Tempting Evil

by Allison Brennan

  “It’s sick.” It was more than sick—now Aaron Doherty was trying to make his fantasy real. Jo was in danger and Tyler hated that he wasn’t with her to protect her.

  “It’s in line with what I surmised earlier,” Vigo said. “He has delusions—but not the wild-eyed delusions you expect from drug addicts on the street or the mentally ill.”

  Nash approached them. “You’re all ready to go.”

  Deputy Grossman called from Tyler’s truck, “Sheriff! Stan Wood from the Moosehead is on the radio. Says it’s urgent.”

  Tyler strode over, picked up the radio. “Stan, it’s Tyler. What’s wrong?” His heart raced. The two people he loved most—his son and Jo Sutton—were in danger.

  “I found Aaron Doherty’s mug shot,” Stan said.

  “I faxed it last night along with Doug Chapman’s and Thomas O’Brien’s.”

  “We only saw O’Brien’s and Chapman’s. I found Doherty’s in John Miller’s room, folded in one of Jo’s books. Doherty and Miller are one and the same.”

  Stan’s words sunk in immediately. Tyler almost didn’t want to say it. “John Miller was one of the men who went out with Jo to bring back Wyatt’s troop.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does Jo know?”

  “I called and told her.”

  Shit. It would have been safer to have let Doherty think he was in the clear. To return to the lodge with Wyatt and the boys where Stan would have the upper hand.

  “I’ll contact them. Get everyone into the lodge and keep them there, including your guests staying in cabins.”

  He hung up and dialed into Wyatt’s frequency. Nothing. He tried again. And again. And again.

  Someone finally picked up the radio. “Hello?”

  “This is Sheriff McBride. Who’s this?”

  “Kevin Sampson, sir. Are you coming to save us?”

  Kevin sounded scared. “Son, put Wyatt on.”

  “He’s hurt.”

  “Ms. Sutton?”

  “She’s not here. Mr. Miller took her.” Kevin spoke fast. “He had a gun and they left on a snowmobile.”

  “Mr. Miller?” Tyler repeated. His blood ran cold.

  “He shot Mr. McBride and took her. You’re going to get them, right? Jason says you’re the best cop.”

  Doherty had shot Wyatt and taken Jo. Tyler’s world was collapsing around him. He felt helpless this far from everyone he cared about.

  “Is Wyatt okay?” He feared the worst.

  “I think so. I don’t know. Mr. Mann is doing something.”

  Tyler rubbed his temple. “Put Jason on.”

  “I can’t.”

  Tyler’s frustration and fear grew. “Just put him on, son.”

  “He’s gone, too.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “He left right after Ms. Sutton and Mr. Miller. Following them, I think.”

  His son—his twelve-year-old son—was tracking a killer in the middle of an impending blizzard. He’d throttle him. What had Jason been thinking? Dear Lord, I just want my son back. My son and my girl.

  The killer has Jo.

  “Put Mr. Mann on. Now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Why hadn’t one of the men gone after him? Why did Jason feel compelled to be so reckless? A moment later, a voice said, “This is Sean Mann. My father is trying to stop Mr. McBride’s bleeding.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not quite sure, except that Ms. Sutton got a call on the radio and then Miller just flipped out. He had a gun and said she was coming with him. When Mr. McBride tried to stop him, Miller shot him.”

  “How is Wyatt?”

  “He was hit in the right shoulder. My dad says he’ll probably be okay if we can get him to a doctor.”

  Tyler surveyed the valley. There was no way Life Flight could get in here, the ceiling was too low. But Nash was a veterinarian. Not ideal, but the best they had under the circumstances.

  “Get Wyatt back to the lodge ASAP.”

  “We only have two snowmobiles and there are eight of us. Even with the kid on the sleigh, we can’t all go.”

  Shit. Tyler had to both get to the lodge and find Jo and Jason. And he had to get those boys safely from the homestead to the lodge. All right now.

  “This is what I want you to do. Either you or your father take Wyatt and Ben Ward to the lodge. I’ll have a doctor meet you there. The other needs to stay with the other four boys until someone can get there, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you do that?”

  Another voice came on the radio. “Sheriff, this is Craig Mann. I heard your request. I’ll take Wyatt and the boy in. I think the others are safer here—there is plenty of food and water and the shelter is sound—until we know where the convicts are.”

  “John Miller is Aaron Doherty, one of the convicts. Which way did he take Jo?”

  “West.”

  The lodge was southeast from the homestead. Where was Miller taking her? He hadn’t had time to scout out the area. He might have a map, but it wouldn’t show residences. All the vacation homes were either north or south, accessible from the North or South Centennial Road. Nothing west that Tyler could think of.

  It was only twenty degrees. When night came, it was supposed to drop to minus twenty. They had no provisions to survive the night exposed. Most snowmobile tanks held nine gallons. They got—maybe—ten miles a gallon.

  Tyler had to find them. And the only way was to follow their trail.

  “Mann, you bring Wyatt and Ben in like you said. Sean will stay with the boys. I’ll go directly to the homestead and track Miller from there. I’ll send my deputy to the lodge with the doctor.” It would have been better to send Mann here to Lakeview, but the lodge was closer.

  “What if one of the other convicts is there?”

  “There’s only one more other than Doherty. Doug Chapman. He should be considered armed and dangerous, got it?”

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  “How’s Wyatt?”

  “I stopped the bleeding, but he lost quite a bit. He’s conscious. The bullet is still in there. I know first aid, but this is out of my league.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Everyone was looking at him when he hung up the radio. He didn’t need to repeat what had happened. “Nash, can you go to the lodge?”

  “Absolutely. And if you need to bring the scouts here instead of the lodge, do it. Peter can go with you.” Peter was Nash’s son, a military veteran of thirty who didn’t say much and had been standing quietly next to his father the entire time.

  “Agreed. When we arrive at the homestead, we’ll contact the lodge and ascertain whether it’s safe to bring the boys there. Otherwise, they’ll come here.”

  He continued, “Bianchi, Billy, come with me and Peter to the homestead. Peter can lead. He knows the valley better.”

  “We’ll take the lodge,” Vigo said.

  “Be careful. We don’t know if Chapman is dead or alive.”

  Gun within easy reach, Stan walked up the slope to where the college kids were staying. He knocked briskly on the door, then stepped back.

  “Who is it?”

  “Stan Wood from the lodge.”

  “How do I know?”

  “Look through the window.”

  Stan stepped to the right. The shutters opened and Brian Bates looked out.

  The door opened a moment later. “Sorry. Jo said there might be some trouble coming this way and not to let anyone in.”

  “The Sheriff would like you and Marie to come to the lodge. He’s on his way with reinforcements.”

  “Is that necessary? Is there really a problem? I thought it was just a precaution.”

  The pretty, petite Marie wrapped her arms around Brian from behind. “Are we in danger?” she asked, her big blue eyes looking from her boyfriend to Stan.

  Stan said, “One of the convicts was a guest at the lodge under a false identity. The Sheriff is on his w
ay to apprehend him now—he went out with Jo on a rescue. We don’t know about the second. It would be safer if everyone was under one roof.”

  “Okay, give us a couple minutes. We’ll pack up our stuff.”

  Stan nodded. “I’ll go down and talk to the Trotskys. Meet me down there in ten minutes.”

  Brian closed the door and Stan walked down the steep slope, his snowshoes giving him purchase. The trees on the slope shielded him from the worst of the wind, but he could barely make out the cabin beyond. He’d lived through twenty-nine winters here, didn’t particularly like them, but for him the splendor of summer made up for the brutality of winter. Nowhere on earth came close to the peaceful radiance of the Centennial Valley in June and July, when the birds came and stayed for a time.

  Knowing what came in only a few months sustained Stan during the worst of winter. He approached the Trotskys’ cabin and listened.

  The howl of the wind. Snow falling from the trees. The scurry of rodents across branches. He heard snowmobiles in the distance—they were miles away. He couldn’t tell if they were coming from the northeast, where Jo was picking up the scout troop, or from the west where the Sheriff was coming in. Sound carried far in the valley.

  He knocked on the door. There was no sound from inside, but they might be napping. Stan had never married, but he’d been young and in love once. Before the war.

  He knocked louder. Again, silence. He withdrew his gun. The blinds on the two windows were closed. He couldn’t see in. He slowly turned the doorknob.

  Unlocked.

  He pushed open the door, standing to the side. Phantom gunfire rattled around his head and he broke out in a sweat. He clenched the gun and glanced through the opening.

  Vicky Trotsky was naked, tied to the bare mattress, her neck a red river of blood. Bruises and welts covered her body. Her empty eyes stared at the heavens, as if pleading for mercy.

  Did her husband do this to her?

  Stan hated the thought, guilt washing over him when he saw Greg Trotsky dead on the floor.

  No one else was in the cabin. He slammed the door shut on the violence, unable to see anything but red behind his closed eyes. Had Stan done this by sending Aaron Doherty down here with Jo to deliver breakfast?

  But there hadn’t been enough time for him to rape and kill Vicky. Had he done it the night before? Was that why he was so eager to go with Jo?

  Stan had assumed, when Doherty left the other two killers’ mug shots on the fax while taking his own, that it was a sign that the other convicts were out of the picture, either dead or elsewhere.

  Stan didn’t want to go back in the cabin, but he had to. He had to know what happened there.

  He opened the door and crossed first to Greg Trotsky. His body was tight and hard, a sign of rigor mortis. Stan crossed to Vicky’s body. He picked a sheet up off the floor and covered her nakedness, wanting to give her some semblance of dignity in death. Her body was still warm to the touch.

  Stan had seen enough death in Vietnam to know that Greg had been killed hours before his wife.

  In Stan’s mind, there was no way that Aaron Doherty could have killed the Trotskys. He’d been visible around the lodge in the evening and in the early morning, and he wasn’t gone long enough this morning to come down here to rape and brutalize this poor woman.

  Even if Doherty hadn’t murdered the couple, he had to know the truth. He’d been inside the cabin this morning. He must have seen Greg dead, and Vicky beaten and restrained. And he did nothing. Nothing, because the killer was Doherty’s partner.

  There was another killer at large. And no one knew his whereabouts.

  Demo version limitation

  Demo version limitation

  Demo version limitation

  EIGHTEEN

  Jason wanted to check on Wyatt that evening, so Tyler brought him to the den for a visit. Wyatt was sound asleep.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Jason asked, his face full of concern. Too much worry for a twelve-year-old.

  Tyler closed the door and took Jason down the wide foyer to a bench in the corner. They sat side by side. Tyler said, “Sam Nash and Peter are going to take Wyatt to Island Park tomorrow by snowmobile.”

  “It is serious.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Jason. Wyatt is stable, but he needs medical attention. He may be fine, but we don’t know and right now Nash is concerned about his blood pressure and the fact that the bullet is still in his body. Bullets can do funny things, depending on where they are lodged. He needs X-rays to make sure the bullet didn’t do additional damage. And there’re other things to worry about, so moving him is the smartest thing to do.”

  Jason nodded.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure Wyatt lives. He’s my brother. I love him.”

  “You never talked about him before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before we moved here.”

  “We didn’t talk much ourselves. You know we had different mothers. Wyatt’s mother didn’t like Grandpa anymore, and well, let’s just say Wyatt and I grew up and grew apart. But he’s my brother and I love him, and I’m glad we came here to Montana so you could get to know him.” Tyler took a deep breath. He remembered with clarity his fear when he heard Jason had gone after Aaron Doherty. “You’ve really grown up since we came here. I know you didn’t want to move in the first place.”

  “I didn’t know what to expect.” Jason looked down at his clasped hands.

  Tyler put his son’s hands in his own. “Jason, I am so proud of you.”

  “You’re not mad?” Jason looked at him.

  “I was scared to death that something would happen to you, but I can’t be angry with you. Not when you acted on instinct. If it weren’t for you, Jo could have been seriously hurt by Aaron Doherty. The man is extremely dangerous.” Tyler took a deep breath. “I’d prefer if you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way again, but I know that’ll be wishful thinking. You’re a lot like your uncle.”

  “I’m like Uncle Wyatt?” Jason sounded pleased.

  Tyler smiled. “I’m the one with the dangerous job but Wyatt was always the risk taker. Skateboarding, mountain climbing, river rafting. He’d be the first to take a dare, and he’d usually win, even if he broke a bone or two in the process. I admire that about him. I’ve always been more cautious.”

  “Uncle Wyatt said he likes that you think things through, says you’re a smart guy.”

  “He said that? When?”

  “We just talk sometimes. Is Jo going to marry you?”

  “How—I mean, I didn’t—”

  “Uncle Wyatt told me you proposed to her.”

  Wyatt had a big mouth.

  “I should have talked to you first, I suppose.”

  “I like her.”

  “So do I.”

  “You didn’t love Mom.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Jason didn’t say anything and Tyler wondered what he was thinking. When the silence went on too long, Tyler said, “Would it be okay with you if I married Jo?”

  Jason nodded. “When?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t agreed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she misses her husband and son.”

  “I miss Mom sometimes.”

  “I know you do. And that’s okay.”

  They sat there for a long time, but this time the silence was comfortable. Tyler put an arm around his son, eyes hot with pride.

  Jason was growing into a fine young man.

  Jo couldn’t write or sleep and she realized she hadn’t eaten dinner. It was nearly midnight when she slipped on her sheepskin house boots and went downstairs. Deputy Billy Grossman and her grandfather were sitting in the entry, Buckley at Grandpa’s feet. All three lifted their heads to watch her come down the stairs.

  “Is everything okay?” Grandpa asked.

  “Yes. I thought I’d make some tea. Can I get you anything?”

  “We’re
good.”

  She scratched Buckley on the head and looked out the window. The floodlights were on, but only a swirling sheet of white could be seen. This blizzard was worse than last night’s. But she felt surprisingly safe—there was no way Aaron Doherty could get to her or anyone else tonight.

  She felt a pang of guilt wishing him dead. Freezing to death was an awful way to go. But he had shot Wyatt and held a gun on a young boy.

  He had killed Lincoln Barnes.

  For her. She shivered, not from cold.

  He’d also known that Doug Chapman had killed the Trotskys. Doherty had let him. He didn’t do anything to save Vicky. Tyler had explained the time line to her, that Doherty couldn’t have killed them, but he had to have known. He’d gone into their cabin. Brought breakfast. Told Jo everything was fine.

  She kissed her grandfather on the cheek and tried to put the disturbing thoughts aside. “How are you?”

  “I should ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “Sorry? It’s not your fault.”

  It wasn’t, she knew that, but it was because of her that Aaron Doherty had come here in the first place. Irrational to blame herself, but there it was.

  “I know, but…” She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Grandpa.”

  “I love you, kiddo.”

  “Do you know where Tyler is?”

  “I think he’s in the kitchen with the FBI agents.”

  She kissed her grandfather on his thin cheek, leathery from spending so much of his life in the rugged outdoors. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Some more coffee? Maybe some food?” she asked both her grandfather and Billy.

  “We have a thermos, but thanks,” Grandpa said.

  “Just let me know if you need anything. Or if you want to get up and stretch, I can stand watch.”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she admitted.

  She walked through the darkened great room. If they had lit it up, the windows would have turned the room into a fishbowl. A fire roared in the enclosed fireplace, casting shadows on the walls. Any other night the fire would be comforting and romantic; tonight the flames reminded her of the flames of Hell. Sean and Craig Mann sat in the far corner watching the back doors. Everyone was on alert. The tension was palpable.