Tipton also had a low opinion of the lifestyle.

He steered Michael to the farrier, Sam Short. Tipton said the farrier had an even lower opinion of the compound and would probably be thrilled to help. Thrilled? Tipton’s adjective stuck in Michael’s mind as he parked his rental and stared at the farrier’s elegant house with the gigantic horse stable and arena behind it. Why would he be thrilled?

Stepping out of his truck, Michael headed for the main barn and his eyes memorized every detail of the layout. What a setup. Had to be a couple of million dollars’ worth of land, buildings, horse hauling equipment, and horses. He detoured to a fenced pasture, leaned against a rail, and grinned as he watched six horses paw and frisk in the fresh powder. A dark horse with two white socks spotted Michael and trotted over to investigate. The horse blew hot breath through its nostrils at the hand Michael held out to him. After gently nibbling at Michael’s jacket sleeve, the friendly horse started to scratch his face on Michael’s elbow, rubbing his entire head up and down. Enchanted, Michael let him scratch away, patting the big head with his other hand.

“He’ll do that all day if you let him.”

The voice made him jump. His jump spooked the horse and sent it pounding back to its friends.

“Or not.”

Michael took an extended second to examine the speaker. Long wavy black hair was pulled loosely into two ponytails. Her jeans were dirty, along with her red snowy boots, but her fleece-lined royal-blue jacket was pristine. Her eyes matched her coat and he guessed her age to be around thirty. She crossed her arms on her chest and viewed him with suspicion.

“Michael Brody. Jim Tipton sent me out to talk to Sam Short. You know where I can find him?” He gave her his most charming smile, enjoying the colorful picture she made against the white frosty background. Lovely woman.

“Sam Short?” Those glaring eyes didn’t soften one bit. “You’ve found him.”

Michael’s gaze dropped to the embroidery on her jacket. Samantha Short. Short’s Stables.

He glanced ruefully at his own muddy, snow-covered boots. “Usually when I stick my foot in my mouth I prefer my shoes to be a little cleaner.

Lacey sipped at her triple latte, eyeing the two men in Alex’s kitchen nook. Jack hadn’t mentioned the bedroom incident and thankfully had worn jeans when he came to breakfast. She was having a hard time looking him in the eye. Talking to Alex was easier. She nervously peppered him with questions about his home and yard, receiving one- and two-word answers in return. Alex had made a Starbucks run, bless him. She was starting to like the silent man. He blew on his coffee as he leaned against the kitchen sink.

Jack finished a phone call with Detective Callahan and sat quiet, staring into his cup. He wasn’t showing any hangover signs. In fact, there was no hint he’d been drunk at all. This morning the tension between them had ratcheted up ten notches. He’d wanted her in bed with him. And she’d wanted to be there. The subtle heat low in her belly warmed a degree and she licked at her lips. The two of them were on an inevitable collision course. Why was she fighting it?

She could see the gears rotating in his mind from his talk with Callahan.

“They’re following a lead.”

“I hope they’re following lots of leads.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “They’ve located DeCosta’s mother in Southeast Oregon. They’re going ask her where her other son is.”

Lacey tried to call up an image of Dave DeCosta’s younger brother from the trial and couldn’t. All she could remember was a quiet dark-haired kid who’d kept his head down and stuck to his mother’s side. “He was just a kid at the time. Something was wrong with him. I can’t remember what the deal was, but the police pretty much wrote him off as an accomplice back then. Seems like the boy was mentally disabled or something. DeCosta worked alone. No family. No friends.” Her words were surer than her tone, as she considered the possibility. DeCosta’s brother had been younger than her, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

“Callahan has to consider the two of them for revenge kills.”

“Two of them? Mother and son?” She blinked. Back then, Linda DeCosta hadn’t looked like she could kill an ant. That woman could be a murderer?

Jack nodded, not volunteering any more information.

Lacey studied the set of Jack’s chin. He had that granite look about the jaw again.

He didn’t intimidate her. At least not when he was fully clothed, she amended. Jack could come across as pretty daunting, but he would never raise a hand to hurt her, she realized as she sipped her coffee. He might chew her out when she pissed him off, but never, never hurt her. A certainty she hadn’t had with her ex-husband toward the end of their marriage.

“Did he say anything about Kelly? Have they got any leads on her?” Lacey crossed her fingers.

Jack shook his head. “Nothing new. Hopefully getting to the DeCosta family will also help lead to Kelly.”

Lacey saw Alex glance at his watch. Jack stood up and pushed his chair in. He’d caught Alex’s time check too.

“Where are we going?” Lacey snapped the lid on her coffee.

“South of Hood River.”

“South of Hood River? On the mountain? Up in the snow?” She nearly dropped her paper cup. There wasn’t much between the city of Hood River and Mount Hood.

Jack lifted a single brow. “Snow’s everywhere right now.”

“Yeah, but…” She let the words drop off. She knew by now she couldn’t stop him when he’d made a decision. If he wanted to drive for an hour and a half in crappy weather up Mount Hood to even crappier weather conditions, more power to him.