Treacherous Mountain Investigation

by Stephanie M. Gammon

  “Nothing.” Riggen shrugged off his questions and stared out the window. If his brother didn’t know anything, this conversation was useless. “You in Denver already?”

  “Got in last night.” A knock sounded across the line. “Look, I gotta go. I’m meeting up with some folks before I put the finishing touches on the Price Adventure Excursion display.”

  Riggen sat straight. “No problem. I’ll come see your hard work. I’m here with Liz.”

  “Really?” Trevor’s surprise jolted over the line. “Let’s do lunch then.”

  “Sure thing. See you later.” Riggen hung up and squeezed the bridge of his nose. If Trevor didn’t know why Kris was on their property, what had the woman been doing?

  THIRTEEN

  Liz sat cross-legged in the middle of her queen-size bed. She punched her keyboard and her laptop’s monitor lit up. She wasn’t ready to leave yet and time was slipping away, but she needed to clear her head.

  Why hadn’t Riggen had a good answer to her question? Or any answer? And why was she letting feelings for him resurface? Caring for him was like hugging a grizzly bear. Warm and fuzzy until her heart got mauled.

  Words were cheap. He’d disappeared for five years and only reappeared when he had a son in the picture. It was the height of stupidity to trust him again.

  She groaned and pulled the computer up onto her lap. Distract. Abort. Replace. The words flashed like neon in her mind. If she went ’round-and-’round about this, she’d dive through the mental door labeled Distress. That wasn’t going to happen. Time for research.

  If Dupree was behind these threats, then how was she connected to the Sagebrush? Liz shut her eyes, picturing the tall blonde with the piercing blue eyes.

  Nothing about Kris had put her on guard. Not a single detail had seemed out of place. Pulling up the back end of her web site, Liz navigated to the spammed comment section. Alex still hadn’t gotten back to them, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take a look.

  She clicked on the comment and read it again.

  Your fifteen minutes has come to an end.

  She checked the email address associated with it: pikespeakmustangs@denmail.com.

  Something danced along the edge of her memory. She pressed fingers to her eyes. She couldn’t grab hold of it. Shoving her laptop aside, she untangled her legs and climbed from the bed to pace the patterned floor.

  Pikes Peak Mustangs. The phrase stirred something. Connections lit her brain like a Christmas tree. She plopped into a bright red armchair and stared at the paisley wallpaper that peeked from behind her tufted headboard. Pikes Peak Mustangs.

  Was this the missing connection? Dupree plus Pikes Peak Mustangs? Her phone buzzed and she hung over the chair’s arm to grab it. Text message from Riggen.

  Dupree apartment searched. She’s gone. Could be abduction.

  She stared at the message while thoughts continued to rearrange themselves. Pictures and data points swirled together so fast she couldn’t consciously follow them. Dupree plus Pikes Peak Mustangs equals what? Where had she heard the combination?

  She shot from her chair to the bed like an eagle after prey, swooping down on her laptop to pull up old files. Five-year-old files—all the research she’d done on the Sagebrush.

  She had ridiculous amounts of information. These files represented her outlet. The obsessive research had been her way of fighting the terror she had felt when Riggen deployed.

  She chewed on the end of the hotel pen. All the rabbit trails she had gone down were listed for her in alphabetical order. There was partially related information along with information that had nothing at all to do with Malcovitch or the Sagebrush.

  Excitement swarmed her. For once, her fight against anxiety had paid off. There it was. The file labeled “Area History.” Her eyes strained as they flew over the document. She couldn’t wait to tell Riggen what she’d found.

  * * *

  Liz bounced on the gray cushions next to him as late-afternoon travelers swarmed through the Kimpton’s lobby. Riggen sent off a text to Rosche and turned to face his ex-fiancée. She was so close, the tips of their noses touched. “You really did your homework on the Sagebrush.”

  “I needed something to distract me.” She leaned away and slid a gold bangle up and down her arm, not meeting his eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “But the connection between Dupree and Malcovitch is circumstantial.”

  Her chest heaved as she opened her mouth to reply. Then she pitched forward to pull her shoulder bag from the floor by their feet. Yanking out her laptop, she pounded a few keys and thrust the device his way.

  “They didn’t just attend the same high school. Look at this.” She jabbed a newspaper headline that filled the computer screen. “Circumstantial but compelling. Who knows why Malcovitch and Dupree reconnected. Maybe they never left each other’s lives. But for some reason, Kris Dupree is taking up Malcovitch’s cause and coming after me.”

  Riggen studied the computer. A teenage Malcovitch and Dupree stood arm-in-arm as Manitou Springs’ homecoming king and queen. The school’s mascot mustangs were painted on a full-size mural behind them. He nodded slowly. “Pikes Peak Mustangs.”

  “Exactly. The email address was their school mascot.”

  In the fifteen-year-old, black-and-white photo, Kris’s hair was dark as night. No wonder Liz hadn’t recognized her.

  He handed the laptop back. “So, we have a link between Dupree and Malcovitch. We have the email address that could be an emotional nod to their teenage glory days. And we have the lowlife sitting in El Paso jail, pointing the finger her direction. But if Kris is the mastermind behind the whole thing, then who ransacked her place? And where is she?”

  Liz wrapped a strand of hair around her finger and shrugged. “Maybe she did it herself to throw off suspicion?”

  “Then why leave the phone?”

  “Accident?” she asked. “There’s something else bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged and retrieved her laptop, sticking it in her bag. “I can’t place my finger on it, but I feel as though I haven’t remembered everything. Something’s still out there. Tickling the back of my brain.”

  He cupped a hand over her knee. “It’ll come to you.”

  She pulled away from his touch. Her eyes narrowed. “So if she faked an abduction to throw us off track, where do we look next?”

  “I think the question Rosche will be following now is, has Kris been masterminding this alone or was she collaborating with Malcovitch?”

  Liz nodded.

  He sent off a last text to Rosche. “It’s time she finds out what Sammy Malcovitch has to say.”

  * * *

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, Liz stood back to gaze at her finished product. Six months of work had gone into the decorated fabric walls and folding tables of the American Travel advertising booth.

  But it was so much more. It was five years of blood and sweat and grueling uphill climbs as she had built her platform. Each step had led her to this moment.

  She stuck her chest out and raised her chin to the ceiling, shivering as a bolt of sheer delight tickled her spine. That was her Pikes Peak panorama underneath the American Travel logo. When Kimberly East arrived, the job would be in the bag.

  “Where would you like these T-shirts?” Emily Bancroft broke into Liz’s thoughts and hefted a box of black T-shirts with Liz’s Pikes Peak design onto the front table. Emily cocked a hip on the edge and waited.

  “In the corner by the freebie stylus pens.”

  Emily nodded. They worked well together. Liz wouldn’t have a problem bringing her new team on board with her vision when the job was hers.

  From what she’d seen, each person, Emily especially, was competent and talented. Liz licked suddenly dry lips and clasped her hands together to
keep from clapping. In a few short days, she’d take the editorial reins.

  All around her, the conference center buzzed with excitement. It almost matched hers. She bounced on the balls of her feet and pivoted, looking for Riggen in the chaos. Emily could finish the last-minute details.

  If she didn’t share this moment with someone, she was going to burst. She wouldn’t let the fact that it had to be Riggen ruin it.

  There he was, leaning against the perimeter wall, his eyes locked on her. His lips tipped up when their eyes met.

  That smile sent her insides into a warning dance. Maybe she should just hold her excitement inside. Or share it with Emily. It was too late. He was striding her way, weaving through the bustle of activity without once breaking eye contact.

  Breathe. Her internal dance exploded into a frenzy. He shouldn’t be able to do this. Not with one smile. She fisted her hands at her sides and dug her knuckles into her hip bone until her heart hit normal rhythm again.

  “Do you want to grab a bite before the fun starts?” His voice rumbled over the surrounding chatter.

  “Sure.”

  He nodded toward the far corner of the convention center. “Trevor has a booth for Price Adventure Excursions. Want to walk over?”

  “Sure.” She pushed the word out a second time and tried to ignore the way he was looking at her.

  Emily cleared her throat behind them. It was enough to jolt her from the gray hypnosis of Riggen’s eyes. Familiar heat spread from her neck into her face.

  She turned to Emily. “Riggen, this is Emily Bancroft, researcher extraordinaire for the American Travel team.” Riggen reached out his free hand. “And Emily, this is my...my...” She stuttered to a stop.

  Riggen took Emily’s hand. “Her old friend, Riggen Price.”

  Friend?

  “Nice to meet you, Riggen Price.” Emily’s face split with a smile and Liz rolled her internal eyes. She’d forgotten Riggen’s effect on other women.

  She cupped a hand around his arm. Her fingers barely reached halfway around, but she squeezed and pulled him from the booth.

  He rested his warm palm on the small of her back and pointed out several vendors that they passed. Some provided tours, some offered accommodations, and some—like American Travel—supplied entertainment and education.

  The amusement in his voice had nothing to do with how she had pulled him away from Emily. She cringed. That’s what she’d keep telling herself.

  “This looks amazing.” Riggen stopped, his voice now awed. They looked up at an orange inflatable river raft that was hanging from the ceiling with Price Adventure Excursions stamped across the side in bright blue lettering.

  Trevor picked himself up from the floor and stretched his back. “Thanks.” Tightening a figure-eight knot in the rope he was tying, he nodded at Liz. “Good to see you.”

  Was it? Liz bit back the memory of his brush-off and forced out a smile.

  “We’re going to lunch.” Riggen tilted his watch. “There’s a good forty minutes until this starts. You in?”

  “Let’s do it.” Trevor ducked under the raft and followed them into the wide aisle that separated the vendors.

  Liz gawked at Riggen. The thought of lunch with both Prices churned her empty stomach. “I’m sure Trevor has last-minute details he doesn’t need distracting from.” She edged away from the men toward the main entrance.

  “Nah. I’m pretty much set,” Trevor replied.

  Riggen stood between them, a confused look on his face. How long would it take to get this through his head? She didn’t need or want him making plans for her.

  He bent down and whispered into her ear. “You okay?” The low vibrato added to her irritation.

  Why bother explaining? He’d be gone soon and then it wouldn’t matter. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Let’s get this on the road, then. We don’t have much time.”

  His eyebrows arched but he turned anyway to lead them from the room. Instead of heading for the main entrance, he took them through a series of doors and hallways until they finally pushed through a heavy metal door.

  Liz stumbled outside and blinked at the sudden burst of sunlight. The orange brick of the Denver Fire Department towered in front of them.

  Trevor emerged behind her. “Are we avoiding paparazzi?”

  “Just staying safe.” Riggen grabbed her hand and started toward the street. “I hear Denver Diner has a killer open-faced roast beef sandwich.”

  The clink and crash of dishes crescendoed around them as they entered the busy diner. There was a single table open in the back corner and Riggen led the way.

  When they’d ordered, Liz sipped her Coke and eyed Trevor, annoyed with herself. She might not like being stuck with the Prices, but she didn’t have to act like a child. She pushed out a smile and knocked ice around with her straw. “You’ve got a stellar booth and should have customers eating out of your hand. Hopefully it’ll help your slump. It just doesn’t make sense to me, though. Prime tourist area like the Springs?”

  Trevor leaned back as a waitress set down a foot-tall hamburger. He gripped the sandwich with both hands and shrugged. “Nature of the business, I guess. We’ll figure it out.”

  She caught the movement of Riggen’s head as he nodded agreement. Maybe Price Adventure Excursions would turn around if Trevor’s booth was a success and Riggen really did have an idea sliding around the back of his Bronco with that stack of files.

  Trevor wiped a spot of mayo from his mouth and tapped his phone screen. The time flashed. He stood, slurping his pop. “I do actually have a few last-minute details to finish. See you back there?”

  They both nodded and Liz drew in her ketchup with a fry as she watched him leave. Riggen’s hand landed on hers right before he stole her fry. He chomped on the ketchup-laden potato. “Nervous?”

  She nodded, her mind back on the night ahead of her. “It’s such a big deal. This job is everything I need. Remote position with minimal travel. With the salary they’re offering, I’ll be able to afford a sitter when needed.”

  “Then let’s go ace it.”

  * * *

  Pedestrians congested the crosswalk. He’d never been a city boy. He could think of a million places he’d rather be than Denver on a Friday night, but as the crowd pushed Liz closer to him, Riggen savored the moment.

  His shoulder brushed hers and she looked up. Her eyes danced with excitement. Sure, it was excitement for tonight, and not for him, but his pulse still skipped. The light clicked yellow. He jerked. He had a job to do.

  Vehicles sped down the highway. Multiple lanes of traffic separated them from the convention center. Wind swirled between the high-rise buildings, pushing them against the sidewalk and the crowd of pedestrians pulsated with life in the dimming evening light. As the walk light flashed, the moving mass marched as one.

  Loud whining caught his attention. He scanned the road and pulled Liz against his side, squinting into the lanes of stopped traffic. He knew that sound—gears squealing through shift changes.

  There it was. A motorcycle burst between two lanes of traffic and bounced into the intersection, heading straight at them.

  Screams rent the air. The human mass shattered into a hundred individuals, each running a different direction. Liz’s fingers crushed his and they sprinted toward the fire station, dodging the fleeing mob.

  He weaved around pedestrians, pushing through the confusion. An elderly man fell to his knees to the right of them and Liz ripped her hand away, running to the man and dropping to the pavement at his side. Riggen sprinted to them both and pulled the man back to his feet.

  The squeal of tires screeched behind them. It was getting closer. “Liz!” he shouted as he dropped the man’s arm.

  She blanched, looking over his shoulder. “He’s coming!”

  He turned. The bike zigzagged through do
wned bodies and running people, its rider concealed under a black helmet. People leaped from his path.

  Liz wasn’t watching where she was going. She stumbled, crashing to the pavement. Her head bounced against the curb. Riggen’s stomach dropped. Blood trickled over her eye. Get up! She scrambled back to her feet.

  Riggen vaulted onto the curb and tugged Liz behind him. The station’s garage doors were open. Just a hundred more feet.

  Liz hunched to the side, whimpering, her head in her hand.

  “You can do it!” he shouted.

  The biker jumped the curb. Grass and mud shot into the air. The engine idled for the briefest moment as its rider aimed the bike.

  There was no doubt now, the biker was here for Liz.

  Riggen launched at Liz, scooping her into his arms. His legs screamed as he pushed them to run faster and harder than ever before.

  He heaved her the last few feet to safety, his lungs on fire. Plunging into the open garage, they rolled out of reach just as the bike rocketed past at breakneck speed.

  FOURTEEN

  The ice pack was melting. Liz tossed it on the ground as rivulets of water ran down her face. At least it had calmed her insides, which had been simmering like a hot spring ready to bubble over.

  She struggled to sit upright. The paisley walls of her suite twirled, churning the lunch that was already threatening to make a reappearance. She closed her eyes until the room stopped spinning.

  Riggen was pacing but he paused to push a tissue into her hand. She pushed it away, every sense on overload. Her mind was too full.

  The steady stream of insanity was suffocating her. The paisley walls were closing in. It was too much to process and helplessness clawed her throat, squeezing her hope until her breath came in short, gasped puffs. She clutched a velvet throw pillow to her chest and stared at Riggen, her eyes beginning to burn. “This has to end.”

  He lowered himself to the floor and leaned back against the couch. “Denver PD can’t track down the biker. No license plate. No facial ID from surveillance cameras.”