by Trent Evans
Then Ford found what he was looking for, the attractive woman stepping out of Warren Electronics and into the afternoon sun. Falon.
Wearing only dark gray yoga pants, the form-fitting tank with a white sports bra underneath not quite deemphasizing the generous swell of her breasts, she was looking down at her phone, her thumbs working the screen fast. Her golden hair was parted in the back into two thick braids, a most fetching look for the usually professionally put-together reporter.
Producer, dickhead.
A pair of white cords hung down from one hand as she stood in front of the door, seemingly oblivious to anyone else around her.
Ford pulled the Tahoe over to the curb next to her, rolling down his passenger side window. “It’s illegal to loiter, Ms. Moore.”
Her head shot up, eyes wide. “What?” Then she spotted Ford and she gave him a tentative smile. “Uh, hi, Sheriff.”
Ford slipped his glasses down his nose, peering at her over the frames. “Something break?”
“I don’t… what do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but her smile didn’t falter.
“Not gonna find your scoop in that place,” Ford said, taking off his glasses and waving them toward the store behind her. “What are you up to?”
Color flushed high in her cheeks for a moment, then her eyebrows shot up. “Oh! That…” She held up the white cords. “Ear buds. Mine finally crapped out. Been meaning to get them replaced — can’t stand to run without ‘em.” She stuffed her phone in her pocket, the rectangular shape clear against the fabric, his gaze for one illicit second taking in the way her tight pants molded to the enticing rise of her pubis.
He knew a man, Craig Holter, who lived two doors down from him who required his wife to wear tights so snug, you could make out every millimeter of the shape of her sex. Ford enjoyed passing them on the sidewalk, Craig giving him a knowing nod, his wife managing a pinched smile despite her scarlet cheeks…
Not now, asshole.
“You’re… running? Aren’t you leaving tomorrow, Ms. Moore?”
“Sure, but it doesn’t matter.” She tilted her head, a knowing glint in her gaze. “If a girl can’t keep to her routine, she’ll forget all about said routine.”
Ford laughed, slipping his glasses back on. The savory scent of pizza wafting over from Paglianos, a pizzeria half a block behind them, had his stomach growling. “You hungry? I’ll buy.”
“Not going to get thin enough to make anchor if I skip a run for pizza, no matter how good it smells.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Sorry, Sheriff, I’ll have to pass.”
Ford cocked a thumb at her, drumming fingers on the top of the steering wheel. “You know what else you shouldn’t do? Say no to a cop. Come on, humor me.”
She looked down, shaking her head. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”
“No, you can’t.” He unlocked the door. “Get in. This won’t hurt a bit.”
* * *
“This place is… unbelievable.” Falon, seated cross-legged on the faded marble of the bench looked around her, as wide-eyed as a child.
“Food’s pretty good too,” Ford said, blowing on his piping hot piece of pizza. “Now, eat.”
Falon gave him a little mock frown, but tore into her slice of vegetarian, her long hum of pure pleasure and closed eyes saying more about her verdict on the Pagliano’s pie than any mere words could.
“I don’t know how you eat that shit,” he muttered.
She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Gotta keep the bod in shape for you men.”
Not a thing wrong with this girl’s bod. If anything, she needs to eat more.
Ford took a seat across from Falon on his own bench. They’d found one of the numerous roundabouts that featured marble slabs for sitting, the benches surrounding a simple rock walled water feature fed from a stream that meandered down from the upper reaches of the park. In truth, Preserve Park ran well back into the foothills far above town, eventually merging into a dense stand of timber that itself became the forest which blanketed this section of the eastern slopes of the Cascades. Nobody really knew where the Park ended and the forest began — and the residents of White Valley liked it that way.
“Haven’t you ever seen a park before?” Ford asked between mouthfuls of pepperoni and sausage. “They have those where you’re from, don’t they?”
“Portland? Heck yeah — they have the biggest urban park in the nation. Bet you didn’t know that, Mister Backwoods Provincial.”
Ford rolled his eyes, covering his mouth with a napkin. “I’d never profess to know more than a sophisticated big city reporterette.”
“Reporterette? That’s reporter — and I’m not one. Yet.”
“But you will be after this, right?”
Chewing her food, Falon only looked at him, her gaze steady.
This chick didn’t pass Bluffing 101 in J-school, apparently.
“You still planning on leaving tomorrow?” Ford swallowed down the last of his slice, and took a swig from the bottle of water he’d retrieved from the Tahoe. The water was warm from sitting in the truck, but he was cheap. He wasn’t about to pay five bucks for a bottle of pop from Pags’.
“Like I said, if I don’t find what I need, I’m gone.” She winked at him. “My editor won’t like the expense report if I decide to stay longer. The Redwood’s not exactly cheap.”
“Cheryl Sanders has been running that place for too long. That woman gouges, I swear. She calls it the ‘out-of-towner tax.’ Sorry about that.”
Falon shrugged. “I’m not paying… but it makes me wonder. Is that another way this town keeps outsiders at bay?”
It was Ford’s turn to stay silent. He still didn’t have a bead on Falon Moore. There was more to this girl than met the eye, and frankly, it was starting to piss him off that he hadn’t zeroed in on it yet.
Pissed off… or intrigued?
She craned her head up, scanning the treetops far above them. “I checked out the layout of the town before I drove here, but the map didn’t do this justice. Not even close. Forest Park in P-town is huge, but this… this is something else entirely.”
“One of our little secrets.”
“Among many?” Falon picked up another slice from the open pizza box next to her on the bench. “I shouldn’t, but this is fucking awesome. Pardon my French.”
“‘Fucking awesome’ is French? There you go again, lording your superior intellect over the hayseed cop.”
Falon laughed then, really laughed, and Ford wasn’t prepared for how much he liked hearing it.
“You can be charming, when you feel like it, Sheriff.”
“I can be even more charming if you give me what I want.”
Falon put her pizza down, dropping one foot to the ground as she wiped her fingers with a white paper napkin. “What do you want, Sheriff?”
“First, I want you to stop calling me that.”
She held up her napkin, the breeze waving it like a flag of surrender. “Sorry, sorry, Ford.”
“Second, I want you to tell me what you’ve found out on your little trip here.”
“Jesus, you get right to the point, don’t you?”
“I’ve already answered your questions.” Ford closed the lid on his pizza box. “So I want you to answer a couple of mine. Why are you still in town?”
“It’s a beautiful place!” Her earnestness was as genuine as a three dollar bill. “I want to get all the mileage I can out of this trip. Portland’s not going anywhere.” She frowned. “My hellhole job certainly isn’t going anywhere either. Why not spend one more day in alpine Heaven, right?”
“Just because I joke about being a hick doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”
Falon stood, her hands at the back of her hips as she stretched backward. “Helluva park, but those benches are murder on the butt.”
“You need to toughen it up then.”
“I beg your pardon?” She fixed him with a glare, but the sp
ark he saw in her eyes was far from anger. Was it curiosity? Interest?
What’s your fucking angle, Ms. Moore?
“I said you need to toughen up your ass. There are far more trying things for a girl’s backside around here than a marble bench.”
He was pushing her, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to see how she’d react. Ford hoped she wouldn’t be predictable. Though he loved predictable when it came to crime, he hated it in his women.
His?
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean, Sheriff?” An edge had crept into her voice, even though mirth danced in her blue eyes. She was fucking with him.
“I think you know exactly what that means. If you’ve done half the research you say you have on this town, then you have some idea as to what goes on here, the life the people here have built.”
“Maybe you’d like to tell me more?”
“Is this another interview, Ms. Moore?”
She shook her head, moving her hands to her waist. “Now why would I do such a thing? You already answered all of my questions, didn’t you?” She touched her lip with one slender finger. “Oh wait — you didn’t do anything of the kind.”
“So you’re trying again?” Ford balled up the napkin, dropping it next to the leftovers of his pizza and flipping the box closed. “Let’s talk then, Ms. Moore. I’ll go first. Did you know this park is the trail-head for almost two hundred miles of hiking routes?”
Her gaze grew cold, those blue eyes glittering with all the warmth of morning frost. “Ford, if women are being hurt here, you have to stop it. Tell me you would, if you knew about it.”
“I already answered that one.” Ford stood, hooking thumbs in his leather belt. Falon’s gaze dropped for a heartbeat down to the Beretta, a fraction of an inch from the heel of his hand. “Here’s another fact you can put in your report. A little color, we’ll call it. Take a look up the hill behind you.”
Falon arched a brow for a moment, then turned. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“You see that trail? How it disappears into the trees up there?”
“Sure.”
“Since the founding of this town, sixty three hikers and hunters have started up that trail — and never come back.”
Falon spun, her face suddenly pale in the afternoon sun. “Jesus Christ…”
“You never hear of that down in Portland, I imagine.” Ford slipped past her, resting a heel against a well-worn stone at the edge of the trail, then looked back at Falon. “I go on a Search and Rescue run at least three times a year. Most of the time we find them. Lost hunters, injuries, stupid kids sneaking up into the woods to fuck. But the ones we don’t? We almost never find a thing. Not a shred. Vanished. But the few times we do? When we get really lucky? It’s usually… part of a person.”
Falon lifted a fist to her lips, clearing her throat. “As horrible as that is, Sheriff… what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Here’s the point, Ms. Moore. That trail, and the souls who take it and fall off the face of the earth? That’s a real problem, a real danger.” He kicked a jagged rock from the trail, watching it bounce down the hill for a moment. “Whatever it is that you think you have here? It’s not this — it’s not the problem. You’re being strung along. Whoever your source is? What they’re telling you fits into the story you think you want to tell, what you think you need for that big scoop. But it’s a mirage, Ms. Moore. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
“I… see your point.” Falon looked down, crossing her arms over her breasts. Then she met his gaze again, and he could see it in her eyes. He’d hit home. Finally. Gone was the cool professional. Now, it was simply the young woman. “I’m just trying to do my job, Sheriff. And I know you’re trying to do yours.”
“I guess that’s at least one thing we can both agree on.” He pointed at her, giving her a wry grin. “You never answered my question though. What’s real reason you’re not gone already?”
Falon looked away, staring back up the hill, toward the trail that swallowed humans whole with disturbing frequency.
“I… like it here.”
“You like it here even knowing what you know? What you think you know?”
She nodded, wiping a hand slowly across her lips. “It’s… I’d be lying if I said I don’t wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Ford let his voice gentle, no longer angry with the woman. For the first time, since he’d seen her on that sidewalk outside that shit hole electronics store, she was telling the truth. Being honest — something he wasn’t sure most reporters actually knew how to be.
“What you’d say if I ever came back. But not as a reporter.”
“I’d have to show you around. But not as a cop.”
She blushed then, like a young girl with a crush, and Ford’s heart skipped a beat at the pure beauty of her bashfulness.
Looking at her watch, Falon finally looked up at him. “I have to go. Daylight’s wasting, and I don’t think you’d want me jogging the streets at night, Sheriff.”
“Come on, I’ll give you a lift—”
Falon held up a hand. “No — I can find my way out, I think.” She flashed him another million-watt smile, his cock twitching at the pure sex appeal of it. “Thanks for the bite to eat. And the company.”
He watched her negotiate her way down the hill, the movement of her buttocks in her yoga pants trying its best to distract him from the disquiet he felt at seeing her go. Was he afraid of what she might do? Or was he afraid of what he might have to do if she decided to stay after all?
I think you’re afraid you’d enjoy it too much, Mr. Lawman.
Falon stopped at the massive trunk of one of the Douglas firs, reaching out and smoothing a hand over the bark. She looked back at him.
“Sheriff, let me ask you one last thing.”
Ford sighed. “Boxer briefs. If any.”
Rolling her eyes, Falon nevertheless bit her lower lip, not quite suppressing a smile. Then she sobered, meeting his gaze — and when Ford saw the look in her eyes, he was immediately sorry he’d chosen that moment for the sophomoric innuendo.
“You love this place, don’t you? This town?”
“Of course. I grew up here. I sure as hell don’t stick around for the lucrative compensation package.”
Then, he thought he saw something new in her pretty blue eyes.
Sadness.
“What would you do if it came down to choosing between your love of this place, and doing what was right?”
“I’ve never been forced to make that choice, Ms. Moore.”
Her lips quirked at that, and she gave the tree a gentle pat. “I’ll see you Friday, Ford Mathis.”
Chapter 9
Friday morning dawned gray and cool, a rare summer rain rolling in overnight. A mist hung over most of the town, the moisture sheltering from the wind in the lee of the Cascades. Hunter suspected he knew now how White Valley might have gained its name.
Troy pulled his truck onto Columbia, heading for the center of town. Of course, Hunter had wondered where the Sessions might take place, but this was something he didn’t factor as one of the likely spots. He half expected Troy to drive them out to Keenan’s isolated forest idyll. Wouldn’t that have made a perfect place for such an event?
A thumb cocked toward the driver’s side window, Troy looked over at Hunter. “We need to go for a hike one of these days — at least once before you have to head back.”
Hunter leaned forward, looking around Troy as they drove. Crowded with its mist-shrouded giant conifers, Preserve Park sprawled up into the foothills right out of the heart of downtown. It was a remarkable place, as if the wilderness had decided to leave a toehold directly in the center of civilization — and leaving itself a highway straight out to some of the most rugged, remote and untouched terrain in the lower forty eight states.
“I’m not much of a hiker, but I’d like to see that place. I’m game.”
Troy slapped the bac
k of his hand against Hunter’s shoulder. “Trust me, we wouldn’t be doing much hiking.”
“No?”
“There’s a lot more to that pile of sticks than meets the eye, my friend.” Troy’s hand wrapped around the top of the steering wheel, and he returned his attention to the street ahead. He cleared his throat, his voice softer, quieter. “You remember how this goes, right?”
“How the fuck could I forget it?”
He’d sat at Troy’s kitchen table that morning, the sun not yet peeking above the horizon, Lacey upstairs still dead to the world. Troy had laid out for Hunter exactly what was going to happen this morning, Hunter’s cock coming immediately to life, despite the increasingly over the top, even outlandish aspects of the ritual Troy related to him. Yes, it was out of every spanko’s darkest fantasy — but Hunter never dreamed such a thing could ever be anything but a dream.
Here in White Valley, apparently dreams could come true — no matter how dark they might be.
You’re a total perv, Hunt.
It looked like he was in very good company in that regard.
“No matter what you see or hear, it’s how things are supposed to go. It will seem crazy, maybe even too much at times, but it’s the way this has been done for decades. It’s part of what this place is, so just relax, soak it in — and enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I didn’t think so. One of your many gentlemanly qualities, Hunt.”
“Dickhead.”
Troy stifled a laugh against a fist, coughing. “Man, I’m glad you decided to come out. We… weren’t sure you had it in you.”
“We?” Hunter glanced back at the third occupant of the truck that morning. Lacy was perched at the center of the bench back seat, a skirt way too short for such a cool morning, revealing a mouthwatering amount of her smooth, pale legs. Folded hands perched on her knees, she smiled at Hunter, but didn’t say a word. The trepidation, excitement, and yes, fear, were clear in her gaze.