On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(3)

“Lots of tears going on tonight,” commented Kenny. “The town hasn’t recovered from your father’s death, and now this.”

Stevie couldn’t reply. She’d thought she’d cried out all her tears over her father, but heat prickled at the corners of her eyes at the sympathy in Kenny’s voice. She blinked and bit at her cheek to keep the moisture in check. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kenny glance at her and then tighten his jaw, probably wishing he hadn’t mentioned her father.

She forced her herself to reply, “It’s going to be a long night.”

Stevie took a deep breath, put on her cop face, checked her emotions, and approached the closest teen.



Zane Duncan was functioning on too little sleep. He’d been sitting in his new office for two hours, flipping through the notes Roy had passed to him at five a.m. about Hunter Brandt’s death last night.

He wasn’t sure which had shocked him more. The teenager’s abrupt death or Roy Krueger’s call in the middle of the night stating that he was stepping down immediately as chief of police and by the way, congratulations: an emergency city council meeting had elected Zane as his replacement.

Roy held the position for ten days and last night he suddenly decided to retire?

Zane had missed a lot on vacation.

Chief Bill Taylor had died. His long-absent daughter, Stevie Taylor, had been hired as a Solitude cop. Hunter Brandt’s death. Now Roy Krueger’s leaving.

And all of it had been dumped on Zane’s shoulders at five in the morning.

Welcome back.

The relaxation from two weeks of hiding from civilization while he remodeled his old cabin in the woods had evaporated with a single call.

How had the city council held a meeting in the middle of the night? Zane suspected it’d simply been a series of phone calls among the five members.

Roy quit.

Who should take his place?

Kenny’s too kind.

Carter’s too new.

Zane has half a brain. He could manage.

Make it so.

He hadn’t been asked if he wanted the job; he’d been told he had it. And the city council was correct. None of the other guys would have been able to manage the job. Zane was the logical choice.

He liked this town too much to let it down. It’d had enough recent pain.

The outside door to the police station opened and closed, and Zane listened to determined footsteps stride down the hall to his office. Who else was up this early? All the staff had been up half the night interviewing the entire senior class of Solitude High School.

His door was pushed open and Stevie Taylor slid to a stop, brown eyes blinking in surprise. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for words.

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I was expecting Roy.”

Zane nodded. “I would have too. But Roy’s stepped down. The city council placed me in this chair.”

“What? When? I just worked half the night with Roy. He didn’t say a word!” Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “Who are you?”

“Zane Duncan.” He watched comprehension cross her eyes. “I worked with your father for five years. I had a lot of respect for him and will really miss him. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at his funeral.”

Stevie simply looked at him. Her struggle to control her emotions was betrayed by the tightening of her lips.

She had the look of Big Bill Taylor about her. She was tall and long-limbed with a stubborn set to her mouth that she’d inherited from her determined father. Zane had watched her and her three siblings at Bill’s funeral. A solid, close family. A supporting pillar of Solitude that’d lived in the area for four generations.

Her siblings had circled around Bill’s widow, Patsy Taylor, towering over their petite mother. But the mother had been the center of strength in the group. Where the siblings had looked ready to crumble to pieces, Patsy had been the one who held her chin up.

Stevie had caught Zane’s attention. The mystery daughter who’d packed up over a decade ago to leave for college and who returned only on holidays. The daughter who’d embraced the city life in Los Angeles and cut her police teeth with the LAPD. She wasn’t beautiful; she was unique-looking and caused a man to stare too long, struggling to understand why he couldn’t look away. Her long curly hair was pulled back in a soft ponytail and her brown eyes sat wide in her face. Nothing classical or erotic about her looks, just a wholesome country girl. One who looked like she could ski, ride, rope, run, and cook a meal for thirty with ease. Before the funeral, Zane had seen her only in Bill’s proud pictures on his office walls. In fact, now Stevie was standing just to the left of a photograph of Bill, herself, and her younger sister Carly with their arms around each other on a ski slope. Hats, goggles, and scarves had been pushed out of the way so they could flash big happy smiles at the photographer. Carly was divorced . . . or getting divorced. He didn’t know which. Zane had stared at the picture several times in the past, wondering what it was like to be part of such a big, happy family.

Now he was finally meeting the last of Bill’s kids, and Stevie was looking at him like he’d maliciously kicked Roy out of his seat.

“What did Roy say?” she asked, cutting off the topic of her father’s funeral.

Zane shifted in his chair. His conversation with Roy had been stilted and uncomfortable. Zane wasn’t one to pry into someone’s business. He figured that if Roy didn’t want to be police chief that was his right. He’d told Zane that seeing that kid dead by the lake had shone a light on his own mortality. “I’m not the youngest or healthiest guy in the world,” he’d said to Zane. “Doc says I need to exercise and eat better if I’m going to see my grandkids grow up. After sixty years of living the wrong way, why does he think I’ll change? I want to enjoy the time I have and I realized last night that I’d rather be next to the water in Baja than filling out reports. I never realized how much time Big Bill Taylor spent doing paperwork. Ten days of doing it was enough.”