room, grabbing her coat to bundle it around her. Next was her stocking cap and gloves.
“I’m going with you,” she announced.
“Lynne.”
She ignored his exasperated expression. He was obviously like her—used to doing everything himself. For now he was going to have to get used to having a partner.
“The farm belongs to Raymond Warren,” she told him, moving to shove her feet into her boots. “He’ll shoot you if you drive onto his property without an invitation. Especially now that the sheriff and gawkers are no doubt tramping around the place.”
Kir furrowed his brow, as if scouring his memory to place the name. “Old man Warren?” he at last demanded.
She nodded. “I make regular visits to check on his livestock, so he’ll recognize my truck. That should give us time to talk to him before he starts shooting.”
“I remember him.” Kir shuddered. “He threatened to chop me into little pieces and use me as fertilizer when he caught me stealing apples from his orchard. He scared the shit out of me.” He zipped up his coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. “Yeah. Maybe you should go. I’d hate to end up in his wood chipper.”
Lynne stilled, studying him with a sudden fascination. She’d already accepted that she was physically attracted to this man. You’d have to be dead not to find Kir insanely sexy. And at the funeral, she’d sensed he’d achieved a maturity that had been profoundly lacking when he’d walked away from Pike. But his easy acceptance of her suggestion touched a raw place deep inside her.
Probably because her last boyfriend, Nash Cordon, had been an egotistical jerk. He’d accused her of being a control freak who emotionally castrated him. Whatever the hell that meant.
“I like that,” she said.
He arched a brow. “What?”
“A man who can admit he might need a woman’s help.”
He smiled, moving to tuck one of her stray curls beneath the knit stocking cap. “My career as a jack-of-all-trades has taught me the wisdom of bringing in an expert when I need one. And you, Dr. Lynne Gale, are an expert with the good citizens of Pike.” His fingertips lightly trailed down her cheek. “Perhaps I’ll display my own expertise later.”
Chapter 4
The drive to Raymond Warren’s farm was only three miles outside of town, but it took twenty minutes to navigate the icy roads. Eventually they turned onto a snow-packed drive winding toward the double-story white house and sprawling complex of paddocks and outbuildings.
Lynne had confidently pulled her battered truck to a halt in front of a red-painted barn, smiling when the man who was as broad as he was tall stepped into view. He was wearing a thick layer of coveralls with a flapped hat covering his head, but the ruddy face was scrunched into a scowl and there was a very large shotgun gripped in his gloved hand.
Kir had inwardly congratulated himself on his astute decision to allow Lynne to drive. He hadn’t been teasing when he’d told her he had learned to seek the knowledge of others. His business thrived because he offered top-notch services for a competitive price. And that meant handing off duties to those better suited to perform a certain task.
If he’d pulled up in his own vehicle, he was fairly sure he’d be at the wrong end of that shotgun.
Instead the man had greeted Lynne with an unmistakable warmth, and while he’d sent Kir a suspicious glance, he hadn’t threatened to chop off any parts of his body. Progress. The farmer had even given in to her request to see the scene of the crime, leading them around the barn and to the top of a low hill.
Kir was instantly struck by the peaceful beauty of the view. Blindingly white snow coated the rolling fields in a thick blanket, dramatically framed by the distant tree line. Here and there a fence row poked through, coated with ice and glittering in the late afternoon sun that peeked through the heavy gray clouds.
It looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. Until his gaze landed on the spot where Raymond Warren was pointing. There was nothing peaceful about that corner of the field.
The snow had been trampled by vehicles and footprints until the frozen ground beneath had been churned to the surface. And worse, in the very center, the snow had been dug away to leave a barren patch. He assumed that was where Sherry Higgins’s dead body had been. And that the sheriff had taken everything, including the ground, in