Treacherous Mountain Investigation

by Stephanie M. Gammon

“No one questions her until I do.” Rosche closed her notebook and tucked it in her pocket while sending a warning look toward the news circus. “There were shots fired on our mountain in the middle of tourist season. The mayor will want this open and closed.”

  Riggen gave a curt jerk of his head then turned toward the ambulance. Tension drained from Liz’s body as the beautiful detective walked away. It was time to get out of here. The bright white walls of the emergency vehicle were closing in and Devon’s hovering was fraying her already tortured nerves. She shrugged off her borrowed blanket.

  Riggen grasped the door frame and pulled himself into the space, somehow making the small area impossibly smaller. His muscles rippled under his thin cotton sleeves as he filled every spare inch with his presence. Dirt smeared across the sharp cut of his cheekbones and flecks of dust smudged along the shadowy ridgeline of his shaved facial hair, ending just shy of his lips—the corners of which were tugging up into a ghost of the smile he once had.

  Liz jerked her head at the news van to conceal that she’d been staring. Heat spread like wildfire from her neck to her face. “Any chance we can escape without media coverage?”

  He threw a lazy look over his shoulder before he slid one eye down in a heart-stopping wink. “Sneak out for you?”

  She pressed her lips together. His words painted the picture of a different life. One where he’d sneaked into the blacklisted Sagebrush restaurant to spend time with her. She ignored the double entendre and simply nodded.

  “Cover for us, Devon.” Riggen slipped past the EMT and helped Liz up. She stumbled into his arms and was surrounded by his scent. It was so familiar that she drew a sharp breath, fight or flight pounding through her. She planted both palms on his hard chest and shoved away. It was time to get out of here. Out of this ambulance. Out of Riggen’s arms. Out of danger.

  They exited via the front and crept to Riggen’s Bronco. When he pulled open the passenger door, his dog jumped into her seat.

  “Sorry.” Riggen laughed. The sound wiggled behind her armor. “Yakub likes the front.” He pushed the dog’s furry bottom over the armrest so she could climb in.

  Why had she taken the trolley to the Incline this morning? Her own vehicle was still at the Juniper and now she was stuck riding in Riggen’s emotional time machine with memories hitting her like a flood. She slammed the door, sending specks of worn blue paint into the wind.

  Riggen jumped in and rummaged under his seat for a moment. When he sat up, he handed her a Colorado Rockies ball cap and scratched-up sunglasses. “Disguise?”

  “Thanks.”

  Deafening silence settled between them as they backed out. Riggen maneuvered through the crowd and onto free road, but his frequent glances unnerved her. He had questions. He’d seen her phone.

  But she had questions, too. First, why hadn’t he opened the last letter she’d sent him? She tugged the hat down over her eyes and hugged her legs to herself. Just do it. Spit them out.

  “Who do you think would do this?” Riggen snapped on the turn signal and turned onto Manitou Avenue.

  Liz bit her tongue and pulled her damaged armor around her like a threadbare sweatshirt. It had been Riggen who’d told her to lay off the Sagebrush’s owner. But that was before he had left for Iraq. Researching and writing the Sagebrush story had been the only thing that kept her mind from constant worry over his safety—and the only thing that distracted her from her sister’s relentless nagging.

  She rested her cheek against her knees. “It’s your town. Who do you think would do it?”

  He raised one dark brow in a way that said she wasn’t pulling anything over on him. “I think it had something to do with the bouquet you were holding.”

  So he’d caught the message, too. Her gut tingled. She could still smell the tangy sagebrush oil on her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push away the terror. “Feel free to say ‘I told you so.’”

  The warmth of Riggen’s hand sliding down her arm startled her fear away. His eye twitched as he lifted and dropped his shoulder. “I was the wrong one.”

  He stopped for a crosswalk and covered her fingers with his own. His sculpted features softened and she let herself believe for the briefest of moments that he was talking about more than the Sagebrush.

  But as the pedestrians cleared the road, she pulled her hand back and stuffed it into her lap, safely out of reach.

  “I’ll drive you back to your hotel when Rosche is finished questioning you.” His voice was matter-of-fact. Like he took for granted that they’d talk. Pick up again.

  Pick up what? He didn’t want her. He’d been clear about that. Her stomach turned and her skin went clammy. She couldn’t afford picking up the pieces when he disappeared again. The stakes were too high. She had Lucas to think of now.

  She leaned her head against the window. “Sure.”

  She’d be long gone before he knew the interview was over. She wasn’t about to let Lucas experience the same pain Riggen had put her through.

  THREE

  Riggen pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, snapping the form-fitting synthetic rubber against his wrist. Liz was finishing with Rosche and their suspect was in lockup. Hopefully they’d get an open-and-shut confession and he’d be able to take his first deep breath since breathing Liz’s name that morning—and since seeing her phone.

  He unzipped his backpack and pulled out the canteen bouquet that had been taped into Liz’s hands. Tension vibrated his jaw as he set it down on the sterile tabletop in the MSPD’s evidence room.

  He had warned Liz to let her review of the Sagebrush go. When they had first met, he had been a staff sergeant at Fort Carson and the Sagebrush had occupied a definitive place on the Army’s “do not go near” list. Why she had picked that restaurant to review, he couldn’t understand.

  It had had a bad reputation. And for good reason. He glared at the wilting plant. Liz hadn’t taken his advice. She’d continued pursuing the review even after his deployment. And, when he’d been immobilized in an overseas hospital, he’d read how her journalistic travel article had blown away Manitou’s worst-kept cover-up—the Sagebrush’s forced labor and human trafficking ties.

  Sure he’d been proud, happy that the viral exposure had launched her into the regional tourism limelight. He’d been on the verge of sending congratulations when his doctor had arrived with the news that his injury obliterated any chance of fathering children. He’d learned that day that mistakes had consequences and his consequences didn’t include fairy-tale endings. The God Lizzy seemed suddenly familiar with had made it clear Riggen was not even on the waiting list for His favor.

  After that realization, he hadn’t felt anything anymore.

  Last he checked, Sammy Malcovitch, the now-convicted owner of the Sagebrush, was lounging in state prison. But even if that man had outside reach, would he be this blatant?

  The military-grade canteen goaded Riggen, reminding him of dust-filled Baghdad streets—and of the family he’d failed. Heat spread across his face like the Iraqi sun. He could still see that little boy’s anguished face.

  He blinked. Shook his head. The sun of his haunted memories morphed back into the evidence room fluorescents.

  “Price!”

  Riggen jolted. The canteen crashed onto the metal tabletop, releasing the pungent odor of sagebrush into the dry air.

  Lieutenant Carr thundered into the ten-by-ten room, shaking the walls with his anger. His face was a mottled red that never boded well.

  Riggen righted the canteen before picking up an evidence bag. The paper bag they used for biodegradable items crinkled in the silence that followed his boss’s dramatic entrance. He’d get this canteen tagged into evidence and sent off to Metro for fingerprint analysis. He dropped the items into the bag and folded the top, sealing the evidence—and his past—inside.

  He turned to Carr. No nee
d to ask what was wrong. He had ignored a direct order. On this job, lives depended on following commands. Guilt pulverized him—in that respect, this job was just like the Army. At least this disregard for orders hadn’t blown up in his face.

  He hitched his hip on the table. “Liz was my fiancée.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t wait.”

  Anger seeped from Carr’s face, replaced by disbelief. “Was?” He ran a hand back and forth through his buzz cut. “Small world.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Sorry, man. Thankfully, everything ended smoothly... Today, I mean.” Carr reddened as he hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his bulletproof vest and rocked back on his heels. “But think about next week. You’re too close to make a mistake this big.”

  Sweat beaded on his brow at the mention of his upcoming interview. Carr was right. Riggen shifted against the counter and sighed. “Jones will be all over this.”

  “Jones wants the position. Thinks he deserves it over you.” Carr’s eyes narrowed, his brows forming a perfect vee. “He’ll make sure Chief hears about it. I’ll do what damage control I can.”

  Riggen shrugged. “Can’t change it now. But thanks for having my back.”

  Carr shifted from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable with a moment that could crash too quickly into feelings territory. “It’s interesting you were there the exact moment Ms. Hart needed you.”

  It was no secret Carr didn’t believe in coincidence. The man always seemed to steer conversations to divine intervention. And though Riggen respected him, what Carr didn’t realize was that Riggen had lost any goodwill he’d had with God the moment that bomb had exploded in Baghdad.

  He turned his attention back to the table and used evidence tape to seal the bag. He scrawled his initials across the tape before handing it to Carr to do the same.

  Time to stop Carr’s providence train before it left the station. “Simple coincidence. Co-incidents that were happening at the same time. Liz happened to be on the mountain. I happened to be out for a run. Nothing magical about it.”

  Carr signed the bag and handed it back. “I agree. Magic had nothing to do with it.”

  Riggen’s eye muscles twitched and an uncomfortable feeling shivered up his spine. Not going there. It was coincidence. Easier to believe that than think his mistakes were coming around to hit Liz in the face. Even so, he needed to get Liz out of town and far away from the cloud that hung over his life.

  He headed for the door. “I’ll drive Liz to her hotel.”

  Carr stopped him before his feet hit the threshold. “Rosche finished and cut her loose ten minutes ago.” Carr held something in the space between them. A folded sheet of paper. “She did ask me to give you this.”

  Riggen took the wrinkled paper and opened it. His own writing. I’m sorry, Lizzy. It’s over.

  So much for easy breathing.

  * * *

  Liz thanked her Uber driver and slid from the back seat onto the cobbled sidewalk that fronted Manitou Springs’s newest outlying hotel property—the Juniper Resort. She slammed the sedan’s door and let her eyes drink in the Juniper’s late nineteenth-century architecture.

  With the sun high in the sky, the Victorian-esque picture windows appeared brilliantly on fire. Pikes Peak reflected in their paneled glasses. She captured the moment with her phone, hoping it would show better on her computer than it did on her shattered screen.

  She climbed the broad stone steps onto the Juniper’s wraparound porch and allowed herself to enjoy a single moment of fulfillment. No matter how she felt about Manitou, this morning, or the wreck that was her life, this project was wrapping up well.

  When Kimberly East, the editor-in-chief of American Travel, saw her finished vision at the expo booth this weekend, the job would be hers. Then she and Lucas would finally be on their own, no longer dependent on her sister.

  She breathed the promise of freedom and let it fill her lungs. As long as she could keep all hints of mountain attacks on the down-low and stay safe, she’d have American Travel’s audience hungering for a taste of fresh Rocky Mountain air and adventure.

  She squared her shoulders and let the morning’s terror fall away before pushing through the ornate front door.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Hart.” Kris Dupree beamed at Liz from behind the rosewood concierge desk that dominated the front lobby. “Did you enjoy your hike?”

  “I wouldn’t go straight to enjoy.” Liz set down her phone and leaned her head to the side, stretching her neck. She tried to push out a smile but every muscle ached. She’d kill for a soak in her suite’s elaborate claw-foot tub and a catnap before hitting the road.

  It was time to put Manitou and the morning’s madness in the past. “I lost my key and half my sanity this morning. So ‘enjoy’ wouldn’t top my list of adjectives.”

  Concern dimmed Kris’s eyes like clouds over a bright blue sky. “I can help with the key.” She tapped on her keyboard, programming a secondary key. “I hope all’s well now.”

  Liz managed a weary nod.

  Kris slid the new key across the counter and flicked an invisible piece of dust from the plastic surface. Her manicured nails shimmered under the light of an elegant chandelier and her face beamed with the warm concern of womanly sisterhood.

  The kind of concern Liz had always wished to see on Kat’s face. But real sisters weren’t that warm. At least, not in her experience.

  “Oh.” Kris’s fire-engine-red lips rounded. “I almost forgot. A package was delivered today.” The woman disappeared under the counter then popped back up with a large Bubble Wrap envelope.

  When she pushed the parcel across the counter, all of Liz’s fatigue melted away.

  “I’ll send up mineral water bottles and fresh towels. Ring the desk if you need anything else.”

  Liz nodded and grabbed her manila treasure, wiggling her fingers at Kris before trotting to the elevator. When the mirrored doors closed behind her, she ripped open the envelope. The elevator dinged as she studied the mock-up T-shirt her assistant on the American Travel project, Emily Bancroft, had sent.

  It was perfection. The sketched idea she’d sent Emily had been executed with precision. Her artistic soul hummed. Liz’s original drawing of Pikes Peak now had the American Travel logo superimposed over it with the Rocky Mountain Travel and Adventure Expo information in small neon script.

  Pikes Peak. A prick of fear deflated her elation. It had been more like Perpetrator Peak this morning. She replaced the shirt in its packaging and made her way to her room. If it hadn’t been for Riggen... She shook off the shivers and waved her updated keycard against the RFID reader.

  The light blinked green and she entered, slamming the door behind her. But she wasn’t fast enough to stop the guilt that slipped in on her heels. She should have rallied the courage to confront Riggen, but all her strength had been knocked from her.

  She tossed the expo T-shirt and her keycard onto the bed and kicked off her climbing shoes. The cozy wallpaper of her hotel and its furnishings could almost convince her the twenty-first century was more than a hundred years in the future. She perched on the edge of her room’s antique four-post bed and peeled off her socks.

  But if Riggen wanted to talk, he could find her. Her throat tightened and she jerked his ball cap off her head. She stared at the Colorado Rockies emblem before tossing the battered cap to the floor. The man had been living less than twenty minutes from her for who knew how long. He’d had every chance to find her. If he had a good reason for ending it with no more than a note, then why hadn’t he come to explain?

  Facts were facts. Riggen had run from commitment like a stream down a mountain. She wasn’t about to wait around to watch him run again. Depressing the power button on her phone, she stared at the screen. No missed calls.

  Why did that get under her skin?

  She stalked through twin
bathroom doors onto cool, tiled floor. A hot bath would clear her head. As the faucet poured water into the tub, she let steam swirl around her.

  Half an hour later, when the water had cooled and she’d emerged refreshed, Liz nestled into the plush depths of her hotel-provided robe. A knock sounded at her door. She squeezed the last drops of water from her hair and padded to the entry to squint through the peephole.

  Room service with her promised bottles of water. The sight of the water made her mouth water. She secured the robe’s belt and pulled open the door.

  “Compliments of management.” The employee handed her the bottles along with a small basket of toiletries. “Local amenities.”

  She thanked him and shut the door. Uncapping the miniature lotion bottle, she inhaled sweet lavender. Another point for the Juniper. Turning the bottle over in her hand, she studied the label. She’d be sure to include this in her article.

  Her phone buzzed from the dresser, interrupting her perusal. She traded bottle for phone and slid the answer button, wincing as splintered glass pierced the pruned flesh of her fingers. “Hello?” She sucked on her finger.

  Silence.

  “Hello...?” She pulled back to look at the number. Local. But only breathing transmitted across the connection.

  * * *

  “Hello?” It was the second time she’d said it. Her tone bordered on exasperation, but a creeping misgiving about reaching out to her kept Riggen mute.

  He’d served in Iraq. He’d survived a suicide bombing that had taken out three-quarters of his squad and a family of civilians. Why couldn’t he make his own tongue move? Because he knew this was a bad idea. He punched his thigh and went for it anyway.

  “Hey, Liz.” Don’t hang up. “I have an update on your attacker.”

  The clock over his desk ticked into the awkward silence.

  “I’m listening.” Her annoyance was tangible.

  He shoved back from his desk and flattened her note against his mousepad. Liz’s attacker had been transferred to the El Paso County Jail after confessing to the entire attack, but his motive seemed as thin as the paper under Riggen’s hand. “Rosche isn’t buying the guy’s story.” He paused. “Though parts of it were convincing.”