by Nora Roberts
L.B. set down his weight, got to his feet.
“Mr. Little Bear, Ms. Tripp. I’ve got a few follow-up questions.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” Rowan began.
“Actually, I’d like to speak with you, too. Why don’t we step out. You can finish your workout,” he said to L.B., “then we could talk in your office.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“That works. Miss?” Quinniock, in his polished shoes and stone-gray suit, gestured toward the gym doors.
“Don’t ‘Miss’ me. Make it Tripp,” she said as she shoved open the door ahead of him. “Or Rowan, or Ro, but don’t ‘Miss’ me unless you’re sad I’ve gone away.”
He smiled. “Rowan. Would you mind if we sat outside? This is a busy place.”
“Do you want me to go over my—what would you call it?—altercation with Dolly?”
“Do you have anything to add to what you’ve already told me?”
“No.”
“She got the pig’s blood from a ranch, if you’re interested. From one of the people who goes to her church.”
“Onward, Christian soldiers.” She dropped down on a bench outside the barracks.
“She acquired it the day before she came here to ask for work.” He nodded when Rowan turned to stare at him. “It leads me to conclude she meant to cause you trouble, even before you and she spoke the day she was hired back on.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered what I said or did.”
“Probably not. I understand you spoke with Special Agent DiCicco.”
“She’s a snappy dresser. You too.”
“I like a good suit. It complicated things for you, finding the remains.”
“Complicated because it was during a fire, or because Dolly’s missing?”
“Both. The missing person’s end is MPD’s case, at this time. We’re cooperating with the USFS while they work to identify the body. In that spirit, I’ve shared information with Agent DiCicco.”
“My history, as she called it, with Dolly.”
“That, and the fact Dolly told several people you were to blame for what happened to James Brayner. You, and everyone here. She’s been vocal about her resentment for some time, including the period of time she was away from Missoula.”
It didn’t surprise her, could no longer anger her. “I don’t know how she could work here, be involved with jumpers, and not understand what we do, how we do it, what we deal with.”
She looked at Quinniock then, the dramatic hair, the perfectly knotted tie. “And I’m not sure I understand why you’re telling me this.”
“It’s possible she planned to continue to cause trouble—for you, for the base. It’s possible she came back here for work so she had easier access. And it’s possible she had help. Someone she convinced to help her. Did you see her with anyone in particular after she came back?”
“No.”
“She and Matthew Brayner, the brother.”
Rowan’s back went up. “She blindsided Matt, the Brayner family, with the baby. I know they all took a natural interest in the baby and, being the kind of people they are, would do whatever they could for Dolly. It took guts for Matt to come back here, to work here after what happened to Jim. Any idea you may have that he’d help Dolly destroy my quarters or equipment is wrong and insulting.”
“Were they friendly while his brother was alive?”
“I don’t think Matt gave Dolly two thoughts, but he was, and is, friendly with everyone. And I’m not talking about another jumper behind his back.”
“I’m just trying to get a feel for the dynamics. I’m also told several of the men on base had relationships with Dolly, at least until she became involved with James Brayner.”
“Sex isn’t a relationship, especially blow-off-some-steam sex with a woman who was willing to pop the cork with pretty much anybody. She popped plenty of corks in town, too.”
“Until James Brayner.”
“She zeroed in on him last season, and as far as I know that was a first for her. Look, he was a cute guy, fun, charming. Maybe she fell for him, I don’t know. Dolly and I didn’t share our secrets, hopes and dreams.”
“You’re probably aware by now that we found her car.”
“Yeah, word travels.” She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “It’s going to be her, when they finish the ID. I know that. You just have to triangulate the town, where you found the car, where I found the remains, and it’s heavy weight on it. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her a whole bunch of a lot, but she didn’t deserve the way she ended up. Nobody deserves the way she ended up.”
“People are always getting what they don’t deserve. One way or the other. Thanks for the time.”
“When will they know?” she asked when he stood up. “When will they know for sure?”
“Her dentist is local. They’ll verify with her dental records, and should have confirmation later today. It’s not my case, but just out of curiosity, in your opinion, how long would it take to get from the trailhead to where you found the remains, adding in carrying about a hundred and ten pounds, in the dark.”
She got to her feet so they’d be eye to eye. “It depends. It could take an hour. But if you were fit, an experienced hiker, and you knew the area, you could do it in less than half that.”
“Interesting. Thanks again.”
She sat back down when he walked toward Operations, tried to work her mind around the conversation, the information.
And decided, as much as she hated to admit it, maybe L.B. was right. Maybe she did need a breather. So she’d walk down to see her father, touch base with the rest of his crew. The walk might clear her head, and God knew having a little time with her father never hurt.
She went back in for a bottle of water and a ball cap, then crossed paths with Gull as she came back out.
“I saw you with the cop. Do I need to post that bail?”
“Not so far. They found her car, Gull.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“And . . . there’s other stuff. I have to get my head around it. I’m going to walk down to the school, see my father.”
“Do you want company?”
“I need some solo time.”
He ran his knuckles down her cheek in a casually affectionate gesture that threw her off. “Look me up when you get back.”
“Sure. You’re second load,” she called back as she started the walk. “Idaho might need some Zulies. If you jump, jump good.”
She watched the show as she walked. Planes nosing up; skydivers drifting down. Clouds gathered in the west, hard and white over the mountains. Smaller, she noted, and puffier overhead and north, drifting east on a slow, leisurely sail.
She heard mechanics working in the hangars, the twang of music, the clink of metal, the roll of voices, but didn’t stop as she might have another day. Conversation wasn’t what she was after.
Solo time.
The killer had a car, or truck, she decided. Nobody would’ve carried Dolly from where she’d stopped to where she ended up. Did he kill her when she pulled off 12, dump her body in the trunk of the car, bed of the truck? Or did he give her a ride, maybe park at the trailhead, then do it? Or force her up the trail, then—
Jesus, any way it had happened, she’d ended up dead, and her baby daughter an orphan.
Why had she been heading south on 12, or had she been heading back from farther away? To meet a lover? To meet this theoretical person she’d enlisted to cause trouble? Plenty of motels to choose from. Hard to meet a lover—and Dolly had been famous for using sex as barter—when you lived at home with your parents and your baby.
Why couldn’t she have loved the baby enough to just make a life? To treasure what she had, and put some goddamn effort into being a good mother instead of letting this obsession eat away at her?
All the time she’d spent planning her weird revenge, harboring all that hate, could’ve been spent on living, on nuzzling her baby.
“Oh, mother issues much?” Annoyed with herself, she quickened her pace.
Enough solo time, she decided. Solo time was overrated. She should’ve taken Gull up on his offer to come with her. He’d have distracted her out of this mood, made her laugh, or at least annoyed her so she’d stop feeling sad and angry.
When she moved around the people scattered over the lawn, the picnic tables at her father’s place, she looked up, as they were.
Coming on final, she thought, watching the plane. She crossed to the fence, tucked her hands in her back pockets and decided to enjoy the show. Her smile bloomed as the skydiver jumped—and taking a breather didn’t seem so bad after all. When the second figure leaped out, she settled in, studying their forms on the free fall.
The first, definitely a student, but not bad. Not shabby. Arms out, taking it in. Check out that view! Feel that wind!
And the second . . . Rowan angled her head, narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t be sure, not yet, but she’d have laid decent money down Iron Man Tripp rocketed down toward the student.
Then came the moment. The chutes deployed, one then two—to applause and cheers—the blue-and-white stripes of the student’s, and the chute she’d designed and rigged for her father’s sixtieth birthday with the boldly lettered IRON MAN in red (his favorite color) over a figure of a smoke jumper.
She loved watching him like this, and always had. Perfect form, she thought, absolute control, riding the air from sky to earth while the sun streamed through those drifting clouds.
She’d been exactly right to come here, she realized, when the world tipped crazily all around her. Here, what she loved held constant. Whatever happened, she could count on him.
She willed the stress of the morning into a corner. She couldn’t dismiss it, but she could shove it back a little and focus on what made her happy.
She’d hang out here with her father for a while, have lunch with him, talk over what was going on. He’d listen, let her spew, and somehow pull her back in, steady her again.
She always thought more clearly, felt less overwhelmed, after a session with her father.
The student handled the drop well, Rowan observed, managed a very decent landing and was up on his—no her, Rowan realized—feet quickly. Then the Iron Man touched down, soft as butter, smooth as silk.
She added her applause to the rest, sent out a high whistle of approval before waving her arms in hopes of snagging her father’s attention.
The student unhooked her harness, pulled off her helmet. Gorgeous red hair seemed to explode in the sunlight. As the woman raced toward her father, Rowan grinned. She understood the exuberance, the charge of excitement, had seen this same scene play out countless times between student and instructor. She continued to grin as the woman leaped into Lucas’s arms, something else she’d seen again and again.
What she hadn’t seen, and what had her grin shifting to a puzzled frown, was her father swinging a student in giddy circles while said student locked her arms around his neck.
And when Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp leaned down and planted a long, very enthusiastic kiss (and the crowd went wild) on the student’s mouth, Rowan’s jaw dropped to the toes of her Nikes.
She would’ve been more shocked if Lucas had pulled out a Luger and shot the redhead between the eyes, but it would’ve been a close call.
The woman had her hands on Lucas’s cheeks, a gesture somehow more intimate than the kiss itself. It spoke of knowledge, familiarity, of privilege.
Who the hell was this bimbo, and when the hell had Iron Man started kissing students? Kissing anyone?
And in public.
The woman turned, her face—which didn’t look bimbo-ish—warm from the kiss, bright with laughter, and executed a deep, exaggerated curtsy for the still cheering crowd. To Rowan’s continued shock, Lucas simply stood there grinning like the village idiot.
Was he on drugs?
Her brain told her to ease back, to find some quiet place to absorb the shock. Her gut told her to hurdle the fence, march right up and demand what the fuck?!
But her fingers had curled around the fence, and she couldn’t seem to uncurl them.
Then her father spotted her. His loopy grin aimed her way as he—Jesus—took the redhead’s hand, gave it a little swing. He waved at Rowan with his free hand before he said something to the face-caressing redhead, who actually had the nerve to smile in Rowan’s direction.
Still holding hands, they strolled toward the fence and Rowan.
“Hi, honey. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I . . . I’m low on the jump list, so.”
“I’m glad you came by.” He laid his fingers over the ones she had curled on the fence, effectively linking the three of them. “Ella, this is my daughter, Rowan. Ro, Ella Frazier. She just did her first AFF.”
“It’s great to meet you. Lucas has told me so much about you.”
“Oh, yeah? Funny, he hasn’t told me a thing about you.”
“You’ve been pretty busy.” Obviously oblivious, Lucas spoke cheerfully. “We keep missing each other. Ella’s principal of Orchard Homes Academy.”
A high-school principal. Tony private school. Another strike against bimbo status. Damn it.
“Her son bought her a tandem jump as a gift,” Lucas went on, “and she got hooked. You should’ve had your family here for this, Ella,” he continued. “Your grandkids would’ve loved it.”
And a grandmother ? What kind of father-face-sucking bimbo was this?
“I wanted to make sure I handled it before they came to watch. Next time. In fact, I’m going to go in and talk to Marcie about setting it up. It was nice to meet you, Rowan. I hope we see more of each other.”
Though her voice was mild and polite, the quick clash when the two women’s gazes met made it clear they understood each other.
“I’ll see you inside, Lucas.”
Yeah, keep walking, Rowan thought. Make tracks.
“So what did you think?” Lucas asked, eagerly. “I’ve been hoping you’d get a break so you could meet Ella. It’s cool you happened to be here for her first AFF.”
“Her form’s not bad. She had a good flight. Listen, Dad, why don’t we grab some lunch in the cafe? There’s—”
“Ella and I are having a picnic lunch out here to celebrate her dive. Why don’t you join us? It’ll give the two of you a chance to get to know each other.”
Was he kidding? “I don’t think so, but thanks. Riding third wheel doesn’t suit me.”
“Don’t be silly. If I know Ella, she made plenty. She’s a hell of a cook.”
“Just—just—” She had to untangle her tongue. “How long has this been going on? What’s going on? Kissing on the jump spot, hand-holding, picnic lunches? Jesus, Dad, are you sleeping with her?”
He pokered up, a look she knew meant she’d hit a nerve.
“I think that would come under the heading of my personal business, Rowan. What’s your problem here?”
“My problem, other than the kissing, holding and so on in front of God, crew and visitors, is I came over here because I needed to talk to my father, but you’re obviously too busy with Principal Hotpants to spare any for me.”
“Watch it.” His fingers tightened on hers before she could jerk away. “Don’t you use that tone with me. I don’t give a damn how old you are. If you need to talk to me, come inside. We’ll talk.”
“No, thanks,” she said, coldly polite. “Go ahead and take care of your personal business. I’ll take care of my own. Excuse me.” She pulled her fingers free. “I have to get back to base.”
She recognized the combination of anger and disappointment on his face, something rarely seen and instantly understood. She swung away from it, strode away from him, her back stiff with resentment. And her heart aching with what she told herself was betrayal.
Her temper only built on the walk back, then took a bitter spike when she heard the siren blast. She broke into a run, covering the remaining distance
to the base where she could already see jumpers on the scramble and the jump plane taxiing onto the runway.
She hit the ready room, shoving aside the bitterness as she had the stress—as something to be taken out and examined later.
She grabbed gear off the speed rack for Cards. “Payette?”
“That’s the one.” He zipped his let-down rope into the proper pocket. “Zulies to the rescue!”
She looked in his eyes. “Have a good one.”
“It’s in the cards.” He let out a chortle before waddling toward the waiting plane.
She went through the same procedure with Trigger while Gull helped Dobie.
In minutes she stood watching the plane take off without her.
“Secondary blaze blew up,” Gull told her. “Idaho’s already spread thin. One of their second load got hung up on the jump, broke his arm, and they’ve got two more injuries on the ground.”
“Aren’t you well informed?”
“I like to keep up with current events.” He re-angled his ball cap to gain more shade from the bill as he followed the plane into the sky. “Such as the dry lightning doing a smackdown up in Flathead. You didn’t spend much time at your dad’s.”
“Are you keeping track of me?”
“Just using my keen powers of observation. They also tell me you’re severely pissed.”
“I don’t like being grounded when I’m fit to jump.”
“You’re on the list,” he reminded her. “And?”
“And, what?”
“And what else has you severely pissed?”
“You and your keen powers of observation are about to, so aim them elsewhere.” She started to stalk off, then, too riled to hold it in, stalked back. “I go up to see my father, spend some time with him, talk this crap over with him because that’s what we do. When I get there he’s doing an AFF with a student. A student who happens to be a woman. A redhead. One who, the minute they’re on the ground, jumps him like my old dog Butch used to jump a Frisbee. Then he’s swinging her around, and then he’s kissing her. Kissing her, right there, a serious lip-locking, body-twining kiss no doubt involving tongues.”
“The best do. So . . . I’m working my way through that report, trying to pinpoint what pissed you off.”