“And...?”
He leaned back. Kicked his feet up on the desk. “He confessed. Says he’s been following your blog for years...because you’re his soul mate.”
She snorted. He could picture the adorable way her nose wrinkled when she made the noise.
“You believe my soul mate wants to duct tape me and leave me on Pikes Peak?” she asked.
A smile played around the corners of his mouth. “I can believe half your blog followers are in love with you.” He set his feet back down and rested his elbows on the desk. “But this guy? No. Something’s off about his whole story. First, he doesn’t fit the typical stalker MO.”
She murmured a throaty agreement. The sound warmed his blood. “And there’s the sagebrush,” she added.
He nodded. “There’s that.”
“Sammy Malcovitch is still locked up, right? Could he pull off something like this? And why now?”
“I don’t know if he could.” Riggen hit a few keys on his keyboard. “But, I agree. Why would he?” Information lit his monitor. “He’s been a model prisoner for the last few years. Seems out of the blue.”
“Great topics to discuss with your ‘Detective Rosche.’” Dismissal crept into Liz’s reply.
“I’d rather discuss them with you.” He ran his finger over the written goodbye. “We didn’t get to talk. Dinner?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea...”
She was shutting down. He didn’t blame her. But he had to do something, even if he wasn’t clear on what.
He hated to admit it, but a tiny shred of hope had been dragged up by Carr’s comments. And that hope was chipping away at the reality by which he had lived for five long years. What if...what if he’d been wrong?
He studied the ceiling. Was he talking himself in or out of this? The only thing he was certain of was that he couldn’t make himself disappear again. Not now that the image from Liz’s phone had been burned into his brain.
“Then just coffee.” He held his breath and bore a hole into the floor below him with his foot as five silent years threatened to suffocate him. “I’d like to do the right thing by you, Lizzy.” Or at least figure out what the right thing is.
The clock taunted him from the wall, ticking the stillness away. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
“I’ll give you half an hour.”
“Great. I’ll pick you—”
“No.” Her refusal exploded in his ear before she continued, her voice layered in resignation and annoyance. “I’ll meet you.”
He’d take it. “Where? When?”
“At our old place. Three o’clock?”
His foot stilled as relief pulsated through his limbs. Relief from what? Confusion strangled him. “I’ll see you then.”
He placed the phone back in the cradle and stared at the mess of mugshots on the memo board. For the briefest of moments, he hoped Carr really did have a better understanding of divine intervention than he did.
* * *
Liz chugged her water bottle and leaned against the marble sink to swipe on one final coat of mascara. She frowned at her reflection in the gilded mirror. Why did she care what she looked like?
Anything the Manitou Springs Police Department needed to speak to her about could easily be handled through the fierce Detective Rosche. There wasn’t a single, solid reason to meet with Riggen.
Besides your conscience.
She groaned and pulled a brush through her hair. The feel of Riggen’s hands as they’d drifted over her head and neck flitted through her mind. The brush fell from her fingers and clattered against the counter. His touch had been careful. Tender. Gentlemanly.
That was probably how he treated anyone in distress. It didn’t mean he still had any feelings for her, and it certainly didn’t mean he knew how to handle relationships with care. If he had cared about her, he would never have abandoned her.
Give him a chance. The thought whispered its way through the widening chinks in her armor. She grabbed her lavender lotion and dumped a blob into her palm.
“Okay, okay. I’ll give him a chance.” She rubbed the soothing scent into her skin. No matter what he’d done, he had a right to know about his son. He’d returned the letter in which she had written of her pregnancy. Unopened. With that awful note attached.
Thirty minutes would be plenty of time. If he wanted any place—and she meant any place—in Lucas’s life, he owed her an explanation.
She walked to her bed and plopped down to send a text to Emily. The T-shirt was too amazing to go unremarked. She wanted to build up her team, even if she wasn’t the official editor yet.
Great job on mock-up! Looking forward to our collaboration.
The message thread blurred, running the words together. She rubbed her clammy hand over her eyes. Today’s stress was too much. The sooner she got out of Manitou, the better.
Emily’s reply landed in her hand and she squinted at it.
Cheers to teamwork! :)
Liz adjusted the thin, blue strap on her romper and bit her lip between her teeth. Just a few more days and the team would be hers. But tonight—she grabbed her purse from the desk as she passed—she’d finally put Riggen’s betrayal behind her.
New job. New start.
Moments later, she was in the enclosed parking garage and pressing Unlock on her key fob. Her Wrangler beeped twice. Just a short drive and she’d be sitting across from Riggen at what had been their favorite restaurant, figuring out what closure looked like. It wasn’t what she had planned on happening when she’d arrived in town. It was surreal.
Their relationship had halted soon after Riggen deployed, along with their plans and their dreams. She’d hung on every call and letter, but then, there was only silence. His phone had been disconnected. His social media and email accounts closed.
After she had received his note, she’d been frantic, even going as far as calling his stepbrother. She’d hit a dead end there. Trevor had refused to give any information. And she’d been hesitant to use her pregnancy as a bargaining chip.
The message was loud and clear: Riggen was finished with her.
Her stomach turned over, filling her mouth with bitterness for the second time that day. Why was she doing this to herself? Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and she grabbed the Jeep door to steady herself. Just get to the restaurant. Get the conversation over. Get home to Lucas.
Peace flooded her. Lucas. His tiny arms would make everything okay. But then her peace was crushed by the thought of Lucas slipping his arms around Riggen’s neck—their identical heads together. Her pulse threatened to match Pikes Peak in elevation.
She climbed into her Jeep and revved the engine. Lucas loved military men. The community lived and breathed them in Colorado Springs. She shoved the gearshift into Reverse and swung from her parking spot. What would her little boy do if his very own G.I. Joe daddy showed up?
She licked her lips as a fine sheen of perspiration broke out across her Cupid’s bow. Her lungs felt like an old balloon unable to inflate. Whatever happened, she couldn’t let Riggen back into her life. He could shatter Lucas’s tender heart into a million pieces.
That was the last thing she’d let happen. Flicking her turn signal, she wiped her lip and turned onto Manitou Avenue. Tourists meandered down sidewalks in the afternoon sun. Two miles down the road, her phone rang, a muffled chirp from inside her purse.
She reached over the armrest, grabbing at her purse, and wrapped her tingling fingers around the strap. The air in the Jeep seemed to be thickening.
Brake lights flashed in front of her and she stomped her brake pedal. Why did her brain feel like a bowl full of dandelion fluff? She blinked hard. Was it possible the paramedics had missed a mild concussion?
She slipped her hand inside her purse and struggled to pull out the phone and hit Speaker. “Hello?”
“Finally.”
Kat.
The band around Liz’s chest tightened again but her mental fog cleared a bit. “What’s wrong?”
Her sister’s exaggerated sigh whooshed into the Jeep. “The landlord wants us out by Friday. Why am I the only one who can do anything?”
“I’ll get the packing done.” Her reply was clipped as she tried to steady her spiraling emotions, but her mind refused to focus. Her sister was right. On the list of responsibility skills, Kat had received the larger portion.
“Sorry, Kat.” She lifted her fingers from the leather steering wheel, the surface wet under her death grip. “I put a deposit on an apartment yesterday. I’ve already got a place for Lucas and me to go. Stop worrying. I’ll be home to pack after this errand.”
“Home?” Kat’s voice cracked. “Home is with family. You should be going with us to California. Not sticking my poor baby boy into a cramped apartment. No yard. No room to play. No family.”
Her sister’s words hammered Liz’s shredded confidence as she slowed for a trolley that was stopping ahead. Squeezing the bridge of her nose, she stopped the fresh tears from filling her eyes.
“I appreciate the home you and John provide us, but we need to strike out on our own. You know? As in not tagging after my big sister anymore.” Liz steeled herself with a breath. “Besides, he’s my baby boy, not yours.”
The sound of a door slamming echoed over the line. “I have to go,” Kat snapped. “We’ll talk tonight.”
The trolley, the traffic and the congested sidewalks blurred around her again as Kat hung up. Zaps of pain prickled her fingers and her phone clattered against the steering wheel as she tried to power it off. She watched in horror as her suddenly lifeless arms fell into her lap like sinking stones.
Everything swam in muddled, panicked confusion. Why couldn’t she see?
The trolley stopped in front of the mineral spring fountain a split second before Liz crashed into the camper in front of her.
FOUR
Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Fifty-seven. Fifty-seven vehicles had passed the Stagecoach restaurant since he’d been seated. None had pulled in. Riggen tilted his wrist and his OLED screen blared the truth. Liz was standing him up.
He crumpled his empty sugar packet and tossed it on the table. His legs ached for a run and he stretched, kicking against the opposite booth. He needed to run. Run until the only thing that remained was the mountain and his own burning muscles.
Pulling his wallet out, he tossed a ten on the table. Liz wasn’t coming. And he completely understood. Half of him even agreed. Scratch that. All of him thought she should run far and fast.
Today had thrown him through the ringer. Now he couldn’t tell which way was up. When he had turned her shattered phone over and seen what had to be his little boy’s face, every atom of his being had wanted to throw caution to the wind and claim his family.
But reality slugged him in the face. Every moment since Iraq had pounded painful reality into him—he was a failure. He didn’t deserve a family. Real fathers protect but his decisions in Baghdad had cost an Iraqi family everything.
And they hadn’t been the only ones. He’d walked his squad into an ambush that had decimated them. Good men, good fathers, who should have gone home to their own families.
So he hadn’t even tried to argue or bargain with God over his injury. It was a punishment he deserved. But not what Liz deserved.
Even so, could he walk away from that phone and its revelation? What was he supposed to do? He hauled himself from the deep cushions of the booth, no closer to an answer than he was when he’d first stared down at that phone screen.
He left his attempt at reconciliation behind and pounded pavement to his SUV. The sound of his name stopped him in his tracks. He turned and searched the crowd. His stepbrother was pushing toward him, his brown eyes dancing with laughter, when a two-kid stroller rammed Trevor’s heels.
Trevor hit the sidewalk and careened to a stop, waving an eight-by-eleven sheet of paper through the air. “I’ve been at the library for a presentation.” His dark blond brows bounced. “We even had some tourists.”
Riggen glanced across Manitou Avenue at the two-story historical building and then back at Trevor.
“For publicity.” His brother landed an arm punch before stuffing the paper in Riggen’s hand. “Can’t build business without advertising.”
Riggen examined the crumpled paper. “Advertising is your area of expertise.” He handed the paper back. “Give me the grunt work any day.”
Trevor deflected Riggen’s words with a wave of his hand. “Soon we’ll see if our efforts have made a difference. I’d love to get you off the force and working full-time for the family business.”
Trevor packed the flier into his shoulder bag before continuing. “It’s what Dad would have wanted.” He slipped his aviators down his nose. “You don’t look so great. You doing okay?”
All the frustration of the day bubbled up; Riggen flexed his fingers to keep his nails from biting into his palm. Maybe it was years of frustration threatening to overflow.
Trevor stepped back. His forehead scrunched. “That bad?”
“Liz is back.”
Understanding sparked in his brother’s eyes. “Ah.”
The radio chirped from its perch on Riggen’s shoulder and he nodded down the street to where his SUV was parallel parked. “I need to get back to it.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Trevor fell in step.
“It’s more than Liz, though.” Riggen swallowed as they covered the distance, weaving through the constant human flow. This morning he’d been a man walking out his sentence. Alone. Now he was the last thing he had ever expected to be—a father.
“She has a son.”
Trevor stopped and placed a hand on Riggen’s arm. “Your son?”
There was no doubt. “If I had known...”
Trevor’s eye twitched. “She called, looking for you after your injury. I knew you had wanted to cut off contact... You know how much I disagreed with you. ’Bout killed me, but I stood by you.” He wiped an errant strand of blond hair from his face. “I never mentioned it. Thought it’d be easier for you.” Trevor squeezed his arm, his eyes darkening. “I had no idea she was pregnant.”
Riggen shook his head and resumed walking. The entire situation was impossible.
Trevor jogged to keep up. “You’ll just have to show her—” his voice cracked “—that there’s nothing more important than family.”
Pain ripped through Riggen’s chest. It had been their father’s motto. Reverend Price had been more family to Riggen than any blood relative ever could have been.
The reverend and Trevor had adopted him into their home when he’d been a scared kid watching his young mom’s life slowly wilt. Their love had transformed him from neglected to accepted.
Now, their father was gone from a heart attack. Riggen’s throat burned. It had happened when he was in Iraq. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. Now he and Trevor were all each other had. Trevor’s support meant more than he could express.
“Don’t worry about this week’s excursion. I’ll cover it.” Trevor kicked out one sandaled foot. “These feet are good for more than running numbers. But we’ll have to postpone any more bookings until after next week. I’m at the expo this weekend.”
Riggen cracked a smile before closing the door and rolling down the window. “I appreciate it.”
Dispatch broke across the line again. This time it was for him. Riggen tilted his head to listen as Trevor walked away. Traffic accident. He’d wrap this up, grab Yakub from the station, and head home for the night.
Liz had made it clear she wasn’t ready to figure things out. He pulled into the flow of traffic and turned on lights and sirens. Cars filtered to the shoulder. He just needed to recoup. Run it out and puzzle ou
t the next step.
Pray about it. He shook the thought from his mind. God had drawn a line in Iraqi sand. Not that Riggen had ever tried talking to Him before. That was Dad’s thing. Besides, if God hadn’t wanted him to have a family, He probably wouldn’t approve if Riggen tried to skirt that line now.
No matter what, he had a responsibility to his son. Did that include being present in his life? That was an answer he didn’t have. Whatever he decided, he had to handle it with care. That little boy was the only shot he’d ever have at being a father.
Tourists crowded the crosswalk ahead. He tooted the sirens and they cleared. Smoke billowed from the next block.
Pedestrians surrounded the scene of the accident. A barrier of human curiosity. Some had their phones out, recording. He pulled up and blared the horn. As they slithered away, he could see a Jeep smashed into the back of a camper. The driver’s door hung open on the Jeep and the driver was slumped over the crooked steering wheel.
Coffee soured in his stomach when he saw the familiar, bright, caramel-blond hair that spilled onto the dashboard.
* * *
Throbbing pain accompanied any attempt at coherent thought, but Liz had to try. It was such a struggle to open her eyes. Dim fluorescents shone down on her and she squirmed, trying to remember. Soft hands feathered her forehead.
“How you feeling?” A woman’s soothing voice calmed the thump of her heart.
Running her tongue over her cracked lips, Liz tested her voice. “Like I’ve been in the ring with a grizzly?” But, no, that couldn’t be why she was there. Right?
The nurse laughed, the sound tinkling like wind chimes in the breeze, and pulled a medical chart from the bottom of the hospital bed. “No grizzly, but you did get hit with a beastly cocktail.”
Liz pushed herself up onto one elbow. The pillow gave way and she crashed back into the rock-hard bed. Her nurse laid down the file and knelt beside her, pushing a series of buttons. Suddenly, Liz was sitting upright without exertion.
Treacherous Mountain Investigation Page 4