A pregnant cow elk that looked mere minutes from delivering lumbered out of the fog and crossed the road. Jake touched the toe of his boot to the brake. He managed a smile. It was birthing time in the Pennsylvania wilds—which seemed to be happening a week ahead of time this year. Other wildlife conservation officers had already reported seeing a few calves. Unusual, but calving time generally occurred when the most nutritious food was available, and they’d had an early spring.
The commonwealth’s huge elk herd was approaching seven hundred here and in neighboring counties, and drew visitors from all over, especially in the late summer to early fall when the bulls were bugling and gathering their harems. Rachel had mentioned that she did a booming business then.
Pretty, shocked-by-his-words Rachel who would always love her husband with a quiet devotion Jake would never know. Never even glimpse. But that was life, wasn’t it?
Suddenly a vehicle shot past him in the opposite direction. Glad for the distraction, Jake made a U-turn in the middle of the road and hit the gas. The dated SUV had two people in front, and as he gained on it, he tried to make out the license plate. Even if one of them was Rachel’s night visitor, Jake couldn’t stop them; he had no authority. He could get some information for Fish, though. They hit a stretch of road where the guardrails seemed to pin back the fog.
He clicked on his high beams—and quickly recognized young Marty Miller’s beat-up beige Cherokee. Then he dropped his gaze to the brand-new vanity plate on the back of it and rolled his eyes. RD HNTR. Road Hunter.
It took only a few moments for Jake and his gut to decide that twenty-something Marty wasn’t Rachel’s 2:00 a.m. trespasser. He’d talked to the kid a few times, and while Marty seemed to enjoy grinning it up and waving red flags at authority figures, he wasn’t the clandestine type.
Clicking on his low beams again, Jake put some space between their vehicles, then smiled at the mocking license plate. Kids.
When he got to the only red light on Main Street, he pulled into the left turning lane beside the driver and put his window down. Marty did the same. “Nice plates,” Jake called.
The kid with the bushel basket-size mass of brown curls smiled. “Thanks. Just got ‘em.”
Jake smiled back. “You weren’t doing anything you shouldn’t out there tonight, were you? Like spotting the fields looking for newborns?”
Miller glanced at the cute blonde beside him. “Nah, I wasn’t grocery shopping. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—she wouldn’t let me. She likes the babies.”
“Good. Now you should get her home before her dad comes looking for you.”
“Don’t have to,” the kid returned in a cheeky voice. “She has her own place. Her dad doesn’t know she’s still out.”
“Yeah? He’ll know if I tell him.”
Laughing again, the kid waved, raised his window and drove off.
Nice kid, Jake decided. But if he caught him hunting from his car, he’d still fine his scrawny butt.
Slowly, barely crawling along, the vehicle left one of the rutted logging roads lacing the woods, only dim parking lights illuminating the way. A large cloth bag and shovel lay in the backseat. Nervous thoughts zinged through a mind too rattled to think clearly. How much had Rachel Patterson seen? Was the hood and fog enough to obscure her view? What to do? What to do? A small, jittery voice whispered that the only solution was to leave Charity. A louder one shouted, No! Not when things are finally working out.
Unquestionably, the second voice was right. The idea of leaving Charity was nearly as disturbing as the thought of a prison term. He commanded himself to think. He had to delay that construction project or risk losing everything. Sugar in the diesel tanks wouldn’t work … and the tires were too thick to slash and too easily replaced. If only he’d heard about Rachel’s plans sooner than yesterday.
Gripping the steering wheel, he exhaled a blast of frustration. With construction starting tomorrow, his only recourse was to go back and try again.
Or was it?
A dark thought rose, then twisted and turned and became increasingly darker. He began to tremble, felt sweat bead his upper lip. No! No, that was a last resort.
He had to go back.
TWO
Rachel jerked awake the next morning at seven-fifteen to sunshine and the growl of construction equipment flowing through the screen in her bedroom window. She leaped out of bed and dressed. The machines were already leveling the ground, so that meant there’d been no damage to the equipment, thank the Lord. But she’d still wanted to greet Tim when he arrived, and explain what had happened last night.
She’d just shut off her coffeemaker when someone rapped at her patio door. Crossing the kitchen, she opened her hunter green vertical blinds to see Jake standing on her deck. Feeling a burst of nerves that seemed to double her heart rate, she slid open the glass pane and screen.
“Good morning,” she said. “I would have thought you’d be sleeping in today after being up half the night.”
He stepped into the kitchen. “Nope. My mom phoned a while ago and woke me up.” He paused. “As for getting more sack time—I could say the same about you. You probably got less sleep than I did.” This morning he wore jeans, a dark green T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and, for a change, not boots but running shoes. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, and the clean smell of citrus clung to his skin.
His voice softened. “I just came by to see if you were all right. I figured you’d be up because the guys were starting work at seven.”
That warm feeling in her chest blossomed but soon gave way to jitters. Maybe because this was the first time he’d been inside her home and he seemed to fill the room. Or maybe because she was so aware of him filling it. He towered over her, seven or eight inches taller than her five-feet-six. She slid the screen shut. “I’m good. As I said last night, I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
“But you still had trouble getting back to sleep,” he guessed.
“Sad but true.” He knew about her sleepless nights. They’d talked about them. “But I dug out my iPod, and listened to a new CD I’d downloaded. That helped.”
“Casey Kasem’s top forty?”
She smiled. “No, moody oboes and ocean waves. Top forty for insomniacs.” When his rugged features lined in sympathy, she felt another rash of nerves. She gestured toward her round oak table and chairs. “Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Yeah, thanks, if you’re having some. But I can’t stay long. I have to get back and dress for work. I’m giving a talk to the kids at the elementary school this morning.”
“About?”
“Respecting wildlife, the necessity for hunter safety courses … that kind of thing. What’s on your agenda today?”
“After I deliver coffee to Tim and his crew, I’m headed to town. I have a hundred things to do before I go to the nursing home.” During the off-season, she occasionally helped out in the activities room. It gave her something to do, and made her feel good at the same time. That would change soon with the campground opening.
“Since we’re both on the clock, do you care if we take our coffee outside? At the risk of looking like a stereotype, I wouldn’t mind walking over to see how the ground moving’s going.”
Good idea. She’d be more comfortable out there. “Sure. Just give me a second, then we can go.” She pulled brown stoneware mugs and a stainless steel thermos from her oak cabinets. “Actually, I should have seen Tim before this. My insomniac’s top forty worked so well that I overslept this morning, and didn’t have a chance to tell him about my late-night visi—”
Heavy footsteps on the deck stairs stopped her in mid-sentence, and a second later, a beefy man in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans appeared at the screen door. Beneath his salt-and-pepper crew cut, Tim Decker’s deep-set gray eyes couldn’t have been colder.
Rachel strode to the door—opened the screen. “Tim?”
“Sorry,” he said. “We’re shut down,
and I don’t know for how long.”
Her pulse quickened as she realized that those engine sounds had ceased. “What happened?”
“Someone punched holes in my dozer’s oil and transmission filters. If we’d noticed, we could’ve replaced them. But we fired up the dozer, put it to work and ran every last drop of fluid out of it. Froze it up solid.”
Rachel felt sick. If she’d gotten up earlier, she could have told him what had happened last night, and he would have checked his equipment. This wouldn’t have happened.
Jake’s gaze hardened. “Unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” Decker said. “The freak tried to puncture the fuel tank on my truck, too, but couldn’t get through the thick wall.” His gaze shifted to Rachel again. “Okay if I use your land line? I gotta report this, and there’s no cell service this far from town.”
“Of course,” she replied nervously, then followed him to the kitchen’s wall phone. “But before you do that there’s something you should know. There was a—a disturbance here around two this morning. I called the station, and Fish drove down to check things out.”
Tim pivoted abruptly, the stunned look on his face quickly turning to anger. “Are you telling me you knew about this?”
Jake stepped between them. “Calm down. I was here in the middle of the night, too. None of us knew your dozer’d been sabotaged. That includes Fish. You need to let Rachel explain.”
The officer who answered Tim Decker’s call wasn’t a friendly redhead with a mouthful of silver. The rip cord-thin man who got out of the black-and-white cruiser had piercing eyes, a square jaw and a severe buzz cut. Chief Lon Perris wore a gray uniform shirt, black pants and tie, and an almost smothering air of authority. Thirty years after the fact, his lean cheeks still bore the scars from teenage acne.
Jake and Rachel left their coffee mugs on the deck stairs where they’d been sitting and walked out to meet him. Too agitated to sit and wait, Tim was rechecking his equipment.
Charity’s chief of police position had seen major turnovers in the past year. First John Wilcox had died, elevating Rachel’s friend Margo to acting chief, then when Margo and her husband Cole started their private investigations firm, Brett Johnson had accepted the post. Now Brett was in law school, and Lon Perris, a quickly hired, unknown commodity from the Philadelphia area wore the badge. It was like a game of musical chairs. Hum a few bars, stop short and Charity had a new lawman at the helm.
Perris shut the cruiser’s door, gave Rachel a rude once-over that made her go still, then shook hands with Jake and introduced himself. “Chief of Police Lon Perris. You Tim Decker?”
Jake slid Rachel a what’s-with-this-guy? look before he answered. “No, Jake Campbell. Tim’s over at the site.”
Perris glanced through the trees and tall grasses where Decker stood with his two-man crew, then addressed Jake—not Rachel—again. “Which one’s Decker?”
Rachel watched Jake’s eyes narrow, and visible lines of tension crease his brow. “Decker’s the big guy in the flannel shirt,” he said coolly. “And you should be talking to Rachel. This is her property, not mine.”
If Jake’s brusque tone surprised him, Perris didn’t let on.
Deciding that one of them should be polite, Rachel stepped forward and spoke amicably. “You probably don’t remember me, Chief. We met at the—”
“Yes, the chamber’s dinner. I know who you are, Mrs. Patterson, and we’ll be talking. But at the moment, Mr. Decker is my main priority.” He started away. “I trust you’ll stay available.”
He trusted that she’d stay available? In the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered the latest message posted outside the church: Remember, he who angers you controls you. The words fell on deaf ears. “I’ll be here until nine-thirty if you have any questions,” she replied. “After that, I’m afraid we’ll have to make other arrangements.”
“That’ll be fine,” he said without turning around. Then he continued on through the trampled-grass path leading to the construction site.
Rachel stormed over to her redwood steps where Jake sat, cradling his coffee mug between the spread of his legs. She dropped down beside him. Strangely, even as irritated as she was, she couldn’t overlook the obvious. He was a big, attractive, well-built man, and he looked good sitting on her steps. Almost as though he belonged there.
“Ignore him,” Jake said. “He’s not worth your time. The man’s a dyed-in-the-wool chauvinist with zero respect for women.”
“Did I say I was upset?”
“You didn’t have to,” he returned with a faint grin. “The flames shooting out of your nostrils spoke volumes.”
Rachel accepted the coffee mug he handed her. “Sorry. Apparently, I get grumpy when I’m shunned.” She took a sip. “But the man got so far under my skin that I was afraid I’d have to see a surgeon.” She met his amused brown eyes. Then she smiled, too—until a subtle wave of tension moved between them, and she had to look away.
“Do you ever wonder what makes people like Perris tick?” she asked, masking her uneasiness. “What possesses someone to be deliberately rude?”
Something in Jake’s tone told her he’d felt that brief connection, too. It was a hesitance—something she couldn’t put a name to. “Hard telling. Basic unhappiness? Lousy upbringing? No social skills? We’ve all dealt with people like that.”
“Not like him.”
“No?”
“No,” she repeated. “Most people I come in contact with are pretty decent. They say, ‘Hello,’ they say, ‘Have a nice day,’ and they don’t give women dismissive looks. Then there’s the lovely Mr. Perris.”
“Count your blessings. At least with Perris, what you see is what you get. He doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not. Some people—” Jake’s tone cooled. “Some people are so good at hiding their feelings that it takes months to see who they really are. Even then, you can’t be sure you’re on point.”
The knowledge that he was no longer talking about Perris landed with a thud, and Rachel’s uneasiness faded. She glanced at him again. When he’d first arrived, they’d talked like all new neighbors do. Nothing personal—just everyday chitchat that had led her to ask if he had a family. He’d joked that he’d been engaged once, but luckily his head had cleared before he’d taken that trip to the altar. Is that what he’d been referring to? she wondered. His broken engagement? And was that hurt or anger she’d heard in his voice?
“Jake?”
Flashing a smile that never reached his eyes, he stood, drained his coffee and stepped down to the ground. “Sorry. We’ll have to continue this stimulating conversation another time. I need to change for work, and you have things to do in town.”
He handed her his cup. Then, as though he’d done it dozens of times before, he surprised her by taking her hand and easing her up from the step, bringing them eye-to-eye. Rachel drew a soft breath. His sun-warmed hand was broad and tanned, and after a brief moment, she took hers back. He started for home.
“Have a good morning.”
“You, too,” she said, her emotions warring with her sense of propriety. Despite the pangs of guilt she couldn’t ignore, she liked him. She honestly liked him. And lifting her chin, she told herself there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.
But ten minutes later when she entered the living room to turn on the morning news, David smiled at her from their gold-framed wedding photograph, and tears welled in her eyes.
Holy Savior Elder Care was set on beautifully landscaped grounds, the low, white brick building ablaze with bright yellow forsythias, vibrant greenery and red and yellow tulips. Ringed with more spring flowers, a snow-white statue of Jesus sitting with children at his knee rested on a raised platform before the wood-framed double-door entrance.
Jake crossed the parking lot and went inside, asked for directions, then proceeded past pink-and-green floral wallpaper to the activities room. He spotted Rachel at one of the tables, chatting with two elderly women who were cutting
coupons from newspaper supplements. At the front of the room, other residents worked on puzzles or watched a rerun of Little House on the Prairie. He stopped just short of the doorway, feeling conspicuous in his uniform.
Rachel glanced up in surprise, beckoned another volunteer over to take her place, then strode into the hall to meet him.
“Jake?” she said, slightly alarmed. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Not wrong, exactly. But I was having an early lunch at the diner with some friends, and Perris came in.” He glanced around. The hall had gotten busy with visitors and nurses aides wheeling residents to other venues. “Can we talk somewhere else? I know you’re busy. I won’t keep you long.”
“Of course. Let me talk to Gail—she’s the activities director—then I’ll see you outside.”
A few minutes later, he watched her breeze through the home’s double doors. Sunlight glanced off the small gold cross she wore with tiny gold earrings, a white knit top and deep purple chinos. Trying to ignore the uninvited change in his pulse, Jake joined her on the sidewalk and reminded himself he was only here to make a pitch for protection. Nothing more. No matter how beautiful she looked.
They fell into step together, strolling past bright yellow goldfinches pecking seeds from multilevel feeders “So what’s up?” Rachel asked. “What did Perris tell you?”
Jake glanced down at her. “He said your visitor had to have made a second trip back to your place last night.”
“I know. He mentioned that to me before he left. He said the light ‘chinking’ sounds I heard earlier weren’t consistent with someone banging a screwdriver into a fuel tank.” She glanced up at him. “Did he tell you that whoever damaged Tim’s dozer got the hammer and screwdriver from Decker’s own toolbox?”
On Deadly Ground Page 2