Sins of the Father

By Winter Austin

Newly pinned deputy Jolie Murdoch's first big job as a McIntire County deputy is to locate a missing girl. What Jolie doesn't expect is to stumble upon a corpse—the girl's father--with a prime suspect still hanging around. But why would local bartender Xavier Hartmann go off the deep end and bludgeon a man to death?

A former marine, Xavier is barely coping with a traumatic brain injury, and he has no memory of what happened at the crime scene. He came to Eider to confront his past, not get embroiled in a murder as the number one suspect. To make matters worse, as the mystery deepens, Xavier finds himself drawn to the reluctant deputy.

As Jolie fights against mounting pressure to get to the truth, she realizes there's more to Xavier than meets the eye. But someone is lingering on the fringes, determined to put a stop to her investigation and Xavier's freedom. Will Jolie do her sworn duty or buck the status quo to give her and Xavier's newfound passion a chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Aug 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215952634

Winter Austin

Winter Austin was once asked by her husband if he could meet some of the people who took residence in her head. She warned they weren’t all characters he wanted to meet, as killers walked among them. Needless to say, that conversation ended abruptly.A lifelong Mid-West gal, Winter swears she should have been born in the South, Texas or Louisiana preferably. But then she’d miss the snowy winters.Dividing her day between her four children and their various activities, a growing pet population, and her Beta-with-Alpha-tendencies Hero, Winter manages to find time to write chilling suspense and action-packed novels between loads of laundry.Don’t worry. You won’t find any of her mouthwatering culinary dishes poisoned. Unless you’re one of her fictional creations.

Book preview

Chapter One

Death had a stench that was all too familiar to Xavier Hartmann. It was pungent and meaty and carried with it the memories of acrid smoke, the screams of dying men, and an out-of-body experience Xavier couldn’t forget.

He fought hard to free himself from the dreams, becoming aware through a hail of pain stabbing at his head. He squinted at a hazy, almost ethereal vision of something slender and yet full hovering above him. The cacophony of battle noise faded, replaced by a soft swish and a rustling. Slowly, he inhaled, catching an earthy scent along with the cloying odor of death. Pushing past the poking needles, he opened his eyes, and his vision cleared. He was lying on the ground. A hot breeze buffeted his body, making the leaves flutter above him.

With a groan, he rolled up onto his left elbow and good hip. The movement aggravated his head, and he feared he had another concussion. The first one had been horrible enough it gave him a traumatic brain injury. If he had another concussion, it begged the question, how the hell did he get it? He managed to push himself into a sitting position, only to discover the lower half of his right pant leg was lying flat. Xavier pawed at his jeans, rolling up the empty fabric and gaping at the blank space.

His prosthetic was gone. Terror clawed at him; same as it had when he’d been wounded and glimpsed his mangled and bloodied right leg. Frantic, he scanned the area. The damn things were expensive as hell, and he couldn’t lose it. Then the fact of where he was slammed home: sitting in the middle of a park-like area. It seemed familiar, like he’d been here many times before, but his hurting brain couldn’t wrap around the actual place.

Xavier scooted up into a crawling posture, then carefully picked his way to the closest tree, examining the ground along the way, pushing aside dead leaves from last year. Where was the prosthetic? On reaching the tree, he used the trunk to aid him onto his good leg. The change in position turned his headache into a raging, white-spots-in-his-vision migraine. He slumped back to the earth, breathing through the nausea overwhelming him until it subsided.

This was not good.

The coppery, rancid stench was powerful here by the tree, making it difficult not to vomit. With a hand cupping his mouth and nose, he inched around the trunk and finally came across the source of the smell.

A man lay on the ground, his neck bent at a sharp angle; blackened blood coated his tattered T-shirt. Xavier gaped. The mangled corpses of uniformed men danced like skeletal marionettes through his mind, their bloodied and broken limbs flopping, heads twisted at odd angles with zombie sneers. He heaved, losing control, and retched. Drenched in sweat and trembling, he collapsed behind the tree. Xavier stared at his legs until his brain registered the dark splotches on his jeans. Lifting his tremoring hands to look at the palms, he sucked in a breath.

Dried blood blotted his skin. Had he blacked out? Had he reverted to his training? Had he killed this man? The questions and the lack of answers swirled around in his head, making the headache worse. He had to stop, or the damage inflicted on his vulnerable brain would create more invisible scars from which he’d never recover.

One baby step at a time. First, he had to locate his prosthetic. Gathering his flagging courage, Xavier flipped into a crawling position and carefully approached the corpse. Every cell in his body screamed to stay away, but his instinct overruled, convinced the worst was true—that he’d lost his prosthetic next to the dead man. Lady Luck had been a cruel mistress to Xavier from birth.

He closed in on the corpse and stalled. His arms shook, straining under the effort to keep him upright as his empty stomach seized. He wanted to run—oh God, how he wanted to get up on two good legs and sprint away from here. But there would be no relief. There, clutched in the man’s dying grip, was the leg. Brown streaked the sleek calf where bloodied fingers grasped it.

He had visions of gore-covered hands reaching for him, with pleading eyes, gaping mouths. Damn these terrifying images of a zombie squad crawling after him. Xavier eased around the body, pried his prosthetic loose, then froze. Squinting at the dead man, he tried to sort through his memory. He knew this bloke, somehow.

Tucking away his fear in its lockbox once more, Xavier gently grasped the corpse’s chin and tilted his head out of the awkward angle. Why was this guy familiar? Releasing the chin, he trailed his hand down the body to the Levi’s, patting the pockets but finding nothing.

Who are you? he whispered.

The man had been stabbed, and as a finale, his neck broken—assassination style. Xavier swallowed hard. Something he’d been taught as a marine.

Oh, bugger.

Placing the prosthetic leg in his lap, he tensed, ready to scoot back, when a sharp intake of breath made him stiffen. Slowly, he turned his head to the left, raising his arms. God, don’t shoot.

Newly minted Deputy Jolie Murdoch gaped at him, her already pale features whiter than a ghost now. Xavier Hartmann, what have you done?

Chapter Two

What had happened? Why was Xavier covered in blood and looming over a dead man? Why was Clint Kruger dead? Where was Clint’s daughter, Sarah? And was that a prosthetic in Xavier’s lap?

The unholy smell of decay hanging in the hot June air, making Jolie want to hurl her lunch, wasn’t helping her predicament.

Wait! Xavier was missing a limb? Her stomach twisted in knots, sending a sour taste into her mouth. Oh, this was so wrong, on so many levels.

Deputy, this… His raised, tattooed arms flopped down. This looks exactly like you think it does.

What in God’s name happened? she demanded.

I don’t know.

What do you mean you don’t know? Clint Kruger is dead.

That’s who this is? Xavier groaned, shaking his head back and forth, muttering, No, no, no, no.

Jolie fluttered her eyelids in rapid succession, and, like a fish, opened and closed her mouth. Had he seriously…? How could he not know who Clint Kruger was? Wasn’t Xavier one of many who knew Sarah was missing and possibly with her estranged father? The news had been all over town for the last twenty-four hours, pictures of the two strung everywhere Sarah’s mother could post them.

Xavier... Jolie approached him cautiously, the nagging voice in the back of her head telling her to draw her weapon, but she ushered the thought away. If it was self-defense, I’ll understand, but how do you not know what happened?

Tortured green-gray eyes stared back at her. I can’t explain it. The accent he’d done so well hiding leached into his voice in that statement.

She broke out in a sweat. Whoa, baby, she was in it deep. What was she going to do? This was like Ian all over again. She couldn’t screw this up, not like last time. She was a full-fledged deputy now; all eyes were on her, expecting her to botch another case, smearing the good name of Murdoch through the proverbial crap even more than Ian had.

Her radio squawked. Murdoch, status? It was Jennings, the currently acting dispatcher.

Xavier’s gaze bore into her as they stared at each other. Could she claim he was a killer, when, in fact, she hadn’t seen him actually kill Clint Kruger? But the evidence before her was damning, and the blood splattered across Xavier’s clothing certainly made him look suspicious.

Don’t do something stupid, Jolie.

Murdoch, report.

What should she do?

Sighing, Xavier positioned the prosthetic under his stump and put it on. You do what you have to do, Deputy, he said. Then, with an ease that surprised her, he hauled himself upright.

You could leave. I could pretend I never saw you. And that right there was how she screwed it all up.

For a moment he gaped at her, then shook his head. After all that happened with your brother, you’d pull that card? Murdoch, I’m not going anywhere. Respond.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Oh my God, what was I thinking? The sheriff would fire me if he knew I said that.

Her hand trembled as she reached up to grasp the radio. Running the tip of her tongue over her teeth, she swallowed and answered, This is Murdoch. I’ve found Clint Kruger.

Status? Jennings asked.

Deceased. An ungodly sized lump lodged in her throat. Homicide.

Silence met her report.

I have a potential suspect. With those simple words, she’d just signed Xavier Hartmann’s death warrant.

• • •

In Jolie’s opinion, a few too many cops arrived after her call. Since the death had occurred inside city limits, Eider Police Department’s sole detective, Con O’Hanlon, came to lead the investigation. Along with him came McIntire County Sheriff Shane Hamilton, Deputy Cassy Hunt, and three Eider police officers.

Having no prior encounters with a homicide, other than pictures, Jolie gnawed on her thumbnail, doing her best not to look at Clint Kruger’s corpse. Despite the heat and humidity, she wrapped her arms around her body and shivered. Because she had been the dispatcher during her brother’s murderous trek across the county, Jolie hadn’t seen those bodies up close and personal like this. Her stomach quivered, threatening to send up her rushed lunch of tortilla chips, a granola bar, and Gatorade.

To ease her trembling stomach, she focused on Xavier, who seemed undisturbed by it all as he faced the body and talked with Detective O’Hanlon. It was like Xavier had seen a few dead humans in his lifetime.

Duh! Look at his missing leg. He lost it somehow, and it’s a pretty good bet it was in war.

War, where men were blown up and killed in front of their comrades. War, a horrific event that only one in her small, tight-knit group had experienced.

Jolie?

She jerked out of her wandering thoughts as a hand touched her right shoulder, then looked at the woman next to her.

Heavy with her first child, Cassy Hunt squeezed Jolie's shoulder and then swept her blond braid over her own. How are you holding up?

I don’t know. And she didn’t. She couldn’t sort through her emotions. Everything from grief to horror to fury to embarrassment wove a destructive path through her mind, ending up as a tangled, wadded mess. How can he be so calm?

Cassy’s face scrunched in confusion. He?

Xavier. Look at him. He acts like he wasn’t just caught with the body of a murdered man. Jolie swallowed hard. With the way this setup is looking, at the very least he could be under suspicion for killing Clint.

We don’t know what happened, so let’s not jump to conclusions.

Cass, he can’t remember anything. He didn’t even know Clint’s name.

At this, Cassy's blue eyes darkened. He told you that?

Yes. It was beyond weird. Did you know he’s missing his right leg below the knee?

Actually, Boyce figured it out. Boyce was Cassy’s ex-FBI agent husband. We never said anything about it, because it’s Xavier’s choice whether to reveal it to people.

Jolie removed her McIntire County Sheriff’s Department ball cap and raked her fingernails over her damp scalp. It’s all too strange.

With another squeeze of her shoulder, Cassy gave her a pinched smile. Welcome to being a deputy in Nowheresville, Iowa.

Detective O’Hanlon pointed at Jolie and beckoned for her to join him. Grimacing, she replaced her cap and left Cassy. As Jolie drew closer to the two men, O’Hanlon moved away from Xavier to create a more private space for them. She avoided making eye contact with Xavier, but her face still flamed at her recollection of trying to convince him to run while she lied about what she’d found. How stupid could she have been? She hoped against hope he hadn’t breathed a word to O’Hanlon about what she’d tried to do. It would be the ultimate blow to Daddy if she lost her job before she really got started. All of his aspirations of her becoming the future sheriff would fly right out the window. He was already suffering enough, thanks to Ian.

Shoving her hands in the pockets of her uniform pants, she attempted to strike a nonchalant, this-is-an-everyday-occurrence pose. But the tension pulling on her shoulders and the erratic beating of her heart made it near impossible. Run! Run fast and far! This was not how she wanted to start her career as a deputy.

A’right, Deputy Murdoch, let’s hear your statement on the events leading to this discovery, said the displaced Irishman.

Slowly, as she’d been taught by her instructors in the academy and by both Rivers sisters, she recounted her actions step for step, from the moment she received the call about Clint Kruger possibly being sighted at the county 4-H fair parade, to her arrival as the parade had ended, to learning Clint had actually been spotted in the city park on the west side of Eider. Both Eider city police and McIntire County Sheriff’s Department had been looking for Clint for the past twenty-four hours to question him about the sudden disappearance of his fourteen-year-old daughter. This break was what they’d needed.

I made my way out to the park. When I arrived, I didn’t see Mr. Kruger’s green Ford Taurus in any of the lots. I alerted dispatch that I was going into the park to search.

How long after this did you come upon Mr. Hartmann and Kruger? Con asked.

Biting her lip, she maintained eye contact with O’Hanlon as she calculated the minutes it took to hike through the park from the north lot, where she made the call to Jennings, and happened upon the scene. About twenty minutes, Detective.

The tall Irishman crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his chin up a bit as he contemplated her answer. She’d been in awe of this man since the day she decided to become a cop. Con O’Hanlon had started out as a police officer in the middle years of Daddy’s term as sheriff. Though the two were as different as north and south, Jolie admired Detective O’Hanlon’s goodwill and tenacity. He’d been involved in some disturbing cases in McIntire County, the most recent being The Priest incident and Ian’s murderous activities, but the case that stood out to Jolie was one of her earliest encounters with Con O’Hanlon—the mysterious disappearance of a young girl.

The missing girl, Grace Maddox, had never been found, and it looked like history was about to repeat itself.

When you came across the scene, what did you see? he asked.

I saw Xavier Hartmann leaning over Clint Kruger. Hartmann was holding his prosthetic in his lap, and he had blood spatters on his clothing and arms. Jolie’s stomach ached, as if it were attempting to tie itself into a big knot. I asked him what had happened… and he couldn’t answer me.

O’Hanlon drummed his fingers along his arm. Was there anything else about the situation that gave you reason to believe Xavier Hartmann might have killed Clint Kruger?

He couldn’t remember who Clint Kruger was. That’s about all I can tell you.

Okay. He stopped drumming and began stroking a spot above his left eyebrow. Deputy, I want the report as soon as you’ve written it.

Yes, sir.

And with that, Jolie was dismissed. She hadn’t been asked about her major slip-up. Eyes closed, she rubbed her chest over her heart. Thank God! As she turned to leave and her gaze fell on Xavier, that relief leached from her system, leaving her wobbly. He hadn’t moved from the place where O’Hanlon had interviewed him. Xavier seemed to study her and, as if he’d found her lacking, looked away.

How dare he? She wasn’t the one caught with a dead man under suspicious circumstances. But Jolie’s common sense kicked in as she took a step forward. Confronting him about what she saw in his actions was only going to raise more questions with the other police officers around her, because God knew she’d say the wrong thing and admit to her own moment of stupidity.

Besides, it looked like he might have killed Clint, and Xavier hadn’t confessed or denied either way. The disturbing thing was he didn’t know what happened. How did one forget something as traumatic as killing another person?

Was Xavier lying about not knowing Clint? He’d seemed convincing enough. But then again, did anyone really know Xavier Hartmann?

Chapter Three

His mobile buzzed against his leg. Xavier tensed, which didn’t help the raging headache any, and peeked at Deputy Murdoch. She kept her eyes forward and focused on driving. If she’d heard the vibrating machine, she was doing a damned good job of ignoring it. O’Hanlon and the sheriff had allowed him to keep his mobile for now, with the understanding that he was to do nothing to remove any possible evidence. But Xavier was certain there had to be a flurry of text messages from one of his contacts who typically made a right big nuisance of herself, and no way in hell did he want anyone to see those messages.

Cupping the back of his neck, he winced as his fingers brushed against the tender knot at the base of his skull. His stomach roiled at the wave of pain. Xavier closed his eyes and breathed through the nausea. Deputy Murdoch wouldn’t appreciate vomit in her pristine car. The problem with closing his eyes—it caused the tiny flashing lights in the corners of his eyes to go crazy.

Are you okay?

I’m fine, he grumbled, resting his head against the back of the seat. Oh, wrong move. Fire radiated from the spot on his skull. Frack! That hurt.

You don’t look all right. I didn’t ask, but did you hit your head?

Had he? It would explain the bump, but how’d it happen? If—and that was a huge if—he had killed Clint Kruger, there was no way in hell the dead man could have inflicted this on Xavier. It could explain the blackout. With that thought, the nausea intensified. How could he have killed a man without cause? This wasn’t war. Clint Kruger hadn’t killed his men.

Xavier? Deputy Murdoch’s warm, damp hand enveloped his arm.

Jolting, he tossed her hand away and scrambled to the edge of the seat. Don’t. Touch. Me.

Her frown deepened into a scowl. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel as her gaze darted forward, and she glared at the windshield. She’d been assigned to drive him to the sheriff’s department, and it looked like she was about to spit the dummy. Could he blame her? The poor woman had the misfortune of finding him in a compromising position, had been saddled with his crippled ass, and then he bit her head off.

Another buzz in his pants pocket made him grimace. He dug out his mobile from his Levi’s and checked the screen. As suspected, Ariel. Piss.

A glance to his left caught Deputy Murdoch’s perturbed look. It’s kind of important.

No monkey business.

As if he had the choice. He opened the first message.

Where are you?

Second:

Don’t ignore me, X.

Piss some more.

If he did ignore her, she’d go on a tear looking for him, then he’d have a lot of explaining to do. Why couldn’t she have just stayed home in Adelaide?

He tapped out his reply:

Just checking on stuff. Be home late. Don’t worry.

To avoid her nagging, he turned the mobile to silent and tucked it under his bum leg. His stump was beginning to itch in the special sleeve protecting his skin from rubbing inside the prosthetic cup. Not to mention the pool of sweat building up.

Oh, to take it off and have a nice long soak in a cool bath. He let his hand drift to the juncture of flesh and bone to prosthetic; the desire to rub away the itch—because scratching it always led to overdoing it and left irritated skin—was enough to make him throw all caution out the window.

Who was that?

Murdoch’s sudden question shook him. He snatched his hand back and gripped his bicep, where he kneaded the taut muscles.

Um... How did he explain Ariel? As long as he’d lived here in McIntire County, he hadn’t once revealed who he truly was or whom he was connected to. Bringing up Ariel would create a sandstorm of trouble.

Don’t know anyone by the name of Um, Murdoch quipped.

His mouth twitched. The little redhead had a sense of humor. She had to be a real cutup compared to the two Rivers sisters. Nic (Rivers) O’Hanlon and Cassy (Rivers) Hunt weren’t your typical southeast Iowa women. Nic was a former Marine Scout sniper, and as tough and crude as they came. Cassy had been a cop most of her adult life and was married to an ex-FBI agent. Both were daughters of a retired high-ranking Marine general.

A pang in his chest gave Xavier pause. Would he ever have the balls to approach the Rivers’ patriarch?

It’s private, he said, focusing on the dashboard panel. What he wouldn’t give to hear some Keith Urban in this stifling car.

Private went by the wayside when you became a suspect in a murder investigation. There was a bitter edge to Murdoch’s voice.

What had happened to the uncertain woman who was hell-bent on throwing her career in the shitter by offering to let him run and to lie for him? Xavier couldn’t fathom why she’d considered it in the first place. If she was trying not to make a monumental mess of her career as a deputy, she sure as hell failed today. Despite the agony he was in, Xavier sympathized with her. Maybe in that moment Murdoch had been thinking about what had happened with her brother and just blurted whatever popped in her head. No sense in getting her in trouble with the sheriff over a slip of the tongue.

But that was as far as he went. The shark biscuit shone with newness, and an investigator she was not.

Deputy Murdoch, at this point, I believe that information shall be privy to Detective O’Hanlon and the sheriff only.

Her gaze narrowed, the green-brown eyes flashing ire. If he weren’t in such deep shit, he’d find it comical that a redhead had such an odd shade of eye color. There were so many inappropriate jokes pushing forward in his mind. This was neither the time, nor was she the right person, for his kind of humor.

I know more about investigation procedures than you’d expect, he told her.

Is that so? She hit the brakes and directed the car to the side of the road. It jerked to a stop on the gravel-lined shoulder in a flurry of dust.

The sudden stop turned the bright flashes into a waterspout of fury in his eyeballs. Xavier blinked the chaos under control. The building was a mere one hundred meters up the road. Murdoch was almost to the sheriff’s department, and she had to stop here?

She twisted in her seat to glare at him. How does a grifter from—oh, I’d say that’s Australia I hear in your accent—know so much about American police procedure?

Offended much? The corner of his mouth went up in a cocky grin. Sorry, Deputy, that there is classified.

What the fudge? Her face turned bright red, melding the smattering of freckles with her coloring.

Damn! He hadn’t really paid attention to it until now, but she was sexy when she had her temper in full flare. Her eyes sparked with a fire she probably kept hidden from most of the world. His gaze drifted to her lips. How soft and pink they were when they parted and she expelled a shaky breath. Gulping, he felt stirrings in his body he’d thought long dead and gone after the blast took his leg and his mind.

What?

Murdoch’s exasperated exclamation startled him. Aware that his hand was hanging midair between them, he snatched it back and bumped the car door. The flash of pain did wonders to douse the sudden embarrassment at catching himself trying to touch her. What a wanker!

Sorry. I just… I can’t talk about it. He turned from her. Would you be so kind as to finish our trek to the station?

Seconds ticked past in awkward silence, then she put the car in gear and pulled back onto the pavement.

Xavier sank further in his seat. Could this day get any worse?

• • •

He had to go and think it.

After a degrading hour of numerous photos to document the evidence on his body, he was asked to turn over his clothing and suffered the indignity of wearing a ratty pair of shorts, a too-small T-shirt, and a pair of floppy sandals. Then he had to remove his prosthetic so it could be photographed, swabbed, and inspected. Once it was returned to him, Xavier was left with a throbbing head, spotty vision, and he was ready to call it quits. A little voice in the back of his mind was telling him he should have taken Murdoch’s offer to make good on an escape. Fuck! The humiliation was never-ending.

Now he was sitting in a cold room with only a pair of empty chairs and a scarred table to keep him company. Although, in the scheme of things, this little room was better than a jail cell. It was unreal sitting on this side of the table. In his last few years as a marine, he’d been the one on the giving end of the interviews. Rubbing his now freshened face, he groaned. What in the hell happened out there with Clint Kruger?

Xavier held his hands in front of him and stared at them. Once upon a time he’d been able to kill a man in battle. But in cold blood? At this point in his life? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Yes, he was still capable of doing it. Along with his physical therapy, he’d kept up on his skills as a boxer. He was fit and able to defend himself if the need ever arose. Had it come up? Was that why he’d been covered in Kruger’s blood?

Letting his hands flop onto the tabletop, Xavier closed his eyes and attempted to pull the memories forward. He tried to sort through