Denim Detective

  Deedra felt a sudden chill, as though she was being watched

  Stalked. Targeted.

  The glint flashed from outside again. Suddenly a loud crash resounded from outside and the picture window exploded inward. She buried her scream in Beau’s wide chest as glass rained into the room. Beau caught her in a bear hug and set her behind him out of harm’s way.

  He moved with stealth and grace. Another bullet crashed into the room. Wood paneling cracked. Deedra shrieked and scrambled into the kitchen. From her position she watched Beau activate the secret paneling beside the fireplace and pull his favorite hunting rifle from the depths of the storage wall lined with guns. She knew every gun was kept cleaned and loaded. Natural predators—grizzlies, cougars, rattlers and even coyotes—often wandered too near for safety. Deedra shivered.

  This time the predator was human….

  Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

  As you make travel plans for the summer, don’t forget to pack along this month’s exciting new Harlequin Intrigue books!

  The notion of being able to rewrite history has always been fascinating, so be sure to check out Secret Passage by Amanda Stevens. In this wildly innovative third installment in QUANTUM MEN, supersoldier Zac Riley must complete a vital mission, but his long-lost love is on a crucial mission of her own! Opposites combust in Wanted Woman by B.J. Daniels, which pits a beautiful daredevil on the run against a fiercely protective deputy sheriff—the next book in CASCADES CONCEALED.

  Julie Miller revisits THE TAYLOR CLAN when one of Kansas City’s finest infiltrates a crime boss’s compound and finds himself under the dangerous spell of an aristocratic beauty. Will he be the Last Man Standing? And in Legally Binding by Ann Voss Peterson—the second sizzling story in our female-driven in-line continuity SHOTGUN SALLYS—a reformed bad boy rancher needs the help of the best female legal eagle in Texas to clear him of murder!

  Who can resist those COWBOY COPS? In our latest offering in our Western-themed promotion, Adrianne Lee tantalizes with Denim Detective. This gripping family-in-jeopardy tale has a small-town sheriff riding to the rescue, but he’s about to learn one doozy of a secret…. And finally this month you are cordially invited to partake in Her Royal Bodyguard by Joyce Sullivan, an enchanting mystery about a commoner who discovers she’s a betrothed princess and teams up with an enigmatic bodyguard who vows to protect her from evildoers.

  Enjoy our fabulous lineup this month!

  Sincerely,

  Denise O’Sullivan

  Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

  DENIM DETECTIVE

  ADRIANNE LEE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When asked why she wanted to write romance fiction, Adrianne Lee replied, “I wanted to be Doris Day when I grew up. You know—singing my way through one wonderful romance after another. And I did. I fell in love with and married my high school sweetheart and became the mother of three beautiful daughters. Family and love are very important to me, and I hope you enjoy the way I weave them through my stories.” Adrianne also states, “I love hearing from my readers and am happy to write back. You can reach me at Adrianne Lee, P.O. Box 3835, Sequim, WA 98382. Please enclose a SASE if you’d like a response.”

  Books by Adrianne Lee

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  296—SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE

  354—MIDNIGHT COWBOY

  383—EDEN’S BABY

  422—ALIAS: DADDY

  438—LITTLE GIRL LOST

  479—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE

  496—THE BEST-KEPT SECRET

  524—THE BRIDE’S SECRET

  580—LITTLE BOY LOST

  609—UNDERCOVER BABY

  627—HIS ONLY DESIRE

  678—PRINCE UNDER COVER

  696—SENTENCED TO WED

  781—DENIM DETECTIVE

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Beau Shanahan—A snap decision has brought a killer bent on revenge into this small-town sheriff’s life. Someone who wants an eye for an eye. Someone who causes Beau’s daughter's death, then comes gunning for his wife.

  Deedra Shanahan—Fear of a killer drives Beau’s wife to take extreme actions.

  Callie Shanahan—Has this two-year-old really been snatched?

  Floyd Mann—This former white supremacist exacts revenge for his wife’s accidental death.

  Nora Lee Anderson—Is she the rookie cop she purports to be, or is that just her cover?

  Heck Long—Beau’s deputy takes things at face value, which makes him more hindrance than help.

  T. R. Rudway—A legal eagle too upscale for the likes of Buffalo Falls.

  Luanne Pine—Beau’s office worker is grieving the loss of her best friend, but she might be more lethal than ditzy.

  Dr. Elle Warren—A psychologist who is as obsessive as some of her patients.

  For my mother, Virginia Lee “Pete” Pozzi.

  I was blessed to be your daughter.

  I will never forget you. Or stop missing you.

  Special thanks to Denise O’Sullivan, whose support and understanding through a difficult time in my life has made things easier for me at every turn. Also, to Anne Martin, Gayle Webster and Mary Alice Mierz—who all know why.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Cabin looks deserted,” the deputy said.

  “Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving.” No one knew that better than Beau Shanahan. He glared at the backwoods Montana shack, hate a dark shadow on his heart. He’d lost everything that ever mattered to the cop-killing, family-wrecking scumbag who owned this pile of reject scrap.

  It was payback time.

  “Remember, we need him alive,” he cautioned, taking the lead as he motioned for his men to move in. The rustle of bodies creeping through the underbrush might be the wind; the scurrying of feet over the rocky ground no noisier than a rattler slithering through a dry riverbed. They all had reasons for wanting this fugitive, but no one had more than Beau.

  He stepped with the feral instinct of a stalking panther, with a wild sense of invulnerability, as though he could smell his prey on the air.

  “Mann!” He reached the porch first. “Floyd Mann!”

  The silence was broken by the cocking of seven rifles.

  “Montana State Police! Coming in!” His boot heel rammed the door frame. Wood cracked. His second kick sent the door splintering inward, and Beau slammed headlong through it as though he were invincible. As bulletproof as his Kevlar vest. “Don’t try going out the back, Mann! You’re surrounded!”

  The inside of the cabin was filled with murky light and stank of cold wood fires and bacon fat. The furniture consisted of a pinochle-size table, two straight-back chairs, two rockers and a sideboard, all crudely handmade. Beau dashed to the second room, half expecting to hear Mann scrambling out the back window despite Beau’s warning. But the other room was as empty as the main area. The whole place had the feel of a space long abandoned. As though Mann hadn’t been here in a damned long time.

  But he’d been seen.

  Yesterday.

  By a reliable eyewitness.

  Heck Long, the o
nly one of Beau’s deputies too quick to judge on face value, clambered into the cabin and took his own quick tour. He sighed. “Another dead end.”

  “No.” Beau wouldn’t accept that. “He’s here…somewhere. Has to be.”

  “If so, he’s gone invisible.” Heck’s rifle slumped to the floor, looking as dejected as the deputy himself.

  Another deputy came inside, followed by the others. Heck looked inside the stove. “Ashes are colder than a witch’s teat. If Mann’s been stayin’ here, he’s got the blood of a snake.”

  There was a strange look in Heck’s eyes, in the eyes of all six of the men, as though they wished Beau would give it up. He knew they thought he was taking too many risks, leading them on one wild-goose chase after another. They thought he was obsessed with running Floyd Mann to ground, as though Beau were one of the “crazies” this job attracted.

  Like that letter-writing nutcase whose delusion revolved around a love affair between herself and Beau that existed only in her mind. Like “the confessor” who claimed responsibility for every major crime that came along from mugging to murder. Like the ufologist who claimed to see strange lights in the woods around the S bar S ranch.

  Like Mann, a former white supremacist bent on vengeance.

  Fury spiked through Beau, hot and hard as steel. He embraced it. Let it lace his words. “Go check the outbuildings. The lot of you. But just in case Mann’s the snake you claim—watch your step. We all know about his fangs, but chances are he has booby traps. Hidey-holes.”

  The moment he was alone, Beau blew out a heavy breath. “Obsessed, my ass.”

  Yes, obsessed. Deedra’s taunt resounded in his head, an echo from the past, an accusation cast in the heat of desperation and despair. Two of the last words his wife had ever said to him. As sorry as he was about that, it didn’t mean she’d been right.

  No, he wasn’t hunting Mann any harder than he would any other perp who ran around killing state troopers in a personal war of revenge and who’d caused Beau to lose his only two reasons for living.

  Heeding his own caution of hidey-holes and booby traps, he held his rifle at the ready and scanned every inch of the cabin’s main room. The wood-burning stove provided both the means of heat and cooking. A tarnished silver coffeepot hugged one edge and an iron skillet hung above on a nail pounded into the wall.

  The room was bare of personal items. No signs of recent use. No newspapers. Or magazines. Clever of Mann not to leave anything that would allow them to pinpoint when he’d been here. But he was also careless, Beau realized, noting the clean spot on the dusty shelf used for canned goods.

  Mann had been here.

  Recently.

  Beau moved into the bedroom, his boot heels hitting the hardwood flooring with a hollow thud, despite his wary steps. There was a double bed against one wall, the linen stripped and put away, likely in one of the dresser drawers. A closet was set in the opposite wall. Near the foot of the bed stood a hand-carved cradle. Beau froze at the sight of it. From where he stood, he could see a blanket poking from the high edges and swore he saw tiny fingers gripping the silk trim. Callie. His breath woofed from him as if he’d been gut punched, and a painful, awful hope leaped from the darkest recesses of his being.

  Had Mann stolen his little girl four months ago? Was she here…in this cradle?

  He rushed to the baby bed. Touched the teeny splayed fingers. Felt cold rubber. He flinched. Repulsed. A doll. The size of an eighteen-month-old toddler. Callie’s size. A cry died in his throat. He cursed, kicking the cradle to clatter away from him. Then he shook himself. A booby trap. Meant to stop him in his tracks. To make him vulnerable. To show him he could be caught off guard.

  His face clenched as he swung toward the closet, bringing the rifle up with him. He toed open the door, trigger finger taut. He stared into the dark niche, a space as small as the coat closet in the foyer of the Shanahan ranch house. No place for a white supremacist the size of Mann to hide. A worn trench coat in camouflage print draped a wire hanger, its hem brushing a pair of military boots. Beau’s gaze stilled. Muddy boots. He hunkered to his haunches for a better look. Not boots with dried caked mud, but damp mud.

  If Mann had gone, it hadn’t been long ago.

  He scanned the closet once more, spying an attic access above the storage shelf. Was Mann overhead? Peering down on him? He fetched one of the straight-backed chairs and stood on the seat. With the nose of the gun, he pushed the trap door aside, waited a breath or two, gathered his courage and the gun and hoisted himself up and over the edge. He strained to adjust to the dimmer light and to hear any noise within or from below, aware that this too could be a booby trap.

  Grabbing the flashlight at his waist, he swung the bright beam over cobwebs, bat guano and enough dust to convince him nothing human had been up here in ages.

  He dropped to the floor with a panther’s stealth. He was missing something. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. But what?

  He studied the bedroom again. Not seeing it. But as he started toward the doorway into the main room, it occurred to him that the bed was at an odd angle. Why? My boot heels hit the hardwood flooring with hollow thuds. Hollow. His gaze fell to the floor, and he sank to his knees. Aha. A secret hatch, almost invisible, given the spacing and makeup of the floorboards, had been cut between the planks. He moved the bed, the metal frame scraping across the floor.

  “You down there, Mann? Cornered like the rat you are?”

  He levered the hatch up and kicked it to the wall. A ladder led down into a pitch-black earthen pit. As Beau pulled his flashlight from his waistband, a sudden movement in the darkness startled him. He dropped the flashlight, but before he could get the rifle to his shoulder, Floyd Mann fired. The bullet burned through Beau’s unprotected flesh. He went down hard, the back of his head slamming the floor.

  As his world stretched away from him his inner vision filled with images of his wife and child, both gone at Mann’s hand. In that last moment of consciousness he understood he had been obsessed with finding Mann. Understood why he’d needed to find him.

  Killing Mann wouldn’t bring back Callie and Deedra, but Mann killing him had freed Beau of his endless misery.

  And Beau smiled.

  Chapter One

  Two Months Later

  Beau’s leg ached like a son of a bitch. Mann. Still out there. Still after the troopers involved in that high-speed pursuit. Still intent on avenging the deaths of his wife and unborn child.

  Freakin’ bastard hadn’t ended Beau’s life, though, just his run with the State Troopers. The bullet had torn through his calf, wiped out muscle and tissue—as well as leaving him with a limp that would likely be lifelong—but had missed every major artery. Damn Mann. He knew I’d be wearing body armor. That was a given. So why didn’t he aim for my head? Or anywhere else that would’ve ended this eternal misery?

  “These new Wanted posters just arrived. Thought you might like a glance at them.” Luanne Pine entered his office carrying a sheaf of papers. She had an oval face with pale skin against a mass of coffee-brown hair. Her guileless aqua gaze was probative behind wire-rimmed glasses. The frown made her appear younger than her twenty-five years. “Something the matter, Sheriff?”

  Beau blinked at the title that still fit him like a new Stetson, stiff, yet to be broken in. Floyd Mann might have closed a door for him, but a window had opened right behind it. Buffalo Falls, Montana, had been the hometown of every Shanahan in Beau’s family for the past one hundred years. And every one of those years had seen a DeMarco in the sheriff’s position. But Clyde DeMarco had been the last of his line, and with his passing six weeks ago, the good townsfolk had elected Beau to take his place.

  With the job, he’d inherited Luanne. Dispatcher. File clerk. Secretary. Receptionist. She hadn’t been here much longer than Beau, but knew more about running his new office than he did. Not that there was much to know. The whole of the Buffalo Falls police force consisted of: Beau; Nora Lee Anderso
n, rookie patrol person, whose résumé also included sharp shooter, sketch artist and fingerprinter; Heck Long, who’d followed Beau from the state level to small-town obscurity like a misguided lap dog; and Luanne.

  He glanced at the pages she’d spread before him, rubbing his sore leg, wishing he could reach inside himself and assuage the ache in his heart. “Why would you think something’s the matter?”

  Luanne shrugged her slim shoulders. “You look as unhappy as a child who’s just had his birthday party called off.”

  Beau felt the blood drain from his face. If she’d stabbed him in the chest, she couldn’t have done a better job of tearing at his already grated heart. Today would have been his daughter’s second birthday.

  “It’s nothing.” His throat tightened against the hurtful lie. “Just my leg.”

  “Oh, my, well, isn’t it about time to take your pain pills?”

  He glanced at the clock. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  “Hey, no problem.” She filled a paper cup with water from the bottle by the door and brought it to him. “It’s also time for my appointment…unless you need something else?”

  Beau accepted the water and took his pills. “Naw, you run along.”

  “Good. Dr. Warren doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Luanne said, and Beau nodded, understanding.

  Dr. Warren had been his wife’s grief counselor, too. Luanne had lost her best friend last year. Deedra, her child. His child. Maybe Luanne felt better spilling her guts about her heartache, but it hadn’t helped Deedra. If anything, Dr. Warren had pushed her farther into the land of delusion and deepened Beau’s disdain for the whole head-shrinking profession.

  Besides, he couldn’t verbalize his grief. Not even to Deedra. He’d handled the death of their daughter his way, kept his own counsel…and driven his wife away. God, but the world seemed overloaded with sorrow these days.

  “I’ve got some errands to run, too. Heck can handle things while we’re gone.” He levered his cane and rose from behind his desk. At the door he snatched his Stetson from the coatrack. “In fact, after your appointment, why don’t you go home and spend the rest of the day with your little boy.”