Rocky Mountain Fugitive

by Ann Voss Peterson

“Did you hear something?”

  “I…I don’t know. What was it?”

  He levered himself off the bench and onto his feet. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t make sense for construction crews to be here so early, did it? And on a Sunday? “A rattle, maybe. Like someone opening the lock.”

  Sarah climbed out of her booth as well. “Front or back?”

  He tried to recreate the sound in his memory. “I’m not sure, but I’m betting back.” He grabbed the backpack from where he left it after refilling the water bottles. He strained to hear more, the creak of a door, a footstep.

  A clatter rose from the kitchen.

  Eric gestured to Sarah with a tilt of his head. He set off for the back dining room, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible on the tile. He could hear Sarah follow behind, running on her toes. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions about who might be in a closed restaurant this early. It could simply be a manager. An owner. Someone working on the renovations. If the police had tracked them down, they would have stormed the place last night, wouldn’t they?

  Not that it mattered. If whoever was here found them, their first move would be to call the police, and it wouldn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out the woman and man who were camped out in the dining room of a closed restaurant probably weren’t your average tourists.

  “You sure it’s in here?”

  Behind him, Sarah jumped at the male voice echoing from the waiter’s station outside the kitchen.

  Eric grabbed her arm and ducked behind the back dining room’s open door.

  Two young men dressed in jeans, boots and hats swaggered between tables. The way they were dressed probably ruled out construction workers, and they didn’t look nearly old enough to own or run a place like this. If Eric had to guess, he’d put them at barely out of high school. They passed the doorway and headed toward the bar.

  Eric pushed up from the wall just as the tinkling sound of a giggle followed in the boys’ wake.

  He flattened back into the shadow. Sarah did the same. Seconds seemed to stretch longer than minutes before two girls walked past, heels clacking unsteadily on tile. They didn’t spare as much as a glance in Eric and Sarah’s direction.

  Eric let a relieved breath stream through his lips.

  The foursome crowded behind the bar where Eric had pilfered the bottle of cocktail cherries the night before. “Is there any beer?” a male voice said.

  “Beer? Ain’t you had enough beer? We got some good whiskey here. Look at this.”

  “Can you make Sex on the Beach?” one of the girls asked.

  Now was their chance. Eric nodded to Sarah, and they made their way to the fire exit at the back of the dining room. Bracing himself for an alarm, Eric pushed the door open.

  No sound but the predawn tweet of birds met his ears.

  The two of them rushed outside. The cool morning air felt like a slap to hot cheeks. Eric stopped dead in his tracks and stared.

  A gray SUV that should have been junked long ago sat outside the kitchen entrance, no doubt waiting while its driver and his friends stole some liquor so they could continue their party.

  And the engine was still running.

  “SARAH? I FOUND SOMETHING. You’re not going to believe this.”

  The tension in Eric’s voice zinged along Sarah’s nerves and curled in her chest like a spring. They’d only had one free computer at the tiny library, so she’d let Eric take the Google honors, pulling a chair up next to him to see what he turned up. Unfortunately the morning light streaming through the front window was making the print on the screen fade into oblivion.

  She shifted on her chair, perching on the edge of one hip and leaning forward. From here, she could smell Eric’s shampoo and the soap they’d picked up at an area Wal-Mart. They’d used some of their money to buy new shirts, too, and cheap jackets, although they didn’t have enough for new jeans. They’d showered at a campground, and Eric had even shaved. Between that and a box of hair dye that changed his hair from sandy to dark, he looked like a different man. But although she’d considered cutting her own hair, she’d settled on plaiting it into a thick braid, a move that always accentuated the tiny bit of her ancestry that was Native American.

  What she failed to pick up was a pair of sunglasses. She squinted against the glare, trying to see the newspaper story on his screen. “Where?”

  He pointed to a spot midway through the article. “Woman killed in a car accident eight years ago. Driver left the scene. He was caught by matching fingerprints in the stolen car to prints police had on file. The woman’s name was Marion Strub.”

  She leaned toward him a little more, sensing a punch line coming.

  “Her maiden name was Gillette.” He turned and looked at her, the glow from the screen making his green eyes look electric against his new dark hair.

  “The sheriff’s sister?”

  “That’s right.” He looked back to the screen. “Sister of Norris County Sheriff Daniel Gillette.”

  So his sister had been killed in an accident. She hadn’t remembered that. Of course, eight years ago, she hadn’t had a lot of reason to think about Sheriff Danny Gillette. She hadn’t even voted for him. “And Larry Hodgeson? Is there some connection with the fingerprints?”

  “That’s how I found the story. Hodgeson matched the prints and testified in the drunk driver’s trial.”

  She searched her mind, trying to come up with a reason that could lead to the sheriff wanting Hodgeson dead. She knew she felt a sharp need for the men who killed Randy to pay for what they’d done. Maybe Gillette felt that way, too. “And the driver got off?”

  “Nope. He had a long history of driving drunk, and he was slam-dunked by the fingerprints. He got fifteen years. He’s still in the state pen in Rawlins.”

  “Then how—” She caught the glare of the librarian at the circulation desk across the room. She hadn’t spoken above a whisper, but apparently, even that was too loud. She gave the woman a sheepish smile and mouthed I’m sorry, then brought her finger to her lips, warning Eric. The last thing they needed was to draw attention. She’d almost blown it. She lowered her voice until she could barely hear it herself. “How does that explain anything?

  “It doesn’t. But at least we have a connection between them.”

  There had to be something more. Hodgeson worked a lot of criminal cases. Surely there had to be more fingerprints from cases in Norris County that went to the state crime lab for analysis. Something.

  “Got another hit on Hodgeson. But this trial didn’t take place in Norris County.”

  “What is it about?”

  He held up a hand as he read the story.

  She squinted, straining to make out the words through the glare. She wished she could stand and lean over Eric’s shoulder, but that might make her more noteworthy to the librarian. She didn’t dare risk it. Besides, being that close to Eric, smelling his scent, moving her face next to his…bad idea.

  Eric glanced up at her. “It’s a drug case. Methamphetamine. Police found a trailer home that was being used as a meth lab. A guy named Walter Burne owned the land and the double-wide, but his prints didn’t end up matching the prints inside. The jury decided that added up to reasonable doubt.”

  “And Hodgeson analyzed the fingerprints?”

  “Yeah. But there’s no connection to Gillette. Not that I can see here.” He grabbed for the mouse, and clicked back to the search window.

  Something shifted in Sarah’s memory. “Wait.”

  Eric paused.

  “Go back to that last story.”

  He did as she asked.

  “What was the guy’s name?”

  “Walter Burne. You know it?”

  She did, didn’t she? “Is it spelled with an e on the end?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s a guy named Burne at the Full Throttle. Spells his name with an e. I don’t know his first name.”

  “You’re drinking at biker bars now?”


  “It’s not a biker bar, really. Not anymore. But it’s still a rough place. Maybe rougher than it used to be. The guy named Burne is the new owner.”

  Eric shook his head and stared at her as if she were speaking a language he couldn’t understand. “Biker bar, rough bar, what are you doing hanging around at a place like that at all?”

  “I wasn’t. Randy was. It was the first place he went when he got out of jail. Keith saw him there, was worried he was up to no good. And he said he’d also seen Randy with this Burne guy back before his arrest.” She hadn’t taken Keith’s warnings very seriously. The kid had an ax to grind with just about anyone, it seemed. She merely told him she’d talk to Randy about it. And she had meant to the next day…after he returned from Saddle Horn Ridge.

  Eric tented his fingers in front of his lips. “Maybe Gillette’s not the connection. Randy is.”

  Sarah nodded, regret stinging her eyes. She blinked back moisture in time to see the librarian abandon the circulation desk and start walking their way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “She might just be going to warn us to keep it down.” Sarah’s whisper quavered.

  She might be right, but Eric wasn’t about to count on it. He noted the name of the reporter who wrote the article was the same as the last one and clicked the mouse, bringing the computer back to the blank search screen. “I’ll talk to her. Get up and head for the bathroom. Take the back exit like we planned.”

  “Not without you.”

  “It’s not like she can physically stop me from leaving. I’ll meet you at the SUV. Go.”

  Sarah pushed out of her chair and walked for the hall that housed the restrooms…and the back exit door.

  They’d known a trip to the library was risky. Although he didn’t yet know what to make of what they’d found, he hoped the risk was worth it. Better yet, he hoped they were wrong about the librarian’s motives.

  He looked up at the woman and smiled.

  She smiled back as she approached, laugh lines creasing tanned skin. A short-sleeved blouse showed muscular arms. Probably in her fifties, she looked less like the stereotypical librarian and more like an outdoors enthusiast.

  “I apologize if we were too loud. We’re on our way out.”

  “That’s not why I came over.”

  “Oh?”

  “You just look so familiar to me. I was wondering if I know you from somewhere.”

  Yes, probably from those news reports you’ve watched. He forced a laugh. “That always happens to me. You’re the third person who’s said that this week. My wife says I have a generic face.”

  She laughed and pushed curly hair back from her cheek. “Sorry to bother you.”

  Eric let out a breath as she walked away. When she reached her spot at the circulation desk, she turned back to take another look.

  He had to get out of here.

  He pushed to his feet and casually walked to the restroom. At least he hoped it looked casual. He felt like his nerves were jumping out of his skin. When he reached the hall, he bolted past the marked doors and went straight for the red exit sign.

  Sarah sat in the passenger seat of the SUV. Eric slid behind the wheel and started the engine just as the library door opened and the librarian stuck her head out the door.

  Great. He pressed the gas and drove. Not too fast. Nothing to see here.

  “That was close,” Sarah said as they turned on to the highway. “What did she say?”

  “She thought she recognized me.”

  “Did she figure out why?”

  “Don’t know. But even if she didn’t just take down our license plate, we’re going to have to come up with a new ride. Driving a stolen truck is pushing our luck.” Too bad. Eric liked the feeling of control having a vehicle once again gave him. Of course he knew it was an illusion. He didn’t really have control of anything. But the act of researching connections, uncovering pieces of the truth, as small as they were, at least made him feel like he was getting somewhere. Taking charge of something. Fighting back.

  Taking steps to protect Sarah and the baby.

  “Maybe we can find something to drive at the Full Throttle.”

  He glanced at Sarah out of the corner of his eye. “Conviction or not, Burne seems to be a meth dealer. There’s no telling what Randy got himself into with someone like that. You sure you want to go there?”

  “I don’t see how we have a lot of choice. If we can’t get help from law enforcement, maybe it’s time to try the other side of the equation.”

  He nodded in agreement, but he didn’t like the desperate tone in her voice.

  SARAH SQUINTED THROUGH thick smoke at the half-dozen or so men spending a Sunday afternoon drinking in the hazy dimness of the Full Throttle. Two wore cowboy hats. Most sported prison tattoos. None of them looked friendly. She’d dealt with hard-edged men her entire life, but she was glad Eric was with her all the same.

  She and Eric stepped to the bar. The place smelled of stale smoke, stale beer and sanitizer, probably stale as well. A bartender zeroed in on them. Face overwhelmed by a handlebar mustache he must have started growing when they were in style in the early 1900s, he slapped a bar towel down and leaned forward on meaty palms. “What can I get ya?” He ran an assessing gaze over Sarah.

  She ignored whatever demeaning message he was trying to send. “Are you Walter Burne?”

  The man chuckled. “Do I look like Burne?”

  “I don’t know. What does Burne look like?”

  “Not like me. Now what are you drinking?”

  “Did you know Randy Trask?”

  He gave a disgusted roll of his eyes. “You sure as hell ask a lot of questions.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “Maybe. Who are you?”

  “I’m his sister.”

  She could feel Eric tense up.

  She knew it was dangerous, letting anyone know who she was. She wasn’t sure if her name and photo were being broadcast alongside Eric’s, but she wouldn’t be surprised. Layton was pretty adamant that the sheriff wanted her just as much. He never would have encouraged her to run otherwise. But as nervous as she was about identifying herself, she had little choice. She doubted she’d get anywhere with this guy by playing coy games. Besides, she’d bet the patrons of the Full Throttle wanted a visit from the sheriff about as much as she did. She needed to take a chance.

  “The rancher lady.” A smile curved beneath all the hair, teasing, knowing, cruel. “Well, Randy ain’t here. But then, you probably know that.”

  A man down the bar stood and moved several stools closer. “Why are you looking for Randy? He’s dead.”

  “We’re not looking for Randy,” Eric said. “We’re looking for people who knew him.”

  “Ahh.” The newcomer to the conversation chuckled deep in his skinny chest, the sound infused with the rattle of someone who was a long-time smoker. He perched on the edge of the stool. His leg bounced, as if he was itching to move. “I might have known him.”

  Even though he was sitting, Sarah could tell he was close to Eric’s height. But where Eric was fit and built with more than his share of muscle, this guy was narrow as a wire. And judging from his jumpy demeanor, she’d say a live wire at that.

  The kind of nervous energy that might have come from dipping in to the drugs he produced? “Are you Burne?”

  “Me? Ha! You’ve got to be out of your mind.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jerry.”

  “Sarah.” She held out her hand and they shook. His palm was moist, and Sarah fought the urge to wipe her hand on her jeans. “Were you here when Randy came in the other day?”

  “What, after he got out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe. Don’t remember.”

  “Well, have you heard what he stopped in here about?”

  “Having a drink isn’t a good reason for stopping in a bar?” the bartender boomed. He leveled a look on them, a clear hint they should order if they
intended to stay.

  “Give us a Sprite and a tapper.” Eric threw a ten on the bar.

  Sarah turned back to the guy on the next bar stool. “Was there any other reason Randy came in here? Something besides having a drink?”

  “Don’t know whatcha mean.” He folded arms that were little more than flesh stretched over bone across his chest. Tattoos marked his pale skin with thick black lines. Not the most delicate work Sarah had seen by a long shot. They looked as if they were done with makeshift equipment and an untalented hand.

  “Looks like you’ve done some time yourself.” Eric gestured to the tats Sarah had noticed. “What can you tell us about a guy named Bracco?”

  “Bracco?” The guy glanced around the bar as if his overabundance of energy had deteriorated into paranoia. “Never heard of him.”

  “He was Randy’s cell mate,” Eric supplied.

  “How would I know Randy’s cellie? It’s not like I was in at the same time.” He drew himself up and pushed out his bony chest. “Besides, Randy was just in county. I’ve done real time.”

  “Something to be proud of, no doubt.” Sarah did her best not to roll her eyes as the bartender had at her. But as ridiculous as this guy’s pride over his record was, maybe she could use it to her advantage. “I think you know him. I think you’re scared.”

  He pulled in his chin like a surprised turtle. He shifted his weight backward and the bar stool creaked under him. “Scared? Why would I be scared of Bracco? He’s dead.”

  Eric narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that?”

  “Offed himself in his cell. Happened before Christmas.”

  Sarah added this piece to the puzzle in her mind. If Bracco told Randy something was on Saddle Horn Ridge, he must have done it when her brother was first sentenced.

  “What makes you think it was suicide?” asked Eric.

  “That’s what the papers said.”

  “And you don’t find that a little strange?”

  “I guess. Hardened guys usually don’t off themselves like that, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  That had been exactly what Eric was getting at. It wasn’t a suicide. Sarah looked up at him. The sheriff must have killed Bracco, too. Only before he died, he told Randy there was something up on Saddle Horn Ridge. Something valuable worth finding. Was it possible?