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where Cara had first volunteered.
    Memories of watching her work with patients hit him, reminding him of the compassionate woman who had stolen his heart. He glanced at her, his gut tightening as moonlight spilled across her ivory skin and highlighted the rich tones of her hair.
    Hair that he had lost himself in just as he had lost himself in bed with her.
    Dammit. The very reason he’d had to walk away.
    No one had ever turned him inside out like she had.
    He’d vowed that no woman ever would again.
    But now here she was working at the BBL, running a clinic in town, right in his face.
    Hell, when he finished this investigation, he’d request a transfer. Texas was a big damn state.
    But what if that child is yours?
    Cara shifted, her hand automatically flying to her stomach when he hit a bump, and he silently chastised himself, then checked his speed. For God’s sake, he needed to take it easy.
    There was a kid on board.
    One that might be his.
    Sweat broke out on his brow as he turned down the road leading to Rodrigo’s. His own father had been nonexistent in his life. Had deserted him and his mother the moment he’d discovered she was pregnant.
    Hell, she had been both parents to him, though, had raised him on the same res where he’d met Cara. A couple of the men on the res had taken him under his wing and taught him to fish and hunt. Chief Pann had taught him to track.
    They had served as his male role models, as opposed to the man who’d actually fathered him.
    If this baby was his, what kind of father would he be? Cara hadn’t told him about the child, so she must not want him in the baby’s life.
    That thought made his stomach knot.
    “It’s at the end of that street,” Cara said as she pointed toward a graveled road.
    Mason veered on to it and slowed as the car churned over the rocks and spit dirt. Several weathered cement houses lined the street, the yards unkempt, children’s toys scattered on the overgrown, weed-infested yards.
    He parked in the driveway and cut the engine, noting the beat-up pickup in the drive. A light burned in the front window, illuminating the front porch.
    Cara opened her car door, and he jumped out and ran around to help her. But she was standing by the time he reached her, her gaze daring him to comment on her bulk.
    “Remember, let me take the lead,” Mason said.
    “I’m telling you that Alfredo loved Nellie.” A frown crinkled her eyes. “He’s going to be devastated that she’s dead.”
    Mason refrained from comment. If she was right, the next few minutes would be unpleasant, but breaking bad news came with the job. He’d learned to compartmentalize and not let it affect him, but Cara was too kindhearted not to be disturbed. After all, she dedicated herself to saving lives.
    So did he, but in a different capacity. Although he had taken a life or two in the past. But only when necessary.
    He was tempted to take her arm as they walked up the graveled path to the door, but she trudged forward, independent and determined to prove that pregnancy hadn’t slowed her down.
    They climbed the cement steps, and he knocked on the door. A moment later, an Hispanic man with shaggy hair wearing a flannel shirt and jeans opened the door. He rubbed at his unshaven jaw with a scowl.
    “Alfredo Rodrigo,” Mason said. “I’m Detective Blackpaw.”
    Cara pushed her way in front of him. “Can we come in?”
    He frowned at Mason, his eyebrows arching at the sight of Cara. “What’s going on?”
    Cara gave him a compassionate smile. “Please, Alfredo, we need to talk.”
    His gaze shot between the two of them, then he gestured for them to enter. Mason immediately scanned the man’s body for a weapon, but he appeared clean.
    They stepped into a small living room with a faded plaid couch, a rickety coffee table laden with take-out wrappers and a pile of laundry in a wooden chair.
    “What this about?” Alfredo asked in broken English.
    “Nellie.” Cara glanced at the kitchen.