by Nora Roberts
she added, and Quinniock nodded agreement. “He seems to feel Little Bear, Rowan Tripp, the rest of them failed to show Christian charity to a troubled soul. As harsh as it was, I prefer Leo Brakeman’s honest grief and rage.”
“Whatever his way, Irene Brakeman claims he helped the three of them—herself, her husband and Dolly, come to terms once she was back. What Dolly left out when she called her parents for help, and I found after some poking around, was she’d made arrangements for a private adoption in Bozeman, which had paid her expenses.”
“She planned to give the baby up?”
“She’s the only one who knows what she planned, but she didn’t contact the adoptive parents when she went into labor, nor the OB they’d paid for. Instead she went to the ER of a hospital across town and gave her Missoula address. By the time the other party found out what had happened, she was on her way back here. Since birth mothers have a right to change their minds, there wasn’t much they could do.”
DiCicco flipped open her notebook. “Do you have their names?”
“Yeah. I’ll give you all of it, but I don’t think we’re going to find either of these people tracked Dolly down here and killed her, then set fire to the forest.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a strong motive.”
“Are you still looking at Rowan Tripp?”
DiCicco sat back as the waitress breezed by to top off their coffee. “Let me tell you about Rowan Tripp. She’s got a temper. She’s got considerable power—physical strength, strength of will. She disliked Dolly intensely, on a personal level and in general terms. Her alibi is a man she’s currently sleeping with. Men will lie for sex.”
DiCicco paused to tip a fraction of a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. “Dolly claimed Rowan had it in for her because Brayner tossed Rowan over for her. She was a liar,” DiCicco added before Quinniock could respond. “Rowan Tripp isn’t. In fact, she’s almost brutally upfront. If Dolly had had her face punched in, I’d put my finger on Tripp. But the kill spot off the road, the broken neck, the arson? That doesn’t jibe with my observations. Whoever killed her and put her in the forest might have expected the fire to burn her to ash, or at least for it to take more time for the remains to be discovered. It would’ve been monumentally stupid for Tripp to call the discovery in, and she’s not stupid.”
“We agree on that.”
“Sticking with the victim, I’ve spent some time trying to verify her claim she had work in Florence. So far, I haven’t been able to verify. I’ve started checking places like this, along the highway, but I haven’t found any that hired her, or anyone who remembers her coming in looking for work. And, given her history, I’m wondering why she’d go to the trouble of looking for work down this way when she recently deposited ten thousand dollars in two hits of five—I traced it back to Matthew Brayner—in a bank in Lolo. Not her usual bank,” DiCicco added, “which leads me to believe she didn’t want anyone knowing about it. Which likely includes her parents.”
He hadn’t hit on the money—yet—and money always mattered. “She might’ve been thinking about running again.”
“She might have. There’s another pattern in her history. Men. Which is why I’m going to start checking motels along the route from Florence to Missoula. Maybe she decided to try out the other Brayner brother.”
“Sex and money and guilt.” Quinniock nodded. “The trifecta of motives. Want to get started?”
17
Gull sat on his bed with his laptop. He’d answered personal e-mail, attached a couple of pictures he’d taken that morning of the mountains, of the camp. He’d done a little business and now brought up his hometown paper to scan the sports section.
He knew the jump ship was back, and wondered how long it would take Rowan to knock on his door.
She would, he thought, even if just to pick up the fight where they’d left off. She wasn’t the avoid-and-evade type, and, even if she were, it was damn near impossible to avoid and evade him while working on the same base.
He could wait.
Out of curiosity he did a Google search for wildfire arson investigation, and while he shifted through the results, considered heading into the lounge to see what was up, or maybe see if Dobie wanted to drive into town.
Always easier to wait when you’re occupied, he thought. Then an article caught his interest. He answered the knock on the door absently.
“Yeah, it’s open.”
“Unlocked is different than open.”
He glanced over. Rowan leaned on the jamb.
“It’s open now.”
She left the door ajar as she stepped in, and angled to see the laptop screen. “You’re boning up on arson?”
“Specific to wildfire. It seemed relevant at the moment. How’d the mop-up go?”
“You left a hell of a mess.” She shifted her gaze from the screen to his face. “I heard things got hairy up there.”
“There were moments.” He smiled. “Missed you.”
“Because I’m so good or so good-looking?”
“All of the above.” He shut down the computer. “Why don’t we take a walk, catch the sunset.”
“Yeah, all right.”
When they went out, she pulled her sunglasses out of her pocket. “The fact that I’m surprised and not happy that my father’s involved with a woman I don’t know and he didn’t tell me about doesn’t make me jealous.”
“Is that what we’re calling it? Surprised and not happy. I’d’ve defined it as outraged and incensed.”
“Due to the surprise.” She clipped the words off.
“I’ll give you that,” Gull decided, “since you’ve apparently gone your entire life without witnessing a lip-lock.”
“I don’t think I overreacted. Very much.”
“Why quibble about degrees?”
“I’m not apologizing for telling you to butt the hell out.”
“Then I don’t have to be gracious and accept a nonexistent apology. I’m not apologizing for expressing my opinion over your not very much of an overreaction.”
“Then I guess we’re even.”
“Close enough. It’s a hell of a sunset.”
She stood with him, watching the sun sink toward the western peaks, watched it drown in the sea of red and gold and delicate lavender it spawned.
“I don’t have to like her, and I sure as hell don’t have to trust her.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, Rowan.”
“Maybe. But it’s my bone.”
Silence, Gull thought, could express an opinion as succinctly as words. “So. I heard about Dolly’s father coming down on you.”
“Over and done.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you butting in again, Gull?”
“If you want to call it that. You’ve got to have sympathy for a man dealing with what he’s dealing with, so maybe he gets a pass this time. But that’s what’s over and done. Nobody lays into my girl.”
“Your girl? I’m not your girl.”
“Are we or are we not together here and watching the sunset? And isn’t it most likely you and I will end up naked in bed together tonight?”
“Regardless—”
“Regardless, my ass.” He grabbed her chin, pulled her in for a kiss. “That makes you my girl.”
“Holy hell, Gull, you’re making my back itch.”
Amused, he scratched it, then hooked an arm around her shoulders and kept walking. “So, later. Your place or mine?”
With the light softening, she pulled her sunglasses off, then swung them by the earpiece. “Some people are intimidated or put off by a certain level of confidence.”
“You’re not.”
“No, I’m not. Fortunately for you, I like it. Let’s—” She jerked back at the sharp crack in the air. “Jesus, was that—”
The breath whooshed out of her lungs when Gull knocked her to the ground and landed on top of her.
“Stay down,” he ordered, and saw a bulle
t dig into the ground six feet away. “Hold on to me. We’re going to roll.” The minute her arms clamped around him, he pushed his body over, felt her do the same, so they covered the ground in a fast, ungainly roll to shield themselves behind one of the jeeps parked outside a hangar.
A third report snapped, pinging metal overhead.
“Where’s it coming from? Can you tell?”
Gull shook his head, keeping his body over hers while he waited for the next shot. But silence held as seconds ticked by, then shattered with the shouts and rushing feet.
“For Christ’s sake, get down, get cover,” he called out. “There’s a sniper.”
Dobie bolted for the jeep, dived. “Are you hit? Are you—Goddamn, Gull, you’re bleeding.”
Rowan bucked under him. “Get off, get off. Let me see.”
“Just scraped up from the asphalt. I’m not shot. Stay down.”
“Rifle.” Dobie shifted to a crouch. “I know a rifle shot when I hear one. From over there in the trees, I think. Damn good thing he’s a shitty shot ’cause the two of you were sitting ducks. Standing ducks.”
“Hey!” Trigger called from the far side of the hangar. “Is anybody hurt?”
“We’re okay,” Rowan answered. “Don’t come out here. He may be waiting for somebody to step into the clear.”
“L.B.’s got the cops coming. Just stay where you are for now.”
“Copy that. Get off me, Gull.”
“He tackled you good,” Dobie commented when Gull pushed off. “You know he played football in high school. Quarterback.”
“Isn’t that interesting?” Rowan muttered it as she turned Gull’s arm over to examine the bloody scrapes on his elbows and forearms. “You got grit in these.”
“I liked basketball better,” Gull said conversationally. “But I didn’t have the height to compete. Had the speed, but I’d topped out at six feet until senior year when I had a spurt and added two more. Baseball, now, I like that better than either. Had a pretty good arm back in the day.”
Maybe talking kept his mind off the scrapes, she decided, because they had to sting like hell.
“I thought you were the track star.”
“My best thing, but I like sports, so I dabbled. Anyway, I liked collecting letters. I graduated a four-letter man.”
Rowan studied him in the fading light. “We’re sitting behind this jeep, hiding from some nutcase with a rifle, and you’re actually bragging about your high-school glory days?”
“It passes the time. Plus I had very impressive glory days.” He brushed dirt off her cheek. “We’re okay.”
“If you two are going to get sloppy, I’m not looking the other way.” Dobie leaned back against the tire. “Wish I had a beer.”
“Once this little interlude’s over,” Gull told him, “the first round’s on me.”
“I was thinking about going to the lounge, kicking back with some screen and a beer. Just stepped outside for a minute, and bam! bam!”
“So you ran out, in the open, instead of back in?” Rowan demanded.
“I wasn’t sure if either of you were hit or not, the way you both went down.”
Rowan leaned over Gull, kissed Dobie on the mouth. “Thanks.”
“I’m not kissing you. He’s gone,” Gull added. “He took off after the third shot.”
“I expect so,” Dobie agreed. “It’s full dusk now. He can’t see squat, unless he’s got infrared.”
“Let’s go.” Rowan pushed up to her haunches. “If he wants to shoot us, he could circle around in the dark and get us while we’re sitting here.”
“She’s got a point. Don’t run in a straight line. That’s what they say in the movies,” Gull pointed out. “Barracks?”
“Barracks,” Dobie agreed.
Before either man could react, Rowan sprang up, a runner off the blocks, and revved straight into a sprint.
“Goddamn it.”
Gull raced after her—could have caught her, passed her, they both knew. But he stayed at her back, zigging when she zigged, zagging when she zagged.
“We’re coming in!” Rowan called out, then hit the door.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Gull grabbed her, spun her around. “Taking off like that?”
“I was thinking you weren’t going to be my human shield twice in one day. I appreciate the first, I’m not stupid.”
“You don’t get to decide for me.”
“Right back at you.”
They shouted at each other while people shouted around them. Libby let out a piercing whistle. “Shut up! Shut the hell up. Everybody!” She shoved her hands through the hair dripping from the shower she’d leaped out of. “Gull, you’re bleeding on the floor. Somebody get a first-aid kit and clean him up. The cops are on their way. Okay, the cops are here,” she amended when the sirens sounded. “L.B. wants everybody inside until . . . until we know something.”
“Come on, Gull.” Janis gave him a light pat on the butt. “I’ll be Nurse Betty.”
“Is everybody accounted for?” Rowan asked.
“Between here, the cookhouse and Operations, we’re all good.” Yangtree stepped forward, drew her in for a hug that nearly cracked her ribs. “I was watching TV. I thought it was a backfire. Then Trig came running through, said somebody was shooting, and you were out there.” He drew her back. “What the fuck, Ro?”
“My thought exactly. Why would somebody shoot at us?”
“People are batshit.” Dobie shrugged. “Maybe one of those government’s-our-enemy types. Y’all got those militia types out here.”
“Three shots isn’t much of a statement.”
“It would’ve been,” Trigger pointed out, “if one of them had hit you or Gull.”
“Your father’s going to hear about this, Ro,” Yangtree commented. “You call him now before he does, tell him you’re okay.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She glanced down toward Gull’s quarters before she stepped into her own to make the call.
Steaming, Gull endured the sting as Janis cleaned out cuts and scrapes. “What the hell’s wrong with her?”
“Since the blood on her appeared to be mostly yours, not much. And I know you’re talking about how she thinks or acts, but you’ll have to be more specific.”
“How can somebody trained to be a team player, who is a team player in ninety percent of her life, be the damn opposite the other ten?”
“First, smoke jumpers work as a crew, but you know damn well we all have to think, act and react individually. But more to the point, with Rowan it’s defense mechanism, pride, an instinctive hesitation to trust.”
“Defense against what?”
“Against having her pride smacked and her trust betrayed. Personally, I think she’s dealt pretty well with being abandoned by her mother as an infant. But I don’t think anybody ever gets all the way over being abandoned. Okay, I’m going to need to use the tweezers to get some of this debris out. Feel free to curse me.”
He said, “Fuck,” then gritted his teeth. “You trust every time you get in the door. The spotter, the pilot, yourself. Hell, you have to trust fate isn’t going to send a speeding bus your way every time you step out of your house. If you can’t take that same leap with another human being, you end up alone.”
“I think she’s always figured she would. She’s got her father, us, a tight pack of people. But a serious, committed one-to-one? She’s not sure she believes in them in general, much less for herself.”
A bit of gravel hit the bowl with a tiny ting. “I’ve worked