Frozen Ground

by Webb, Debra

  She smiled, showing off the gleaming white teeth she worked so hard to keep that way and infused pride into her expression. “A special thanks to Sheriff Garrett Gilmore for ensuring that folks living in the farthest corners of the county are safe. You’re our hero tonight, Sheriff. This is Camille Dutton with Channel 31 News. Back to the studio.”

  Chapter Nine

  11:48 p.m.

  Garrett sat up.

  The fading flames of the fire flickered in the dark room.

  He threw aside the blanket and listened. The faint crackle amid the ashes and embers was scarcely audible with the sound of the wind roaring outside. A distinct moan echoed from the old house.

  He checked his phone. No calls, no messages. It was nearly midnight. Hopefully this was a good sign. If they could get through the next few hours without anyone getting trapped out in this storm, he’d consider himself damned lucky. The worst would be over by noon tomorrow. Another dozen hours and he could breathe easy.

  The house whispered an uneasy groan in the silence. The weight of snow on the roof, the force of the wind played havoc with houses and barns and various other structures. This was something else he hoped they’d escape: serious property damage. There were those who couldn’t afford insurance and a storm like this could ruin them.

  Garrett stood. He was surprised he’d managed two whole hours of sleep. Abbey had decided to call it a night early. She’d gone upstairs by nine, citing she was still on eastern time.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he was thankful. He’d been on the verge of confessing the renewed feelings churning inside since he’d heard she was back in Park County. He was a damned fool, but he’d sensed she felt something too. He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair. The idea was maybe a little on the irrational side. Abbey Gray had no time for him. She was busy. Like she said.

  She lived on the other side of the country. Might as well be on the other side of the world. He exhaled a big breath. He searched for news about her on the internet far more often than he would like to admit. She was always surrounded by adoring fans, many of whom were male. She had an exciting, international life. Hell, she’d spent the summer on a book tour in Europe. What in the world did he have to offer her?

  But there was that moment when Channel 31 cut in with a weather bulletin and Camille Dutton had given him that shout out. Abbey had looked surprised or taken aback. He’d immediately explained that he and Camille had dated. She was the reason he’d learned to be more careful about dating. He hadn’t meant to lead Camille on. Even after three months since they’d last had dinner, she still took every opportunity to flirt with him.

  He should be flattered but mostly he was concerned. The folks in this county expected him to be a man of integrity in his personal life as well as on the job. He sure didn’t want Abbey thinking there was something more between him and Camille. Particularly not if some chance of the two of them moving their relationship to a new level even remotely existed.

  Shaking off the foolish notion, he righted his shirt, pulled his weapon from beneath the pillow Abbey had provided and tucked it into his waistband. Maybe he would make a fresh pot of coffee. Check in with dispatch.

  He stretched his back and padded to the front window in his sock feet. The snow was still coming down. Fast and hard. He yawned and shuffled into the kitchen. He checked the door out of habit and peered beyond the glass panes. The blanket of white had thickened on the ground, done a hell of a good job of camouflaging her SUV.

  He flipped on the overhead light and went through the steps of preparing the coffee. He pressed brew and walked to the other end of the kitchen to look out the two windows beyond the table and chairs. Nothing to see but more snow and trees cloaked in the white stuff. A winter wonderland.

  A dangerous one.

  Pacing back to the living room, he paused at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t heard a peep from the second floor. With any luck she was still asleep, and her door was closed. The smell of the coffee brewing might wake her otherwise.

  Maybe he should check.

  His memory served him well as he skipped steps number four and number ten. Those were the ones that creaked. As soundlessly as possible, he padded along the upstairs hall. Steven’s room was on the right. Abbey’s was a couple yards down on the left. Before he could analyze his actions, Garrett paused at her brother’s bedroom door, opened it. He flipped on the light, blinked to adjust his eyes. Everything looked the same as it had when eighteen-year-old Steven Gray lived here. Celebrity athletic posters on the wall. Headphones still lying on the bed. Trophies on a shelf above his bed reminded Garrett that Abbey’s brother had been a star baseball player all through high school.

  Garrett frowned, surveyed the trophies again. Where was the bat he’d used in the playoffs that year? The coach had it engraved with the year and the score and mounted on a plaque. The plaque was still there but no bat.

  He’d have to ask Abbey if she’d noticed anything missing.

  He turned off the light and moved on to her room. He knew the space beyond that door as well as his own room at home.

  Since her door was closed, he turned to go. Before he could she stepped out of the room.

  He stalled.

  She made a sound, not quite a squeal but something on that order.

  “I wanted…sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” His shoulders slumped. He’d certainly bumbled that attempt.

  “You didn’t wake me. I think the wind did. I was just lying there thinking about Steven and then I smelled the coffee.”

  As she spoke his gaze drifted down to her lips, then dropped farther to the nightshirt she wore. She’d never been the pajama or nightgown type. Just a big old comfy tee. Nothing fancy.

  Her arms wrapped around her breasts. He blinked, jerked his attention upward.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked pointedly as if she’d already asked the question and he’d failed to answer.

  Because he’d been staring at the form of her breasts beneath the thin fabric.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Everything’s good.”

  Everything except his ability to keep his head on straight.

  “I’ll join you for coffee then.”

  She gave him her back and returned to her bed. A moment of confusion kept him from moving. When she pulled on a robe he recognized as her father’s she walked back to the door.

  They were going downstairs. For coffee.

  Evidently, he needed the caffeine more than he’d realized.

  He cleared his throat. “You probably wake up in the middle of the night from time to time with an idea for one of your stories.”

  She laughed. “More often than you know.”

  He followed her down the stairs. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her tousled hair. The long tresses were still the same silky blond as when she was a kid. Along with the light hair she had the bluest eyes. Both were vivid in the photo on the inside cover flaps of her books. The unedited, totally Abbey shot had been taken on the steps of an old brownstone. She’d looked seventeen in those faded jeans and the pale blue sweater. And her feet were bare, resting against the vintage brick. That may have been his favorite part.

  In the kitchen she poured the coffee. Since she’d said she had been thinking about Steven, he asked, “Are you concerned he’ll show up at your door?”

  She cradled her mug in both hands and considered his question. “No. I’m okay with him showing up. I guess I’m worried that maybe I was wrong about him.”

  The possibility had crossed Garrett’s mind more than once since this morning. “We might never know for sure.”

  Her gaze met his and the worry there made him ache to reassure her.

  “But if I was wrong all those years ago, that could mean he was the one who…”

  Garrett held up a hand before she voiced the rest of her fear. “We don’t need to go there right now.” He thought of the missing baseball bat. “Have you noticed anything missing in the hous
e?”

  She shook her head, then stopped mid shake. “Mother’s pearls. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere but I haven’t found them yet.” Her eyes closed for a second before she went on. “I keep thinking about the way Mr. Hansen looked at me. The cold…” She winced. “Hatred. It was so obvious. He’s known me my whole life, why would he feel such loathing for me?”

  “He just lost his wife. He’s not thinking clearly.”

  “You’re right.” She sipped her coffee. “Maybe I’m feeling guilty because deep down I understand Steven may have been involved.”

  Garrett wished he could find the right words to comfort her but there were none that would erase the painful possibility that her brother might be a murderer. He hoped what he was about to ask wouldn’t make matters worse. “Did you or your father remove or change anything in—?”

  His cell vibrated before he could finish the question. “Hold on.” He snagged the cell from his back pocket. Wagner’s name and face flashed on the screen. A new tension twisted through Garrett. “What’s up?” he said rather than his usual greeting.

  “Nothing, I hope,” his deputy said but his voice told the real story. He knew something was up and whatever it was, it was not good. “Johnson didn’t make his last check in. I’ve called him three times on his radio and twice on his cell. He’s not answering. I thought about sending someone out to follow up but with the road conditions it’s going to take some serious time to get there.”

  “You’re right.” Dread congealed in Garrett’s gut. “I’m right next door. I can get over there a whole lot faster.”

  “When you reach the Hansen house, I want a call from you ASAP,” Wagner urged. “Snowplows are working overtime so the sand and aggregate trucks can do their job, but it’s bad out there, Garrett. Really bad. We’ve been lucky so far that folks are staying in, but that could change anytime. If something has happened at the Hansen place, I need you to stay safe.”

  He wasn’t telling Garrett anything he didn’t know but he got the message: they could not afford to lose anyone to this weather or to this case. Everyone was needed to get through this.

  “I’m on my way.”

  He ended the call and slid his phone back into his hip pocket. “I have to go next door and check on things. Johnson isn’t picking up his phone or his radio. I need to make sure he and Mr. Hansen are doing okay.”

  The catch in her breath warned him that Abbey feared the worst the same way he did.

  She plopped her mug on the counter. “Give me two minutes, I’ll go with you.”

  “I don’t want you out there.” When she would have argued, he said, “I don’t have time to debate this. I need you to do exactly what I say.”

  “All right.” She pulled the lapels of the robe closer to her throat. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  “I want you to get dressed. Boots, the works. Just in case you have to leave in a hurry. Then I want you to sit at the bottom of that staircase with your daddy’s shotgun and that box of ammo.” He nodded to the kitchen table where the box she’d rounded up still sat. “If anyone tries to come through a door or a window, I want you to shoot. Don’t ask questions. Don’t hesitate. Just shoot.”

  She nodded, then sprinted out of the kitchen. The sound of her rushing up the stairs set him in motion.

  He pulled on his boots, then his utility belt and holstered his weapon. By the time his coat was on and zipped to the throat, she was at the bottom of the stairs once more. She hurried into the kitchen and returned with her boots on and her coat in her hand, then settled on the second step, the coat on one side of her and the shotgun on the other.

  “Where’s your phone?”

  She tugged it from her hip pocket. “Fully charged.”

  “Good.” He reached for his hat and resisted the impulse to go to her. He’d only do something he might regret like pull her into his arms and kiss her. He couldn’t allow this thing to get out of hand until he was certain it wasn’t stress induced. “Lock the door behind me.”

  He turned for the door, twisted the deadbolt and rested his hand on the knob in preparation to go.

  “Garrett.”

  He looked back at her. She hadn’t moved but the struggle to stay where she was showed in the way she leaned toward him and looked ready to lunge to her feet.

  “Be careful. When this is over, we have things to talk about.”

  He nodded, a tightness in his throat. “You do the same.”

  He walked out the door without looking back. If he’d looked back, he would never have been able to leave her and he had to. He wasn’t dragging her into an unknown situation.

  The door closed behind him, he hesitated on the steps until he heard the lock turn. Lifting his booted feet as if he were climbing a mountain, he plowed through the snow, the wind pushing at him like a defensive lineman attempting to block a play. After swiping away enough snow to see out the windshield, he opened his truck door and climbed in. She stood at the window watching as he backed up and turned around. He headed down the drive. The snow was axle deep at this point, but four-wheel drive kept the truck moving forward.

  Frozen snow and puddles of ice crunched beneath his tires as he turned onto Mill Creek. He straddled what he believed to be the middle of the road since it was nearly impossible to see where the road ended before becoming part of the river. He almost missed the turn onto the Hansen driveway.

  No tracks, vehicle or otherwise, marred the knee-deep snow. If there was trouble, it hadn’t walked or driven in this way. He thought of the woods that stretched along Mill Creek, connected the properties with the perfect cover for slipping from one place to the next.

  As he neared the clearing where the house and barn stood, Johnson’s patrol car came into view. The driver’s side door was open, motor running, lights on. His gut clenched. He slammed the gearshift into Park, shut off the engine and powered down the window to listen. Wind. Patrol car motor running. Nothing else.

  Garrett shoved his flashlight into his utility belt, eased out of the truck, left the door ajar rather than risk the noise of closing it. He drew his weapon and began the march through the snow. He listened intently, scanned the area left to right, right to left, over and over as he moved forward.

  He spotted the blood in the snow before he saw the body.

  “Son of a…”

  He moved closer, couched next to the form that was his deputy. Fury tore through Garrett. Johnson’s unseeing eyes stared up at the falling snow. He lay between the door and the car. Blood had filled and started to freeze in the split that parted his throat. More had soaked into his shirt and the snow beneath him, creating an icy river of crimson red.

  Garrett rose to his feet, turned all the way around, watching for movement, listening for sound. He no longer felt the cold. No longer cared that the wind tugged at his hat and stung his eyes, making them water. All he felt was sheer determination and black rage.

  No one appeared in his line of sight. Snow swirled from heavily laden branches that shifted with the sway of mother nature’s force.

  He started forward again, moving toward the porch. Taking care, he climbed the steps and headed for the door. It was ajar.

  His hopes sank.

  Damn it. He did not want to find another body in here. With Johnson dead, the likelihood that Hansen was still alive was little to none.

  He pushed the door inward. The lights were on. A dwindling fire flickered beyond the hearth. The only sound was the occasional crackle and pop of the embers inside and the buffeting wind outside.

  Garrett entered the house, closed the door, his weapon leveled as he scanned the living room.

  Clear.

  He put through a call to Wagner. “Johnson is dead.”

  If Hansen was also dead as he suspected, it was far too easy to predict the next victim. Garrett gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t have left Abbey alone.

  “Backup is en route,” Wagner confirmed. “Calling the coroner now.”

  “I w
ant the first to arrive at the Gray house with Abbey. She’s there alone.”

  After a quick conversation via his radio, Wagner said, “Done.”

  Moving to the kitchen, Garrett listened through the string of questions from his deputy—the ones he hadn’t asked before dispatching backup. When Wagner had fallen silent, Garrett said, “No sign of Hansen. Put out an APB on Steven Gray. If it wasn’t him Scott saw, no big deal. But if he’s here, I want to find him.” The BOLO on his car had garnered no results.

  “Will do.” Pause. “Garrett, watch your back.”

  “Doing my best.”

  Garrett put his phone away and checked the back door. Locked. He checked the windows. No broken windows on the first floor. Whoever had come in, had done so through the front door.

  Who let the trouble in? Johnson would never open the door without checking first. What the hell was he doing outside? And where the hell was Hansen…or his body?

  Garrett checked the coat closet and bathroom, then down the hall to the bedrooms. He moved from room to room, clear.

  “Damn it.”

  The reality that the killer had stayed around after murdering Dottie Hansen confirmed that he knew the Hansen family. Had one or more reasons to want them dead.

  The only person Garrett knew with that kind of motive was Steven Gray.

  Damn it.

  He moved cautiously back along the hall, his heart thundering. Living room remained clear. As he reached the last step, he pulled out his phone to call Abbey. He needed to warn her that trouble might be headed her way.

  Might hell? He knew it was. He didn’t want her opening the door for anyone, least of all her brother.

  The blow that slammed into the back of his head sent him hurtling forward. His cell flew from his hand and slid across the floor. His fingers instinctively tightened on the butt of his weapon.

  Pain shattered in his skull as he attempted to scramble to his feet.

  Before he steadied himself, another blow landed and pin pricks of light flashed in his field of vision. He slumped face down on the hardwood. Boots came into view but he couldn’t move…couldn’t raise his head or turn his eyes to look upward.