Part 1 (1/2)

THE INVESTIGATOR.

The Munro Family Series.

Chris Taylor.

A woman who thought she could run away from her past...

At fourteen, Kate Collins ran away from home. Ten years later, her mother has disappeared without a trace. Faced with no other choice, she returns home. Kate's convinced her stepfather's responsible, but he's a highly decorated police officer. Who will take her accusations seriously?

Banished to a small country town after reporting his city superiors for corruption, Detective Riley Munro is never going to accuse the town's recently retired Police Commander of murder. But Kate's fear and distress seem genuine and her mother does seem to have disappeared. With reluctance, he agrees to investigate.

After making rudimentary enquires, he's told Kate's mother is on a cruise. The information pans out. On the verge of closing the case, Riley is taken by surprise when he receives a subtle threat from his boss, the new Police Commander, to leave Kate's stepfather alone.

Why would the new Commander feel the need to warn him off? With his instincts on alert, Riley digs deeper and discovers not only is Kate's mother in a wheelchair, she also hates the water.

Is Kate telling the truth? Is her stepfather, the former Police Commander, guilty of murder? Or is Riley allowing the sad vulnerability in Kate's beautiful eyes to cloud his judgement?

This book is dedicated to my amazing grandmother, Ivy Kosseris, who continues to inspire me, even at the age of ninety-six and as always, to my husband Linden, who is my very own strong and s.e.xy hero.

PROLOGUE.

Watervale, New South Wales.

Kate Collins crept through the darkened house. Her heart hammered. Fear clogged her throat. Her jaw was clenched and her lips were so taut, she could barely breathe.

She cracked open the back door. Its slight groan of protest sounded loud in the utter stillness. She froze, straining to hear the slightest noise, knowing he was a light sleeper.

Nothing.

She released what little breath she had in a rush. The house offered silent encouragement.

Careful to avoid the loose floorboard, she opened the door wider and made her way down the back stairs, her tattered sneakers noiseless on the scuffed concrete steps.

The gra.s.s, white with frost, crunched beneath her feet. She crept across the backyard, her muscles sluggish with cold and tension.

The shadows in the yard reached for her. She gritted her teeth against the rising panic and fisted her hands. Telling herself they were only trees, she forced her way past them in the pre-dawn light. In a couple of hours, he would know she was gone. By then, she'd be miles away.

The back fence loomed close in the dimness, sagging under the weight of an overgrown potato vine. Keeping a tight rein on her relief lest it be short-lived, she tossed her solitary bag to the other side and hoisted herself over the rusted barbed wire, careful not to catch her jeans on the vicious, teta.n.u.s-ridden points.

She landed on the other side and retrieved her backpack from the frozen ground, her numb fingers fumbling with the straps. She shrugged it onto her shoulders then jiggled it to distribute the weight of her meager belongings. She tucked her ponytail into her knitted beanie and tightened the sash of her old woolen coat. Her eyes closed on a brief prayer, seeking courage and a bus that was running on time.

She filled her lungs until they hurt, then started down the still-dark laneway, each step taking her farther away from the only home she could remember.

She didn't look back.

CHAPTER 1.

Ten years later.

Detective Riley Munro leaned backwards in his regulation black vinyl chair. Dropping his heavy boot-clad feet onto his desk, he stacked his hands behind his head and sighed. In just over an hour, his s.h.i.+ft would be over and the weekend would be his.

A long hot shower and some fresh clothes were first on his list, followed immediately by an ice-cold beer. He'd just returned from Jack Sampson's dairy farm where he'd paddled around in mud and cow s.h.i.+t while old man Sampson badgered him with infinitesimal details of the farmer's stolen prize-winning Jersey.

Riley had actually been paying attention until Sampson took him into the milking shed and he'd made the mistake of standing too close to the golden beasts. Their glossy, caramel-colored hides and black, soulful eyes were deceiving. Unaware of the perils of coming into close contact with confined cows, he'd been taken by surprise when a sluice of sloppy s.h.i.+t disgorged from the nether regions of one of the beasts and drenched him from hip to ankle. Sampson had laughed his head off. Riley failed to see the joke.

Grimacing at the memory, he closed his eyes and sighed again. Thank G.o.d it was Friday. His mind drifted to the possibilities a couple of days off would afford. The very delectable Lucy would be more than willing to take his call. They'd only just met, but there was promise in her coquettish, green-eyed gaze and the sultry tilt of her chin. Besides, it was past time he forgot about Iris. It had been six months since she'd walked out on him, spouting excuses about why she didn't love him anymore and all the while, she already had her next lover lined up and ready to go.

Six months. More than enough time for him to get over her, even if it did sometimes feel like it only happened yesterday.

Anger and residual hurt seared through him. He ground his teeth and fought off the memories. It was bulls.h.i.+t. He was a decent guy, one who deserved better than the Irises of the world.

He shook his head in an effort to clear it of his dark thoughts. Maybe he'd go down to The Bullet and swap shoptalk with the boys, have a game or two of pool and listen to a few tunes on the jukebox. Now that they'd kicked the smokers out, he didn't have to struggle against the persistent urge to light up. The bar would provide a modic.u.m of relief from the boredom he'd felt since his arrival in Watervale almost three months earlier.

He tamped down his irritation. It was his own fault he'd ended up in this backwater, after all. If he'd had the brains to shut his mouth and look the other way like all the others had, he would still be enjoying the action-packed, s.h.i.+t-hot lifestyle of a city detective.

Instead, he'd gotten all moralistic. Taken the high road. And look where it got him. Doomed to shuffling paper in some forgotten country town.

The shrill ringing of the telephone on his desk interrupted his musings. Dropping his feet to the floor, he leaned over and picked up the receiver.

”Watervale Police.”

He was greeted with silence and cleared his throat.

”It's Detective Munro. Can I help you?”

More seconds ticked by. With a m.u.f.fled curse, he went to hang up. And then he heard a sharp intake of breath. The faint sound gave him pause. He tried again.

”h.e.l.lo? Is anybody there?”

”My mother's missing. I think my stepfather's murdered her.”

His gut tightened, both at her words and her tone. The husky voice brought to mind images of cigar smoke, whiskey and Demi Moore. But the accent was wrong. He struggled to place it.

”Excuse me? I'm not sure if I heard you right?”

”You heard me right.”

The voice was firmer now, bristling with quiet efficiency.

”My mother's been missing for at least a month, maybe longer,” the woman continued. ”I'm sure that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's done something to her.”

Riley straightened in his chair. The profanity coming from that voice was all wrong. Cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he reached for the notepad and pen on his desk and scribbled notes.