The lethal-looking man was wearing a white parka and black cargo pants, shit-kicker boots, and mirrored sunglasses, his dark-brown hair cut military short. He wasn’t wearing gloves, his arms were folded across his chest, and no gun was visible, but she suspected he was wearing one. He’d talked to Paul about coming to help them out, but then he hadn’t come all these weeks, so they figured he’d gotten busy with some other pressing issue. “Is there somewhere that we can talk…privately?” Vaughn asked. Despite his dark look, the man was ruggedly handsome, his attention focused on Allan. “You were at the crime scene. Witnesses saw your vehicle,” Debbie said accusingly. “Your cousin said you had no hand in the murder, but he’s your cousin.” Vaughn shifted his gaze to her, his hard look chiseled in place. “Yeah, I was there. That doesn’t mean I had anything to do with the man’s death. His hunting partner did that.”
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