Betrayal in the Badlands

by Dana Mentink

  “We’re going to go back to the police station, and this time, I’m staying with you.”

  FOUR

  Isabel hardly registered the walk as Logan took her by the arm and guided her back to the police station. She expected to see the leering face of the crazy man from the cemetery behind each tree and bush. All of her nerves were alive with residual fear. When she recoiled at the snap of a branch, Logan kept her moving forward. He was outwardly calm, but she could tell he was monitoring the surroundings as they made their way to the station.

  The only thing that kept her moving was the pressure of his strong hand holding hers and an occasional nudge from Tank’s wet nose. Some distant part of her mind questioned Logan’s concern. He was a stranger, looking to finish work on her sister’s ranch. She didn’t know a thing about him, really.

  Except that he’d climbed down a cliff to get her.

  And shown up at the sound of her scream.

  She tried to see some sign of his feelings on his face, but there was only a look of concentration there, a man doing his job.

  What was Logan’s job, anyway? The Triggs indicated he was military, but he’d had time to do construction work for Cassie and come to her aid twice. Was he home on leave?

  In a few minutes she found herself sitting in Officer Bentley’s office again, facing his disbelieving stare. If Logan hadn’t been standing next to her, she would have run for the door.

  The officer looked at Logan before he gestured for Isabel to talk.

  “I went to the cemetery and…” Fear closed over her again, her throat thick with tears. It was the same terrible fear she’d tried to put behind her since she’d sent her ex-husband to jail. She’d kept it tamped down, rolled into a dark corner of her heart, but it was back again, a jagged emotion that cut through her insides.

  Logan finished the story as best he could.

  Officer Bentley made more notes. “Did you see the guy, Logan?”

  “No.”

  He turned back to Isabel. “Could you identify the man if you saw his picture?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  He led her to a sparse room with an older model computer.

  “Probably got a faster way to do this back in L.A.” He asked Isabel for a basic description of the man—race, age range—and pulled up a series of pictures on the screen. “Start here and keep going until you find a match or run out of pictures.”

  She thought there was a hint of derision in his voice as she took her place at the computer. Logan sat down next to her.

  Bentley switched on a fan, which turned feebly in the stuffy air. “I’m going to check out the cemetery. I’ll be back shortly.”

  The door swung closed behind him with a sharp bang.

  Isabel looked at Logan. “He thinks I’m making this all up.”

  Logan sighed. “Maybe, but he’s a good enough cop to check things out anyway.”

  “Do you think that, too? That I’m making it up?”

  His green eyes bored into hers. “I believe you were honestly terrified in that cemetery. I also think that’s not an unfamiliar feeling to you.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “So you wonder if I might have dreamed up this guy because I’ve been in bad situations before?”

  “You didn’t imagine the footprint next to the ravine. I saw those myself.”

  She tried to read the feeling under his words. Skeptical, yes, but not dismissive. And for some unknown reason, he was doing his best to help her out. She couldn’t figure out a logical motive, so she applied herself to scrutinizing each picture. An hour later, she’d only made it through a couple hundred mug shots.

  “This is taking forever.” She looked around and found a notepad by the phone, along with the stub of a pencil. She sketched quickly until she got the essence of the man who had terrorized her. Long, thin face, pale skin, gray-blue eyes, long, reddish hair and the faintest hint of a goatee on his chin, a felt hat pulled down over the forehead.

  Logan watched over her shoulder as she drew, his hard shoulder touching hers. Pulse quickening, she handed the sketch to him.

  He whistled. “You are one talented artist.”

  She felt her face warm again. “A hobby of mine, since I was a child. That’s the guy.”

  He sat down again. “He looks like some kind of soldier from the past.”

  A shock went through her and she gasped. “That’s it.”

  “What?”

  “The song. He was singing a song about a wounded drummer and the flag. It made me think of an old soldier of some sort.”

  Logan looked closer at her sketch. “This man isn’t old enough to have fought in anything but maybe Desert Storm and Iraq. Let me make a copy of this and we’ll leave one with Bentley. With your permission, I’d like to send this along to a friend of mine. He may be able to help us ID the guy.”

  She nodded and turned back to the pictures as the song played in her mind.

  Logan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove back to Cassie’s ranch. Bentley hadn’t returned to the station before they’d left, but another cop had been there to take the sketch. No one in the database matched Isabel’s description of the man. “I’m sure the guy’s gone, but maybe you should consider staying in a hotel in town. Just for a few days.”

  Isabel shot him a frightened look, then raised her chin, brushing the long strands of black hair out of her face. Her voice was soft but determined. “Thank you, but I’m going to stay at my sister’s ranch.”

  He eyed the worn patch on the knee of her jeans. “If it’s a matter of cost, I could…”

  She cut him off. “No. Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

  He’d offended her. Even though his offer was meant to be helpful and it was the most logical solution, she was annoyed. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. Talking just made things worse, started arguments, raised the level of conflict. Things were so much easier in pararescue. You went in. You saved people and hopefully didn’t get killed in the process. Not one of his saves had ever objected to his methods. He sighed.

  You’re not a pararescueman anymore, Logan. You’re a regular guy who doesn’t understand women. Welcome to the club.

  They drove by a group of workmen erecting a section of raised bleachers on the sidewalk.

  Isabel watched the progress as they passed, stroking Tank’s head where he’d shoved it through the small cab window into the front seat. “What’s going on?”

  He was relieved to have the silence broken. “Getting ready for the Moonlight Ride. It’s a big event to fund the horse rescue efforts in and around this town. They start with a parade and end with a night ride through the Badlands. Your sister…” He knew as soon as he said it, it was another stupid topic. Bring up the girl’s dead sister? Great, Logan. “Lots of locals help out with the festivities.”

  Isabel peeked around Tank’s head. “Was Cassie going to be a part of the event?”

  He sighed. “Yes. She was working with some of her horses, getting them in shape to take participants on the ride. She was passionate about her rescue work, but you know that already, I’m sure.”

  Isabel ducked her head and stared at her hands. “Yes.”

  He tried to keep the conversation going. “John was helping her acclimate the horses to the saddle. They’d ride together at night sometimes.”

  Isabel’s head jerked up. “Was he with her when she died?”

  “No. She took a horse out on her own. Seemed to be heading for the Badlands when she was thrown. John found her when he came to the ranch the next day before sunup and discovered Cassie and Big Blue were gone.” He shifted. “Listen, I’m sorry to bring up your sister. I know it’s painful for you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. I want to know everything about my sister’s life.”

  And her death? Logan had thought the circumstances of Cassie’s last night were strange, but he had dismissed it, until Isabel had come into town. The two encounters with the singing stranger almost conv
inced him something might be suspicious after all about Cassie’s death. But maybe the strange events had more to do with Isabel’s past than the present. He looked at her profile, the dark hair like a shadow against her porcelain skin, the delicate almond shape of her eyes that spoke of an Asian ancestor. He wondered if anything would ever erase the fear that he’d seen on her face in the cemetery, the way she’d pulled from his touch as if his fingers burned her skin. Who had hurt this woman? And why did the thought of it make him grind his teeth?

  He shook off the feeling and rolled down the window, letting the blast of air barrel into the truck with enough noise to make conversation impossible as they began the climb up the mountain road.

  The ranch was bathed in afternoon sunlight when they arrived, a palette of amber and bronze. To Logan’s mind it was the perfect place, quiet, away from tourists and traffic, with the spectacular Badlands jutting into the sky behind, as if they could stand guard somehow. He wished they could. The twist of uncertainty remained in his gut as they got out of the truck, Tank jumping down to join them.

  The horses nickered softly in the corral. Isabel stopped at the fence to stroke the silky coat of the nearest one. Her hands were tiny and delicate against the wide muzzle of the horse. She laid her head against the animal’s for a moment. Logan had the strangest notion that he’d seen her before, long ago.

  The mixture of loss and frustration on her face made him take a step forward. Should he try to comfort her? Ignore her pain?

  She took a deep breath and pulled away from the horse.

  To give himself something to do, he grabbed the brown bag from the truck and handed it to her. “What’s this?”

  He was surprised to feel his face flush. Blushing? He hadn’t blushed since grade school. “Some supplies. In case you run low.”

  She reached in and extracted a package of Oreos. Her laugh was soft and silvery. “Thank you. I think I’ll carry them around in my pockets, like my sister used to do.”

  He chuckled. “Better not. You’ll have a herd of horses following you everywhere.”

  She looked thoughtful. “Thank you, Logan. For everything. It was a lot for you to do for a stranger, and I appreciate it.”

  Her words sounded as though they’d been pulled out, one by one, painfully presented. “Don’t mention it. You’ve got my number in case you need anything, right?”

  He could see her gathering herself, subtly straightening up to tell him she wasn’t going to need help. They were interrupted by the arrival of Sheila Trigg in a silver truck. She got out and fetched a container from the backseat.

  “Hello, all. John couldn’t be bothered to bring over a casserole, so I did. What’s this I hear about some lunatic bothering you at the cemetery?”

  Logan saw the look of surprise on Isabel’s face. “Nothing stays secret very long here.”

  Sheila moved with them toward the welcome cool of the house. “We’ve never had anything like this happen in our town before, that I’m aware of. Are you sure you didn’t bring this trouble from L.A.?” She laughed as she slid the food into the fridge, but Logan didn’t miss the momentary look of horror that crossed Isabel’s face before she composed herself again.

  Whatever trouble she’d had in L.A. was certainly no joking matter.

  Sheila turned to them again. “Listen, I know you’re probably tired and overwhelmed but I wanted to let you know that John will continue to help you with the horses for as long as you need him. Also, I wanted to offer to help you plan a memorial service for your sister. It’s hard not knowing anyone in town and, let me tell you, there isn’t a soul here I don’t know. I’d be happy to help you with the planning.”

  Isabel’s voice caught as she answered. “That would be very kind.”

  Logan wondered if she was concerned about how to pay for a service. He’d not missed the worn clothing and her beat-up suitcase, too small to hold much of anything.

  Sheila continued. “And everyone will understand if you back out of Moonlight Ride.”

  “Back out?”

  “Well, your sister committed to taking a group out on her horses that night and helping with the meet and greet. Don’t worry, though. We can round up more horses from somewhere, I’m sure.”

  Isabel was about to answer when there was a knock at the door. Logan answered it.

  Officer Bentley tipped his hat and smiled at Sheila. “Afternoon.” He turned a look on Isabel. “Nothing out of the ordinary at the cemetery. Came to photograph the footprints. Can you show me where they are exactly?”

  Sheila joined the party as they headed into the hot afternoon. She kept up a lively conversation. Logan was used to her irrepressible personality and was happy to let her fill the strained silence.

  Isabel walked next to him, shoulders tense and a worried frown on her pale face. She scanned the trees every so often, eyes wide. He hoped she wasn’t heading into another blood sugar plunge. He should have stopped to get sandwiches in town, or a soda at least. In this heat…

  There you go again, Logan. She’s not your responsibility. Just get this done and go home.

  Sheila chattered on. “Your sister had big plans for this place. She wanted to clear the ravine and restore the creek that ran through here, make it a real sanctuary for the horses. I admired her ideas, but I’m sure glad I wasn’t having to foot the bill or the back work to get it done.” She laughed and wiped the sweat under her fringe of blond bangs.

  They approached the ravine and he felt the cooler air rushing up at him. Bentley readied his camera as they pointed out the spot where she’d gone over the side. They formed a semicircle and peered closely at the ground.

  Logan went down on his hands and knees. The moisture left by the previous night’s storm had disappeared, leaving the ground hard and dry. The footprint would be nicely preserved.

  Officer Bentley was silent for a moment. “Sure this is the spot?”

  Logan ignored the irritation that flared inside him. “Yes. I’m still pretty good at pinpointing locations.”

  Bentley grunted. “No offense meant. I’m just not seeing any footprints here.”

  Logan straightened and shot a look at Isabel. “I’m not either. Someone has wiped them away.”

  FIVE

  Even an hour later, Isabel could still feel the earth shifting beneath her feet, as if the ground was being washed away, worn into precarious gulleys like the massive twisted hoodoos of the Badlands themselves. The prints, the only things that might convince Officer Bentley she wasn’t crazy, were gone. If Logan hadn’t confirmed that he’d seen them, she would have begun to doubt her own sanity. And the look he gave her as he left to scout the property with Bentley, half worried, half incredulous, made her even more confused.

  Should she think of Logan as an ally? But why should he be? They’d only spoken once on the phone before she’d arrived. Suppose he was part of the conspiracy, if there was one? In cahoots with whoever had pushed her and rubbed out their footprints?

  Then why would he bother climbing down to rescue you? And above all, where do I know him from?

  Sheila Trigg interrupted the tumble of thoughts by handing her a plate with a ham sandwich and some potato chips, followed by a glass of iced tea. She sat down next to Isabel at the table and patted her hand.

  “Oh, honey, you look just wiped out. Eat something, at least.”

  Isabel tried to choke down a few bites of sandwich under Sheila’s watchful eye. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’ll help in any way we can. You know that, right?”

  Isabel sighed. She’d never even met her neighbors in her apartment building, never wanted to, but there was a strange comfort in having people looking out for her in this place where everything seemed new and dangerous. “You’ve been a big help already. And John has, too. As soon as I figure out how Cassie left things, I’ll see that he gets paid.”

  Sheila waved a hand. “Oh, John would work for nothing if he cou
ld be near those horses.” She smiled wryly and lowered her voice. “And truth be told, I think he had a bit of a crush on your big sister.”

  Isabel swallowed. “Really? Were they…dating?”

  Sheila laughed. “No. John was never much with people and he’s been gun-shy since his last girlfriend moved away without leaving a forwarding address. If I know my son, he probably never worked up the courage to so much as buy her a cup of coffee. Just as well, since he’s going to start a law practice at the end of the summer.”

  Isabel didn’t comment, but she wondered if her sister had had any attraction for the stolid John Trigg. She ate a few more chips. “Can you tell me more about the Moonlight Ride?”

  Sheila raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the details. We figured you were going to pack up the ranch and sell it as soon as you could.”

  Isabel looked down at her plate. It had been her plan since the moment she’d pawned her gold chain to scrape up the money to fly to South Dakota. Settle Cassie’s estate, somehow carve out enough money to give her a proper memorial service, and leave South Dakota behind. Permanently.

  It’s still the plan, Isabel. You don’t belong here. You never did. “I just wondered about it. Logan said Cassie was involved.”

  “It’s an event sponsored by Range Rustlers. They’re a rescue group for unwanted horses. Your sister got several of her horses from them. They’re hoping to raise enough to buy some pastureland to keep the severe cases until the animals can be tamed enough to find homes. Talk to Bentley if you want to know more. That’s his hobby when he’s not the long arm of the law.”

  She thought about her sister’s passion for horses, born of early visits to their uncle’s South Dakota farm. Cassie’d been fascinated, entranced, and from that moment she’d saved every dime to buy herself a horse.

  Isabel remembered the day she’d found Cassie sobbing because she’d used her hard-earned savings to bail their father out of jail after his arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct. Anger kindled to life inside her, followed by the cold lick of shame. Her father had hurt them, but how had Isabel’s abandonment injured her sister?