Her Heart-Stealing Cowboys [Hellfire Ranch 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Read Online Free PDF Page B

him and plunged a needle-pointed thermometer into the dead man’s side. Tag gagged and looked up.
    “Damn it, Boone, you know me.”
    “Yeah and that’s the problem.” He nodded toward the body. “You hated him, Tag. That was no secret. He was killed in your jail. There’s no sign of a break-in. All the locks are intact. Nothing’s broken or smashed.” His black gaze swiveled up to the whirring camera. He frowned as he pointed. “That was conveniently off during the murder.” Boone’s sharp gaze settled back on him. “Throw in your idiotic threats against Fischer yesterday and it doesn’t look good for you, Tag.”
    Tag shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I know. Fucking sucks.”
    “Where were you last night?”
    He gritted his teeth against the normal question. Hell, if he were in charge of this investigation—which he was not thanks to Boone—he’d be grilling the suspect like rainbow trout on a grill.
    “Went to Hank’s around six to pick up some stuff.”
    He fell silent.
    Boone lifted a black brow and waited.
    A weird, uncomfortable tremor hit the back of Tag’s neck. He didn’t like this shit one damn bit. Something was really wrong. “I went home after that. Was home by myself all night. No, no one can verify my whereabouts. That’s what alone means.”
    “Fuck,” Boone whispered. “Why the hell couldn’t you have been out cavorting with some sweet piece of ass?”
    He snorted.
    “I don’t know what to tell you, Boone. That’s where I was.”
    The fed nodded. “It’ll have to do, I suppose.” He turned to the coroner. “Any thoughts?”
    The wiry old man looked up. Sprigs of wispy red hair curled up and away from his scalp to envelop his head like a halo. His eyes were unfocused and a distracted brow creased his already wrinkled forehead. “He’s dead.”
    “No shit,” Tag muttered.
    Dr. Blest blinked and turned his luminous blue eyes on him. He lifted an equally wild red brow. “Liver temp is 94.2 degrees. Rigor has started to set in. I’d say he’s been dead at least three hours. It’s now seven twelve. He was probably killed close to four a.m.” He waggled his finger at them. “That’s not a precise time frame, just a generalization.” He looked down at Fischer and shook his head. “I’d say the bullet’s not in there, either. There’s a hole the size of my fist on the back of his head.”
    “Exit wound?” Boone asked.
    “No.” The doctor grimaced. “Looks like the killer bashed the guy’s head in and dug the slug out.”
    “Jesus,” Tag muttered.
    “Got something here,” one of the blue-clad techs in the cell said.
    Tag and Boone turned as one.
    “What did you find?” Boone asked.
    The tech was leaning over the cot. She spread her latex-covered fingers around a small patch. “Blood.”
    “There’s a lot of that in there,” Tag said then closed his eyes in irritation. That was a stupid thing to say. He wished he’d find his damn senses. This whole murder had him rattled. Knowing he was the prime suspect did little to ease the tension tightening his neck and stomach and every other muscle in his body.
    She nodded. “You’re right, Sheriff. Except this is on top of the blankets. The rest of the fluids are all on the bottom sheet. I’m going to take this swatch and test it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the perp left us some DNA.”
    Tag figured whoever had done this was too smart to do something so idiotic.
    The other tech handed her a small pair of scissors. While she snipped the material, he readied a plastic bag.
    They collected evidence with calm efficiency. Something that Tag had done a hundred times himself. Why did it seem now that every movement was a nail in his coffin?
    “Tarah, did you see this?” The male tech knelt and pointed at the floor next to Fischer’s head.
    Tag craned his neck but couldn’t see far enough into the room to find out what they were talking about.
    Dr. Blest joined them. He bent over and peered down then