She moved past the office to the master bedroom to see the bed unmade and clothing strewn about. “You know, it’s possible she didn’t do this. That somebody searched her place afterward.” Yet an unmade bed wasn’t proof. Laurel methodically went through each drawer, finding nothing of interest.

After about ten minutes, Huck appeared in the doorway. “Her office is surprisingly sparse, and there’s no laptop. I didn’t find anything to help with the case.”

“Neither have I.” She glanced up at him. In the early morning, with dark stubble on his chin, he looked both dangerous and competent, and she felt safer with him as her partner. The different golds and browns in his eyes created an intriguing pattern as well, and it was odd she’d noticed that fact.

“What?” he asked, one dark eyebrow lifting.

“Nothing.” She looked under the bed to just find dust. Straightening, she fought a sneeze. “We’re going to need some luck to find this killer.” Statistics told Laurel the murderer was almost certainly male.

Plus, to fracture a skull like that took a lot of strength.

And rage. Incredible rage. Was it focused only on this victim? Was it personal? Were they about to find more bodies?

Huck gestured toward the door. “How about we grab lunch?”

She stood and stretched her back, pausing as she considered the work she needed to complete. Then she moved toward the doorway. While it was early for lunch, she was hungry. So this was what friendship was like for Huck. He pressed his hand to her lower back, walking behind her. At his touch, her skin warmed and her breath caught. She knew just how good he could be with those hands.

Clearing her throat, she stepped around a pile of shoes in the foyer. “Lunch would be good.” Did she sound casual?

Yes. She sounded casual.

Probably.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

After a long day of work, Laurel stood outside the old, weathered barn on the family farm, up to her knees in snow. The wind ripped right through her coat, freezing her to her bones. Shaking her head, she kicked a trail from her SUV to the human-size door next to the large tractor door. Grunting, she shoved it open just as a farm truck slid to a stop next to her vehicle.

She stepped inside the darkened interior and turned to watch her uncle Blake jump out and stomp her way, using her trail. Blake was her mom’s older brother who managed the farm. He had green eyes like her mom, rapidly graying hair, and a lumberjack frame. He reminded her of the dad on that old show The Walton’s, but she’d never told him so.

“Hi.” He took off his gloves and slapped them on his jeans, stepping inside and turning on the industrial-sized flashlight he’d brought. “We’re going to make a barndominium, huh?”