Mountain of Evidence

by Cindi Myers

  “I got an A on my English paper about subversive feminism in Jane Eyre,” she said.

  “That’s great.” Though what in the world a sophomore was doing writing about something like that he didn’t know. Janie was scary smart sometimes. “Did you get the packet of stuff I sent you?”

  “I did! The park looks so interesting. Like the real Wild West. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “This summer,” he said. As much as he looked forward to the girls spending two months with him, he worried they’d be bored within a week. Montrose, Colorado, didn’t offer the social opportunities of Washington, DC. But he’d do his best to make the visit worthwhile.

  “I don’t want to wait until then,” Janie said.

  “It’s only another couple of months,” he said. “In the meantime, look over the stuff I sent you and think about everything you want to do and see while you’re here.”

  “I will.”

  “Can I talk to your sister now?”

  “Beth is being a pain right now. Don’t take it personally.” Translation: Beth was still refusing to talk to him because, as she had said in their last heated exchange before he left, it was bad enough that he’d been gone all the time while they were growing up. Now he was moving thousands of miles away without even considering them.

  The words hurt more than any bullet. All he could do was keep the lines open and hope that one day she would talk to him again. “Tell her I said hello and I love her,” he said. “And I love you, too.”

  “I love you, Daddy,” Janie said. “And Mom says I have to get off the phone now because we’re going sailing with some friends of Darryl’s, which will probably be really boring. Goodbye!”

  She ended the call and he laid down the phone. Darryl was Angela’s new husband, a lobbyist who had set Grant’s teeth on edge every time they met. This was the man he had abandoned his family to.

  Walk it back, he silently chided himself. No good came of wallowing. He turned his attention to the next item on his lengthy to-do list. The background check he’d ordered on Eve Shea.

  No criminal record. Not even a speeding ticket. Her business, Eve’s Garden, had a good reputation and appeared to be making a reasonable profit. No marriages. No bankruptcy. In her time as a reporter with the Montrose Daily Press, she had won two Press Association awards.

  He closed the report and swiveled away from the monitor. He had no reason to believe Eve was faking her lack of knowledge about what had happened to the contents of the safe deposit box, but he had to be sure. For the integrity of the case and for his personal integrity, he needed to know he hadn’t let his attraction to her interfere with him carrying out his duties.

  His intercom beeped. “Yes?”

  Faith Martin’s voice answered. “Sir, we’ve had a request for assistance from the Montrose County Sheriff’s Department. They’d like our help with crowd control at the Mary Lee Mine.”

  “What’s going on up there?” he asked. Hazardous waste remediation at the Mary Lee was one of the projects Dane Trask had been working on when he disappeared. More recently, Officer Jason Beck and Trask’s administrative assistant, Cara Mead, had been attacked when they tried to investigate the mine site. And of course, the mine had been the focus of the press release someone—presumably Trask—had sent to Eve.

  “Some protesters are holding a press conference there this morning, and MCSD is concerned there might be trouble. And since the mine is in the Ranger Brigade’s jurisdiction, they thought we could help.”

  “The mine is private property within the public lands we monitor,” Grant clarified. “But yes, we can help. Who’s in this morning?”

  “Lieutenant Dance is here, and Officer Hudson.”

  “Thanks.”

  Grant pulled on a black windbreaker against the late spring chill and went in search of Dance.

  Lieutenant Dance looked up from his computer keyboard at the commander’s approach. One look at Grant’s face and he sat up straighter. “Something’s up?” he asked.

  “You and I are helping with crowd control for a press conference at the Mary Lee Mine.”

  Dance unfolded his muscular frame and pulled on his own windbreaker. “You drive,” Grant said. Dance knew the location of the mine better than he did.

  Whether or not there was trouble at the mine, it was a beautiful day to be driving backroads in the wilderness. Hillsides glowed a soft pink with wild crocus, and aspens unfurled lime green leaves like splashes of Day-Glo paint against the more somber hues of pinion and fir. A hawk traced wide circles across an expanse of turquoise sky unmarred by even a single cloud.

  “I saw a poster about this meeting at the coffee shop this morning,” Dance said as he turned the cruiser off the highway and up a jagged dirt road. “Something about a press conference to bring to light TDC’s failure to address matters of grave environmental concern.”

  Grant nodded. “Words most likely to get TDC Enterprises and their lawyers riled.”

  “Riled enough to cause trouble?” Dance asked.

  “Not physical trouble,” Grant said. “I think they’d be more likely to employ their lawyers to send letters threatening legal action and expensive lawsuits.”

  Dance nodded. “So maybe we’ll have a nice couple hours in the mountains.” He gunned the vehicle up a steep washed-out section of road. “Maybe without a lot of company. Not many people will want to risk their cars on this road.”

  But when they arrived at the mine gates, Grant was surprised to see at least two dozen cars and vans, and he estimated more than fifty people gathered around a wooden platform constructed of pallets. A couple of people held shoulder-mounted television cameras, while others carried microphones and recording equipment.

  A quartet of stern-faced men and women in suits stood to one side of the platform, scowling at the growing crowd. Probably the lawyers, Grant thought, as he strode past a cluster of people who carried signs that read TDC Pollutes and Don’t Let Corporate Greed Destroy the Future.

  He faltered and did a double take as he recognized the woman who held the latter sign. Eve Shea met his gaze and lifted her chin in a defiant gesture.

  He veered off course and walked over to her. “Hello, Ms. Shea,” he said.

  “You might as well call me Eve,” she said, lowering the sign.

  “Are you a member of Wilderness Conservation?” he asked.

  “No. Cara Mead asked me to come. She’s the coordinator for Wilderness Conservation now.”

  And Cara—his officer, Jason Beck’s fiancée—had been the one to discover that TDC’s supposed efforts to clean up the old mine site had, so far at least, resulted in even more contamination at the site, contrary to what was shown in the reports TDC had filed with the Environmental Protection Agency and others.

  So maybe TDC had fudged their data, or even outright lied, but Grant wasn’t sure that made them dangerous.

  “Why are you here, Commander?” Eve asked.

  “We’re here in case anything gets out of hand,” he said.

  She pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face. “It’s a press conference.”

  “And a protest.” He indicated her sign.

  She looked down at the sign. “Someone handed me this when we got here. I think it’s mainly to give the news cameras an interesting visual.”

  She made an interesting visual, he thought, the wind lifting strands of her hair to float around her like a veil, her cheeks flushed from either sun or emotion, a soft blue tunic over black leggings and boots clinging to her curves. “I was going to call you today and let you know my investigators didn’t find any signs that your locks were forced,” he said.

  “I didn’t think so, but I guess it’s good to have it confirmed,” she said. “Maybe I really did misplace that deposit box key.”

  “A good set of lock picks or a key could have opened your
door without leaving behind any evidence,” Grant said. “Did you find anything else missing?”

  “Not from my home, no.”

  Something in her voice or her facial expression alerted him. “Did you find something missing from somewhere else? Your shop?”

  “It’s probably nothing,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “I had a picture of myself and Dane, in a field of lavender. For years it has sat on a shelf in my office. Now it’s not there.”

  “When was the last time you saw it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. It’s one of those things that has been there so long I don’t really even notice it anymore.”

  “When did you notice it was missing?”

  “Yesterday evening. I was finishing up work for the day and looked over, and realized the spot where it usually sat was empty.”

  “Could it have fallen behind the shelf, or been moved?”

  “I looked this morning, but I couldn’t find it.” She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s somewhere. I mean, who would steal a photograph?”

  “Hello, everyone.” The voice, overly loud in the speakers that had been erected on either end of the platform, was jarring. Cara Mead, all five-foot-three of her, in black trousers and a purple jacket, leaned back from the mic and tried again. “We’re so glad you could join us on this beautiful day in this beautiful place.”

  Grant wasn’t sure he would have termed the piles of gray rock and old building materials that formed the backdrop of this scene as beautiful, but it had a certain untamed appeal. “As you may already be aware, TDC Industries accepted a contract last August to mitigate contaminants at the Mary Lee Mine, removing or quarantining harmful substances like mercury and arsenic, and returning this place to its natural beauty. Instead, recent test results show there are actually more of some contaminants than before.”

  “Eve Shea, this is a pleasure.”

  Grant and Eve both turned to look at the man who had spoken. Taller than Grant by at least two inches, he had the sharp features and deep tan of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “Toby Masterson.” He offered his hand to Eve, ignoring Grant.

  “My assistant said you stopped by my shop while I was out yesterday,” Eve said. She shook hands, but immediately afterwards folded her arms tight across her chest.

  “I was disappointed not to hear from you,” Masterson said.

  “I’ve been busy. And since I don’t know you...” She shrugged.

  “But you know Dane Trask. And I’m looking for him. I think you could help.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Eve grimaced.

  “Why are you looking for Dane?” Grant asked. He wanted to tell the man to take his hands off Eve, but sensed she might resist that approach.

  Sure enough, Eve took care of the matter herself, shoving Masterson’s hand away. She moved over, putting more distance between them. “If Dane wants to stay away he must have his reasons,” she said. “I won’t help anyone find him.”

  She looked at Grant, not Masterson, when she spoke, and he felt again that spark of desire, almost painful in its intensity.

  “Still, I’d love to get together and talk,” Masterson said.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you.” She started to turn away, but Masterson moved to block her.

  “Then listen to me,” he said. “I knew Dane Trask from Welcome Home Warriors. He could be a great guy, and he did a lot of good work. But he had a dark side, too. He could be really dangerous. I think he could be dangerous to you.”

  Eve’s face blanched china white, and she put a hand to her throat. “Dane would never hurt me,” she said.

  “You hurt him,” Masterson said. “He was going to ask you to marry him and instead you dumped him.”

  “He understood. We weren’t right for each other.”

  “He was an expert at hiding his emotions. You know that.” He took a step back. “Take my advice and be careful. And don’t think you need to protect him from anyone. Worry about protecting yourself.”

  He turned and left them, shoving through the crowd of reporters and onlookers, until Grant couldn’t see him anymore.

  Grant moved closer to Eve. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m okay.” She stared after Masterson. “I didn’t like him.”

  “Neither do I. But maybe you should listen to him.”

  She glared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t know why Dane did what he did—why he left his job and the people who cared about him to hide out in the wilderness. Why he wrecked a really nice truck or sent you that cryptic letter. But one explanation is that those aren’t the actions of a mentally stable man. Maybe something happened to change him. To trigger him.”

  She shook her head, but he slid his hand up to cradle her cheek, stilling her. “Maybe Dane is dangerous,” he said. “Maybe you do need to be careful, and stay as far away from him as you can.”

  “Since he isn’t here, that shouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

  “I should have said I think it would be better if you stayed away from anything to do with Trask—like that safety deposit box, or this rally.”

  She pulled away, color rising in her cheeks. “I don’t like people telling me what to do,” she said. “And I really don’t respond well to scare tactics.” She raised the sign again, as if prepared to use it as a weapon, then turned her back on him.

  Grant stepped away, stung a little, but continued to watch her.

  Toby Masterson had his eyes on Eve, too, and the look on his face had made Grant want to punch the man. Was that his cop sense at work—or plain old-fashioned jealousy?

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m sure that picture of you and Dane was in your office on Monday morning,” Sarah said when Eve asked her about it Tuesday afternoon. “We had a slow spell and I tidied up a little bit and dusted your bookcase.”

  “And you’re sure the picture was there?” Eve asked.

  Sarah nodded. “I’m sure because I wondered why you kept it out, since the two of you weren’t a couple anymore.”

  “I kept it out because I really like the photograph.” Eve glared. “Dane and I are still friends, even if we aren’t lovers.”

  Sarah held up both hands in a defensive gesture. “All right, all right. I just worry that if you aren’t really over him, you’ll never make room in your life for someone else.”

  “What self-help book did you get that out of?” Eve asked.

  Sarah grinned. “I could write the self-help book on that one. I’ve raised three girls and a boy who are constantly falling in and out love.”

  “What’s the latest with Robby?” Eve asked, glad for a switch in subject.

  “Let’s look for that photograph and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  While the two women moved furniture and looked everywhere they could think of for the missing photograph, Sarah regaled Eve with a description of the previous day’s outing to find the perfect tuxedo for prom. “You know Robby,” she said. “He wanted something different, but not too different. He wants to stand out, but not too far out.”

  “In other words, he’s a typical teenager.” Eve yanked open a file drawer and stared at the paperwork shoved in so tightly there was no way the picture could be inside. “What did he end up with?”

  “He went with a pretty traditional black tux, dressed up with a purple-and-gold paisley vest and a white ascot. Sort of the Regency fop look—though when I said that, he had no idea what I was talking about, which led to a discussion of Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, and my love of Regency romance novels that had him rolling his eyes. But he seemed satisfied when I told him the girls were bound to find him irresistible.”

  Eve sank into her desk chair. “Tell him when he’s ready f
or the big day, whatever flowers he wants are on the house. I don’t think we’re going to find that picture. It’s just disappeared.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “Are you really upset?”

  Was she? “I did like the picture, but I’m more upset by the idea that someone may have come into my office and taken it. Why would anyone even want it?”

  “It’s a mystery, all right.” Sarah leaned back against the door frame. “But maybe you’ll meet someone soon whose picture you’ll want to put in its place.”

  At Eve’s sour look, she laughed. “I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic. I want to see you happy.”

  Eve sat up straighter. “I don’t need a man to be happy.”

  “No, but you do need a man to make a baby, and I know how much you want to be a mother.”

  “Maybe I’ll find a sperm donor.” Even as she said the words, her throat tightened in fear. Sure, women did a wonderful job raising children on their own every day, either out of necessity or by choice, but did she really want to do that? Maybe she was old-fashioned, but she had a hard time letting go of her dreams of a happy family—a child or children and two parents.

  “Who are you going out with this weekend?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m thinking of taking a break.” She focused on her computer screen, hoping Sarah would get the message that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  But her friend wasn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up so soon.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the way to go about it,” Eve said. “I don’t seem to be hitting it off with any of the men I’ve dated, or else they’re not interested in me.”

  “What about that professor from the university?” Sarah asked. “I always thought the two of you had a lot in common.”

  “He told me—to my face—that he preferred younger women. I took it to mean he usually dated his students.”