The Last Goodnight Read online

  Also by Kat Martin

  The Silent Rose

  The Dream

  The Secret

  Hot Rain

  Deep Blue

  Desert Heat

  Midnight Sun

  Against the Wild

  Against the Sky

  Against the Tide

  Into the Fury

  Into the Whirlwind

  Into the Firestorm

  Beyond Reason

  Beyond Danger

  Beyond Control

  Pivot

  THE LAST GOODNIGHT

  KAT MARTIN

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Kat Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2021939154

  The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-3679-6

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: November 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3796-0

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-3796-2

  First Kensington Trade Paperback Edition: November 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3682-6 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-3682-6 (ebook)

  CHAPTER ONE

  KADE LOGAN STOOD ON THE BANK, WATCHING THE SHERIFF AND his deputies haul the mud-covered vehicle out of the lake. The crane groaned as the auto tilted upward, the rear end lifting into the air, the front wheels dragging across the spongy earth. Brackish lake water poured out through the open windows, along with weeds and silt. Even a few silver fish had made the car their home.

  For eight long years, Kade had been haunted by the mystery of what had happened to the dark green Subaru Forester that had belonged to his dead wife.

  Oh, he knew where Heather was. In a grave in the old hillside cemetery in Coffee Springs, the small town closest to the ranch. Her body had been found in a shallow depression up in the hills at the base of the mountains outside Denver.

  Heather had been beaten and strangled. Any signs of rape had faded as her body decayed, but as beautiful as she was, Kade was sure sex had been involved.

  Her killer had never been caught.

  “You okay?” Sam Bridger, Kade’s best friend, stood beside him, a tall blond man Kade had known for years. Kade had been too lost in thought to hear him approach.

  “She’s been dead eight years, Sam. So yeah, I’m okay.” But the rage he felt had never lessened. It should have. At the time of her death, their marriage was already on the rocks. The second time Kade had caught Heather cheating, he had filed for divorce.

  “Maybe they’ll find something in the car that’ll give them a reason to reopen the case,” Sam said.

  “Maybe.” Kade hoped so. He wanted Heather’s killer to be found and punished. No matter how things had turned out between them, he owed her that much.

  His gaze went back to the car being lifted onto the flatbed of a diesel truck with an Eagle County Sheriff’s emblem on the side. The truck pulled away from the edge of the lake, tires churning through mud made worse by last night’s rain. The motor groaned as the vehicle slogged along the little-used, rutted lane to the asphalt road leading toward Eagle, the county seat.

  The last time Kade had seen the dark green SUV was the night Heather had left him. That night, she had packed her things, taken the car, and driven away without a backward glance. Kade had never seen her again.

  At the time, like half the residents of Coffee Springs, he’d believed Heather had run off with one of the men she’d met in the town’s only saloon, or maybe a guy in Vail, the ski area frequented by the rich and famous only an hour’s drive away, where Heather sometimes went to ski with her girlfriends.

  Kade had believed it too. For a while. Then, two years later, a couple of hikers had found a body in a shallow grave, the dirt washed away by a recent storm. The victim, a female, turned out to be Heather Logan, a shock that had sent Kade into a tailspin.

  By then, he’d accepted the likelihood that Heather had been a victim of foul play. She hadn’t left with some big spender from Vail and simply started a new life, as she had threatened to do. She had been murdered.

  Since then, Kade had been tormented by guilt. He lived each day with a terrible sense of failure that he had let Heather down. At the very least, he should have found the man responsible for her death.

  And made the bastard pay.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Kade said. “I’m heading back to the ranch.”

  “That’s it?” Sam asked, a blond eyebrow edging up. Sam and Kade had gone to school together, worked side by side during the summers when they were kids. Sam knew Kade well enough to know it was far from over.

  Kade thought of Heather and felt the old rage burn through him. “Over? Not by a long shot.” He started striding away, the bottom of his brown, oiled-canvas duster kicking up behind the heels of his muddy cowboy boots.

  “What are you going to do?” Sam asked, falling in beside him, matching him stride for stride.

  “First, I want to see what the forensic experts find in the car. Then I’m heading into Denver.” A friend in the city owned a company called Nighthawk Security. Kade’s father had known Marcus Delaney. The current owner, a war hero, was his son. Kade trusted Conner Delaney to recommend a competent investigator.

  Though Kade had tried that before.


  A month after Heather had disappeared, when she hadn’t made contact with any of her friends, he’d begun to worry that she hadn’t just run off with a man, as everyone believed. He’d filed a missing-persons report with the police, but they’d never found any trace of her.

  After her body was discovered and her disappearance became a homicide investigation, Kade had hired a retired police detective, but the case was cold by then. He began to accept that if the cops and his private investigator couldn’t find the man who had murdered her, maybe it was time to let go.

  Still, the rage inside him remained. A cold fury that wouldn’t leave him till the day he found the man responsible for his wife’s death.

  And dispensed the justice the killer deserved.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELEANOR BOWMAN SAT AT AN OAK DESK NEAR THE FRONT DOOR OF the office. The building that housed Nighthawk Security, a two-story brick structure on Acoma Street, had recently been remodeled. The interior was done in pleasant tones, with comfortable brown-leather sofas in the waiting area, a conference room, and an employee lounge in the back.

  Photos of local wildlife hung on the walls—elk, deer, a big black bear—along with autographed photos of celebrities the company had done business with at one time or another. The faces of Tom Selleck, Clint Eastwood, Denzel Washington, and Kevin Costner looked down from sturdy oak frames.

  Aside from providing private investigation services, Nighthawk offered a top-rate security team that specialized in personal and business protection. Conner Delaney, the man who owned the company, was former military, tall, dark-haired, and just flat hot.

  Though most of the guys on the security team also held PI licenses, Ellie was one of only four private investigators and, along with Conn’s sister, Skye, the only other woman who actually worked out of the office. They were all independent contractors, and though there was room for additional personnel, Conner was very selective. Only the best got a job at Nighthawk.

  Ellie was fully licensed, owned a Glock 19 semiauto and a .38 Smith and Wesson revolver. But she wasn’t a former police detective like Skye or an army ranger like Trace Elliott, Conn’s right-hand man. Her specialty was undercover work, and she was good at it. Embezzlement, larceny, fraud—Ellie went in covertly and ferreted out the guilty parties, information that went to the person who had hired her, who decided what course of action to take.

  She rarely came into the office. Anonymity was an important part of her work. But Conn believed she’d be the right person for the job he had in mind.

  Since she’d just finished a case, she was looking for something to do. She hoped for something interesting, but work was work. She didn’t want her savings account to dwindle.

  She looked up at a noise at the front of the office. The glass door swung open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a dark brown Stetson walked in. People thought of Denver as a western town, but it had been years since Ellie had seen a guy in a cowboy hat who looked like it belonged on him.

  Dressed in crisp, dark blue jeans that fit snuggly over a pair of narrow hips, brown lizard-skin boots, and a white shirt with pearl snaps on the front, the man removed his Stetson, revealing neatly trimmed, golden-brown hair, and strode toward the desk closest to the door, which happened to be hers.

  “My name’s Kade Logan.” He had a lean, muscular build and the long, powerful legs of a bulldogger. His deep, masculine voice fit him as perfectly as his hat, and his hard, handsome face could rival any of the celebrities hanging on the office walls. “I have an appointment with Conner Delaney.”

  “Yes, Conn mentioned he was expecting someone. I’ll let him know you’re here.” The office was small enough that they didn’t need a receptionist. Ellie rose from behind her desk, wondering if Kade Logan could possibly be the client Conn had in mind for her.

  In a cinnamon pencil skirt and matching jacket, a pale yellow silk blouse, and a pair of four-inch, dark brown heels, fall colors for the season, she started for Conn’s office, leaving her jacket draped over the back of her chair. Kade Logan’s eyes, the same golden-brown as his hair, followed her across the room.

  Ellie knocked and opened the door. “Mr. Logan’s here to see you.”

  Conn rose behind his desk. He was as tall as Logan and, like most of the guys in the office, really built. He was also engaged to be married, though Ellie had her doubts.

  “I need to speak to him first,” Conn said. “Then I’ll introduce you.”

  “So he’s the client you were telling me about?”

  “That’s right. Kade’s father and mine were friends. He owns a ranch called the Diamond Bar.”

  “I’ll send him in.” Turning, she headed back to where Logan stood waiting, long legs braced slightly apart, turning his hat in his big, calloused hands. No question this guy was for real. She wondered what kind of help he needed.

  She smiled up at him. A little under five-foot-four, she was at least ten inches shorter than Kade. “Go on in. Conn’s waiting.”

  He gave her a cursory nod, then disappeared inside the office. She looked down at her skirt and blouse, the business attire she had chosen to meet a new client, and wondered if she should have worn a pair of jeans.

  Ten minutes later, she found out.

  “Kade, meet Eleanor Bowman.”

  His eyes narrowed, forming tiny sun lines at the corners. “You’re Eleanor Bowman?”

  “I’m Ellie.” She smiled and stuck out a hand. “Pleasure meeting you.”

  His jaw tightened for an instant before he reached out and accepted her handshake.

  He turned back to Conn. “Eleanor. With a name like that, I thought she’d be an older woman, someone with more experience. Either way, this is a bad idea.”

  “What idea is that?” Ellie asked.

  “Eight years ago, Kade’s wife was murdered,” Conn answered for him. “Her body was discovered in the mountains outside Denver, but the killer was never found. Two weeks ago, the car Heather was driving when she disappeared was discovered in a lake near Coffee Springs. That’s the town closest to the ranch. The police now believe she could have been picked up by someone who knew the area, someone who lived there or had ties to the community. It’s possible the killer abducted her, dumped the car in the lake, then drove her somewhere and murdered her. Afterward, he disposed of her body, then returned to Coffee Springs.”

  “Maybe the killer wasn’t a local,” Ellie said. “Just someone passing through, someone who lived in Denver or a nearby town.”

  Logan glanced off toward the window. “We were in the middle of a divorce when she was killed. I knew she was seeing someone, but I didn’t know who. He could have been local or someone from out of town. Either way, the sheriff was never able to figure out who it was.”

  “And that’s the reason you want to hire me? To find out who murdered your wife?”

  His gaze swung to hers. “First off, I don’t want to hire you. Conn thought it would be a good idea. He said your specialty is working undercover, but the last thing I need on my ranch is a woman snooping around. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Irritation bubbled up, and her spine went straighter. “Did Conn tell you I was born in Wyoming? I was raised on the Grass Valley Ranch near Jackson Hole. Did he tell you I can ride just about anything you have in your remuda, or that I moved steers up into the mountains and back down into the valley every year. And the weather doesn’t bother me. I know ranching, Mr. Logan. I can fit seamlessly into your operation. I can do whatever job it takes to make people accept me and gather the information you need.”

  Silence fell.

  Conn Delaney’s lips twitched in amusement. “I think you can see why I thought Ellie was the right person for the job. I think you should hire her, Kade.”

  A muscle worked in Logan’s square jaw. He raked a hand through his hair, mussed a little from the hat.

  “I need some time to think about it.”

  “Are you sure?” Ellie asked. “Because if you want to f
ind your wife’s killer, you’ve already had eight years to think about it.”

  Kade’s golden eyes narrowed, seemed to burn into her green ones. “I need to know who my wife was seeing at the time she was murdered. I’m happy to pay whatever that information costs. You really think you can do it?”

  “If you want me to succeed, I’ll need straight answers to any questions I ask. If you’re willing to do that and if the information is out there, I’ll find out who it was.”

  He frowned. Clearly, he didn’t like the idea of her asking him questions about his personal life. On the other hand, he wanted answers.

  Kade nodded. “All right, we’ll do it your way.”

  Going in undercover was a good idea, and apparently Logan was smart enough to know it.

  “It’s a hundred fifty miles from Denver to the Diamond Bar Ranch,” he said. “If you go out I-70, with traffic, it’s about a three-hour drive from here to Coffee Springs. I’ll text you the directions from there out to the ranch.”

  “All right.”

  “What kind of car are you driving?”

  “Whatever kind I need. I have a friend in the used car business. We have an arrangement. He rents me whatever I think is best for the case I’m working. For this, definitely something with four-wheel drive.”

  For the first time, she caught a glimmer of respect in Logan’s eyes. “When can you start?”

  “I can be there tomorrow, but we need to figure out the best place for me to fit in. That way, I’ll know what I need to bring.”

  His hard mouth edged up. “You mean besides your pistol?”

  “You better make that plural.” She flashed him a phony smile. “Remember, Mr. Logan, I’m from Wyoming.”

  Logan seemed to find that amusing, and some of the tension went out of those wide shoulders. “You’ll need to call me Kade. Same as everyone else.”

  “Kade then.” She didn’t smile. She wasn’t thrilled to be working for a guy who didn’t want to hire her because she was a woman.