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  A metallic bang had the crowd cheering. She shook her head in bemusement. Tucking her chin into the collar of her hooded jacket, she watched two couples approach a food truck. One of them was pushing a pink baby stroller piled high with blankets. A lone man trailed a few steps behind, obviously with them but the expression on his face clearly said he’d rather not be.

  Piper smiled in commiseration. This was the last place she wanted to be, too.

  Maybe a hairbreadth shy of six feet, the loner had thick coal-black hair that reminded her of the mane on one of her bays. It was a shame he kept it so short, not that it wasn’t attractive cut that way. The style accentuated the sharp angles of his face, his strong jaw.

  He wore a hip-length jacket, but it did little to conceal his thick biceps or the way his muscular thighs filled out his worn blue jeans. He looked fit and strong, the kind of man who could easily control even the most stubborn of stallions. But there was an innate gentleness in his easy smile as he bent over the baby stroller that spoke of a kind heart. Piper couldn’t imagine him wielding a whip to force a recalcitrant horse to bend to his will.

  She shook her head at her silly thoughts. His dark good looks definitely appealed. But making assumptions about his temperament based on appearance was just as foolish as judging a Thoroughbred without running it around a track. It was also a waste of time. Why had she become so fixated on him when she should have sneaked into the tent by now?

  The answer hit her like a fist to the stomach.

  It was that black jacket that he was wearing, and the fact that his two male friends, and even the blonde woman without the baby stroller, wore the same kind of jackets.

  Exactly the same.

  The hair prickled on her arms. All four exuded an air of confidence and authority, of temporarily banked power, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. Behind the smiles and laughs, there was a guardedness about their posture, as if they were keeping a well-practiced eye out for trouble, hyperaware of their surroundings.

  Just like police officers did.

  That would explain the matching jackets. She’d bet the overdue mortgage payment on her ranch that those jackets were reversible, and if you turned them inside out, they’d have words printed on the back, something like Destiny Police Department.

  Her hand tightened around her knife.

  There’s nothing to see here. Keep moving. Go watch the silly car bashing on the other side of the field.

  The couple with the stroller stopped at a cotton candy booth about thirty feet from Piper’s hiding place. The other couple didn’t seem lovey-dovey like the first. It dawned on her that maybe, since they were wearing matching jackets that screamed “cop,” they were just coworkers out having fun rather than a couple. But the loner of the group—the dark-haired man she’d been admiring earlier—stood a short distance away from the rest of them, arms crossed over his chest.

  In spite of the brisk air, a bead of sweat trickled between Piper’s breasts. Had she thought him kind looking before? Because now the concentration and focus on his face as he studied his surroundings seemed almost lethal, dangerous, like a feral predator looking for his next meal.

  His head suddenly swiveled toward her. She sucked in a breath and jerked back around the corner.

  Stupid, stupid. She shouldn’t have stood there so long. It wasn’t like she was seventeen again, crushing on the high school quarterback. High school was six years ago, a lifetime ago. And she had far more important things to worry about—like salvaging her livelihood, and the livelihoods of everyone who worked for her. She couldn’t let them down. Had he seen her? Did she look as guilty as she felt? Cops had a sixth sense about things.

  She listened intently for the sound of his boots against the hard-packed dirt coming toward the tent. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear it pulsing in her ears.

  Calm down. No one knows what you’re about to do. Not even hot-cop.

  A sharp whinny sounded from inside the tent. Piper’s breath caught. She knew that beloved whinny. Tears sprang to her eyes. She drew a shaky breath, then another. There were no sounds of footsteps approaching. Maybe he hadn’t seen her after all, or hadn’t been concerned if he had. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now. She was all out of options and this was her run for the roses.

  The whinny sounded again.

  She flipped open the knife, then slipped into the tent.

  * * *

  COLBY TRUDGED ALONG behind the SWAT team leader and fellow detective, Dillon Gray, and Dillon’s wife, who was pushing their sleeping six-month-old daughter in a stroller. The other two fellow detectives and SWAT officers with them, Blake and Donna, had hurried ahead to save seats at the derby. But hurrying was the last thing that Colby wanted to do. He was content to let the space between him and the Grays get longer and longer. Being the third wheel, or fifth wheel in this case, wasn’t exactly at the top of his “how I wanted to spend my Saturday” list.

  Plan A had been to play couch potato and watch a rerun of last year’s Super Bowl. But his well-meaning friends, who were worried that he was “moping” over his recent breakup with his girlfriend, had forced him to dump Plan A. Plan B was to sneak out of the fair and go back home. Unfortunately, from the way Dillon kept looking over his shoulder, Plan B wasn’t looking too promising.

  So much for a relaxing weekend.

  His friends meant well, which was the only reason he’d given in to their pestering to come here. But their concern was hardly necessary. Colby and his ex-girlfriend had parted on good terms, mutually agreeing that they were better suited as friends than lovers. Neither of them was suffering over the breakup and she was already dating someone else. Just because Colby hadn’t started a new relationship yet didn’t mean that he was unhappy. But Dillon’s matchmaking wife, Ashley, couldn’t accept that he could be happy alone. And her ridiculously love-smitten husband ruthlessly used his position as lead detective and head of the SWAT team to force Colby to go along with Ashley’s wishes.

  Judging by the occasional commiserating looks that Blake had shot him this morning, Colby was certain that he didn’t want to be here either. But Blake was still new to the team and was having a hard time fitting in. So he wasn’t about to put up a fuss. The SWAT team was going to the fair and then to a cookout at Max’s house, yet another member of their team, whether they wanted to or not. Dillon had decreed it.

  Colby hunched into his police-issued jacket, grateful for the insulated lining that kept him relatively warm. The smell of buttery popcorn carried across the cold breeze that blew through the pine trees. Maybe he could snag a bag later to eat while he watched the recording of that football game. If he was ever allowed to go home.

  Slowing his steps even more, he glanced longingly at his brand-new dark blue 4x4 Chevy pickup parked in a field of weeds that had been transformed into a parking lot for the week. But when he looked back toward his friends, he saw that they’d stopped. Dillon was facing him, right hand on his hip, about where his holster rested beneath his jacket. Colby rolled his eyes at the empty threat but plodded forward anyway.

  The wind blew again, bringing with it something new—a sound. Something that didn’t fit with the crowd noise in the distance or the vendors restocking for the rush they expected after the derby.

  He stopped and turned around. What had he heard? The scuffling of feet against dirt? Muted voices? A muffled argument? Something had the little hairs standing up on his arms and the back of his neck, and it wasn’t the wintry air. Had the sound come from the huge burlap tent about fifty feet away?

  He’d noticed someone standing there earlier, their features concealed beneath a dark blue hooded jacket. But they’d ducked back when he’d looked their way. He’d been tempted to confront them, to see whether they were up to no good. But Ashley had distracted him by asking him a question. By the time he’d looked back toward the stranger
, they’d disappeared.

  The person he’d seen was probably just one of the handlers or one of the riders. When the derby and intermission were over, there was going to be a parade of horses to entertain the crowds. Ribbons and prize money would be handed out for a variety of categories. And after that there would be a horse race, one of the main reasons that Dillon had wanted to come. Horses were his life outside the SWAT team and his detective work.

  Colby had grown up in Destiny just like Dillon. And since it seemed like every other house outside town had horses, including Colby’s family, he knew his way around them just as well as anybody. But that didn’t mean he wanted to hang around them in his off time. He’d much rather nurse a beer and put his feet up while he cheered on his favorite football team, even if it was a rerun.

  Man, he’d really wanted to watch that game today.

  When he didn’t hear anything else, he turned around and jogged toward Dillon.

  A high-pitched scream sounded behind him.

  Colby whipped around. Another scream rang out. It had come from the tent where he’d seen the hooded figure. He yanked his gun out of the holster and took off in a dead run.

  Copyright © 2018 by Lena Diaz

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  IMPRINT: Intrigue

  ISBN: 9781489264909

  TITLE: SIN AND BONE

  First Australian Publication 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Debra Webb

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, N.S.W., Australia 2000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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