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  “That’s right,” Beth chimed in. “No matter how careful we are about maintaining chain of custody, there’s always the suspicion that we planted or otherwise messed with physical evidence. If we have a police representative with us, he can verify that everything is on the up-and-up.”

  “And he could just as easily argue the opposite. He could claim he witnessed one of us tampering with a blood sample or coaching a witness.”

  A pained expression came over Dwayne’s face. “Mitch, I would never do that. Come on.”

  Beth exchanged a look with Raleigh, who dealt on a daily basis with liars. Did she actually think Dwayne was sincere?

  Raleigh gave a small nod. “Sorry, Mitch, but it’s not up to you. I’m the lead on this investigation—you’re the client. And I say we accept your brother’s generous offer of help.”

  Mitch looked as if he wanted to spit bullets at Dwayne, but he clamped his mouth shut, folded his arms and said nothing.

  “Thanks, Ms. Shinn. Let me know what I can do to help. For starters, maybe I can look through the car theft file—if it’s still around—and see if any other witnesses were questioned. I was just a green rookie on the force back then, but I remember the case.”

  “That would be helpful,” Raleigh said. “But right now, we were headed to a location where Robby might have gone that night after he and Mitch parted ways. Mitch was going to take us there.”

  Dwayne raised a questioning eyebrow. “That old shack near Simmons Slough?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Mitch said, loosening up a fraction. “That’s where he’d go when he couldn’t go home.”

  “Surely that place isn’t even standing anymore,” Dwayne said. “It was practically falling down twelve years ago when you kids used to have your drinking parties there.”

  “There must be something left of it,” Beth said. “A foundation, a few bricks or timbers.”

  “It’s worth a look.” Raleigh gathered up her things.

  “Mind if I ride with you?” Beth asked Dwayne. “Raleigh’s backseat is a little cramped.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Mitch looked horrified. Probably didn’t want her cozying up with the enemy. Maybe he thought Dwayne would poison Beth’s mind against Mitch. But Beth wanted a few minutes alone with the stiff-backed cop. She felt as though she was missing something; maybe Dwayne could fill in the gaps.

  “So,” she began pleasantly once she was in the front seat of the squad car, her portable evidence collection kit, which she brought with her everywhere she went, resting between her feet. “What was Mitch like as a kid?”

  Dwayne didn’t crack a smile. “Wild as they come. Hell-raiser, always in trouble at school, at home. He had a chip on his shoulder. I understand it better now than I did back then. He was trying to prove something, just like I was. We went about it in different ways, though.”

  Beth was a little surprised Dwayne had opened up so easily to her. But she often had that effect on some people. She was so utterly unintimidating, she supposed, that people felt safe with her.

  “If he was such a hell-raiser, how did he end up working for the police department? Seems kind of a strange choice.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t his choice. You obviously haven’t heard the whole story.” Dwayne let Raleigh’s car take the lead, following her down the narrow, rutted lane where Myra lived. “After he got arrested for stealing the car, he managed to gain access to the police department computer and erase all evidence of the crime. One thing Mitch knows, and that’s computers.”

  “He hacked into a police computer?” That took guts.

  “Yeah. If computers ran our criminal justice system, he would have gotten away with it. Instead he just caused a huge headache for our IT people. They couldn’t figure out how he got in. So he cut a deal—the auto theft charges were put on hold, and in return he showed them his hacker secrets. He was so good, they ended up offering him a job in cyber security, and doing skip-tracing. He didn’t really want to work for the police department, but with that felony charge hanging over his head, he couldn’t say no.”

  Interesting. Daniel must have spotted Mitch’s talent and buried those charges for good, gaining Mitch his freedom.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask questions. Why are you personally involved in trying to help Mitch? I understand you run the lab at Project Justice. You’re not an investigator.”

  “I used to be CSI for the Houston P.D. My boss wants me to personally evaluate any physical evidence. Which reminds me—when will your lab finish with the car and the gun? And the body—we’d like our own forensic expert to examine Robby’s remains.”

  “I’m not officially part of this case,” Dwayne answered. “You’ll have to ask Lieutenant Addlestein.”

  “Is there any possibility your presence during our investigation will be a detriment?” Beth asked. “Will they accuse you of planting evidence to exonerate your brother?”

  Dwayne’s mouth hitched up in a half smile. “I don’t think so. Aside from the fact that I’m known as the only cop in town who won’t take a bribe, everybody knows Mitch and I don’t get along.”

  “So why go out of your way to help?”

  “Honestly? Mitch and I might not be best friends, but he is my flesh and blood, and I feel a little guilty for pointing the investigation right at him. I never thought he’d actually get arrested, and I know—I mean, I know in my gut he didn’t do it. I couldn’t live with myself if he ended up convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, when I was the one who put the wheels in motion.”

  “How did you—”

  “I was the one who remembered the car theft, and the circumstances of Robby’s disappearance. The records were buried, but I remembered it all too well. I’m the one who told them Mitch was the last one to see Robby alive, and I really wish I hadn’t.”

  Dwayne was either genuinely regretful, or he was a helluva good actor.

  “Where is this place we’re going?” Beth asked.

  “Not far.”

  They’d followed a main road for maybe half a mile, then turned off onto a winding dirt road that gradually narrowed until it was more of a goat path. Eventually it became impassable, at least without four-wheel drive. Raleigh stopped her Volvo and Dwayne parked right behind her. They were blocking the road, but it didn’t look like any cars had come this way in quite some time.

  “What kind of shoes are you wearing?” Dwayne asked.

  Beth glanced down at her wedge sandals and bare legs, then out at the oak and cypress dripping with Spanish moss towering all around them.

  “Not hiking shoes.”

  “This might be a little dicey then.” He reached into the glove box and procured a can of bug repellant, then sprayed it liberally on his face, neck and hands before passing it to her. “You’ll need this.”

  If there was a mosquito anywhere within five miles it would find Beth, so she doused herself with the bug spray, grimacing at the smell. When she exited the car, she noted the mushy texture of the ground. And they were still on the road.

  Wordlessly she handed the can of Off! to Raleigh, who frowned and sprayed a tiny amount on her hands and neck. At least she was wearing sensible shoes and long pants.

  Mitch declined the bug repellant. “Mosquitoes steer clear of me. I think it’s all the hot sauce I eat.”

  Beth didn’t doubt it. He loved spicy food, the hotter the better.

  “So how far do we have to walk to get to this place?” Beth asked.

  “’Bout a quarter mile,” Mitch answered. “Not far.”

  She looked down again at her impractical sandals. “Depends on what kind of shoes you’re wearing.”

  Dwayne had put on knee-high galoshes, and he had a machete in hand and a metal detector slung over one shoulder. He was quite the Boy Scout.

  “Let’s go.” Dwayne and his machete took the lead, hacking away at clinging vines, branches and tall weeds that blocked their path. Beth couldn’t see any discernible path, but Dwayne di
dn’t hesitate and seemed to know right where he was going.

  Mitch brought up the rear. And Beth just tried not to slow everyone down—or break an ankle—as she squish-squished through the dense bayou vegetation that blotted out the heat and light of the sun. Not a breath of breeze stirred the leaves and the draping Spanish moss.

  “Perfect setting for a slasher movie,” she couldn’t help saying, then wished she hadn’t. They were looking for a murder scene, after all, and what better place than a swamp? It was beautiful in its own way, so lush and vibrant with life. Yet she couldn’t deny an air of menace, so it wasn’t someplace she wanted to spend a lot of time.

  She was thankful to be here on a bright, sunny afternoon, rather than at night.

  The spongy ground abruptly turned muddy, sucking at one of her shoes so that she almost tripped. Mitch was right there, a hand to her elbow.

  “You okay? You’re not exactly dressed for a hike through the swamp.”

  “No kidding. I’m okay for now.”

  “Here, you can hang on to my arm if you want.”

  It was a friendly offer, but she wasn’t sure if she could handle touching him, not when she was trying to stop fantasizing about him. “I’m okay.”

  “Want me to carry your bag?”

  She hitched her evidence kit higher on her shoulder. “Really, I’m fine.”

  A loud splash off to her right caught her attention, and she looked just in time to see a scaly tail disappear beneath the murky water.

  “Holy crap, that was an alligator!” She realized she was hanging on to Mitch’s arm despite her best intentions. She must have instinctively reached for him. She quickly let go. “Sorry. I’ve just never been that close to one in the wild before.”

  “They won’t bother us,” Dwayne said casually. “I worry more about the copperheads and water moccasins.”

  “Snakes?” Raleigh’s shriek set off a hundred bird calls.

  Beth wasn’t thrilled by the idea of poisonous snakes, either, but she’d tromped around enough isolated crime scenes to know that reptiles usually did their best to steer clear of humans.

  “Just don’t put your hands and feet anywhere you can’t see,” Mitch warned. “This time of day, they like dark, cool places. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

  “That is highly doubtful,” Raleigh said, and Beth felt a rush of affection for her friend, braving this hostile environment for Mitch’s sake.

  By the time they reached a small clearing, Beth’s sandals were utterly ruined.

  Dwayne came to a halt. “There it is.”

  Beth had to squint and do a thorough visual search before she saw anything. Then she wondered how she could have missed it, a falling-down wood structure almost entirely covered with vines. It had once been a house on stilts, but half of it was completely collapsed. The other half was missing most of the roof and at least one wall.

  A flock of crows had gathered to caw in a nearby skeletal tree, adding to the horror-movie ambiance.

  “Can’t believe it’s still standing,” Mitch said.

  “How far is this from where the victim’s body was found?” Beth asked.

  “Not far,” Mitch answered. “Where Simmons Slough empties into the bayou, about a quarter to a half mile from here.”

  “Long way to carry a body,” Dwayne commented.

  “If the body was dumped in the slough, it could have washed downstream. We need to check what kind of weather was happening around that time.”

  “Let’s do what we came here to do, then get the hell out of this place,” Raleigh said. “It gives me the creeps.”

  Beth shook off her own sense of dread. Examining a crime scene was her area of expertise, and she should take charge.

  “Dwayne, since you’re the one with the metal detector and the boots, why don’t you start a grid search here in this front yard area. Stands to reason if there was an altercation, Robby might have come out of the house first. The rest of us can—”

  Her words were cut off by a loud crack that sent the flock of crows flying, and something whizzed past Beth’s head.

  “Everybody down!” Dwayne shouted, but Mitch was already ahead of him. He’d taken a flying leap at Beth and tackled her to the muddy ground.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANOTHER SHOT RANG OUT, and Mitch felt way too exposed lying flat on the ground, his body nestled over Beth’s intriguingly soft curves. They needed cover and he needed to get his mind out of the gutter. What kind of idiot thinks about how good a woman feels when he’s getting shot at?

  An ancient fallen oak tree lay just to the edge of the clearing, and he aimed to get Beth and Raleigh safely behind it.

  “We’re gonna move,” he said, scrambling to his feet and dragging Beth with him, shielding her with his body as best he could.

  She stumbled along with him as he half dragged her to the fallen tree and shoved her down behind it. Dwayne, he saw, had Raleigh with him behind the cover of a tall group of cypress knees. They were ankle deep in mud. Dwayne had his gun out, but the shooter wasn’t visible. He was hiding inside the shack.

  Although the structure was in worse shape than Mitch remembered it, he still knew every tree, stump and vine that grew here.

  “Stay here and don’t move,” he whispered to Beth.

  “Trust me, I’m not moving.” She crouched next to him, her eyes wide with fear and her whole body trembling as she clutched her canvas bag to her chest. One of her shoulders was covered in mud and a trickle of blood ran down from her skinned knee. “Wait, where are you going?” she asked when he moved away from her.

  “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

  “Don’t worry?”

  “Dwayne, cover me,” Mitch said just loud enough for his brother to hear. “I’m gonna circle around to the back.”

  Mitch expected his brother to argue, but he didn’t. He fired a shot over the roof of the shack to distract their assailant, who maybe wouldn’t notice where Mitch was moving.

  Mitch delved deeper into the cover of the woods, making his way swift and silent as he harkened back to all the hours he’d spent in the swamp as a kid. Although Mitch had never taken to hunting, his father had taught him how to track and move without detection in the wild.

  Darting from tree to shrub, he made his way around the shack to the back. From this side, Mitch could see that someone had made some amateur repairs, cobbling a makeshift shelter inside with a tar-paper roof, maybe a place to at least keep the rain off. The rickety stairs had been repaired, too, and looked like they might hold Mitch’s weight.

  The shooter fired again. Mitch expected Dwayne to return fire, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t subscribe to the Coot’s Bayou police motto of Shoot First, Explain Later.

  “Police!” Dwayne bellowed. “Come out with your hands up.”

  Like that was gonna happen. They’d stumbled upon some river rat’s crib, and he seemed set on defending it.

  There wasn’t much cover between Mitch and the staircase, so he got across it as quickly as he could. No bullets slammed into him; the shooter was focused on the threat from the front of the house and obviously hadn’t seen Mitch on the move.

  As quietly as he could, Mitch climbed the stairs in a crouch. When his head reached floor level of the shack he squinted against the late afternoon sun and peered into the shady interior. A scrawny man in filthy, baggy jeans and a green hoodie crouched just below a window that had only two of its six panes remaining.

  If Mitch could get to him, he’d have the guy stripped of his gun and disabled in a flash. But those few feet between the top of the stairs and his target…Mitch just hoped the guy would be slow to react. Judging from the number of empty beer cans littering the warped wood floor, that might be the case.

  Mitch had to go for it. Any more delay might mean the shooter would get lucky and actually hit someone.

  He waited until the shooter took aim again, then launched himself across the floor and tackled the man, making sure he got
control of the gun hand. Sprawling on top of him, using his chin and knees and elbows to make sure he couldn’t move, Mitch grabbed the guy’s arm and beat it against the floor until he dropped the weapon.

  The man squealed in protest. “You broke my nose!”

  “I’m gonna break your neck if you don’t stop wiggling.”

  “Awright, awright, lemme go!”

  “I got him!” Mitch yelled to Dwayne. “Need cuffs!”

  Seconds later, Dwayne appeared at what was once the front door, weapon drawn and cuffs in hand.

  “Damn, good job, Mitch.” His voice held a tinge of awe as he holstered his weapon and knelt to cuff the shooter. “That took some cojones.”

  “Cojones I got,” he said grimly. “Good sense, not so much.” Between them they flipped their shooter onto his back.

  “Holy smokes,” Dwayne said. “I don’t believe this.”

  Beth and Raleigh had joined them, and they stared at the bloody-faced man who now cowered in terror.

  “What happened to him?” Beth asked. “Did he shoot himself?”

  “He broke my nose,” the man whined.

  The guy did look a bit worse for wear. His nose was bent and swelling, and blood covered his face and dripped into his greasy hair. But despite the disfigurement, and the years that had passed, Mitch instantly recognized him.

  “Crazy Larry. You stupid son of a bitch, why were you shooting at us?”

  BETH SHUT HER EYES, but not before she’d gotten a good look at that poor man’s bloody face. Granted, just moments earlier he’d been trying to kill them, but that didn’t stop her from reacting to the blood. Her head swam and she grabbed on to Raleigh’s sleeve for support.

  “Hey, you okay?” Raleigh whispered.

  “I’m good, I’m fine,” she lied, unwilling to admit she had a weak stomach.

  “You don’t look fine. Here, sit down.” But there was nowhere to sit in the disgusting remains.

  “I’m okay. What about him?” She couldn’t believe the damage Mitch had done to the guy’s face. Her Mitch, her sweet computer geek, had just broken a man’s nose.