by Rachel Lee
The sheriff, Gage Dalton, and one of his deputies, Cadell Marcus, she thought, joined her just outside the roped area.
“Yes,” she said before they even asked, “I touched the front of the tent. I was wearing gloves. I pulled the zipper down partway, poked my flashlight in and saw the scene. I had to get the little boy out of there.”
Dalton nodded. “Of course you did. So what did you first see as you approached?”
“The zipper was pulled down from the top. I don’t know how familiar you are with camping gear, but these days you can get tents with zippers that open both ways. A top opening allows in air while keeping protection down low from small critters. Anyway, it was open six or seven inches. Then I opened it more.”
She paused, closing her eyes, remembering. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but the inner screen wasn’t closed. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything because we don’t have much of a flying insect problem up here.”
Gage nodded. “Okay.”
Cadell was making notes.
“Anyway, almost as soon as I poked the flashlight in, I saw the victim and I saw his son clinging to him. My only thought at that point was to get the child out of there as fast as I could. I asked Gus to pull the zipper down the rest of the way. I entered, trying not to disturb anything, and picked the boy up. I carried him to my ATV, where he’s sleeping now.”
“Did you notice anything else?”
She shook her head and opened her eyes. “Frankly, once I saw that man’s head, I was aware of nothing else but the little boy. I seem to recall some toys being scattered around, the boy was out of his sleeping bag which, if I remember correctly, was pretty balled up, and that’s it. I was completely focused on removing the child while trying not to step on anything.” She paused. “Oh. I turned so Jimmy wouldn’t be able to see his father.”
Gage surprised her by reaching out to pat her upper arm. “You did the right things. We just needed to know where any contamination might have come from.”
“What about Jimmy?” she asked. Concern for the child, kept on simmer for the last couple of hours, now bubbled up like a pot boiling over.
“Sarah Ironheart has called child services. They’re contacting the mother.” He paused. “Do you think Jimmy trusts you?”
“Insofar as he can. He let me put him in my ATV to sleep.” She smiled without humor. “I think the space blanket did it.”
“Probably. I’m wondering, if I put you and him in the back of my car, we can take him to town to the social worker. His mom should be on the way.”
She hesitated, hating to walk away from what was clearly her job. This campground was her responsibility, and once the cops left...
“Go ahead,” said Gus. “I’ll meet your staff when they arrive in the next hour and explain. I’m sure they can fill in for you.”
The sheriff spoke. “And after the techs are done I’m leaving a couple of deputies up here so the scene won’t be disturbed. You’re covered.”
He gave her a half smile as he said it.
“Yeah, CYA,” she responded. “Okay.” She couldn’t bear the thought of waking Jimmy only to turn him over to a stranger without explanation. The car ride to town would give her plenty of opportunity to reassure him, and maybe by the time they reached Conard City his mom will have arrived.
She looked at Gus. “I promised him a horse ride.”
“We might be able to work in a couple of minutes when we get to your HQ. If that’s okay with Gage.”
“Fine by me. That little boy needs everything good he can get right now.”
Chapter Three
Jimmy woke quickly. At first he looked frightened but he recognized Blaire and when she told him they were going to take a ride in a police car, he seemed delighted. Not once, not yet, did he ask the dreaded question, “Where’s my daddy?”
They sat in the back of Gage’s official SUV and Gage obliged him by turning on the rack of lights but explained people in the woods were still sleeping so he couldn’t turn on the siren.
Jimmy appeared satisfied with that. Then Blaire began the onerous task of explaining to him that they were taking him to his mom and finally he asked, “Where’s my daddy?”
Her heart sank like a stone. How the hell did you explain this to a four-year-old? It wasn’t her place. He’d need his mom and a social worker for this.
She cleared her throat. “He can’t come with us right now.”
After a moment, Jimmy nodded. “He’s helping the police, right?”
She couldn’t bring herself to answer and was grateful when he didn’t press the issue, apparently satisfied with his own answer.
Which gave her plenty of time to contemplate the kind of monster who would shoot a man while his young son was nearby. Only in battle when her comrades were in danger had she ever felt a need to kill, but she felt it right then and memories surged in her, the past burst into the present and she wanted to vomit.
But Jimmy fell asleep and they sailed right past her headquarters building without offering him the promised horse ride. Gus, who had been following them down, pulled over and gave a hands-up signal as they drove past. Letting her know he’d figured it out.
It was good of him to offer to stay and inform her staff what was going on. She could hardly stop to call and radio, and she couldn’t wait for them herself, not with this trusting, precious little boy cuddled up against her.
Just as well. She wasn’t sure what world she was inhabiting. Afghanistan? Conard County? The state park? Images, like mixed-up slides, kept flashing in her mind and she had to make a huge effort to focus on the back of Gage’s head, on the fact she was in his vehicle. On the boy curled against her so trustingly.
That trust was killing her. Nobody should trust her like that. Not him most especially. He was just a kid and when he found out and finally understood what had happened, he might never trust another soul in his life.
Almost without realizing it, as the town grew closer and the day grew brighter, she was making a silent promise to herself. Somehow she was going to find the SOB who’d done this. If the cops didn’t get him first, she wasn’t going to give up the hunt.
Because someone deserved to pay for this. Someone deserved to die.
* * *
MILES AWAY, THE killer was hotfooting it down a mountainside to his vehicle. The cries of the child rang loud in his head and he thought bitterly that he should have just kidnapped the kid and carried him along.
He’d been angry at his friends. He’d been scared of them, maybe even terrified. But now he loathed them. He wished he could find a way to get even that wouldn’t involve putting himself in prison for life.
Thoughts of revenge fueled him as he raced toward safety.
* * *
GUS HAD LOADED the ATV onto Blaire’s truck and brought everything down to her HQ, where he waited patiently. As staff members reported for their day’s work, he explained what had happened and told them to avoid the upper campground, so they wouldn’t get in the way of the police.
While he was telling them, an ambulance brought the body down. Silence fell among the six men and women who were about to fan out to their various jobs. They stood, watching it pass, and for several long minutes, no one spoke.
Then Gus’s radio crackled. It was one of his own staff.
“You coming back today, Gus, or you want me to stand in?”
“I’m not sure.” He was thinking of Blaire. She might need more than a cup of coffee after this. “You take over, Josh. I’ll let you know what’s up.”
“Terrible thing,” Josh said. “You can bet we’re going to be on high alert today.”
“Good. We don’t know which direction the perp took off when he left. Or whether he’ll shoot again.”
That made the local crew shift nervously and eye him. Oh, hell, he thought. He’d just messed up every
thing. What could he say? He couldn’t very well send them out to patrol the other campgrounds. Not after this. They were seasonal workers, not trained for this kind of thing. And he was still more used to talking to other soldiers than civilians. He needed to guard his tongue.
“You got stuff you can do nearby?” he asked, scanning them.
One spoke. “Blaire’s been talking about replacing the fire rings at the Cottonwood Campground.”
“Nearby?”
“Yeah.”
“Then do that.”
“We’ll need the truck to cart the concrete and the rings.”
Gus nodded. “Okay. Good idea. Stick together. I’m almost positive the threat is gone, though.”
“I’ll feel better tomorrow,” one said sarcastically.
He helped them unload the ATV, then fill the truck bed with bags of concrete and steel fire rings. Finally, he turned over the keys and watched them drive away. East. Away from the campground where the shooting had occurred. Not that he could blame them.
Then he went inside and made a fresh pot of coffee. He eyed the espresso machine because he loved Blaire’s espresso, but he didn’t know how to use it. Maybe he’d remedy that when she got back, ask for instructions.
While he waited for the coffee he went outside and whistled for Scrappy. Five minutes later, the gelding emerged from the woods to the north, looking quite perky. He must have picked up some sleep during all the uproar.
When the horse reached him, he patted his neck, then was astonished—he was always astonished when it happened—when Scrappy wrapped his neck around him, giving him a hug.
The horse was a mind reader? No, a mood reader. He patted and stroked Scrappy until the horse needed to move and pranced away.
“You getting hungry?”
Scrappy bobbed his head emphatically. If that horse could talk...
He had some feed in one of the saddlebags and put it on the edge of the porch, making sure Scrappy’s reins wouldn’t get in his way. Water. He needed water, too.
He went back inside and looked around until he found a big bucket in a supply closet. That would do.
A little while later, cup of coffee in his hand, he perched on the step of the small porch and shared breakfast with Scrappy. Maybe his best friend, he thought.
But his mind was wandering elsewhere, to Blaire, to the murder, to the little guy who’d lost his father.
It had been a while, thank God, since he’d felt murderous, but today was shaking him back into that old unwanted feeling.
A sleeping man. His child nearby. What kind of person would take that shot without a threat driving him? And how offensive could a sleeping man be? Kid aside, the killer had to be the worst kind of coward.
Afraid of where his thoughts might take him, because he’d spent a lot of time getting himself past the war, he forced himself to notice other things. The play of the light on the trees as the sun rose ever higher. The bird calls. Even more entertaining were the squirrels darting around, jumping from branch to branch and walking out on slender twigs, looking like high-wire daredevils. Even at times hanging upside down while they gnawed a branch. Weird, they usually did that only in the spring and fall.
* * *
BLAIRE RETURNED IN the late morning, looking absolutely wrung out. A police vehicle dropped her off, then turned around and headed back down the mountain. Gus rose as she approached, but she lowered herself to the porch step, eyeing Scrappy, who’d found a clump of grass to investigate.
“You must want to get back,” she said.
“I most likely want to get you a cup of coffee. Regular because I don’t know how your espresso machine works.” He lowered himself beside her and asked, “Awful?”
“Awful,” she agreed. “That poor little boy. At least his mother was already there when we arrived. But then he asked the question he didn’t ask before.”
“What’s that?”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“Oh. My. God.” Gus didn’t even want to imagine it, but his mind threw it up in full view, inescapable.
“Yeah.” She sighed, leaned against the porch stanchion and closed her eyes.
“Your crew is out working on fire rings at Cottonwood. They didn’t seem too eager to split up.”
Her eyes opened to half-mast. “I don’t imagine they would. I’m not too eager myself. God, what a monster, and it’s too soon to hope he’s made his way to the far ends of the Earth. He could be hanging around out there.”
He couldn’t deny it. “Look, we’ve both been up most of the night. If you want to sleep, I’ll stand guard here until your people are done for the day. If not, let me get you some coffee.”
“Coffee sounds good,” she admitted. “I may be overtired, but I’m too wound up to sleep. What I really want is to wrap my hands around someone’s throat. A specific someone.”
He could identify with that. He’d just finished brewing a second pot of coffee so he was able to bring her a piping mug that smelled rich and fresh. He brought one for himself and sat beside her once again.
“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the kind of person who would do something like that,” she said. “It had to be in cold blood. Nothing had happened as far as anyone knows.”
“His wife?”
“She’s already been gently questioned. Nobody who’d want to kill him, nobody who’d had a fight with him recently, Gage told me.”
“Well, great. The trail is awfully lean.”
“If it’s there at all.” She sighed and sipped her coffee. “You must need to get back.”
“My assistant is filling in. Unless you want to get rid of me, I’m here for now.”
She turned her head, looking straight at him for the first time, and he noted how hollow her eyes looked. “Thanks. I’m not keen on being alone right now.”
“Then there’s no need.” He paused. “We’ve shared a whole lot over cups of joe.”
“That we have.” She tilted her head back and drew several deep breaths as if drinking in the fresh woodland scents. “I’ll share something with you right now. If the police don’t have much success quickly, I’m going to start a search of my own. I know these woods like the back of my hand. He can’t have come in and out without leaving some trace.”
He turned his mug in his hands, thinking about it. “You’re right. If it comes to that, I’ll help you. But we can’t wait too long. One rain and everything will be lost.”
“Yeah.” Again she raised her coffee to her lips, and this time she nearly drained the mug. Rising, she put her foot on the step. “I need more caffeine. If you want, I’ll make espresso.”
“Only if I can watch and learn. Then you’ll never get rid of me.”
That at least drew a weak laugh from her. Once inside, he leaned against the narrow counter with his arms folded and watched her make the beverage. From time to time she told him things that wouldn’t be immediately obvious, like turning the handled filter to one side to create the pressure.
“Espresso has to be brewed under pressure.”
But her mind was obviously elsewhere, and to be frank, so was his.
“People get murdered,” she remarked as she finished and handed him a tall cup holding three shots. “Doctor as you like. Ice in the freezer, thank God, milk in the fridge, sweetener in these little packets.”
“Ice will water it down,” he remarked.
“Yeah, but I like mine cold unless it’s winter. Your choice.”
He went for the ice, saying, “People get murdered... But what? You didn’t finish that thought.”
“No, I didn’t.” Her own cup in hand, she scooped ice into it and topped it with milk. “People get murdered, but not often by strangers while sleeping in a tent with their little son.”
“Agreed.”
“Outside?” she asked.
They returned to the front steps. Scrappy looked almost as if he were sleeping standing up. Usually, he curled up on the ground, but not today. The tension the two of them were feeling must be reaching him, as well.
“I like your horse,” she remarked. “Wish I could have one.”
“Then get one.”
“It’s not in my nonexistent budget. And I don’t get paid enough to afford one. Besides, I’m so shackled by things I need to do he might not get enough exercise.”
“You’re even more understaffed than I am.”
“No kidding.”
It was easier to talk about budgets and staffing than what had happened during the wee hours this morning. He sipped his espresso, loving the caffeine kick because he was tired, too, from lack of sleep, and waited. There’d be more. They were both vets. Memories had been stirred up, especially for her because she’d had to see it all.
Yeah, there’d be more. Because she’d had to help the kid.
But as noon began to approach, she said nothing more, and he had nothing to say. He was cramming the memories back into the dark pit where they belonged and he decided she must be doing the same.
Unfortunately, burying them wasn’t a permanent solution. Like zombies, they kept rising anew and they were never welcome. And sometimes, like zombies, they’d devour you whole and all you could do was hang on. Or give in because there was no fighting it.
He glanced down into his cup and realized he’d finished his espresso. He’d have liked some more but decided not to ask.