Silent Night Suspect

by Sharee Stover

  He walked toward the trailhead, scanning his light across the sand for footprints. There were plenty, since the canyon trail was one of the most popular in the park. He frowned. It was also short enough that the woman should have returned by now.

  He stopped when the arcing sweep of his light caught a set of footprints off to one side, leading toward the river. Annoying hikers. It was like they couldn’t read the signs plastered all over the place.

  Stay on the trails. Not only did it preserve the environment, there were enough ways to get injured without needing to wander off looking for more trouble.

  Picking his way carefully, Logan followed the tracks until they ended at the river. Here the sand was wet and the marks were much clearer. Too large for a woman. The same single pair of tracks circled back to the parking lot.

  Nothing. As he turned to leave, his flashlight glinted off something lying in the brush a short distance downstream.

  He snatched it off the damp sand. A woman’s silver wristwatch. His breath caught in his chest. Judging by its near flawless condition, it hadn’t been there long.

  Hastening his pace, he walked downstream along the bank, sweeping the light ahead. He hadn’t gone far when he froze. Movement—there, to the left. A woman. And she was clearly alive, because she was lying on her stomach, arms out in front of her, pointing a handgun at his chest.

  He slowly lifted both hands, the law-enforcement side of him sizing her up within seconds—midtwenties, maybe five feet, eight inches in height, thin yet muscular build. She had the same long, dark hair of the driver he had seen earlier.

  Only now it was wet and hung in clumps around her pale face and her sandy, soaked shirt clung to her shoulders and arms.

  “Whoa, it’s okay. I’m here to help you. You don’t need the gun.” He angled the flashlight to one side and inched toward her, hands up. “Put the gun down, okay? There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

  “Who are you?” Her voice was high-pitched and trembling.

  “Logan Everett. I’m a law-enforcement ranger.” He pointed at the brown arrowhead badge on his shirt. “National Park Service.”

  The woman sat up, keeping the gun steady. Clearly she was no stranger to handling weapons.

  Law enforcement?

  Or criminal? Crime was rare in Big Bend, but it did happen.

  “Don’t come any closer.” Her brown eyes grew wide, the whites glistening in the fading light.

  Logan stopped, crouching down ten feet away from her and holding the silver wristwatch out for her to inspect. “Is this your watch?”

  “I...I don’t know,” she stammered. “Stay back.”

  There was a definite edge of panic in her voice. Something had happened to her and she was still terrified.

  “Hey—” he reached toward her “—we’re on the same side. How did you get out here?” The wary, frightened look in her large, dark eyes reminded him of a cornered animal.

  Her forehead wrinkled and her eyes slipped out of focus as she shook her head. “I...I fell into the river.”

  He nodded reassuringly, even as he tried to calculate how she could have fallen in. He couldn’t see her feet clearly from his present position, but he didn’t think it was likely the tracks by the river had been hers. Odd.

  When she didn’t say anything else, he asked, “From the trail?”

  “I...” She bit her lip, brows furrowed, and lowered the gun slightly. He straightened and inched forward, taking advantage of her distraction. “I don’t remember.”

  Her eyes were still out of focus and her hands shook as she held the gun.

  “Are you injured?”

  She took one hand off the gun, reaching for the back of her head. When she pulled her hand away, red smeared her fingertips. She stared at the blood, the gun drooping in her other hand.

  That explained it—well, at least her obvious confusion. Poor woman. She probably had a concussion.

  He stepped forward, holding his hands up, inching closer and closer. Like approaching an injured mountain lion, only without the tranquilizer darts.

  When he was a few feet away he dropped down onto his knees. He was directly in front of her by the time she looked at him again and, before she could react, Logan had the gun out of her hand and safely tucked into his waistband.

  The woman stared at him, her expression torn between fear and confusion.

  “There.” He offered her a grin. “Now that you’re not going to kill me, maybe I can help you.”

  He peered at the back of her head. Her long, brown hair was matted into a knot by the blood and there was a large bump. Had she fallen? Or was it foul play?

  “Where am I?” She turned wide, dark eyes up to him.

  “You must’ve taken quite a blow to the head. This is Big Bend National Park, in west Texas. And we’re right outside Santa Elena Canyon on the Rio Grande.”

  “Texas?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She winced as she pulled back onto her knees.

  “Easy.” Logan held out his hand. She glanced up at him warily. “You might have other injuries.”

  She rubbed a hand slowly over her lower ribs. “I hit something in the water,” she mumbled.

  “We need to get you checked out. Do you think you can walk?”

  When she nodded, he gently helped her to her feet. She swayed unsteadily for a moment, clinging to his arm.

  “Do you remember your name?” He picked a path for them around the low brush back toward the trailhead parking lot.

  “Ashley.” She gripped his arm a little tighter as she stumbled over something in the growing darkness, and Logan swung his light to the ground. Despite her little dunk in the Rio Grande, a light scent of something sweet, like berries, emanated from her hair.

  “What’s the last thing you remember, Ashley?”

  “I...I remember...” She grew thoughtful for a moment, chewing on her lip. When she spoke again, her voice held a note of hope. “Taking a cab. Yes, that was it.”

  “I think we can rule out that being today. So, you have no idea why you’re here in Big Bend?”

  She shook her head but a brief flicker of some emotion passed over her face. Grief? Or anger? He wasn’t sure, but clearly something lurked under the surface and she didn’t want to share or couldn’t remember.

  Either way, pretty women dressed in tailored slacks didn’t turn up in the Rio Grande for no reason.

  When they reached the parking lot, Ashley stared blankly at the two vehicles in the lot—the rental car Logan suspected was hers and his NPS Jeep.

  “Recognize it?”

  She dug into one of her pockets. “No. But I do have a set of keys that survived the river. I may as well try them.”

  The river had wrecked the electric key fob, but she was able to open the driver’s door using the key. As she searched the interior for personal items, he called in the plates to a park dispatcher.

  A quick search confirmed it was a rental, from an Enterprise in El Paso, Texas—she must’ve flown in to the airport there.

  “The name?” he asked the dispatcher.

  The radio crackled. “Watson. Ashley Watson.”

  Ashley climbed back out of the car, holding the black blazer that completed her suit—absolutely the wrong clothing for the desert—as well as a small handbag.

  “Ms. Watson?” Logan gestured at the purse. “Did you find some identification?”

  She frowned, rubbing her forehead with a knuckle as she stared at the closed purse.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Sure.” Her expression cleared but the air of confusion still lingered—must be from the head injury. She fumbled with the purse’s zipper and dug out a wallet, staring at the driver’s license inside for a long moment before handing it to him. Her forehead creased again.

  Lo
gan took the license from her clammy fingers. Ashley Watson. Issued in the District of Columbia. His brows pulled together. “No idea what brings you to Texas, Ms. Watson? You’re a long way from home.”

  She leaned against the car. Her face was pale but she held his gaze. “No, but it’ll come back to me. Otherwise, I know where to go home. Now, if you want to point me in the right direction to a medical facility, I can drive myself. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

  Was she trying to get rid of him? Did she remember more than she was letting on?

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d let you drive in your condition?”

  “I’m feeling better. Besides—” she nodded toward his Jeep “—you probably have a cold pack in there for my head, right?”

  “For starters, the road to the nearest medical facility is that way.” He pointed across the parking lot toward a nearly invisible dirt road leading into the desert to the north. “And second, you’ll be coming with me to park headquarters in Panther Junction after we go to the clinic.”

  “Why?” Somehow she managed to look both helplessly lost and irritated at the same time.

  “Because it’s illegal to carry a firearm in this park without a permit unless you’re in law enforcement.”

  “So, what? You’re going to arrest me after I almost drowned?” Sparks flared in her brown eyes.

  “No.” Logan sucked in a slow breath, searching for the tattered shreds of his patience. “I’m going to bring you in for questioning. Unless you’ve got a Texas-approved license to carry somewhere in there, too.”

  She inhaled sharply, eyes widening. Nervous? But why? “I’m sure there’s a good reason for the gun.” She dug inside her blazer pocket, her brow furrowing when her fingers came away empty. “I have a holster.”

  “Maybe. But we’ll let the chief ranger decide.”

  She closed and locked her car door and then took the arm he offered, cold fingers clutching his elbow, and he escorted her to the Jeep.

  He helped her into the passenger seat and handed her a thick gauze pad from a first-aid kit. “Press this to the wound, and here’s an ice pack for the swelling.”

  Ashley took the gauze, wincing as she touched it to the injury. A wave of pity washed through him. The ride to Terlingua over that washboard dirt road was going to hurt.

  She sat silently in the passenger seat, a hand pressed to her eyes, as he did his best to steer around the lumpiest sections of the road.

  They’d been driving for maybe thirty minutes when headlights appeared in the rearview mirror, two tiny orbs bouncing in the distance.

  Ashley craned her head over her shoulder. “Somebody else uses this road?”

  “Yeah...once in a while.” He frowned. The lights were growing bigger much faster than they should be. Usually only Terlingua locals and lost tourists used this road, and neither was foolish enough to go that fast.

  Only a few minutes passed before the other vehicle was nearly on their tail, its headlights glaring off the dashboard and mirrors so brightly he had to squint. A truck, judging by the height of the lights.

  Better to let them pass than get into an accident out here. He slowed the Jeep, driving closer to the side to allow the truck space to pass. “Impatient driver. Going to break an axle at this rate.”

  Impatient and reckless—couldn’t they see this was an NPS vehicle? He’d be sure to get the plate number and call it in.

  But the truck didn’t pass. Instead it veered to the right with them and accelerated.

  “What...?” Logan muttered. “Hold on!”

  The driver was going to ram them.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kellie VanHorn

  ISBN-13: 9781488040856

  Silent Night Suspect

  Copyright © 2019 by Sharee Stover

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