Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “At the moment, my likes and dislikes seem to be changing.”

  “Scarlet, whether you can shoot or not doesn’t matter. We’re not going to leave you alone, so you don’t need a gun,” Brett said quietly.

  Meg and Brett had joined them by that point, and Scarlet looked around at the whole group. “Help me out here, guys. This is not a foolish thing I’m doing. Look, I’m not going to go crazy and shoot blindly,” she said, arms crossed over her chest, chin high and defiant, and narrowed eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. “But I’m not going to be a victim, either. This guy is following me. And I’m going to be prepared. I’m very grateful that you’re all here, but you have a murderer to catch, and I don’t want to be a burden. So what if I want to carry a gun? You all do.”

  “We all have permits,” Diego reminded her.

  “I won’t carry it as a concealed weapon. I’ll keep it ready here, so I’m able to use it if I have to, or if it seems there might be trouble, I’ll carry it openly. The state only requires a permit for concealed carry,” she said. She stared at him hard. “I’m good. I just want to have a gun available to me in case something none of us expect happens and I run into this guy alone. I’m not going to let myself be dragged through the forest and up the mountain.”

  They were all silent, not sure what to say.

  “Look, here’s the one I’m going to take,” she said. “It’s a modified Colt six-shooter from the 1880s. Ben said it’s okay, and it’s in good working order. That’s why I chose it. I have bullets, and I won’t even load it unless it’s necessary, unless I’m alone or out in the forest or something. Okay?”

  Diego knew they were all waiting for him to speak. The thing was, she did know what she was doing with a gun, especially an antique. Part of that was his doing—she’d been to the shooting range with him several times—and the other part of it was her love of history.

  It was just that she’d always hated them.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay?” she questioned warily.

  “Yes, take it. But you do have to get a concealed-carry permit. We’re the FBI. We can’t have you breaking any laws. All right?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll get a permit tomorrow,” she promised.

  He nodded.

  “Well, then, that’s that,” Scarlet said, smiling in satisfaction as she carefully collected the bullets for the Colt. “By the way, how’s your friend?”

  For a moment Diego had no idea what she was talking about. “My friend?”

  “The woman you and Matt picked up at the airport tonight. Jane Everett. Is she here?”

  “Not yet, though she will be. Right now she’s at the morgue, working,” Diego said. “We tried to talk her into waiting ’til morning, but she was eager to get started. She’ll have a likeness for us by morning.”

  “Wow,” Scarlet said. “I’m impressed.” She started up the stairs, and the others followed. He could tell they were all still a little worried about Scarlet carrying a gun. But he’d spent days teaching her not only to shoot, but also all about gun safety, and if he hadn’t trusted her to handle a weapon he would have objected to her having one.

  “Would anyone like tea?” Scarlet asked when they got up to the kitchen. “Hot chocolate? Something stronger?”

  No one spoke.

  Scarlet stiffened. “What? You think I’m overreacting, don’t you? That all this has driven me crazy, maybe even made me dangerous.”

  “No, no!” Meg protested.

  “Scarlet, it’s not that,” Diego said.

  “Then what?” she asked in confusion.

  “We think you saw a dead man in town, and at the cemetery and The Stanley,” Diego said flatly.

  She stared at him then as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Look, I know all about your ‘zombie’ case in Miami. This guy wasn’t lurching around, half-decayed and talking about brains.”

  “That’s not what Diego meant,” Meg said quietly.

  “What are you talking about, then?” Scarlet demanded.

  “We think you’re seeing a ghost,” Diego said.

  “Okay. Stop. I’ve spent half my adult life digging up old burial sites. My idea of the perfect vacation is exploring the pyramids at Giza, and the catacombs in Rome and Paris. I don’t see ghosts!” She sat down in a huff.

  “I never saw them myself—until they needed me,” Brett said, taking the chair opposite her.

  Meg sat down, too, looking at Scarlet with her eyes serious. “Scarlet, it began for me at a traumatic period during my childhood. It works that way for a lot of us. But sometimes it happens the way Brett said. Someone has the ability but it’s dormant, for lack of a better word, until it’s needed. Until a ghost needs our help.”

  Scarlet looked from Meg to Diego. “You’re suggesting that a ghost is trying to talk to me. Do you also think a ghost killed those people? And that Nathan Kendall’s ghost possessed that statue and walked up the stairs and into my bedroom?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Brett said. “That statue is far too heavy for a ghost to lift.”

  “Not any ghost I’ve ever encountered, and that’s quite a few,” Meg said.

  Scarlet sat back. “You’re crazy. You’re all crazy. I’ve begged crazy people to come out here and help me.”

  “Scarlet,” Diego said, “it’s not crazy. It’s true.”

  “So you really do think that a ghost stole an antique Colt from the museum, and killed Candace and Larry Parker?”

  “No, not at all,” Matt said. “I’m quite certain they were murdered by a living person.”

  “That’s a relief. No, it’s not. I mean, do you all really believe in ghosts?” Scarlet asked, looking from one of them to the next. Her gaze stopped when she met Diego’s eyes.

  “Yes,” he said flatly. “The thing is, I know you’re afraid of this ‘stalker.’ And he may be alive and someone we need to watch for carefully. But he also may be someone who—alive or dead—can help us.”

  “You really are serious,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “And Adam—is this what he believes, too?”

  “Adam created the Krewe precisely because he believes in possibilities exactly like this,” Meg said.

  “So basically, you think I want to arm myself against a ghost?” Scarlet said.

  “Uh-huh,” Meg said.

  “Okay, I’ll take that under consideration,” Scarlet said. She smiled suddenly. “So…anyone up for something to drink?”

  “I’m ready for bed, to tell you the truth,” Meg said, looking at Matt, who smiled and held out his hand to her.

  “Same here,” Brett said. “Good night all.”

  “We’ll make sure the alarm is set,” Matt said, turning with Meg to head back down the stairs.

  Diego was left alone in the kitchen with Scarlet. She looked at him skeptically, and he wondered if he had suddenly grown horns.

  “What we’re telling you is true,” he said quietly.

  She stood and walked into the bedroom. He hesitated for a moment, then turned out the kitchen light, checked the living room to make sure everything was in order and followed her. Her lights were out, and she was already in bed. He wondered if she had crawled in fully dressed.

  “I can take the couch, if you want,” he told her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

  “You’re upset.”

  “Yep,” she said.

  But as he waited in the doorway, she suddenly got out from under the covers.

  She wasn’t fully dressed. In fact, she was totally naked.

  The slight moon glow seeping in through the curtains highlighted the sleekness of her body like an opal mist. She walked over to the doorway and slipped an arm around his neck, then whispered huskily, “I hear that upset sex is
incredibly hot.”

  He smiled, then found her lips with his. He indulged in a slow, simmering, hungry kiss before lifting his mouth from hers.

  “I feel so used,” he whispered.

  “I’ll use you well,” she promised.

  “Promises, promises,” he said.

  He lifted her and the feel of her naked body against him fed the searing need that ripped through his body. He set her on the comforter and started to undress. Suddenly she was kneeling in front of him, pulling at the buckle of his belt. Her lips and tongue teased at the flesh of his belly, and he quickly stripped off the rest of his clothes and took her in his arms again, rolling with her onto the bed. She found her way on top and proceeded to kiss and tongue her way across his chest, then moved her way downward.

  She suddenly sat bolt upright, grasping for the covers.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Diego, ghosts—they don’t… Oh, my God! Are we being watched? By a ghost?”

  His rigid body tightened a notch, yet somehow he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “From everything the others have told me, ghosts tend to be polite and discreet. They aren’t voyeurs out to make secret sex tapes.”

  “Are you sure?” she demanded.

  She was still straddling him, back erect, breasts firm, nipples aroused. She was like an Amazon warrior, proud and alert and ready to do battle.

  “I’m positive.”

  He sat up and pulled her back into his arms.

  They could both be the aggressor in sex, and she’d been doing a magnificent job, but he wasn’t about to lose the moment.

  He rolled her beneath him and caught her lips with his mouth, her hands with his, and he turned the tide, pressing kisses down her throat and her breasts, her abdomen and below, until she writhed and whispered his name.

  And forgot about ghosts.

  They made love until the wee hours.

  Upset love proved to be incredibly hot indeed.

  * * *

  It was still early when Diego’s phone vibrated under his pillow, where he’d put it before finally going to sleep. He glanced at the bedside clock and saw that it was only seven thirty.

  “McCullough,” he answered quickly, keeping his voice low.

  “It’s Jane. I’m sorry to be calling so early, but I received a call from your friend Lieutenant Gray last night. He asked if the police could have my rendering as soon as I had something. He wants to get it into the papers. I figured you and the rest of the Krewe would want first look.”

  “Yes, thank you. Where are you? Still at the morgue?”

  “Just heading up to the ranch. Adam said I’ll be staying in the main house.”

  “Yes, but come to the museum first. It’s to the left of the parking lot, but there’s a sign that says Conway Ranch Museum, so you won’t have any trouble finding it.”

  “Thanks,” she told him. “Be there soon.”

  He hung up and bolted out of bed, heading straight to the shower. Scarlet didn’t stir. Only when he was dressed did he wake her.

  She blinked and stared at him with groggy eyes.

  “Jane is on her way with her rendering of the man killed up on the mountain. Feel free to go back to sleep if you want. One of us will stay with you. We won’t leave you here alone, even if you do have a gun now.”

  “No, no, I’m up.”

  She jumped up and ducked beneath his arm, then grabbed her robe and ran for the shower. Diego headed out to the kitchen to brew coffee.

  It was already done. Brett was up.

  “Jane is on her way,” Diego told him.

  “Good. I’m anxious to see what she’s come up with. If we can ID the guy, maybe we can find out if his death is related to the Parkers’.”

  “I think I’ll give Lieutenant Gray a call while we’re waiting,” Diego said.

  “I talked to him last night when he returned the museum’s gun collection. They’ve questioned the guests who left the ranch right after the murders. A banker from Pittsburgh, and his wife and daughter. A family from New York who had never been west of Chicago. Nothing suspicious about any of them, and none of them saw anything suspicious, either.”

  Diego nodded and made a call.

  “Lieutenant Gray.”

  “It’s Diego McCullough. Just wanted to check in with you and let you know our artist will have something for you soon. Anything new on your end? Besides none of the other ranch guests having anything useful to add.”

  Gray sounded frustrated. “Nothing. I’ve questioned half of Estes Park. No one saw the Parkers leave with anyone. No one has found their car. The forensic team has given me diddly-squat. You?”

  “We’re hoping the picture will help in linking the cases, or even help us prove there’s no connection,” Diego said.

  “That’s it? That’s all the FBI has got?”

  “At the moment. Thanks for returning the museum’s gun collection.”

  “Still no sign of the murder weapon, but the rest are all clean. Under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand why we’re looking at anyone associated with the ranch.”

  “Same here.”

  “The murder weapon…who knows when it was stolen. If it was stolen.”

  “So your top suspects are the Kendalls—and my wife,” Diego said.

  “I thought she was your ex-wife, but…whatever. If she’s guilty, then—”

  “You know she was in town.”

  “Maybe she slipped back up the mountain.”

  “I think she parked in a municipal lot. You can probably document that,” Diego said.

  “Get me that picture as soon as you can,” Gray said.

  Diego hung up.

  Brett had been watching him the whole time. “Since we know it’s not Scarlet—Ben or Trisha? Or someone else here?”

  “Ben did find the bodies, and everyone else seems to have an alibi for the time of the murders,” Diego said. “Anyway, I’m going to head outside to meet Jane when she arrives.”

  “I’m going back on the computer—see if we’ve missed anything on Ben and Trisha,” Brett said. “I’ll call HQ, too—tell them to dig deeper.” He hesitated. “Ben did have access to the museum and the Colt that killed the Parkers.”

  “I’m surprised Gray hasn’t arrested him already. He brought Scarlet in just for having pictures on her camera.”

  “Pictures Ben told him about,” Brett reminded him.

  “True,” Diego said. “But do you really see him being capable of it? He’s not a young man.”

  “It doesn’t take a young man to pull a trigger.”

  “Yes, but Larry Parker was strung up a tree. That takes strength.”

  “Maybe Ben and Trisha are a pair of psychopathic killers,” Brett said.

  Diego let that thought settle, trying to envision the two of them slinking into town, somehow getting the Parkers alone, then dragging or forcing them up the hill. “He’s living his dream in his ancestral home. Are you saying his dream was to re-create his ancestors’ deaths?”

  “As a motive, it’s a little off,” Brett agreed. “But we’ll look into his—and Trisha’s—past. If nothing else, it always helps to eliminate suspects.”

  “True,” Diego agreed with a nod, then headed down the stairs to await Jane’s arrival.

  He stepped outside into a beautiful fall day. The sun was already up, and the air was crisp and clean.

  The sight that greeted his eyes, the peaks of the snowcapped Rockies rising over the tree line, seemed so serene that it was hard to imagine the horror of bloodshed intruding.

  But intrude it had.

  As he stood in the sun, he heard car tires on the gravel drive. He stepped forward. Jane had arrived. She parked, and he headed over to greet her.
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br />   “Grab my portfolio, will you?” she asked as she got out of the car. “I sketched his face from a few different angles. I have no idea of eye or hair color, obviously, so I played with that a bit, too.”

  “You don’t even look tired,” he told her.

  She flashed him a smile. “I am, but I’ll sleep as soon as we’re set with this.” She grabbed her purse and her computer bag, and started toward the museum.

  She paused, looking around as they entered the museum. She smiled, as if she had somehow come home.

  “Wow. Authentic. I love a place like this, small but real, and full of treasures. Those mannequins are incredible,” she said, then frowned suddenly and approached the statue of Nathan Kendall. “Amazing workmanship,” she said.

  “That’s Nathan Kendall, the man who founded this ranch,” Diego said. “His father-in-law had it commissioned after the murders. He also commissioned one of his daughter, but she seems to have been lost over the years.” He shrugged. “It’s no wonder you like the West. I understand you worked in Texas at one point.”

  “Not to mention my husband, Agent Sloan Trent, is from Arizona,” she said. “We met at an old theater in Lily, Arizona. They had a lot of old props like the collection here. I’m always fascinated by all the history out here.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ll gawk later. Where would you like me to set up my computer and lay out my pictures?”

  “Up in the living room,” Diego said. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Upstairs, Jane greeted Brett with a smile. Scarlet hadn’t appeared yet, so Diego led the way to the living room. While Jane set up her computer on the coffee table, Brett called Matt and told him and Meg to head over.

  Diego sat next to Jane as she booted up her computer and hit the buttons to bring up her rendering.

  “This isn’t a perfect science,” she reminded him. “But we know he was Caucasian, about thirty-five, so I worked with the standards for tissue depth and so on, and then, as I said, created different combinations of eye and hair color.”

  Her computer had a high-def seventeen-inch screen. As she hit a key, an almost photographic likeness of a face popped up. “There he is,” she said. “Our John Doe. Not a bad-looking guy. Here he is with dark hair and blue eyes. Next I have him as a brown-eyed blond.” She clicked. Another sketch.