Ira shot Kat a look. “Your father’s the one who realized it was Dillinger wire. You’re Patrick Starr’s daughter.”
“Yes.” She pegged Ira as late sixties, early seventies, maybe older, but he was in great shape, so it was hard to say.
“How’s he like you being a cop?”
“Dad,” Ricki said again, exasperated. “Where would someone get their hands on our wire? Is there any left on the property? In some corner of the barn or one of the outbuildings?”
“Well, I don’t know. Ask Colton. He’s all over the property.”
“When did you stop using this particular design?” Kat asked.
He gave her another hard look but answered readily enough. “We never really went back to it after the old homestead burned down twenty years ago. All the old barbed wire’s been replaced.”
“Ricki, is that you?” a female voice called from somewhere outside the office. Both Kat and Ricki turned, and soon a pretty, blond woman wearing a Baby Bjorn appeared, a sleeping, dark-haired infant leaning against her breast. Delilah Dillinger Kincaid. And with her was another woman, tall and beautiful, carrying a garment bag over one arm.
“Sabrina, is that your dress?” Ricki asked.
Delilah answered first. “It’s a bridesmaid dress she wants me to try. I don’t think I can fit it.” She puffed out her cheeks and gestured to her stomach.
“You don’t have an ounce of baby fat left on you,” Sabrina told her.
Ricki leaned in to touch the baby’s head, and Kat looked at the velvety hair on his head and felt her heart beat painfully hard.
Ira growled, “Bring him over here.”
“Hi, Katrina,” Sabrina greeted her with a smile. “Good to see you. How’s your dad?”
“Good.” She cleared her throat.
The front door opened and shut again, and soon a tall man with a long stride came into view. Dark hair, slashing grin. Colton Dillinger. Sabrina’s husband-tobe. “What is this, a family meeting?”
“We’re just stopping by to see Ira,” Delilah said, gently extracting the baby from his carrier and handing him to Ira. “And to try on a dress that won’t fit.”
“It’ll fit,” Sabrina assured. “Are you coming to the wedding?” she asked Katrina.
Kat blinked at her. “Um . . .”
“You got an invitation, right?” Sabrina looked alarmed, like she’d forgotten to send it.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. Patrick had received one for the whole Starr family, though Kat had determined she wasn’t going; it was just one more event to avoid because she didn’t want to run into Blair Kincaid. “Unfortunately, I have a conflict, but I’ll make sure Dad sends back the reply—”
“I’m so sorry,” Sabrina said, too polite to ask what Kat’s conflict was, which was a relief since Kat’s mind was currently a blank. She couldn’t think of anything she would be doing six weeks from now.
Except maybe starting to show . . .
“Can I talk to you a moment?” Ricki asked Colton.
“Sure,” he said.
“If something changes, just let me know,” Sabrina told Kat. “We’re keeping it casual, so the guest list is fluid.”
“Thanks.” Kat swallowed.
“We’ll be upstairs,” Sabrina called after Colton, who was already heading out of the office with Ricki.
Kat followed them all into the front entryway. She glanced back to see Delilah putting baby Joshua into Ira’s stiff arms. “Relax,” Delilah laughed at her father. “He’s a sound sleeper. He won’t even notice.”
Kat dragged her attention away from the baby as Ricki showed Colton the picture of Courtney’s barbed-wire-wrapped wrists and explained what he was looking at. His expression grew sober, and he made a sound of unhappiness. “What the hell?”
“Dad says it’s Dillinger barbed wire, so somebody got it from here. You think there’s any left on the property?”
“Possibly.” He rubbed his chin.
“Mind if Kat and I take a look around?” Ricki asked.
“I can do it later for you, if you can wait. I gotta go into town right now, but—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ricki cut in. “We’ve got this.”
Ira yelled from the office. “Let Colton do it!”
Ricki shook her head in exasperation, and Colton nodded in understanding. Ricki motioned for Kat to follow her, then stalked through the house and kitchen, out the back door. “Any way he can get me to not do my job,” she muttered as she stomped into the hot sunshine. “He was about to give you a lecture on policework, but we were saved by the wedding.”
There were a number of buildings around the property, used for machinery and storage, and there were several barns as well. They went into the first one, and Ricki ordered Kat to start in the back and go room by room, stall by stall. The musty smells of dust, horse, and grain didn’t help Kat’s uncertain stomach, and her mind’s eye was still filled with the sight of Blair’s nephew, the sweep of the baby’s lashes, the lips sucking in sleep, the sweet, smooth skin and fat cheeks. She clenched her jaw and continued the search by sheer willpower, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts and images that stayed with her: Courtney’s body and the barbed wire; a shadowy man dragging Addie Donovan away from her horse; the hard planes and sinewy strength of Blair Kincaid’s body; the two pink lines; the sheriff’s office where she would soon explain all the years of silence over Ruth’s rape . . .
They worked through two of the buildings, then entered an older one with a weathervane atop a cupola. Ricki took the front, while Kat walked to the back, her nose registering new smells, oil and gasoline. She’d discovered a hay baler, a rototiller, and a couple of ATVs. There were various pieces of junk parked against the back wall, which she looked over and around, and at the far end of the room was a low door that Kat had to shove her shoulder against. It opened with a groan, and she entered another room with more junk: a pile of metal machinery pieces; blocks of wood, one split by a rusted axe; and along the back wall, tiny remnants of rusted barbed wire.
Heart rate accelerating, Kat moved closer and picked up a piece, turning it over in her hands. She recognized the pattern. “Found something!” she yelled jubilantly.
“I’m coming!” Ricki called back.
She appeared a few moments later, her rapid footsteps thunking on the wooden planks. She leaned down beside Kat, and they examined the pieces. “That’s it, but not a lot of it.” She then stood and looked around. “I suppose anybody could have gathered up strands at any time.” She picked up the largest pieces.
“They’d have to have access to your father’s ranch,” Kat said. A distant part of herself was glad the bits of wire had been found where it was expected, on Dillinger land, not Kincaid. Not that it proved anything, but still . . .
“Who would know to steal it? Someone who worked here? Had access? Did they just come across it and decide to take it?” Ricki glowered at the thought. “There’ve been a lot of hands through here over the years. Need to narrow it down some.”