Hard Proof Read online

  Something sinister is at work in Conard County.

  Former soldier and newbie deputy Candela “Candy” Serrano is assigned as a liaison to Steve Hawks, the handsome host of TV’s Ghostly Ties. She’s skeptical of Steve’s purposes, since chasing supernatural shadows isn’t Candy’s idea of police work—until some very real killings start occurring around town. Suddenly, Candy and Steve find themselves struggling to track down who’s behind these vicious crimes…and how far they’ll go to keep long-buried secrets from surfacing.

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  “You don’t have to stay with me every minute.”

  Candy shrugged. He might be right, but he also might be wrong. She hadn’t received any other assignment. “You’re my detail.”

  He grimaced. “I didn’t want that. If I’d wanted a full-time assistant, I’d have brought one along. I’m sure you have a whole bunch of things to do that are more important than shepherding me around.”

  Candy felt a flicker of amusement. “I understand why you might not want that. But I’m equally certain the city fathers didn’t toss this to the sheriff because they wanted you rolling through here like a loose cannon. I guess I’m the city protection squad. No bad publicity here.”

  That drew a grin from him. “You might be right. Most of the places I’ve been to have been too big to worry about it. Not only is Conard City way smaller, but it’s also pretty isolated.”

  “Yup. They’d like to draw more visitors, not drive them away. So please, Steve, make us look good.”

  CONARD COUNTY:

  HARD PROOF

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Rachel Lee

  Rachel Lee was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

  Books by Rachel Lee

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Conard County: The Next Generation

  Cornered in Conard County

  Missing in Conard County

  Murdered in Conard County

  Conard County Justice

  Conard County: Hard Proof

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  Conard County: The Next Generation

  Guardian in Disguise

  The Widow’s Protector

  Rancher’s Deadly Risk

  What She Saw

  Rocky Mountain Lawman

  Killer’s Prey

  Deadly Hunter

  Snowstorm Confessions

  Undercover Hunter

  Playing with Fire

  Conard County Witness

  A Secret in Conard County

  A Conard County Spy

  Conard County Marine

  Undercover in Conard County

  Conard County Revenge

  Conard County Watch

  Stalked in Conard County

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Candela (Candy) Serrano—Conard County sheriff’s deputy, combat veteran. Assigned as liaison to Ghostly Ties program.

  Steve Hawks—Former big-city detective, now host of the TV program Ghostly Ties. A strong skeptic.

  The Castelle family—Annabelle and Todd and their seven-year-old daughter, Vivian. Viv hears voices in her bedroom and is terrified.

  Ben Wittes—Local psychic who comes to help with Steve’s program.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Excerpt from His Brand of Justice by Delores Fossen

  Chapter One

  Steve Hawks glanced impatiently at his watch. Time was getting on, Conard City was nowhere in view and he had an appointment to keep. He hated being late.

  If it hadn’t been for the obstacle in the road that had been too small to see, he wouldn’t be this far behind. Damn tire change. At least the rental company had provided a full-size tire, not a doughnut, which would have slowed him even more.

  Ah, well, he could try his cell again, if he could get a signal out here. Looking at the open expanse with mountains in the distance, he doubted he would.

  Oh, hell. For once the world would have to wait for him.

  He had a couple of weeks before his production crew arrived, but it was necessary to do groundwork for his TV show: Ghostly Ties. He had to know his clients, had to know the area and fill in some local history before filming.

  Although he’d been at it for three years now, Steve sometimes found it difficult to say he hosted “one of those ghostie shows.” A far cry from his former life as a detective. However, he figured it was just a different type of investigation. He looked for rational explanations and he delighted in local history and lore. All of which required a lot of detective work.

  Quit it, he told himself. He didn’t mind the work at all. In fact, he enjoyed it. Without it, he couldn’t have sent his parents to a happy retirement in Costa Rica. Great side benefit.

  So he drove down this aging state highway, amid ranches—was that what they were called or were these something else?—looking at endless square miles of browning autumn grasses and trees. And occasionally a bunch of cows. Or steers.

  He laughed at himself. He had a lot to learn out here.

  Then he saw a large flock of sheep. Okay, was that a sheep ranch? He shook his head and hoped he didn’t make a total fool out of himself before he could ask the right questions. Not that it really mattered. He’d realized long ago that you made more friends if you could laugh at yourself.

  At long last, he saw what appeared to be rectangular shapes rising in the distance. It sure wasn’t the slowly rolling hills he’d been seeing most of the way. At least the mountains appeared to be growing. For the longest time, the mountains hadn’t seemed to be coming closer. Now they did. Big and looming.

  And that must be Conard City up ahead. A huge semi and trailer seemed to come out of nowhere over the lip of a rise and roared past him, buffeting his car a bit. So there was life out here.

  He’d been to many places in his life, but he honestly couldn’t remember one with such huge empty expanses.

  * * *

  DEPUTY CANDELA SERRANO, Candy for short, waited in the sheriff’s office for the arrival of Steve Hawks. She’d drawn the “short straw” for who was going to babysit the guy, but it hadn’t really been a drawing. She’d been here only six months, replacing Cat Henderson, who had apparently been quite popular among the deputies. Plus, being so new, Candy couldn’t expect to do anything major until she’d been assessed.

  Anyway, here she was, assigned to assist a ghost hunter, of all things. To be a liaison. To smooth his way and maybe keep him out of trouble.

  Not that she really minded. Ghost hunting seemed like a scam to her, but there was no reason helping couldn’t be fun. As October settled in fully, with Halloween looming, the shorter days and the atmosphere might add to the spookiness. Or at least those were her arguments for making the assignment more palatable.

  While she didn’t like ghost-hunting TV, she did like spookiness and hat strange up
side-down magic that held dark promise like a good thriller.

  The streets around town were already succumbing. Uncut pumpkins decorated front porches. She looked forward to seeing their carved faces. A few trees dangled sturdy skeletons, and she saw more than one bedsheet ghost. And she always grinned.

  A much pleasanter environment than the places she’d visited in the Army. Too often she had to shake herself out of a horrifying memory. A good ghost story might be a relief because she knew all about real ghosts.

  Velma, the ancient dispatcher, sat on the far side of the room, her headset firmly planted under and around her thinning gray hair. There was a rumor that dispatch was going to be moved to a room in the back, but in six months Candy had come to like Velma and her colleagues right where they were. They were company, and their chatter was just as illuminating as the police band radio. Maybe more so because the dispatchers talked to individual patrols, giving Candy better detail. Plus, they could talk to cops who had for some reason moved to cell phones from their radios.

  She supposed that in time she’d understand that, too.

  Velma suddenly spoke. Her smoke-roughened voice emerged from the ever-present cloud of the cigarettes she frequently smoked right beneath the no-smoking sign.

  “This might be your guy, Candy.”

  Candy turned her attention to the front door. Oh, yeah. The autumn clothes fit fairly well with the surrounding area, except they looked almost new. No years of wear.

  Good-looking guy, too. A face for TV maybe, except not perfect. Those slight imperfections, a scar on his chin and a nose that wasn’t perfectly straight, suggested a past that might be almost normal.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late. Had a little car trouble on the way. I’m looking for Deputy Serrano?”

  Candy rose immediately from her desk. “Steve Hawks?”

  “So they tell me.” With an engaging smile, he offered his hand and shook hers. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re irritated. I hate to be late, but damn, those mountains just wouldn’t move any closer.”

  She chuckled, knowing exactly what he meant. “For the longest time they just seem to be pulling away. Have a seat, Mr. Hawks.”

  He sat in the chair beside her desk. Then he came straight to the point. “I imagine you didn’t volunteer for this assignment.”

  She didn’t know quite how to answer that. Nothing seemed politic.

  “I like a link with the local police,” he went on. “I want facts, not fiction, and a lot of what people think is true just isn’t.”

  She had no trouble understanding that. Already she began to like him. Facts, not fiction, seemed like a good motto. “I prefer facts myself.” She hoped that didn’t sound like a challenge, but it probably did. Too bad.

  The door swung open, admitting a uniformed deputy named Connie Parish. She flashed a grin as she headed toward the break room. “Seems like you’re sitting right where Cat used to sit.” Without a pause, she kept striding toward the back.

  What did that mean? Candy wondered as she returned her attention to the puzzle named Steve.

  “Do you know the Castelle family?” he asked. “I’m here to interview them.”

  “I know of them. I don’t think I’ve talked to them except in passing.” Were they subjects for his show? That was hard to believe considering she’d often seen the adults outside playing with a young daughter and a growing dog. A normal, happy family. Not one shadowed by uneasy things.

  Now her interest was piqued. “Do they have a ghost problem?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out. I’d love to debunk it for them.” He glanced at his watch, then rose. “I need to check in at the motel. How about we have dinner somewhere so you can grill me along with a steak?”

  He probably had an expense account, she decided. So yeah, she’d hit him up for a dinner. “You have two good choices in this town. The truck stop grill or Maude’s place. Good food at both.”

  He arched a brow. “That’s it?”

  “The Mexican restaurant hasn’t opened yet, but we do have a burger place and a pizzeria on the edge of town. The burgers are okay, Maude’s are better. Pizza?” She shrugged, hardly a recommendation. “Both are popular hangouts for young people. Oh, yeah, how could I forget Mahoney’s Bar? Great sandwiches and fried chicken.”

  Steve nodded, apparently accepting the limitations. “I’ll meet you at Maude’s at six, then. I can get directions at the motel.”

  She pointed straight out the window. “The café is thataway, a half block. The City Diner, the sign says, but everyone calls it Maude’s.”

  “Been here forever, huh?”

  “Maybe two forevers.”

  That elicited a bark of laughter from him as he headed toward the door.

  “Seems like an okay guy,” Velma remarked, then went back to her duties, acknowledging an officer on the radio who was making a traffic stop outside town.

  An okay guy? Maybe. Since he was a television star, Candy withheld judgment and just hoped she didn’t meet a soaring ego.

  * * *

  DESPITE HIS TARDINESS, Steve thought he had started on a decent path with Deputy Serrano. He’d sensed only a mild resistance, for which he couldn’t blame her. Babysitting a reality TV personality wasn’t on most people’s top-ten list.

  On the other hand, he really liked to get the police involved as much as he could. Even one on-screen interview of a cop providing information could prove extremely revealing, and it certainly lent credence to his investigation. If Serrano didn’t want to do it, she might well know someone who would.

  He’d like to get her, though. She was a pretty Latina he judged would photograph well.

  What the hell did a guy wear to a dinner at a café in this town? Dress up seemed unlikely from his minor scoping as he drove in. He settled on jeans and a white dress shirt. Without a tie, and with sleeves rolled up, it became casual.

  Dang, he could remember times when he never had to think of such things. As a plainclothes detective, he’d needed only a couple of suits and a whole bunch of clean shirts.

  Big deal. The clock said he had a little time to unpack, not that there was much. During the next few weeks, he didn’t need anything that couldn’t be cleaned in a coin laundry. When his production team came, they’d bring more with them.

  Then he sat in the chair beside the small table and looked around at the room. Someone had tried to modernize it, but large-purchase bedding and lamps from a supply house didn’t quite make it. Chosen to be inoffensive, they practically blended in with the motel-room background. The walls, however, were solid wood planks, not paneling.

  Not that he minded. He’d slept in worse places because the show did have a budget. One hotel was expensive? Then find something cheaper at the next location. He didn’t think the La-Z-Rest motel was going to break any bank.

  And why didn’t this motel give itself a face-lift with a new name? It was so 1950s. All it lacked was a sputtering neon sign. No sputtering here.

  Sighing, eager to be doing something besides sitting on his can, especially after a long day in the car, he pulled out his slim leather portfolio and looked at the numbers he needed to call. The Castelles first. They were the ones who were worried enough to call him.

  His major goal in this was to ease a little girl’s mind. The seven-year-old had the problem and her parents didn’t know how to handle it. They’d tried everything, they’d explained the first time he talked to them.

  His secondary goal was to ensure no one was after the family, and that neither parent was frightening the daughter for some end of his or her own. He’d been a cop too long to overlook such possibilities.

  He hoped they didn’t necessarily want a paranormal explanation. He’d need actual proof before he could do that, and thus far he’d almost never needed those words: I don’t know what it is.

 
Paranormal. Damn, this country had begun to fall into a state of belief.

  * * *

  HALF AN HOUR later he decided to stretch his legs by walking to the diner. He’d left a voice mail with the Castelles and said he’d call in the morning. Now he wanted to make the deputy a little less dubious about him. He didn’t need her trust, but he did need her cooperation.

  With night falling, the air had grown chillier. Fine by him. Except for catastrophic weather, the mostly steady climate of Southern California had become boring. Pleasant but boring. Every now and then he got a little jolt when he was reminded that other places rolled through seasons that were different.

  Not that he wanted to be shoveling snow for months on end, but he enjoyed the changes when he ran into them.

  When he reached the diner, he spied Deputy Serrano sitting at a table right in front of the window. She had twisted to look up at a man who stood beside her and spoke with expansive gestures. She was smiling.

  All to the good, Steve thought as he moved between tables to reach her. The place was crowded, which spoke well of the food. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d skipped lunch because he was late.

  Delicious aromas filled the room. The clatter of utensils and plates joined with various conversations. The diner felt friendly.

  By the time he reached Serrano, the man had moved on. When she saw Steve, she gave him a polite smile. Just that, nothing more. At the same time, she pointed to the chair across from her.

  He slid in and leaned back, hoping not to make her feel crowded at this small table. “Hi,” he said as she passed him a plastic-covered menu. Surprised fingers told him it was clean, not greasy or sticky as he would have expected.

  The woman who brought him coffee, a rather large angry-looking person, slammed down cups and began filling them with coffee. “Back soon,” she grumped and stalked away.

  Steve couldn’t help but raise a brow in Serrano’s direction.

  Her faint smile widened a bit. “Maude, the owner. Consider her to be part of the local color.”