Montana Mavericks, Books 1-4

by Diana Palmer

  The creature leapt from the trees, a living kachina from Hopi lore, not Cheyenne. So it wasn’t Indians trying to frighten her away from their sacred grounds.

  The person wore a wolf mask. It reminded her of a werewolf face from a Halloween costume. Wild hair cascaded down to the shoulders, hiding any natural hair. The clothing was a mixture of doeskin leggings, vest and shirt, with feathers of various sorts and other Indian paraphernalia that made no sense.

  None of that scared her, but the two skinning knives, one in each hand, did. She’d seen Judd skin a deer with one of those and knew they were deadly sharp.

  The monster stalked her. Tracy was aware of the cliff behind her and that the creature was trying to drive her in that direction. She edged up the egglike knob of limestone.

  The monster followed, knives flashing over its head.

  Lightning streaked across the sky, followed at once by a deafening blast of thunder. The creature started and seemed to cringe for a moment. Tracy grabbed the chance.

  She bolted down the far side of the limestone slope and ran for the woods. She didn’t look back. Heart pounding, she dodged among the trees, leapt over bushes and small boulders and found a path that led downward. She raced flat out along it until she came to the trail that led to her car.

  Running a hand over her jeans, she felt the car keys tucked safely in her pocket. Thank God.

  When she reached the clearing, she was relieved to see it empty except for her blue compact auto. She unlocked it, jumped in and locked the door. Her hands shook as she turned the key. The engine caught. She backed up without looking, then went forward, turning the wheel desperately. She took off in a spray of gravel and dust.

  Behind her, a wild-maned, horrible-faced monster leapt out of the woods as she turned the car to head down the steep hill. The creature ran toward her, then threw one of the knives at the car.

  The knife hit the rear window and skidded off onto the ground. Tracy plunged the accelerator to the floor.

  “Judd, Judd,” she whispered, a litany of safety in a world gone berserk.

  Nine

  Judd answered the telephone on the second ring. “Hensley.”

  A strained gasp came from the other end. “Judd…help Tracy,” someone said.

  He didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”

  “Tracy…find Tracy…danger…”

  “Winona?” he asked. Fear slapped against his spine like a wet rag. He glanced at the calendar. Friday, the thirteenth.

  “Yes…danger…find her…”

  He realized Winona was having one of her visions. She was fighting the trancelike state in order to call him.

  “I will,” he promised. “I’ll find her.”

  “Hurry…wolf after her…running…wolf…”

  “Winona, rest now,” he said sternly, worried about the old woman’s heart. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

  “Yes…go…go!” She hung up.

  Feeling like the hounds of hell were after him, he grabbed up his holster and belted it on his hips, then checked the clip in his gun. He selected several rounds of ammunition and a rifle out of a cabinet. Then he was off.

  In the car, driving on the highway toward the reservation, he called Sterling and told him to get his butt over there. He wanted backup on the case, but he wasn’t going to broadcast an all-points bulletin on the basis of a psychic’s vision.

  He’d hardly gone a mile from town when he spied a blue car coming from the opposite direction. It was doing at least ninety. He turned across the median and headed after the speeding vehicle.

  After hitting the button to start the blue lights flashing, he pushed the pedal down. While he caught up with the small car, he called Sterling and told him Tracy was all right. He pulled up beside her and blew the horn.

  Her face wore a startled look as she glanced out the window. Then she recognized him. She slowed at once, then pulled to the side of the road. She was out of the car and racing toward him before he’d opened his door and slid out.

  Then she was in his arms. “Judd, thank God. Oh, thank God!”

  He inhaled the sweet essence of her, felt the impact of her slender body in every cell in his. “Tell me what frightened you,” he murmured in a soothing tone.

  “A monster…a wolf—”

  His low imprecation interrupted her as he recalled Winona’s vision. “Go on,” he ordered. He thought of Rafe Rawlings, the “Wolf Boy” who was now a policeman and asking a lot of questions. But he was much too young to be involved. “You were at the site on the reservation?”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath and pulled away, looking embarrassed after her show of emotion. “I was sifting through the dirt under the ledge…where Jackson and I found the femur and pelvis?”

  He nodded, indicating he understood where she meant.

  She brushed a stray lock of hair back from her temple, leaving a smidgen of dirt there. “I thought I heard something, but then it thundered, and I realized we were in for a rain, so I went back to work. Then a rock hit me—actually, a pebble—then another.”

  A rock! Judd felt the crystal clarity coming over him. Winona had seen a rock hitting someone in her vision. Someone had thrown a rock at Tracy….

  “Then this jingling started…like jingle bells used on sleighs or something.”

  “The Indians use bells in their dances,” he reminded her.

  She nodded, then licked her lips. “The bells seemed to come from two different directions. Then the laughter started.”

  Anger steeled over Judd—anger so cold it chilled his blood. When Tracy came to the part about the apparition with the knives, rage enveloped his senses, shutting out everything but the need to find the person who had frightened her.

  “I left my knapsack,” she ended, dismayed at its loss.

  “I’ll get you another,” he promised absently, his mind going over all he knew of the case.

  “It isn’t that,” she said impatiently. “I had found more evidence—several short hairs, probably belonging to the victim, and one long one—blond…with dark roots.”

  He almost smiled at the dramatic pauses she used to emphasize her find.

  “I left them in the knapsack,” she concluded. “I need to go back and get it before—” She broke off abruptly.

  “Before the wolf monster destroys it?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. Thunder rumbled over the mountains. “You go home. I’ll go back and get your things.”

  “You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I put in a call to Sterling before I found you and told him to meet me at the bluff,” he said, neglecting to tell her he’d cancelled it. “By the way, I ought to give you a ticket. You must have been going ninety when I spotted you.”

  “Well, actually, ninety-five. I’d slowed down some because of the traffic before I saw you.” She gave him an insouciant grin.

  He wanted to kiss her. “Get on home before the rain starts. I’ll see you around seven tonight.”

  “Right.” She returned to her car and drove off at a sedate speed while he watched.

  Solemn, he climbed back in his truck and made a U-turn across the median again. He wanted to check out the site as soon as possible.

  He thought of calling Sterling, then decided against it. The poor slob had been working overtime and was supposed to be off duty that afternoon. The detective needed some time with his wife and child.

  At the reservation, Judd followed the road up to the bluff, parked and climbed out. He checked the area. The skinning knife that had been thrown at Tracy was gone. He’d figured it would be.

  Using the tracking skills he’d learned since living in Montana, he quietly slipped into the woods. He picked up the tracks of two people. Tracy’s he recognized by the print of her sneaker soles. The other tracks were indistinct. Moccasins, he deduced. He studied one clear print. Large. A man.

  The cold settled in his soul. Someone had tried to hurt Tracy.
He wanted his blood.

  He followed the trail upward, found the deer path Tracy had followed. He could almost feel her fear as she’d run for her life. Thank God she hadn’t tried to stand her ground. A sane person had no chance against a madman.

  The woods were silent, just as Tracy had described. Judd’s senses were so acute he could identify the faint rustling of the leaves as the wind moved in from the west. He sniffed the air. Ozone. The storm was approaching.

  Near where the woods opened on the limestone knob, he found tracks around a shrub. Examining the bush, he saw a broken branch and found a piece of string. Here was where one set of bells had been tied, he deduced.

  Moving on up, he left the trees and stooped by the ledge after surveying the area. Tracy’s knapsack wasn’t there. He spied it several feet away…or what was left of it.

  The canvas tote had been slashed into ribbons. The tools of her trade were scattered about. The sample bottles had been smashed to smithereens, their evidence lost, the hairs probably blown away by the rising wind.

  The coldness inside him became glacial fury as he thought of what might have happened to Tracy had she not had the sense to run.

  He followed the trail of footprints to a second shrub next to the bluff. He could easily see where something—more bells, he assumed—had been torn from a mangled branch.

  The creature had been careful to take all evidence with it. A cunning monster, Judd thought.

  After glancing around, he stood and looked out at the lush pasture fifty feet below. The tribe had refused to renew the lease with the Kincaids, who’d used the pasture for a hundred years. There’d been trouble brewing over the situation until Jackson’s wife, Maggie, had testified before Congress. The ranchers had backed down, but they hadn’t been happy.

  He tried to figure out if this had any bearing on Tracy’s fright, but couldn’t see that it did. And she didn’t think an Indian had been the culprit.

  “After all, a Cheyenne should know his own culture,” she’d said, rather indignant that the person hadn’t dressed correctly.

  A slight smile tugged at his mouth. That was Trace, a nitpicker for authentic detail. She’d learned that from her father.

  The smile disappeared. He’d loved being a part of her family. They’d taken him into their closeness and kept him there. Even after the divorce, her mother had sent him gifts at Christmas and his birthday. She’d enclosed notes, too, but she’d never mentioned her daughter.

  Somehow he felt he’d let go too easily. Maybe he should have confronted Tracy or fought harder for her.

  But a man could only do what he could do. At the time of the divorce, he’d felt it was the only way to go. Now he wasn’t so sure. There were still feelings between them. He just didn’t know what the hell they were.

  Well, back to the case at hand.

  Before he could turn and head for the truck, something hit the back of his knee. His left leg buckled.

  He tried to catch himself, but slipped on a loose piece of limestone, which flew outward as his weight slammed down on it. The shard of rock fell down the bluff. Judd realized he was going to follow it.

  Instinct had him clutching the shrub desperately. It held for a second, but not long enough for him to get a toehold in the rough stone. The branch separated from the bush, and he plunged over the side….

  Down, down, down, it was a long way down. He remembered the line from a book he used to read to Thadd. Dr. Seuss.

  Then he started thinking about how the hell he was going to survive the fall. Maybe he’d land in the creek—one of the deep quiet pools where he and Tracy used to bathe the summer they fell in love.

  He caught the stub of a dwarf tree growing from a crevice. It bent flat to the rock face with his weight, but it held.

  Not for long.

  When the stumpy tree started coming out by the roots, he wedged his hand in a crevice and held on while he felt around for places to put his feet. The rocky wall was shale here, loose stuff that wouldn’t hold him. He felt a moment’s despair as the tree slowly pulled free from the crack.

  The last root gave way. He lost his grip on the narrow crevice. Then he was falling…falling…. His last thought was to wonder how Winona’s goats had gotten up on the bluff.

  Tracy reached for the telephone, then drew back. She glanced at the clock—7:10. Judd was late. Should she call and remind him?

  What if Sterling had forgotten to tell him to pick her up? No, Judd had said he’d see her around seven. But maybe he hadn’t realized he was supposed to stop for her. She’d leave…but she didn’t know where Sterling and Jessica lived.

  Jessica had called and confirmed that the dinner was to be at their house. Jackson and his wife would be there, too. “Jackson is going to do fry bread, and I got honey from Winona today. It’s casual, so wear something comfortable.”

  Tracy paced to the front door and stared out at the evening sky. Where was Judd?

  She chewed on her lower lip. He’d promised to retrieve her knapsack, with her tools and the evidence in it. Sterling was supposed to meet him at the site. But what if something had happened and Sterling had been delayed? Or hadn’t shown up?

  No, she was being silly. One thing she knew for sure—Judd could take care of himself. He was careful and alert.

  A vision of the wolf-faced monster came to her.

  She shivered as her fear increased a notch. She’d call Jessica and find out what time Sterling had gotten home. That was the sensible thing to do. It was stupid to stand around stewing over nothing. She crossed the room and dialed the number.

  “Jessica? This is Tracy,” she said when her hostess answered. “I, uh, was wondering—has Sterling gotten home yet?”

  “He’s been home all afternoon,” Jessica said. “What’s happening? Hasn’t Judd stopped for you yet?”

  “No. I wanted to check with you that he knew he was supposed to pick me up.”

  “He did. I reminded him when he called to tell Sterling to forget meeting him at the reservation.”

  Fear clutched at Tracy. “He told Sterling not to meet him?”

  “Yes. He said he’d found you.” Jessica laughed softly. “He was one worried man until then.”

  “Jessica, Judd went out to the site after leaving me,” Tracy said, her own worry apparent in her voice. “Now he’s late.”

  “And Judd is never late. Hold on.”

  Tracy heard Jessica calling to her husband. She heard Sterling’s baritone voice as he joined his wife. Jessica told him what had happened.

  “Tracy,” he said into the phone. “The old man hasn’t shown up, huh?”

  “No. He was going to check out the person who frightened me. I thought you were going to meet him. It’s dangerous. I’ve got to go—”

  “Whoa, there. Tell me exactly what happened. He didn’t mention any of this.”

  Tracy explained as quickly as she could. “I’m going out there,” she added.

  “Stay put,” Sterling ordered. “I’ll handle it.”

  When they hung up, Tracy ran to the bedroom and changed to jeans and a shirt, thick socks and her sturdy boots. She grabbed a raincoat and a flashlight, switching it on to make sure it worked. It did. She rushed out.

  The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle as she retraced her path along the highway and onto the reservation. Sterling’s truck was at the bluff when she arrived. She parked beside it and slid out. She decided she didn’t need the flashlight yet.

  Ducking under the police tape, she sped along the deer track to the ledge under the limestone. There she found her knapsack torn to shreds. She felt sick with worry.

  What if the monster had attacked Judd? Killed him?

  She saw a shadow among the trees and hid behind a boulder.

  “It’s me,” Sterling said. He came to her. “Did you see anything on the way up?”

  “No.” She showed him her slashed tote. “Look.”

  “Damn,” he said. He bent to the ground.

  She f
licked her light on and held it so it would highlight any footprints.

  “He was here,” Sterling said. “This way.”

  They walked to a steep section of the bluff, found the broken limb on the shrub and followed skid marks over the ledge.

  Sterling lifted a large, round rock, examined it, then put it down. Tracy noted there was no depression in the dirt under it. The detective peered at the edge of the bluff. The place where the fractured chip had given way was obvious. When he looked up, he gave her a probing glance.

  “I’m all right,” she said, knowing that Judd must have gone over the side. “How do we get down?”

  “We’ll take the main road. It’s faster than the dirt trail. Stay close to me. I’ll have my siren on.”

  Clutching the steering wheel of her car, she rode the bumper of the unmarked police vehicle. Its wail reminded her of a scream in the gathering dusk when Sterling used it to clear a path through the traffic. They followed a paved county road, then a short dirt track, then no road at all as they drove across a meadow. She stopped when he did.

  “We’ll have to walk from here,” he said.

  They jogged along the creek on a path worn through the grass and underbrush by generations of fishermen.

  Tracy had gone through so many emotions on the drive that she felt numb as they searched along the base of the bluff.

  “We’re near where he went over. I’m going across to the other side,” Sterling told her. “Stay close to the creek. Start calling. He may hear.”

  If he’s conscious. If he’s alive.

  “All right.” She waded through the twilight as if she walked through a strange medium, thick and cloying, instead of air. Each breath burned her throat as she ignored a need to cry.

  “Judd,” she called softly, over and over. She was afraid her voice would alert the madman who’d tried to kill her, if he was still around. Sterling didn’t seem to think he was.

  She skirted a section of high boulders, pushed into their present disorder by glaciers from long ago, she decided inanely as she searched. “Judd,” she called, a bit more desperately.