LITMIR.BIZ

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would have a field day. He cringed at the thought of seeing the autopsy photos while he was standing in line at the supermarket, where the tabloids were displayed at the checkout counter. These days, some reporters thought nothing of the family’s right to privacy. After all, a scoop was still a scoop.

      He put the case to the back of his mind, as he tried to most every day. He only had a few days left in Jacobsville. He was going to do his job and then pack up and go home. In between, he was going to try to explain to Winnie Sinclair why his attitude toward her had been so violent at the Christmas party. He didn’t want to encourage her, but he couldn’t leave with the image of her hurt expression in his mind.

      WINNIE HAD JUST SPENT a harrowing half hour routing two police cars to a standoff at a convenience store. In fact, it was one of only three convenience stores in the entire county. The perpetrator, a young husband with a history of bad decisions, had gotten drunk and decided to get some quick cash to buy a pretty coat for his wife. When the clerk pulled out a shotgun, the young man had fired and hit the clerk in the chest. He’d holed up in the store with the wounded man when patrons had called the police.

      Winnie had dispatched a Jacobsville police officer to the scene. Another officer had called in to say he was going to back up the first officer. It was a usual thing. The officers looked out for each other, just as the dispatchers did.

      There was no hostage negotiator, as such, but Cash Grier filled the position for his department. He talked the young man out of his gun. Thank God, the boy hadn’t been drunk enough to ignore the chief and come out shooting. Cash had disarmed him and then had Winnie tell the paramedics to come on in. It was routine for paramedics to be dispatched and then to stage just outside the scene of a dangerous situation until law enforcement made sure it was safe for them to go in. It was just another example of how the emergency services looked out for each other.

      THE CLERK WAS BADLY INJURED, but he would live. The young man went to the detention center to be booked and await arraignment. Winnie was happy that they were able to avert a tragedy.

      She drove her little VW back to the ranch, and she felt happy. It was hard to go through the day after Kilraven’s pointed snub at the Christmas party. She was still stinging, and not only from that. Her mother’s visit had unsettled her even more.

      When she got home, she found Keely and Boone waiting for her in the living room.

      “There’s a carnival in town. We’re going,” Keely said, “and you’re going with us. You need a little R & R after all that excitement at work.”

      “How did you know …?” Winnie exclaimed.

      “Boone has a scanner,” Keely pointed out, grinning.

      Boone grinned, too.

      Winnie laughed, putting the coat she’d just shrugged out of back on. “Okay, I’m game. Let’s go pitch pennies and win plates.”

      Boone threw up his hands. “Honey, you could buy those plates for a nickel apiece at the Dish Barn downtown!”

      “It’s more fun if you win them,” Winnie said primly. “Besides, I want cotton candy and a ride on the Octopus!”

      “So do I,” Keely said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she called to Boone as they went through the back door. “The cotton candy will be all gone!”

      “Not to worry,” he said, locking up. “They’ll make more.”

      THE CARNIVAL WAS LOUD and colorful and the music was heady. Winnie ate cotton candy and went on the Octopus with Keely, laughing as the wind whipped through their hair and the music warbled among the bright lights.

      Later, ankle deep in sawdust, Winnie stood before the penny pitching booth and the vendor gave her a handful of change in exchange for her two dollar bills. She was actually throwing nickels or dimes, not pennies, but she always thought of it in terms of the smaller bits of change. Just as she contemplated the right trajectory to land a coin on a plate, she spotted Dr. Bentley Rydel standing very close to Cappie Drake. Behind them, and closing in, was Officer Kilraven, still in uniform. Winnie paused to look at him. He spoke to the couple and laughed. But then he saw Winnie over their heads and his smile faded. He turned abruptly and walked right out of the carnival. Winnie felt her heart sink to the level of the ground. Well, he’d made his opinion of her quite clear, she thought miserably. He hadn’t forgiven her for the painting. She turned back to the booth, but not with any real enthusiasm. The evening had been spoiled.

      CASH GRIER CALLED Kilraven a few days later and asked for his help. Cappie Drake and her brother were in danger. Her brother had been badly beaten by Cappie’s violent ex-boyfriend, just released from jail on a battery conviction stemming from an attack on her. Now he seemed to be out for blood. Eb Scott had detailed men to watch Cappie, but Kell was going to need some protection; he was in a San Antonio hospital where he’d just undergone back surgery to remove a shifted shrapnel sliver that had paralyzed him years ago. Cash asked Kilraven to go up and keep an eye on Kell until San Antonio police could catch the perp.

      Kilraven went gladly. It was a relief to get out of town, even for a couple of days. But it was soon over, and he was back in Jacobsville again, fighting his feelings for Winnie. He was still no closer to a solution for his problem. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with the discomfort he felt at leaving Winnie Sinclair behind forever. And there was still that odd coincidence with the painting. He really needed to know why she’d painted it.

      In the meantime, Alice Jones had called him with some shocking news. The bit of paper in the dead man’s hand in Jacobsville had contained Kilraven’s cell phone number. Now he knew he’d been right to ask for that time off to work on his cold case. The dead man had known something about the murders and he’d been trying to contact Kilraven when he’d been killed. It was a break that might crack the case, if they could identify the victim and his contacts.

      THE NEXT WEEK, WINNIE worked a shift she wasn’t scheduled for, filling in for Shirley, who was out sick. When she got off that afternoon, to her surprise, she found Kilraven waiting for her at the door.

      She actually gasped out loud. His silver eyes were glittery as he stared down at her.

      “Hello,” she stammered.

      He didn’t reply. “Get in your car and follow me,” he said quietly.

      He walked to his squad car. He was technically off duty, but still in uniform. Officers in Jacobsville drove their cars home, so that they were prepared any time they had to be called in. He got in his car and waited until Winnie fumbled her way into her VW. He drove off, and she drove after him. Glancing to one side, she noted two of the operators who were on break staring after them and grinning. Oh, boy, she thought, now there’s going to be some gossip.

      Kilraven drove out of the city and down the long, winding dirt road that led to his rental house. The road meandered on past his house to join with a paved road about a mile on. His house was the only one on this little stretch. He must like privacy, Winnie thought, because this certainly wasn’t on anybody’s main route.

      He pulled up at the front door, cut off the engine and got out of his car. Winnie did the same.

      “I’ll make coffee,” he said after he unlocked the door and led her into the kitchen.

      She looked around, curious at the utter lack of anything personal in the utilitarian surroundings. Well, except for the painting she’d done for him. It was lying on the counter, face up.

      She felt uncomfortable at his lack of small talk. She put her purse on the counter near the door that led down the hall to the living room. “How’s Kell Drake?” she asked.

      He turned, curious.

      “We heard about it from Barbara last week,” she said, mentioning the café where everybody ate. Barbara was the adoptive mother of San Antonio homicide detective Rick Marquez. “She has Rick at home. He’s getting better, but he sure wants to find whoever beat him up,” she added grimly.

      “So do we. He’s one tough bird, or

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