“Stop right there,” she warned.

“And if I don’t?” he asked.

She didn’t immediately answer. He was being bold, challenging her. Not exactly the actions of someone guilty. But still... Either way, this guy could be trampling on evidence.

“I’m Detective Cordon,” she relented, leaving off the bit about being a newly minted detective. “Identify yourself now or they’ll do it for you at Tarrant County Jail.”

He turned around and she nodded toward the badge clipped to the waistline of her jogging pants.

His eyes lingered there a little longer than she was comfortable with and heat flushed her cheeks.

“Deacon Kent,” he said. Why did that name sound familiar?

“Do you have any knowledge of the crime committed here last night?” she pressed.

“Only what I read in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram this morning.” His voice was calm.

“The Telegram reports on crime every day. You show up at every crime scene?” she asked him.

He hesitated in answering and that meant one thing.

Deacon Kent was hiding something.