to the window and saw Sheriff Trask’s pickup pull up in front of the house.  Thank you, God.

Her cell phone rang.  She answered with unsteady hands.

“Callie, are you all right?”

“I think he’s gone.  Just in case, I’ll come down the back stairs and let you in through the kitchen.”

“Be careful,” Trask said.

Callie grabbed the flashlight she kept beside the bed, unlocked the bedroom door, and peered into the hall.  Seeing nothing, she quietly headed for the servants’ stairs leading down to the kitchen.  As she passed the round oak table, she shined a light on top and there it was--another long-stemmed red rose.

Fear quickened her footsteps.  She unlocked the newly installed deadbolt, the sheriff strode into the kitchen, and relief poured through her.

“Stay here.”  His gun was in his hand as he made his way out of the kitchen and began to search the house.

She couldn’t help noticing the lack of a scar beneath his hard jaw.

Chapter Five

Brendan moved silently though the house, quietly checking each room.  First floor clear.  He headed for the staircase, shined his light in that direction and stopped cold in his tracks.

Death had an aura about it.  The bald, muscular man sprawled on the stairs with his mouth gaping open, sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling, reeked of it.

Brendan knelt to check for a pulse, but there was really no need.  He stepped back and took a moment to study the scene.  From the angle of the man’s neck and the way the body had landed, it didn’t look like the guy could have accidentally fallen down the stairs.

Brendan’s gaze shot to the landing at the top.  If it wasn’t an accident, who had killed him?  Was the perp still in the house?  Brendan made a room-by-room search, but found no sign of an intruder.  He returned to the crime scene and phoned the coroner, a local physician named Elias Halpern, rousing him from sleep.

Brendan looked back at the dead man on the stairs.  The guy was big and strong.  Had the pretty little brunette in the kitchen somehow managed to overpower him?  It didn’t seem likely.  Even if by some miracle she had killed him, he was trespassing in her house.  The lady would have been justified, at least as far as Brendan was concerned.  Still, she could be in for a lot of trouble and legal expense.

Brendan thought about her as he returned to the kitchen.  He had run a check on her after the first call she’d made.  Callie Marie Sutton was twenty seven, just five years younger than he was, originally from San Antonio.  With her big brown eyes, long dark brown curls, and dynamite figure, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind since the first time he had seen her.

He and Deb Younger were no longer dating.  If Callie gave any indication she was interested, Brendan planned to ask her out.

He just hoped like hell she wasn’t a killer.

Chapter Six

Awaiting the sheriff’s return, which seemed to take forever, Callie tightened the sash on her robe and wished she’d had time to put on some clothes.  Finally, Trask walked back into the kitchen, his features grim.

His glance strayed to the table and he noticed the long-stemmed red rose.

“It was him,” she said, her pulse hammering again.

“Looks like.”  He fixed her with a stare.  “But you don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

“You caught him?”

“Your admirer is lying at the bottom of the staircase.  He’s dead.”

Callie gripped the back of a kitchen chair.  “He...he fell down the stairs?”

“No, Callie.  He was pushed.”

The coroner arrived, a local physical who said his name was Elias Halpern.  While Dr. Halpern examined the body, Callie sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, doing her best not to think of the dead man in the other room and answer the sheriff’s questions.

“So you heard noises on the stairs but you didn’t go outside your bedroom to see what was going on?”

“I told you, I was waiting for you to get here.”  She frowned.  “In a roundabout way, that’s the third time you’ve asked me the same question.  You don’t think I’m the one who pushed that man down the stairs?”

Before Sheriff Trask had time to answer, Dr. Halpern walked in, an older man with thinning gray hair and glasses.  “It wasn’t Ms. Sutton,” he said.  “Bruising on the neck indicates a big man’s hands, someone strong and extremely fit.  The struggle didn’t last long, then one good shove and it was over. This little gal ain’t big enough nor strong enough to do the job.”

Trask looked relieved.  “Looks like you’re in the clear, Ms. Sutton.”

“I wasn’t really worried since I knew I didn’t kill him.”

Trask’s sexy mouth edged up and she felt a slide of heat.  It was crazy considering the circumstances.

His smile faded.  “This is a crime scene.  Is there somewhere you can stay for a day, maybe two?”

“I just moved here.  I don’t know many people.  The Westerner Motel will have to do.”

He nodded.  “Pack what you need and I’ll follow you over there.  Use the back stairs so you don’t disturb anything.”

“All right.  So...who do you think killed him?”

“We’ll no more in a couple of days.”

Callie hoped so.  But as she climbed the backstairs to her room, a strange thought occurred.  Was it possible for a ghost to kill?

While the sheriff spent the next few days searching for a killer, Callie went to work searching the past for the man she thought of as her protector.

Chapter Seven

After the murder--as the coroner had labeled it--her boss at the clinic, Dr. Reynolds, had insisted she take the next day off.  Callie used the time to begin her search, starting at the local library.

She wanted to know the history of the house, who built it, who had lived there, who might have had a reason to stay in the house long after he was dead.

It was insane.  No way was the man in her dreams a ghost.  On the other hand, the intimate kiss they’d shared in her bedroom seemed far more real than any dream.

Fortunately, the task she had set for herself proved easier than she had imagined.  The old Victorian was a landmark in the community.  Barb Dawson, the local librarian, a silver-haired lady in her seventies, knew all about it.

“I love history,” Barb said.  “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a librarian.  Since my family has lived in the county for three generations, I know all about Sweet Springs.”

“My aunt, Mary Sutton, owned the house before she died and left it to me.  Can you tell me who owned it before my aunt?”

Barb walked over to a big leather-bound book, set it on the library table, and opened it.  She shoved her half glasses up on her nose.

She ran a finger down the list of names.  “Otto Lansing.  Now I remember.  Lansing built the house in the eighteen sixties as an anniversary gift.  He and his wife lived there a few years then sold the place to the Trask family.  They were some of Sweet Springs original settlers.”

Callie’s head came up.  “Sheriff Trask’s family?”

“That’s right.  He’s a descendent, named after a great great great grandfather.  The first Brendan Trask lived here with his wife Priscilla before they moved out to the ranch.  Ranch stayed in the family.  Land belongs to the sheriff now, though he doesn’t do much ranching these days.”

Callie’s mind was spinning, running through possibilities, all of which connected the blue-eyed outlaw in her dreams to the equally blue-eyed Sweet Springs sheriff.

“The Trasks were very successful ranchers,” Barb continued.  “When they moved out of the house, they rented the place instead of selling it.  Years later, when Priscilla began to have medical problems, they moved back in.  She was in her eighties by then.  She died peacefully in her sleep, and her husband sold the house.  He died a few months later.  A real love story, it was.  Kind of a romantic legend.”

“You wouldn’t have any sort of photo of the original Brendan Trask?”

“The library doesn’t but the sheriff has all kinds of family memorabilia.”

And since Trask had called to say he needed to speak to her in regard to the case, she would have a chance to ask him about it.

Barb returned her attention to the book and went down the list of owners through the years, using county clerk records, but Callie had the information she needed, at least for now.

“The house is more than a hundred fifty years old,” Callie said, approaching the subject carefully.  “Anybody ever say anything about ghosts?”

Barb shook her head.  “Nope, not that I ever heard.  Kids used to make up stuff to try to scare each other, but none of the owners ever said anything like that.  At least nothing that was ever passed down.”

Callie wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad.  “Thanks, Barb.  You’ve been a great help.”

“No problem.  Always fun to talk history.”

From the library, Callie drove to the Sheriff’s office on Main Street at the opposite end of town.  With its false front brick buildings and slant parking in front of the stores, Sweet Springs had an appealing, old-fashioned charm.  Or at Callie thought so.

The sheriff’s white pickup sat in front of the office when Callie walked in, ringing the bell over the door.

“May I help you?” a large woman behind the counter asked, MILLIE, read the sign on her desk.

“I’m looking for Sheriff Trask.  I talked to you the other night.  Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“You must be Callie Sutton.  I’m glad you’re okay.  Welcome to Sweet Springs.”

Callie looked up as the sheriff walked out of his office.  He smiled when he saw her and she felt a little kick.  There was something about a man uniform, or so it was said.  Plus this man was just flat hot.

“I’m glad you stopped by, Callie,” he said.  “I was on my way out to get something to eat.  You got time to join me?”

“I’m off today.  I could use something myself.”

The sheriff seemed pleased.  She figured he probably just wanted to discuss the case but she couldn’t help hoping it was more.

At the Sweet Springs Café, they sat down in a red vinyl booth across from each other and both ordered burgers and fries.

“So how is the case coming along?” Callie asked as the waitress brought their food.  “Do you have any leads?”

Trask swallowed the bite of burger he had taken and set the rest back down on his plate.  “On the killer?  No.  No DNA, no fingerprints.  Nothing left at the crime scene.  The guy did a spectacular job of cleaning up.  Must have been a pro.”

Or he wasn’t really a guy, or at least not the living, breathing kind.

“We IDed the man who broke into your house.  His name’s Raymond Whitley.  He’s wanted for serial rape.”

The French fry she had just picked up dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers.  “Oh, my God.”

“Whitley’s signature was a single red rose.  He broke into his victim’s home and left a rose while she was sleeping.  Then he returned on a different night to attack her.  He was brutal, liked to inflict pain.  Four women that we know of--all ended up in the hospital.”

Callie swallowed, no longer hungry.

“His last victim was in a small town outside Shreveport, Louisiana.  No reason to think he’d show up here.  You’re a very lucky woman, Callie.”

“Yes...yes, I am.”  But maybe it wasn’t luck.  Maybe someone had saved her.  Someone who looked a lot like Sheriff Trask.  “I was wondering...I’ve been researching the history of the house.  Barb Dawson told me it once belonged to your family.  Would you happen to have any information on the Trask family who lived there?”

The sheriff smiled, a flash of white against his swarthy skin.  “I’ve got a ton of old stuff out at the ranch.  I’m not a great cook, but I’m a kick-ass barbeque griller.  I could fix you dinner and show you what I’ve got.”

“No wife or kids?”

“Nope.  Never found the right woman.”

She toyed with another fry.  “Barb told me about Brendan and Priscilla.  I guess you’re waiting for that kind of romance.”

The look in those intense blue eyes softened on her face.  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Callie couldn’t tear her gaze away.  “I’d love to come out for supper,” she said softly.

Trask’s eyes remained on her face.  “How about tonight?”

“What time?”

“Gets dark early.  I could pick you up around six.  It’s not that far to the ranch house.”

Chapter Eight

Brendan was right.  It wasn’t that far.  The original ranch house was gone, he told her as they drove along the two lane road.  She couldn’t see much through the darkness, but she knew the terrain was rugged in places, lots of trees and the river not far away.  The house had been built by his parents, Brendan said, who had wanted to be closer to town.  He’d moved back in a few years ago, when his dad and mom retired to Florida, a longtime dream.

He pulled up to a two-story brick house with upstairs dormer windows and a long covered porch out front.  “Welcome to my humble abode.” Brendan went around and helped her down from his truck then walked her to the door.

“I haven’t changed much since I moved in,” he said as they stepped into the entry.  “I’ll get around to it eventually.”

Callie glanced at the comfortable living room furniture, the antique buffet, and the handmade doilies.  “I like it.  It has a very warm feeling.”

“It’s homey, I guess.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

They went into the kitchen and Brendan poured her a glass of white wine.  He grabbed a beer for himself then started making supper.

As eager as she was to see the information Brendan might have on his family, she decided to relax and enjoy herself. She was out with a gorgeous man and she hadn’t done anything but work since she had moved to Sweet Springs.

She smiled as she watched him work.  Brendan was a serious griller.  While Callie made a salad and put a couple of potatoes in to bake, the sheriff used his big stainless barbeque to perfectly cook two medium rare steaks.

It was a delicious meal and Brendan was a good conversationalist, asking questions about her job and telling stories about his work as county sheriff.

From the moment she had met him, she’d felt a deep pull of attraction, not just because of his good looks and hard muscled body, but because he was smart, and she felt that she could trust him.

The attraction seemed to be mutual, reflected in those amazing blue eyes.  There was heat there, plenty of it.  Like the blue tip of a flame.

When the meal was over, she helped him clear the dishes, then he led her into the living where an overstuffed burgundy sofa and chairs sat in front of a mantled brick fireplace.  Photos dominated the wall above an antique mahogany buffet.

“You wanted to know about my family.  I’ve got old letters, photo albums, and all kinds of stuff.  The photos are my favorite.”

Callie walked over for a closer look, an odd sensation prickling her skin.  “Some of these pictures are really old.”

He nodded.  “The daguerreotypes date back to the eighteen sixties.”

She studied the early tin types.  Two in particular caught her eye, a man and a woman in oval mahogany frames facing each other.  Her pulse quickened.  “It’s them, isn’t it?  Those two photos.  Brendan and Priscilla.”

He nodded.  “Silla, he called her.  He would have been in his late thirties, early forties at the time the picture was made.”  He turned toward her.  “There’re a lot of photos up there.  How did you which ones they were?”

She toyed with a pretty lace doily on the sideboard.  “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”  She gazed up at him.  “I don’t want that to happen.  I really like you, Brendan.”

He smiled.  God, she loved the way he smiled, like it was always close, ready to surface at the first opportunity.

“I really like you, too, Callie.”  One of his big hands settled at her waist and he drew her closer, until they were touching full length.  He framed her face between his palms and Callie closed her eyes as he tipped her head back and settled his mouth over hers.  Softly at first, then deeper, their lips melding, fitting perfectly together.

A little whimper escaped at the rush of heat that burned through her and her arms slid up around his neck.  She could feel the muscles moving beneath his shirt as Brendan deepened the kiss, which went on and on, long, hot, and hungry, thoroughly arousing.

The ghostly Trask had nothing on the living, breathing version standing right in front of her.  When the kiss finally ended, Callie swayed toward him, and Brendan steadied her.

He ran a finger along her cheek.  “I had a feeling it was going to be like that.”

Callie looked up at him.  “So did I.”  But then she’d had a sneak preview.

Brendan’s gaze returned to the pictures on the wall and Callie’s gaze followed.  “You thought it was the outlaw Trask because he looks like me?” he asked.

Outlaw.  Shock rolled through her. “Your great great grandfather was an outlaw?”

“For a while he was.  He was pardoned.  Something about helping catch a bunch of smugglers down in Natchez.  They wrote a book about him, one of those pulp fiction westerns that made him more of a hero than he probably was.  It’s called Natchez Flame.”

“I’d love to read it sometime.”

Brendan studied the photos, including one taken with the couple and their kids years later.  “You know, you look a lot like Priscilla.”

She’d noticed that, too. “I’ve done some family genealogy.  I don’t think we’re related, but looking at her picture, I can certainly see the resemblance.  It’s uncanny how much I look like her.”  She studied the face of the woman with big dark eyes and thick dark hair.  Same chin, same nose, same mouth.  “Maybe that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

She turned and looked up at him, into those amazing blue eyes.  “The reason he came back to the house.  Maybe he thinks I’m Silla.”

“Wait a minute--”

“I know, I know.  But he’s been coming into my bedroom at night.  At first I thought I was dreaming, but one night...one night he kissed me and I opened my eyes and I saw him.  He was dressed like an outlaw or a gunslinger.  He looked just like you, Brendan, except for the scar below his jaw.”

“Whoa.  You think the ghost of my great great grandfather is in your house?”

She managed to nod.  “He’s young, though.  Somewhere around your age.”

“Sorry.  I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Neither do I.  At least I never did.  You know what’s even crazier?  I think he protected me the night Raymond Whitley broke into the house to rape me.  I think Brendan killed him.”

Chapter Nine

She hadn’t seen Brendan for the last three days.  She’d said she had seen a ghost.  He thought she was crazy.  No way would he ever call her again.  It bothered her more than it should have, considering how little time they’d spent together.

It was probably that amazing kiss.  She couldn’t remember a kiss affecting her so strongly, turning her knees to jelly and setting her body on fire.  She’d wanted to tear off his clothes and drag him into the bedroom.  She’d wanted to make love with him all night long and start again in the morning.

It wasn’t like her.  She hadn’t thought about sex for nearly a year, not since she had ended things with Adam.    Now Brendan was gone and there was no way he was coming back.  It made her heart hurt a little.

She was working at the clinic when her cell phone rang, just finished stitching up a little white schnauzer that had cuts its paw on a barbed wire fence.

“I’ll finish up,” Dr. Reynolds said.  He was mid-forties, a little too thin and a really nice guy.  “Go ahead and take the call.”

Callie hurried over and picked up the phone.  “This is Callie.”

“It’s Brendan.  Have you got a minute?”

Her stomach clenched.  For him, she had all the time in the world.  “I’m not busy at the moment.”  She walked into the back room for a little privacy, the phone pressed against her ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Callie. I really want to see you.”

A warm feeling spread through her.  She’d begun to accept that she wouldn’t be seeing him again.  “I’d like that, too.”

“Good.  That’s great.  Has the...ahh...ghost been back?”

Her fingers tightened around the phone.  She didn’t want to talk about ghosts.  She didn’t to ruin things again.  “No, not since...not since the night of the murder.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said firmly.  Something in his voice.  Impossible as it seemed, it sounded a lot like jealousy.

“I know someone who...ahh...thinks she can help,” he said.  “Any chance the two of us could come over tonight?”

He wanted to see her.  He wanted to help her.  He wanted to come over to the house.  The warm feelings expanded.  “Tonight would work.”

“Say eight o’clock?”

“All right.  I’ll see you then.”  She ended the call but still held onto the phone. Brendan was coming over.  She glanced at the clock.  It was almost six.  If nothing last-minute came up, she could go home and figure out what to wear.  She wanted to look good for him.

She just hoped all this talk about ghosts wasn’t going to send him running again.

Chapter Ten

Brendan stood on her doorstep at exactly eight p.m.  “Miss Aggie, this is Callie Sutton.  Callie, I’d like you to meet Agatha Hennessey.  Everyone calls her Miss Aggie.”

Callie smiled.  “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Aggie.”

“Miss Aggie’s from over in Jasper County.”  His gaze went to the woman beside him.  She was huge.   Not tall, but square, built like a box.  She must have weighed three hundred pounds.  “Miss Aggie is a seer.  My mom used to visit her for...ahh...advice.”

Callie inwardly smiled.  The sheriff must have had an interesting family.

“I appreciate your trying to help, Miss Aggie.  Please come in.”  Callie stepped back to welcome her guests into the house.  “Why don’t we sit in the parlor?  There’s coffee and chocolate chip cookies.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but the bakery in town is always good.”

They all took seats, Brendan next to Callie on the sofa, Miss Aggie in an overstuffed chair.  Callie filled her aunt’s pretty porcelain cups with coffee and passed them around, and Miss Aggie helped herself to cookies.  At least five of them vanished in her direction.

“I told Miss Aggie a little of what’s been going on,” Brendan said.  “She knows the story.  Hell, everyone in Sweet Springs County knows the story of Brendan and Priscilla.  It’s kind of the old West version of Romeo and Juliet except with a happy ending.”

“Or mostly happy,” Miss Aggie said.  “They had a long, happy life, but the end wasn’t so good for Brendan.  A problem came up at the ranch.  While he was gone, Priscilla took a turn for the worst.  She died while he was away.  As the story goes, he never forgave himself.  He died a few months after she did.”

Callie set her cup and saucer down on the coffee table.  “I know it sounds crazy, but I think he might still be here.”

Miss Aggie smiled.  “To someone like me, it doesn’t sound crazy at all.”  She finished the last of her cookie and heaved her big bulk up from the chair.  “I’m going to take a walk.  I’ll be back.”  She didn’t say more, just lumbered off down the hall.

Callie’s gaze went to Brendan.  “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again.”

A faint smile touched his lips.  “Because of the ghost?”

“Most guys wouldn’t want anything to do with a woman who thinks she lives in a house with a ghost.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who goes around making up stories.  Plus there’s the dead man on the stairs and no prints, no DNA, nothing.  In this day and age, that’s not easy to do.”

“That’s sort of what I was thinking.”

“Miss Aggie’s been a friend of the family for years.  I went to see her to ask her opinion.  She said she wanted to see for herself.”

Callie hadn’t seen the woman go upstairs, but she watched her making her way carefully back down.  She looked different somehow, calmer, an oddly vacant expression on her face.

“Have you got any candles?” she asked.

“Of course.  In case the power goes off.  I’ll get them.”  Callie returned with an assortment of candles.  She set two of them on the coffee table and one on the oak sideboard against the wall.  Brendan pulled a box of wooden matches out of his jeans and lit them.  It gave the living room a soft eerie glow.

“Be patient,” Miss Aggie said.  “He’s here.  I could feel him.”

Callie’s heart began to pound.  Brendan flashed her a glance, but made no comment.  He reached over and caught her hand, steadying her.

They sat in silence for half an hour, by the antique mantel clock.  It was strangely peaceful, until the candle flames started to flicker and Callie felt the sensation of a big hand sliding beneath her hair, settling possessively around the nape of her neck.

It wasn’t Brendan, whose hand still held hers.  Callie made a little sound in her throat that drew his attention.  His expression changed as he watched the dark curls move though no one else was touching her.

“I know you’re here, Brendan,” Miss Aggie said.  “And I know why you came.  But the lady in the house isn’t Priscilla.  She looks like your Silla, but her name is Callie.  Your Priscilla has gone on to the other side.  She’s waiting for you there.  She misses you terribly.  She’s been waiting a very long time.”

The candle on the sideboard flickered and went out.

“It’s true,” Miss Aggie said.  “She was gone when you came home, but you can find her again.  You don’t have to live without her.  You just have to look for the light.  Do you see it, Brendan?”

A loud whooshing sound filled the room, stirring the draperies.

“Callie belongs to the Brendan of this time.  He’ll take care of her.  He’ll protect her.”

In the candlelight, Brendan’s features looked hard.  He glanced at Miss Aggie, who nodded.  “Callie’s mine,” he said.  “She belongs to me.  She’s mine to protect.  I give you my solemn pledge that I will.”

Callie’s heart was beating.  Brendan sounded like he meant every word.

“Go on now,” Miss Aggie said.  “Move toward the light.  Go and find your Priscilla.  She’s waiting.  She loves you.  Just the way you love her.”

The house began to shake, rattling the windows, jiggling the antique stemware in the glass curio case.  A sudden burst of light lit the room, so bright Callie had to close her eyes.

Brendan’s hand tightened around hers.  “Jesus,” he said.

A roaring began, rising to a crescendo.  The bright light flashed again and something whooshed past them.  A fierce crack sounded, then a long heavy roll, like lightening followed by thunder.

Silence fell.  The old house slowly settled.  Brendan drew Callie into his arms and she felt a tremor run through his hard body.

“It’s over,” Miss Aggie said.  “He won’t be back.”  She smiled.  “He’s found her again after all these years.”

Callie turned her face into Brendan’s chest and started to cry.

Epilogue

It was the biggest social event in Sweet Springs that year.  The wedding of Sheriff Brendan Trask to the town’s new resident, Callie Sutton.  Those that couldn’t make it to the ceremony in the little white church showed up for the party out at the ranch.  Bets were made how long it would take before the first little Trask was born.

Not long, Callie figured, considered how much practice they got.  She grinned.

The ghost of the outlaw Trask had never reappeared.  Callie firmly believed he was happy with his beloved Priscilla on the other side.

The search for the man who had killed the Red Rose rapist eventually came to an end.  Brendan let the case fade away on its own accord.  Though he never mentioned it again, like Callie, he believed the outlaw Brendan had saved Callie that night.

All was well in the little town of Sweet Springs.

Callie believed, at last, all was well on the other side, too.

Author’s Note

I hope you enjoyed OUTLAW GHOST.  I have no idea where the idea came from to write a ghost story about characters from one of my old books, but suddenly there it was inside my head.

The outlaw, Brendan Trask, and his lady, Priscilla Wills, appear in NATCHEZ FLAME, a tale set in Texas in 1846.  If you liked OUTLAW GHOST and you’re curious about the first Brendan Trask and his lady, I hope you’ll look for NATCHEZ FLAME and that you enjoy the book!

I also want to introduce you to my new Maximum Security series, starting with book 1 in the series, THE CONSPIRACY, which came out in hardcover January 2019, followed by THE DECEPTION in September 2019.

The series, set in Dallas, revolves around Chase Garrett, the owner, his brothers, Reese and Brandon, and the men and women who work at The Max.

In THE CONSPIRACY, Michael Winston has disappeared.  Desperate to find him, his sister, Harper, turns to the wealthy owner of Maximum Security, Chase Garrett, once Michael’s best friend.  Dealing with the Winston crime family goes against everything Chase stands for, but old loyalties die hard.  With time running out, Chase must find a way to keep Harper safe—and both of them alive.

In my latest Romantic Thriller, THE DECEPTION, Kate Gallagher is devastated when she learns her sister has been murdered.  Determined to find Chrissy’s killer, Kate hires lethal bounty hunter, Hawk Maddox.  Working together, they follow a trail of clues that lead them deep into the city’s underbelly.  Though Hawk warns Kate of the danger, nothing he says can convince Kate to walk away.

I hope you’ll watch for THE CONSPIRACY and THE DECEPTION, and that you enjoy.  Keep reading for a sneak preview for both books.

Till next time, all best wishes and happy reading, Kat.

P.S. Follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and join my mailing list!

KAT'S LATEST RELEASE: THE DECEPTION (BOOK 2)

Chapter One

Dallas, Texas

"I'm sorry, Ms. Gallagher.  I know this is terribly painful, but unless there's someone else who can make a positive identification--"

Kate shook her head.  "No.  There's no one else."

"All right then, if you will please follow me."  The medical examiner, Dr. Jerome Maxwell, a man in his fifties with thick black hair threaded with gray, started down the hall, but Kate stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Are you...are you completely sure it's my sister?  The victim is definitely Christina Gallagher?"

"There was a fingerprint match to your missing sister.  I'm sorry.  We'll still need your confirmation."

Kate's stomach rolled.  Her hand trembled as she followed the doctor down a narrow, endless hallway in the Dallas County morgue.  The echo of her high heels on the stark gray linoleum sent a sweep of nausea through her.

The doctor paused outside a half glass door.  "I warn you, this is going to be difficult.  Are you sure there isn't someone you can call, someone else who could make the identification?"

Kate's throat tightened.  "My father's remarried and living in New York.  He hasn't seen Chrissy in years."

"And your mother?" the doctor asked kindly.

"She died of a heart attack a year after Chrissy ran away."  For Madeleine Gallagher, losing both her husband and her daughter had simply been too much.

The doctor straightened his square black glasses.  "Are you ready?"

"I'll never be ready to see my sister's murdered body, Dr. Maxwell.  But I'm all Chrissy has, so let's get it over with."

The doctor opened the door and they walked out of a hallway that seemed overly warm into a room that was icy cold.  A shiver rushed over Kate's skin and her heart beat faster.  As Dr. Maxwell moved toward a rollout table in front of a wall of cold-storage boxes, Kate could see the outline of a body beneath the stark white sheet.

Emotion tightened her chest.  This was her baby sister, only sixteen the last time Kate had seen her two years ago, before she had run away.

The doctor nodded to a female assistant in a white lab coat standing next to the table, and the woman pulled back the sheet.

"Dear God."  The bile rose in Kate's throat.  She swayed and the doctor caught her arm to steady her.

"Is this your sister, Christina Gallagher?"

Tears welled and slipped down her cheeks.  "It's...it's her."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the doctor said.

"Thank...thank you."  Tears blurred her vision and her head swam as she walked out of the building into the sunlight and crossed the parking lot to her car.  She wouldn't be returning to her office today.  She needed time to grieve.

Kate slid in behind the wheel and shoved her key into the ignition.  Fresh pain struck so hard she couldn't breathe.  Instead of starting the engine, Kate put her head down on the steering wheel and started to weep.

Jason Hawkins Maddox sat at the old fashioned long bar in the Sagebrush Saloon, a country western hangout with a juke box in the corner for dancing.  Tonight he was there on business, meeting an informant he hoped would give him a lead on the fugitive he was hunting, Randall Darren Harding.

Harding, a cement contractor, had been arrested for the brutal murder of his ex-girlfriend.  He'd been out on bail when he'd decided to flee instead of standing trial, where most likely he would have been convicted.

From what Jase could find out, Harding was a rotten, self-centered, mean-tempered bastard, the kind who could wind up killing again.  He'd strangled his girlfriend in a fit of rage, but a fancy lawyer had gotten him out on bail.

The reward for catching him was a fat fifteen percent of his million and a half dollar bond.  Jase planned to collect.

Thus his meeting with Tommy Dieter at the Sagebrush Saloon.

It was relatively early, a little after nine p.m., but the place was already more than half full.  The décor was rustic, with a sea of wooden tables.  A big dance floor dominated the interior, the juke belting Willie Nelson for the couples that were

In the mirror in the carved oak back bar across from him, he could see himself on a bar stool next to a little guy in a blue Texas Rangers baseball cap.  The little guy made Jase look even bigger than his six-foot four-inch, two hundred twenty pound frame.

So far Tommy hadn't showed, but he wasn't due for at least another hour.  In the meantime, Jase was enjoying the local scenery, his attention fixed on the tall blonde with the pretty face, sexy curves, and amazing cleavage, but then half the guys in the bar were watching her.

In a short jeans skirt, a pair of cowboy boots, and a bright pink tank top, she had danced five times in a row.  If he weren't there on business, he might ask her for a turn around the floor himself.  Jase watched the blonde dancing with a lanky biker too short for her, too skinny, and a few years too young.

She wasn't meant for the boy biker, but she was just Jase's type, luscious, with legs that went on forever.  And as she slid her arms around the boy biker's neck and he pulled her close, clearly uninhibited.  It didn't take much to imagine the way she'd feel moving beneath him.

He picked up his beer and took a drink.  He'd been watching her all evening.  The good news was, she'd been watching him, too.

When the song came to an end, she left the boy biker and walked right up to him, the heels on her boots pushing her closer to his height.

She smiled.  "You like to dance, cowboy?"

"Depends."

"On what?  The song?"

"Who I'm dancing with."

A dark blond eyebrow went up.  "Is that right..."

"That's right, darlin', and you'll do just fine."  Without waiting for a reply, Jase swept her onto the dance floor.  She felt good in his arms, fit him just right.  She was a good dancer, but so was he.  He was a Texan.  He'd done all the usual things a Texas boy did.  Played football, drank beer down on the river, rode horses, and two-stepped.

"What's your name?" he asked as he whirled her around the floor

"Kate."  She smiled.  "You're Hawk."  Her smile widened into a grin that etched a dimple into her cheek and he felt a jolt of heat.  "I like it,"  she said.  "It's sexy."

"You think so?"  As the song came to an end, he drew her off the dance floor into the shadows, took a chance she wouldn't slap his face, and kissed her.

She softened against him and kissed him back, and he took it a little deeper, felt the rush hit his system.  Since they were standing in a bar full of people, he didn't let it go too far.

Kate ran a finger along his jaw.  "You looked like you'd be a good kisser and you are," she said.

"We can go outside and I'll show you just how good I can be, but it's gotta be up to you."

Something flickered in her big brown eyes and for a moment  her bright smile faded.  "I need that tonight.  Just this once, just to help me forget."  Her bottom lip trembled an instant before her saucy grin returned.  "Come on, cowboy, let's go."

BUY LINK:  THE DECEPTION

Order from Amazon

THE CONSPIRACY (BOOK 1)

Chapter One

Dallas, Texas

She knew who he was. The only man at the gala in a black tuxedo and shiny black alligator cowboy boots. Chase Garrett. The man she intended to hire to help her find her missing brother.

Harper Winston had known Chase since the day her father had thrown an obnoxiously extravagant party in honor of her sixteenth birthday.

Chase had attended with her older brother, Michael. She had spotted Chase in a swimsuit standing next to the pool, tall, with a lean, hard-muscled body, whiskey-brown eyes and thick, dark blond hair. In the sun it had gleamed like pirate’s gold.

Aside from the close-trimmed beard along a jaw that had hardened with maturity, Chase hadn’t changed. He still had the perfectly symmetrical features of a movie star combined with a toughness that appealed to a legion of women.

Now that she was thirty, Chase thirty-five, Harper still found him ridiculously attractive, though he’d never given her more than a passing glance.

He didn’t notice her tonight, though she wore an elegant strapless black gown that hugged her slender curves and set off the pale blond hair she wore long and slightly turned under. She glanced over to where he stood next to a stunning brunette, a successful lawyer in Dallas, the typical sort of woman Chase dated. Self-made career women, professors, bankers, stockbrokers. Not someone like her, the daughter of a wealthy Texas businessman, a woman who had attended Sarah Lawrence along with a bevy of other rich socialites from around the country.

It didn’t matter that she was nothing like they were. That she hadn’t the least interest in society. Her interests lay in the business world, in Elemental Chic, the company she had started, a line of affordable, stylish and well-made casual clothing and accessories.

She wasn’t cut out for teaching or social work, she had discovered during a year of volunteer work in South America, an adventure she had undertaken mostly because her father disapproved.

Harvard Business School was where she was meant to be, she had grudgingly conceded. As her father had insisted and was eager to pay for—business being one of the few interests she and Knox Winston, a self-made multimillionaire, had in common.

Unlike her father, Chase Garrett came from big money, which he disdained, though he and his two brothers had inherited a not-so-small fortune from Bass Garrett, Chase’s dad.

Harper lifted a champagne flute off a passing waiter’s tray and took a sip. Chase might not notice her tonight, but he was the reason she was there. She hadn’t seen him in years, but when she had read in the newspaper that he would be attending the gala, she’d seized the opportunity. She wanted to see the man he had become, the man she would be facing tomorrow morning.

It didn’t matter what he thought of her as a woman. She needed his professional assistance. Her brother was in trouble. She knew it deep in her soul. Mikey had disappeared, and Chase was among the few people she trusted to help her find him.

Chase owned Maximum Security, a firm that specialized in private investigation, bail enforcement, personal protection, business and residential security. She had done her homework, knew he had offices in Phoenix and San Diego as well as here in Dallas. Chase was wildly successful, his reputation impeccable.

No matter his opinion of her, he had once been a close friend of her brother’s, a man Michael trusted completely. She needed Chase’s help, and she was determined to convince him.

She wouldn’t give up until she did.

***

Standing next to Chase, Marla Chambers, his date for the evening, took a drink of her martini. “You don’t look like you’re having a very good time,” she said. “Should I be insulted?”

His mouth edged up. “Sorry. I was thinking about a case. I can’t seem to get it off my mind.”

“The missing teenage girl?”

He’d mentioned her earlier. He nodded. “Tammy Bennett. Her parents think she’s been kidnapped. They’ve managed to convince the police, who are in the middle of an all-out search. I think she’s a runaway.”

“Are you working for the parents?”

“No. I just happened to hear something on the street today. I’d like to check it out.”

She eyed him with speculation. “And you’re wishing you were doing that now instead of being here with me.”

He hated to admit she was right. His gaze ran over the attractive brunette he had been seeing for the past couple of weeks. He enjoyed Marla’s company. Enjoyed her in bed. But it wasn’t serious for either of them, and he kept thinking of the missing fourteen-year-old, a story that had been all over the news.

“She’s just a kid. If my source is right, she’s in very big trouble, and I might be able to find her.”

“I don’t suppose you could let the police handle it.”

“I could. I need to check it out first, make sure the tip is real.”

Marla shook her head, went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Then you’d better go.”

“What about you? You don’t look like you’re ready to leave.”

“I’m a big girl. I’ll stay awhile longer, catch a cab when it’s time to go home.”

Chase set his scotch down on one of the linen-draped tables. “Thanks, Marla. I appreciate this.”

“Call me tomorrow. Let me know what happens.”

“If I’m right, you’ll see it on the news.” Chase left Marla chatting with a friend and headed for the door. As he made his way through the throng of elegantly dressed men and women, an attractive blonde caught his eye.  Tall, with a slender figure, porcelain skin, and big blue eyes. She looked familiar.

As the puzzle pieces slid together, he recognized her, Harper Winston, the younger sister of his best friend in college. As a teenager, Harper had been pretty. Looking at her tonight, seeing her for the first time in years, he realized she had grown into a beautiful woman.

Unfortunately, she was a Winston. Her father, Knox Winston, was one of his least favorite people. Ruthless in business, his crooked dealings had made him a very wealthy man. But worse than his shady business enterprises was the mental abuse he’d heaped on his son that had put Michael on a downward spiral into drugs. And effectively destroyed his friendship with Chase.

Chase had steered clear of the Winstons ever since. He remembered hearing Harper had moved to Houston some years back. After that, he’d lost track of her and Michael, and he intended to keep it that way.

Though he had to admit as he took in Harper’s sleek curves and shiny silver-blond hair, he wouldn’t mind taking her to bed.

Even if the lady was of a similar mind, renewing his connection with the Winstons was the last thing he wanted. Besides, as he thought back on it, Harper had a reputation for being as cool and remote as she looked.

On his way out the door, he passed her. For an instant, her gorgeous blue eyes slid over him, and Chase felt a jolt of heat he hadn’t expected. He wouldn’t pursue it. Sleeping with Harper Winston, no matter how good it might be, just wasn’t worth it.

His thoughts returned to the task ahead, and Chase headed for the valet stand, a harsh October wind whipping against him on the way. He needed to get home and change. He couldn’t go to the Double Eagle dressed in a tuxedo—the bar was in Old East Dallas, one of the meanest sections of the city.

Earlier that day as a favor to Jason Maddox, a bail enforcement agent in his office who was looking for a skip, he had contacted one of his sources. During the conversation, his informant had mentioned the missing girl. Bennie had figured the tip was worth money, and if it turned into anything, Chase would gladly pay him.

It didn’t take long to reach the high-rise building on Pearl Street where he lived. He parked his silver Mercedes in the garage next to the brown Dodge Ram pickup he used for work.

Taking the elevator up to the seventeenth floor, he stepped into the entry and crossed the high-ceiling living room. An oversize sofa in a nubby cream fabric, dark brown throw pillows and lots of dark wood gave the condo a masculine tone that suited him. Stylized contemporary Western art hung on the walls.

With thirty-five hundred square feet of space, a spectacular view of the city, and a big terrace that opened off the living room and master bedroom, the condo was expensive and worth every dime.

Changing out of the tux, he pulled on a pair of worn jeans, a frayed blue denim shirt and a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. He retrieved the little .380 he carried when he wanted a weapon he could easily conceal, clipped the holster onto his belt behind his back and pulled his shirttail down over it.

It didn’t take long to reach the bar. The Dodge was ten years old, a few dents here and there, the paint a little faded, which helped it blend in. But the tires were new, and under the hood, the rebuilt engine ran like a scalded dog. He parked it on the street half a block from the bar and hoped the truck wouldn’t get jacked.

Looking at the trash on the sidewalk, broken beer bottles, used hypodermic needles, and drunks asleep in the gutter, part of him hoped his information was wrong and the girl wasn’t there.

The other half hoped like hell she was.

If he got lucky, maybe he could get her out of there.

BUY LINKS:  THE CONSPIRACY

Order from Amazon

MAXIMUM SECURITY SERIES

The Conspiracy

1/22/19

The Deception

9/10/19

Book 3

6/1/2020

Wait Until Dark

11/1/18

After the Sunrise

12/2/18

Shadows at Dawn

8/12/19

Links to more of Kat's romantic suspense books!

Beyond Control

Beyond Danger

Beyond Reason

Into the Firestorm

Into the Whirlwind

Into the Fury

Against the Tide

Against the Sky

Against the Wild

Against the Mark

Against the Edge

Against the Odds

Against the Sun

Against the Night

Against the Storm

Against the Law

Against the Fire

Against the Wind