“I was fine. As soon as I heard you coming, I got ready for the attack. You told me once I needed to be more careful, more aware of my surroundings.”
“Good to see you’re taking my advice...about something.” He ran a hand across his face once more and sniffled. “Where’s the rest of your crew, or are you a one-woman show now? I guess Beth St. Regis doesn’t need other people—unless she’s using them.”
Her nostrils flared but she ignored the barb. “I’m doing some prep work. My cameraman and producer will be coming out later.”
“And the circus will ensue.”
“If the FBI is involved, there really must be something to investigate.”
She brushed off her jeans that fit her a little too closely, so he kept his blurry eyes pinned to her face.
“Isn’t that why this case is on your radar? You must’ve heard about the new information we got during the investigation of the copycat kidnappings.” He cocked his head. “Come to think of it, I have a hard time believing the old Timberline Trio case is sexy enough for Cold Case Chronicles. Maybe you followed me out here.”
Her sky blue eyes widened for a split second and then she giggled nervously, her hand hovering near her mouth. “I have no idea what happened to you after...that last case, Duke Harper. You dumped me, and it’s not like I’ve been following your career or anything like a stalker.”
A thrill of pleasure winged through his body at her lie. So she’d been tracking him. What did that say about him that the thought gave him satisfaction? It also meant she knew about the royal screwup that had resulted in the death of his partner, Tony.
“That’s okay. I haven’t watched one of your shows, either.” The slight lift at the corner of her luscious lips told him she’d picked up on his lie, too.
“I suppose you’re not interested in joining forces, are you? Pooling our resources? We’re an unbeatable team. We proved that before.”
He snorted. She didn’t deserve an answer to that one. They’d been an unbeatable team in bed, too, but that hadn’t stopped her from playing him.
“What were you doing crawling around on the ground?” He pointed to the cover over the mine.
“Prep work.” She sealed her lips. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”
“Timberline Hotel.”
She raised her hand. “Me, too.”
He pasted on his best poker face. “Makes no difference to me.”
“Do you have a partner with you or are you working alone?”
A partner? The FBI would have a hard time trying to find someone to partner up with him after Tony. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at a gnarled root coming up from the earth.
“Oh, come on, Duke. Whether or not you’re working with a partner is not giving up any classified info.”
He shrugged. He had no intention of giving this woman one morsel of information. She should know that working a cold case was like being exiled to Siberia—for him, anyway. This was punishment and he didn’t want to discuss his failure with her.
“I guess you’ll follow your leads and I’ll follow mine.” He circled his finger in the air. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a couple of days. I’m trying to get a feel for the place. I even brought my own video cam.”
A flock of birds shrieked and rose from a canopy of trees and the hair on the back of Duke’s neck stood up. Hunching forward, he crept toward the tree line.
“What are you doing?” Beth’s voice sounded like a shout and he put his finger to his lips.
Voices carried in the outdoors and those birds had taken off because something—or someone—had disturbed them. The abandoned mine was in a clearing, but dense forest and heavy underbrush hemmed it in on all sides.
The trail from the road had wound past an abandoned construction site to the clearing, and it continued on the other side. The birds had come from the other side.
He reached the beginning of the trail and took a few steps onto the path, his head cocked to one side. Leaves rustled and twigs snapped, but that could be animals going about their business. His gaze tracked through the blur of green, but he didn’t spot any movement or different colors.
City life had his senses on high alert, but a rural setting could pose just as much danger—of a different kind.
He exhaled slowly and returned to the clearing, where Beth waited for him, hands on her hips.
“What was all that about?”
He pointed to the sky. “Those birds took off like something startled them.”
“I told you I saw a rough-looking guy out here on a bike. Maybe it was him.”
“Doesn’t explain why he was hanging around. I don’t know that you should be traipsing around the forest by yourself.” He snorted. “You’re hardly an outdoor girl.”
She kicked a foot out. “I have the boots.”
He opened his mouth for a smart-ass reply but someone or something crashed through the bushes and they both jumped this time. Duke reached for the weapon tucked in the shoulder holster beneath his jacket and tensed his muscles.
He dropped his shoulders when three teenage boys came staggering into the clearing, laughing and pushing each other. The roughhousing came to an abrupt halt when they spotted Duke and Beth.
The tallest of the three boys stepped forward, holding a can of beer behind his back. “Is this, uh, official business or something?”
The other two edged back to the tree line, trying to hide their own beers.
“Nope. I was just leaving.” Duke leveled his finger at the boy. “But you’d better not be operating a motor vehicle.”
“Driving? No way, sir.”
Beth flashed her megawatt smile at the trio of teens. “Do you boys live here? I’m from the TV show Cold Case Chronicles, and we’re doing a show on the old Timberline Trio case.”
“Oh, hey, yeah. My mom watches that show all the time.”
One of the other boys, a pimple-faced kid with a shock of black hair, mimicked the tagline of the show in a deep voice. “Cold Case Chronicles...justice for all time.”
“That’s us.” Beth nodded. “So, how about it? Any of you know anything about that case? Parents around at the time?”
The one who’d spoken up first said, “Nah, we just moved here a few years ago when my mom got a job with Evergreen Software.”
The kid with the acne answered. “Same here.”
The dark-haired boy with the mocha skin who’d been quiet up to now ran a hand through his short hair. “My family was here, but they don’t talk about it. We don’t talk about it.”
“We?”
Duke rolled his eyes as Beth tilted her head, that one word implying a million questions if the boy wanted to pick one up. The teen had better run now if he wanted to avoid that steam train.
The tall, skinny boy answered for his friend. “Levon is Quileute. They believe in voodoo magic and boogeymen.”
Levon punched his friend in the arm and the tall kid dropped his beer where it fizzed out in the dirt. “Hey, man.”
All three boys picked up where they’d left off, crashing back into the woods, cursing at each other and laughing, startling a flock of birds with their raucousness.
“Well, that’s interesting.” Beth tapped the toe of her boot. “I wonder what that boy meant about the Quileute not talking about the crime. Did law enforcement ever question anyone from the tribe?”
“Not that I know of, but I’ll leave that to your superior investigative talents.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s been real, but I gotta go.”
“I guess I’ll see you around, Duke. We are in the same hotel, same small town, same case.”
“Don’t remind me.” He waved over his shoulder and hit the trail back to his rented SUV, putting as
much space as possible between him and Beth St. Regis, his mind as jumbled as the carpet of mulch he was plowing through.
She looked the same, except for the clothes. Beth had always been a girlie-girl—high heels, dresses, manicured nails, perfect hair and makeup. The jeans, boots and down vest suited her. Hell, a burlap sack would suit Beth. She had the kind of delicate beauty that shifted his libido into overdrive.
He’d fantasized about those girls when he was a teen growing up on the wrong side of the tracks in Philly—the rich girls with the expensive clothes and cars, the kind of girl that wouldn’t give him the time of day unless she wanted to tick off her parents by running with a bad boy.
He’d been drawn to Beth like a magnet for all the wrong reasons. You couldn’t use a living, breathing person to fix whatever you’d missed in your childhood. But, man, it had felt good trying.
When he’d had Beth in bed, he couldn’t get enough of her soft porcelain skin, the way her breast fit neatly into the palm of his hand and the feel of her fine, silky hair running down his body.
The thought of those nights with Beth’s slim legs wrapped around his hips got him hard all over again, and he broke into a jog to work off the steam.
When he got to the car, he collapsed in the driver’s seat and downed half a bottle of water. Just his luck to run into the woman of his dreams on this nightmare assignment.
He dug his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and called his boss, Mickey Tedesco.
“I was just thinking about you, man. All settled in up there? I hear it’s some beautiful country.”
“Don’t try to sell this, Mick. I checked into my hotel and took a walk in the woods to have a look at where the kidnap victims were held a few months ago, not that those kidnappings had anything to do with the Timberline kidnappings, except that the brother of one of the original victims turned out to be the kidnapper.” He dragged in a breath. “Why am I doing this? Doesn’t the FBI have more urgent cases that need my attention?”
“You know why, Duke.” Mick coughed. “It’s always a good idea to ease back into work after a...um, situation.”
“I’m good to go, Mickey.” His hand tensed on the steering wheel. “I don’t need to be poking around a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping case based on some slim new evidence, which isn’t even evidence.”
“I don’t know. It may not have started out too promising, but you might be getting more than you bargained for, Duke. You might have yourself a hot one.”
A vision of Beth aiming her pepper spray—pepper spray he’d given her—at his face flashed across his mind. “I might be getting more than I bargained for, all right. That bogus Cold Case Chronicles show is out here nosing around.”
Mick sucked in a breath. “Beth St. Regis is there, in Timberline?”
“Yeah.” Mick knew a little about the drama that had gone on between him and Beth...but not all of it.
Mick whistled. “That makes total sense now.”
“It does?” Duke clenched his jaw. “Are they promo-ing the segment already? She doesn’t even have her crew out here.”
“No. It makes sense that Beth’s doing a show about the Timberline Trio because someone sent us an email about her yesterday.”
Duke’s pulse skipped a beat. “About Beth? What’d it say?”
“The email, untraceable of course, said ‘Stop Beth St. Regis.’”
Chapter Three
Beth parked her rental car in the public parking lot on the main drag of Timberline and flicked the keys in the ignition. Why did Duke Harper have to be here mucking up her investigation?
She chewed her bottom lip. He’d been sent out on a cold case because of what had happened in Chicago. She’d read all about the botched kidnapping negotiation that had ended in the death of Duke’s partner, a fellow FBI agent. But Duke had rescued the child.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Duke had a thing about rescuing children...but he couldn’t save them all.
She plucked the keys from the ignition and shoved open the car door. She couldn’t get hung up on Duke again. This story had presented her with the opportunity to get to the bottom of her identity, and she didn’t plan on letting tall, dark and handsome get in her way.
She locked the car with the key fob and dropped it in her purse. The chill in the autumn air had her hunching into her jacket as she walked toward the lit windows lining the main street.
If she recalled from the TV news story on the kidnappings, the tourist shop was located between an ice-cream place and a real-estate office. She started at the end of the block and passed a few restaurants just getting ready for the dinner crowd, a quiet bar and a coffee place emitting a heavenly aroma of the dark brew she’d sworn off to avoid the caffeine jitters. The Pacific Northwest was probably not the best place to swear off coffee.
A neon ice-cream cone blinking in a window across the street caught her attention. She waited for a car to pass and then headed toward the light as if it were a beacon.
The tourist shop, Timberline Treasures, with the same frog in the window, nestled beside the ice-cream place, and Beth yanked open the door, sending the little warning bell into a frenzy.
A couple studying a rack of Native American dream catchers glanced at her as she entered the store.
“Hello.” A clerk popped up from behind the counter. “Looking for something in particular?”
“I am.” Beth gripped the strap of her purse, slung across her body, as she scanned the shelves and displays inside the store. “I’m interested in that frog in the window.”
“The Pacific Chorus frog.” The woman smiled and nodded. “Timberline’s mascot.”
Beth’s gaze tripped across a small display of the frogs in one corner. “There they are.”
The clerk came out from behind the counter and smoothed one hand across a stuffed frog, his little miner’s hat tilted at a jaunty angle. “They’re quite popular and these are originals.”
Beth joined her at the display and reached for a frog, her fingers trembling. “Originals?”
“These are handmade by a local resident.” She tapped a bucket filled with more stuffed frogs. “These are mass-produced but we still carry the local version.”
“Is there a noticeable difference between them?” Beth held the handmade frog to her cheek, the plush fur soft against her skin.
The clerk picked up a frog from the barrel. “The easiest way to tell is the tag on the mass-produced version. It’s from a toy company, made in China.”
“The color is slightly different, too.” Beth turned over the frog in her hand and ran a thumb across his green belly. She hooked a finger in the cloth tag attached to his leg and said the words before she even read the label. “Libby Love.”
“That’s the other way to tell.” The clerk lifted her glasses attached to the chain around her neck. “Every handmade frog has that tag on it.”
“What does it mean?” Beth fingered the white tag with the lettering in gold thread. “Libby Love?”
“It’s the name of the artist, or at least her mother—Elizabeth Love. Libby’s daughter, Vanessa, makes the frogs now.”
Beth took a steadying breath. She’d already figured her childhood frog had come from Timberline, but now she had the proof. “When did her mother start making the frogs?”
“Libby started making those frogs over forty years ago when Timberline still had mining.” The woman dropped her glasses when the browsing couple approached the counter. “Are you ready?”
While the clerk rang up the tourists’ purchases, Beth studied both frogs. Now what? Even if she’d had a frog from Timberline, it hadn’t necessarily come from this store. And if it had come from this store, any records from twenty-five years ago would be long gone.
The clerk returned with her head tilted to one side. “Can I
help you with anything else? Answer any more questions?”
“So, these frogs—” Beth dangled one in front of her by his leg “—this is the only place to buy them?”
“The Libby Love frogs are available only in Timberline, although Vanessa sells them online now.”
“How long has she been selling them online?” Beth held her breath. Surely, not twenty-five years ago.
The woman tapped her chin. “Maybe ten years now?”
“Is this the only store in Timberline that sells the Libby Love frogs?”
“Oh, no. All the tourist shops have them and even a few of the restaurants.” The woman narrowed her eyes. “They all sell for the same price.”
“Oh, I’ll buy one from you.” Beth studied the woman’s pleasant face with its soft lines and had an urge to confess everything. “I...I had a toy like this frog when I was a child.”
“Oh? Did your parents visit Timberline or get it from someone else?”
“I’m not sure.” Her adoptive parents could’ve passed through Timberline and picked up the frog, but their taste in travel didn’t include road trips through rural America.
“It’s always nice to reconnect with your childhood. Can I ring that up for you now or would you like to continue looking around?” She glanced at her watch. “I do close in a half hour.”
Sensing a sale, the clerk didn’t want her to walk out of there without that frog tucked under her arm. She didn’t have to worry. Beth had no intention of walking out of there without the frog.
“I’ll look around for a bit.” Who knew what else she’d discover in there? With her heart pounding, she wandered around the store. She felt close to something, on the verge of discovery.
Maybe in a week or two she’d be ready to track down the Brices and present herself to them as their long-lost daughter who had been kidnapped from Timberline twenty-five years ago. It would be a helluva story for the show, too.
She couldn’t forget about the show—she never did. Being the host of that show had given her the recognition and attention she’d missed from her parents. How could she have put that into words for Duke two years ago without sounding pathetic?
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