MurderedIin Conard County (Conard County: The Next Generation Book 40)

by Rachel Lee

  Once upon a time being a ranger had been a relatively safe job. Well, except for problems with wildlife, of course. But that had changed over the last decade or so. Rangers were getting shot. Not many, but enough that anyone who worked in the forest needed to be alert to strange activity.

  Now they’d had this killing, and he wasn’t convinced the shooter had left the woods. What better place to hide out than in the huge forests on the side of the mountain? And what if he hadn’t settled whatever problem had caused him to do this in the first place?

  Lack of knowledge about the victim frustrated him, but since he wasn’t a member of the sheriff’s department he thought it very unlikely they’d give him any useful information. Investigations were always kept close to the vest, and for good reasons.

  Reasons that didn’t keep him from feeling frustrated nor ease his concern about what might be going on over in the state park. Most of his staff were certified as law officers for the US Forest Service and carried weapons. Things were different on the other side of the line. Blaire was the only park ranger over there who was an authorized law officer. The rest were civilian seasonal hires. Given this was Wyoming, he figured any of them could come armed to work, but he had no idea what training they might have.

  He was confident of Blaire’s training, especially with her Army background, but come sunset she’d be all alone in that deserted park. The last two nights hadn’t worried him so much with cops crawling all over the crime scene, but tonight?

  He was worried.

  He’d gone on a few solo missions when he’d been in spec ops, but he always had backup at the other end of his radio: a helicopter that could swoop in quickly if he got in trouble. Only once had that failed him, and he’d had to travel for three days as surreptitiously as he possibly could before he got a radio connection and found a reasonably safe place for the chopper to come in. But there was only that once.

  Blaire was over there with no one nearby. He was the closest thing to a backup she had, and training combined with the recent murder made him feel he could back her up a whole lot better over there.

  Holly was happy to take over for him. She seemed to like the office work almost as much as she enjoyed taking small groups on tours of the wildflowers and wildlife. She said she just liked meeting the people, and she had a natural way of making everyone feel like a friend.

  He kind of lacked that ability. Too much had closed up inside him over the years. Trust didn’t come easily, and chitchat was largely beyond him. Holly had a gift, and he didn’t mind taking advantage of it when she enjoyed it.

  For himself, he preferred to be out in the woods riding Scrappy, occasionally stopping by campgrounds for a few words with people, and if he chatted much it was with hikers. Loners like himself.

  Scrappy seemed in no particular hurry this evening. He ambled along and Gus swayed in his saddle, enjoying the soothing sound of creaking leather. During a number of missions in Afghanistan, he’d ridden horseback on saddles provided by the Army, but this was somehow different. Hell, he’d never be able to put his finger on the triggers that could send him into rage or cause him to get so lost in memory he didn’t know where he was.

  Edginess was a constant companion. He lived with it as he lived with bouts of anxiety. Mostly he controlled it. Sometimes he thought that Scrappy was his personal comfort animal.

  They reached the end of the trail and Scrappy turned toward the ranger’s cabin and Blaire without any direction from him. He guessed he was getting predictable.

  Blaire was sitting on her porch step as the twilight began to deepen. She waved when she saw him and stood.

  “Coffee?” she called.

  “When have I ever said no?”

  He swung down from the saddle as Blaire went inside, presumably to bring him some coffee. He’d just reached her step when she reemerged carrying two insulated mugs. Even in midsummer, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the thin air began to take on a noticeable chill. She was wearing a blue sweater and jeans, and he pulled a flannel shirt out of his saddlebag to wear.

  Scrappy eyed him from the side with one warm brown eye, then began to explore his surroundings. He’d tossed the reins loosely over his neck so they didn’t get caught on something. Probably wouldn’t be long before he shook them off anyway.

  Blaire sat, and he sat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees, taking care to keep space between them. He didn’t ever want her to feel as if he were encroaching.

  “You hear anything?” she asked.

  “Not a peep. You?”

  “Nada. I did wander around up there at the outer edge of the campground. I found where some kids had been making roads in the duff and picked up a miniature red car in case someone calls me or writes about it.”

  “Really? For a miniature car?”

  She looked at him, a crooked smile tipping her mouth. “You had a deprived childhood, Gus. Small things can be the most important stuff in the world to a kid. This is a little tow truck. Even has a hook on the boom.”

  He felt a smile grow on his own face. “Really cool, then.”

  “Clearly.” She laughed quietly. “You know, this place is this deserted only at the height of winter. An awful lot of people have canceled reservations and most haven’t even asked for their deposits back.”

  “Really? I know we’re quiet, too, at least on your side of the forest, but I didn’t check cancellations.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Holly is taking over.”

  Something in the way she said that made him uncomfortable. He decided to take the possible bull by the potential horns. “Not because she’s a woman. She happens to like it.”

  “Did I say anything?”

  “Your voice was hinting.”

  She laughed, a delightful sound. Like him, she seemed to have trouble laughing at times, but when she relaxed enough he enjoyed hearing the sound emerge from her. He was glad the laughter hadn’t been totally wiped out of her. Sometimes he wondered if he had much left.

  He glanced up the road that led to the higher campgrounds, especially the one where the murder had happened. “It seems so out of the blue,” he remarked.

  “I know. Especially with the kid there. I keep wondering who would do a thing like that. Had the boy’s presence been unexpected? Did the shooter even see Jimmy before he pulled the trigger?”

  “Questions without answers right now,” he remarked unhelpfully, then hated the way that sounded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.” He took a long swallow of hot coffee.

  “I didn’t think you did. It’s true, though. I have all these questions rolling around in my head, and the answers are beyond my knowing. I wonder if the sheriff will even share anything with us. Probably not.”

  “Not unless he thinks it would be useful, is my guess.” Gus shifted, watching Scrappy knock the end of a branch with his nose, as if he found it entertaining to watch it bounce. It was probably easier to understand that horse’s mind than the killer’s mind.

  After a few minutes, she spoke again. “One of my seasonals gave me chills earlier. Dave Carr. You’ve met him, I think?”

  “Yeah, doesn’t he lead backcountry ski expeditions in the winter?”

  “That’s him.”

  “So how’d he give you chills?” Turning until he leaned back against the porch stanchion, Gus sipped more coffee and waited to hear.

  “Apparently there was a buzz going around town yesterday and early this morning. Some people are claiming there’s a serial killer running around the mountains all the way up to Yellowstone and over to Idaho.”

  Gus stiffened. “Why in the hell?”

  “Five murders in two years. Of course, that doesn’t mean much. They were all in different places, and you can’t even say all of them were killed in tents. They were all asleep when they got shot, but one guy was in the bed of his pickup,
pulled over at a turnout on an access road up near Yellowstone. Sleeping, yeah, but out in plain sight.” She shook her head a little. “From what Dave said, there’s really nothing to link the killings.”

  “Other than that they all happened in the mountains and the victims were all sleeping.”

  “Presumed to be sleeping. That’s talk. I’d have to ask Gage if he can check on the murders, and right now he’s probably too busy to be worrying about what happened hundreds of miles away.”

  “True.” He settled again but turned the idea around in his head. Linking murders was a chancy thing at best, especially if widely spread apart. The killer would have to leave some kind of “calling card.” And if he had, wouldn’t someone have picked up on it by now?

  Blaire put her mug down on the porch, linked her hands as she leaned forward to rest her arms on her thighs and stared into the deepening night. “I was up at the scene. Oh, I already told you that. Sheesh, I’m losing my wits.”

  “I doubt it. Little car, roads in the duff.”

  She flashed a smile his way. “Yeah, and they were making little trees out of the ends of branches. I bet those kids were having a blast.”

  “I would have,” he admitted. “I was really into making roads and hills to drive my cars and trucks over. My dad told me once I ought to get into model railroading, build my own scenery.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t have a place to do it, or the money, even though I was working at a sandwich shop, and then the Army.”

  Her crooked smile returned. “The Army would do it.”

  “Didn’t leave me a whole lot of time for anything else. So, you were up at the scene? Why do I feel you have more to say about that?”

  “Probably because you’re perceptive and I do. Yeah, I was up there yesterday, about midday. Two miserable deputies standing watch, neither of them prepared for how chilly it can get in the thin air up there. I felt sorry for them. Anyway, I felt as if I was being watched.”

  That definitely snagged his attention. He’d learned the hard way never to dismiss that feeling. “But you didn’t see anyone?”

  “Not a soul, other than the deputies. It felt as if the woods were still trying to get back to normal after all that happened. Not quite the same, if you know what I mean.”

  “Disturbed. Yeah. I’ve felt it.”

  “So anyway, maybe it was my own reaction to events and the feeling that some animals have moved away for a while. I couldn’t blame them.”

  “Me neither.” He drained his mug and was about to set it down when Blaire asked, “You want some more? I have to admit I’m feeling reluctant to go to sleep tonight.”

  He eyed her closely. “Did you sleep last night?”

  “Mostly. I guess it hadn’t sunk in yet. Tonight it’s sinking in.” Rising, she took his mug and her own. “If you want to come inside?”

  “I’m kind of enjoying the night. Unless you’d rather be indoors.”

  “Not especially.”

  He stared out into the woods, noting that Scrappy had wandered closer to the cabin again. The horse seemed calm and content, which was a good sign. Nothing going on out there to put him on edge.

  Now he, himself, was a different story. Almost always on edge. He wished he could contain it some way so that he could help Blaire relax because despite her outward demeanor, he sensed she was wound up tight inside.

  She returned with more coffee and the surprising addition of a small package of cinnamon rolls. “Sugar’s good for whatever ails you.”

  He summoned a smile. “Until you’re diabetic.”

  “I’m not. My kingdom for a chocolate bar. I’m a chocoholic.”

  “A common affliction.” He opened the package of rolls, which sat on a silvery tray, and helped himself to one, waiting for the next development. Because there would be one. They’d spent enough time chatting over the last two years for him to have learned the rhythms of their revelations. She had more to say. She was troubled.

  “There’s something wrong with this situation,” she said eventually.

  “No kidding.”

  She shook her head a little. “I don’t just mean the murder. But think about it. The shooter knew to walk up to a tent. I’m betting a specific tent. You?”

  He thought about it. “There were plenty to choose from. Okay, let’s assume he had a specific target in mind.”

  “But if it wasn’t some guy he knew...” She paused. “Jimmy’s presence is bothering me. A lot. If the shooter knew Jasper, he’d know about Jasper’s kid. If he knew Jasper well, he’d probably know the guy liked to bring his kid camping with him. So... This is an awful place to take out a man you’re mad at if you know he might have a child with him. It’d make more sense to get him near work or home.”

  “Maybe so.” He was listening to her spin a theory and wouldn’t interject anything unless he saw a glaring flaw. So far, he didn’t. People who were mad at someone didn’t usually follow them to an out-of-the-way campground to off them. Unnecessary effort, no special benefit. Bigger chance of getting caught, actually.

  As if she were reading his thoughts, she said virtually the same thing. “You want to get rid of someone you hate, do it in a heavily populated area without witnesses. Not out here where you might stand out like a sore thumb. Someone’s got to know the shooter was in this area, and I seriously doubt he’s a local.”

  He made a sound of agreement.

  “I’m not used to thinking this way,” she said slowly. “If I go off the rails, let me know.”

  “Like I’m used to thinking this way?”

  That drew a fleeting smile from her, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Damn, he wanted to see her blue eyes smile again.

  “Anyway,” Gus continued, “what I’m getting at is that the victim may have been selected at random. And that our killer must have done some scouting beforehand. How else would he know how to get in and get out so quickly and easily? He couldn’t have just been wandering in the woods in the middle of the night.”

  He was slipping into tactical ways of thinking, and wasn’t at all certain that was the right direction to take with this. It wasn’t a military operation. No reason to think the killer had been thinking of...

  The thought halted midstream. His mind swerved onto a slightly different track without much of a hitch. “Planned operation,” he said. He felt her gaze settle on him, almost as warm as a touch. Damn, he needed to ignore the attraction he felt for her. It wouldn’t be good for either of them. Besides, right now it seemed to be important to her to puzzle out this murder. Like they had any real information.

  “Planned operation?” she repeated.

  “Yeah. It crossed my mind for some reason.” The only reason possibly being that occasionally he was distractible. He never used to be that way, but since coming home for good, he had his moments of wandering. To escape unpleasant thoughts mostly, he imagined. “I’m starting to think tactically.”

  She turned toward him, attentive. “Yeah,” she said quietly. Same wavelength.

  “So, say this was planned. How long was Jasper at the campground?”

  “Two and a half weeks. I checked.”

  “Long enough to figure out his habits, to get a sense of the area and people around him. Long enough to plan an approach and egress.”

  She nodded and turned more, pulling up one leg until it was folded sideways on the porch in front of her, half a cross-legged posture. Nodding again, she sipped her coffee, evidently thinking about what he’d said.

  Which, frankly, sounded like a load of crap to him now that he’d said it out loud. Was he proposing some kind of mastermind killer? To what end? Even a soldier like him wouldn’t be thinking of such things if he wanted to get rid of somebody. Hell no. Get ’em in a dark alley late at night, shiv ’em in the middle of a crowd... Escape routes were easier to co
me by than on a nearly unpopulated mountain. Any one of those campers might have responded immediately to the gunshot. No killer had any way to know no one would.

  “Doesn’t make sense,” he said before she could raise a list of objections that would probably mirror his own. “No reason for anyone to treat the murder tactically. Habitual thinking on my part.”

  “But not necessarily wrong.” She looked down into her mug, remaining quiet again.

  He turned his head to find Scrappy meandering around the gravel parking lot at the edge of the woods. He loved that gelding. Probably the only living thing he allowed himself to love anymore.

  “Love,” he said, for no particular reason, “is a helluva scary proposition. Friendship, too, for that matter.”

  “Where’d that come from?”

  He turned his head, meeting her eyes. “The horse, believe it or not. He’s got a long life expectancy. Iraq and Afghanistan taught me to be stingy with my feelings.”

  “Yeah, it sure did.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Maybe too stingy. I don’t know. That little boy really upset me, his terror and knowing he is going to grow up without his father. But I’ve seen it before. Half the world seems to live in that condition.”

  He nodded. Nothing to say to that. It wasn’t only lost comrades who haunted his nightmares, though. Plenty of civilians did, too.

  “Well,” she said, “if you think there’s any possibility that this guy was stalking the victim, then we owe it to ourselves and everyone else to take a look-see.”

  “For a distant sight line.”

  She nodded. “A place someone could watch from and not be noticed.”

  He looked up the mountain. “We’ll have to cover a lot of territory.” No denying it. Hundreds if not thousands of acres.

  “Let’s start with some parameters. How far out would the guy have to hide? Would he choose upslope or down? Whatever we decide, we can expand the area later if we need to.”