Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  "All right. I'll have my cell phone if you change your mind. I'm not leaving for an hour."

  She dragged her feet a little, but she grabbed the pot, moved to the counter where Mac sat waiting for his pancakes.

  "You and Joanie having a round?"

  "Hmmm? Oh no, nothing like that." She poured the coffee. "I just stopped by. Day off."

  "That so? Big plans?"

  "Yes. Sort of. Linda-gail and I are going into Jackson."

  "Shopping spree, huh?"

  "Probably some of that." Linda-gail had certainly threatened it. "I'm getting my hair cut."

  "Going all the way to Jackson for a haircut?" Fist loyalty had him frowning. "We've got the Curry Comb right here in town."

  The Curry Comb was a two-chair establishment that ran to buzz cuts and poodle perms. But Reece smiled a little as she passed him the sugar bowl. "Sounds silly, doesn't it? Linda-gail says we're going to have a splurge. I really don't need to."

  "Get out." Joanie delivered the pancakes with the side of elk sausage herself.

  "I'm leaving." Reece picked up her purse, and the file folder she'd brought along. "I thought I'd show the sketch Doc made while I'm there. You still haven"t come across anyone who recognizes her?"

  As was her habit, Reece took one of the copies out, showed it to Mac again.

  "Nope. Got it posted right there at the front counter at the store, in case.

  "I appreciate that. Well, Jackson's a big place." Reece slipped the sketch back in the folder. "Maybe I'll have better luck there."

  "Don't come whining back here if they scalp you over there,"Joanie called out. Then barked with laughter when Reece paled. "Serve you right if they did, not spending your pay here in the Fist. You be here at six sharp tomorrow morning, whatever you look like."

  ""Could always wear a hat. Mac suggested.

  "Thanks. Thanks a lot. I'm leaving."

  She sailed out. and made sure she was out of sight of the big trout window before she raked a hand through her hair. She'd make Linda-gail go first, hang back, get the lay of the land. She didn't have to get her hair cut. It was a choice, an option.

  A possibility.

  But going into Jackson was a good idea, and gave her the opportunity to pass out copies of the sketch. There hadn't been a single hit on it in the Fist. Excluding Liquor Store Jeff's claim that it looked like Penelope Cruz.

  If the woman had been traveling through the area, the odds were better she'd swung into a bigger, flashier place like Jackson Hole than the small, scraped knuckles of Angel's Fist.

  Now, since she had a little time to spare and didn't want to spend it obsessing about her hair, she walked down to the sheriff's office.

  It had been nearly a week since she'd asked Sheriff Mardson if he'd learned anything new. Of course, she'd been spending a lot of that week working, or in Brody's bed. But thanks to the distractions, Mardson couldn't accuse her of nagging him.

  When she walked in, Hank O'Brian was at Dispatch. He had a full black beard, a fondness for chicken-fried steak and a Shoshone grandmother who was a local legend for her pottery.

  At the moment. Hank was drinking coffee with one hand and pecking at his keyboard with the other. He glanced over. How you doing there. Reece?"

  "Good, thanks. How's your grandmother?"

  "Got herself a boyfriend. Tribal elder lost his wife a year or so back. Guy's ninety-three and sniffing around, bringing her flowers and candy. I don't know what to make of it."

  "That's sweet." But since he looked pained, she added, "And she's got you to look out for her. I wonder it the sheriff's busy? I just wanted to—"

  Even as she spoke, she heard the trill of laughter. Mardson walked out hand in hand with his wife.

  That was sweet, too, Rcece thought. The way people looked together when they were together. Mardson had an easy smile on his face, and Debbie was still laughing, swinging their joined hands a little as they walked.

  She was a pretty, athletic-looking blonde with short tousled hair and emerald green eyes. She wore snug jeans, chestnut brown cowboy boots and a red shirt under a faded denim jacket. A pendant at the end of a sparkling gold chain hung around her neck. A shining sun, Reece noted. Pretty.

  Debbie ran the outfitters On the Trail, next door to the hotel, helped arrange hiking tours with the hotel, sold fishing and hunting licenses. And was tight with Brenda. Sunday afternoons, she brought her two girls into Joanie's for ice cream.

  She sent Reece a quick, friendly smile. "Hi! I thought you were heading into Jackson Hole today."

  "Urn, well, yeah. Later."

  "I ran into Linda-gail yesterday. Big plans. Getting your hair cut? It's so pretty—but it gets in the way, I bet when you're at the grill. Still, men like long hair on a woman, don't they? Poor Rick," she said with another laugh. "I'm always having mine chopped off."

  "I like it just fine." He leaned down to peck her cheek, flicked a finger at the ends of her hair. "You're my sunlight."

  "Listen to him." Smiling, Debbie bumped Rick, arm against arm. "Sweet-talking. And after I came in to try to talk him into taking an hour off and taking a ride with me. Turned me down flat."

  "Not all of us can play hooky. This woman gets on a horse, and an hour lasts half the day. Something I can do for you. Reece?" Rick. asked her.

  ""I thought I'd stop by before I left, just to see if you found out anything new." She waited a beat, then pulled out one of the sketches. "On her."

  "Wish I could say I had. No reports in this area of a missing person matching her description. And nobody recognizes her. Not much more I can do."

  "No. Well. I know you ve done what you could. Maybe I'll have some luck in Jackson. I'm going to show the sketch around while I'm there."

  "I'm not going to tell you not to." Rick said slowly. "But you need to understand—and nothing against Doc—but that's a pretty rough sketch. Without more details, you're liable to run into a lot of people who'll think maybe they've seen somebody like her. You'll end up chasing a lot of wild geese.

  "You're probably right." Reece put the sketch away and didn't miss the look on Debbie's face. It there was one thing Reece recognized, it was quiet pity. "I feel like I have to try at least. I'd better go. Thanks, Sheriff. It was nice seeing you. Debbie, Bye, Hank."

  She felt the heat rising up the back of her neck as she walked out. Because in addition to the pity aimed her way, she knew there was speculation mixed in with it.

  Just how crazy was Reece Gilmore?

  Screw it. Just screw it, she told herself as she walked back to Joanie's to get her car. She wasn't going to pretend she didn't see what she'd seen, wasn't going to stuff the sketches in some drawer and forget about it.

  And she wasn't going to let it drag her down, not today.

  Today she was going to town and getting her hair done.

  God help her.

  THE SAGE FLATS were waiting to bloom. Reece thought she could almost hear them take that deep, long inhale that would burst into color on the exhale.

  A trio of pelicans soared in military formation over the marsh, but it was her first sight of a coyote on its slinking lope over the flats that had her telling Linda-gail to stop the car.

  Though Linda-gail called it an oversized rat, she indulged Reece.

  "He looks so predatory."

  "Sneaky bastards" was Linda-gail's opinion.

  "Maybe, but I'd like to hear one howl like in the movies."

  "I nearly forgot you're a city girl. Weather warms enough to keep the windows open at night, you can hear them sometimes."

  "I'll put that on my list. Thanks for stopping for the city girl."

  "No problem." Then they were zooming down the road toward Jackson Hole, with Martina McBride's powerhouse voice aptly claiming this one for the girls.

  IF REECE CONSIDERED Angel's Fist a rough and interesting little diamond, Jackson was big and polished and faceted with its fashionable western flair and colorful neon. Shops and restaurants and galleries spread
with wooden boardwalks and busy streets. And people were busy on them, heading somewhere, Reece supposed. Maybe a stop in town before visiting one of the great parks now that summer was nearly here.

  Some of the people would be in town for supplies, a lunch date, a business meeting.

  Thriving, she thought, alive and active it was. But beyond the structures and speed or civilization planted here, white-frosted mountains stood in dazzling splendor. They dwarfed what man had made, and shone brighter than jewels in the blaze of the sun.

  It took Reece less than two minutes to understand that though the views were breath-stealing, she'd made a better choice with Angel's Fist.

  Too many people here, she decided. Too much going on at once. Hotels, motels, recreation centers, winter sports, summer sports, real estate offices.

  She was barely inside the town limits when she wanted out again.

  "This is going to be fun!" Linda-gail swung through traffic as if it were a carnival ride. "If you're feeling a little anxious or whatever, just close your eyes."

  "And miss seeing the crash?"

  "I'm a terrific driver." Linda-gail proved it by threading between an SUV and a motorcycle, waving cheerily at the drivers, then zipping around a corner on a yellow light. "I think I might go red."

  "I think I've already gone green. Linda—"

  "Nearly there. We should do a serious splurge sometime, book the full enchilada at one of the day spas. They have amazing spas here. I want someone to slather me with mud and rub me with herbs and—holy shit, a parking place!"

  She zoomed toward it, a heat-seeking missile in a Ford Bronco. Reece's anxiety over the crowd, the traffic, her hair, all vanished, swallowed up by the terror of certain death.

  Before she could babble out a prayer, they were parked at the curb. "It's a couple more blocks, but you never know. Besides, you'll see a little of the place if we walk."

  "I think I've lost all use of my lower body."

  On a giggle, Linda-gail gave Reece a poke. "Come on. Let's go get us some new do's."

  Reece's legs might have trembled, but they got her to the sidewalk. "How many tickets do you rack up a year? No, how many vehicles do you wrack up annually?"

  On a cluck of her tongue, Linda-gail hooked her arm through Reece's. "Don't be such an old lady. Oh my God, look! Just look at that jacket!" She dragged Reece to a shop window to stare avariciously at a leather jacket in rich melted chocolate brown. "It looks so soft. Probably costs a zillion dollars. Let's go try it on. No, we'll be late. We'll try it on with our new hair."

  "I don't have a zillion dollars."

  "Neither do I, but it doesn't cost a thing to play with it. Snug cut like that, it'll look better on you than me, which is a pisser. Still, if I had a zillion, it'd be mine."

  "I think I need to go lie down."

  "You'll be fine. And if you get shaky, I've got a flask in my purse."

  "You—" Reece stuttered a bit as Linda-gail pulled her along. "A flask of what?"

  "Apple martinis, in case you need something to take the edge off. Or even for the hell of it. Mmmm, giddyup. Check it out."

  With her head spinning, Reece turned it in the direction Linda-gail indicated and spotted the tall, lanky cowboy in boots, Levis and Stetson

  "Slurp" was Linda-gail's opinion.

  "I thought you were in love with Lo.

  "Have been, am, will be. But it's like the jacket, honey. Don't cost a nickel to look. I take it you've been more than looking with Brody. Is the sex amazing?"

  "I may actually need that martini if this keeps up."

  "Just tell me one thing. Does his ass look as good naked as it does in jeans?"

  "Yes, yes, I can tell you that it does."

  "I knew it. Here we are." She got a tinner hold of Reece's arm and pulled her inside.

  She didn't reach for the flask, though it was tempting, and in the time they waited for their stylists. Reece nearly balked a halt a dozen times.

  But she learned something.

  It wasn't as bad as it had been the last time she tried. The walls didn't seem so close together, or the sounds so harsh they made her heart palpitate. And when her stylist introduced himself as Serge, she didn't burst into tears and sprint for the door.

  He had the slightest Slavic accent, and a winning smile that faded into concern when he took her hand. "Baby doll, your hands are like ice. Let's get you a nice cup of herbal tea. Nan! We need a cup of chamomile. And you just come with me."

  She went along like a puppy.

  He had her seated at his station, swathed in a mint green cape—and his hands in her hair before her brain engaged again.

  "I'm not sure I—"

  "Gorgeous texture, and so thick! Very healthy. You take care of it."

  "I guess I do."

  "But where's the style? The flair? Look at this face, and all this hair like a curtain blocking it. What would you like today? '

  "I… Honestly, I don't know. I didn't think I'd get this far."

  "Tell me about yourself. No rings? Single?"

  "Yes. Yes."

  "Fancy free. And from back East somewhere."

  "Boston."

  "Mmm-hmm." He continued to lift her hair, let it fall, study it. "And what is it you do, my angel?"

  "I cook. I'm a cook." Something inside her started to purr as his hands massaged her scalp, played with her hair. "I work with Linda-gail. Is she going to be nearby?"

  "She's fine. We don't see nearly enough of her in here." And with that winning smile, he met Reece's eyes in the mirror. "Trust me?"

  "I… Oh God. Okay. But do you have any Valium to put in that tea?"

  SHE'D FORGOTTEN THIS, the indulgence of it. Hands in her hair, soothing tea, glossy magazines, the chatter of primarily female voices.

  She was getting highlights, because Serge wanted her to. She probably couldn't afford highlights, but she was getting them. At some point in the process, Linda-gail trotted up, her hair slathered in product and covered with plastic.

  "Vixen Red," she announced. "I'm going for it. I'm squeezing in a manicure. Want one?"

  "No. No, I can't take any more."

  But she actually drowsed over her copy of Vogue until it was time for the shampoo. And the cut.

  "So now, tell me about the man in your life." Serge began to clip and snip. "You must have one."

  "I guess I do." My God, she had a man in her life. "He's a writer. We're just really starting to be together."

  "Lust. Excitement. Discovery."

  A smile flickered over her face. "Exactly. He's smart, self-reliant and likes my cooking. He… well, he masks this incredible patience under pithy comments. He doesn't treat me like I'm breakable, and people-were, for too long. And because he doesn't, I don't think of myself that way as much. As breakable. Oh, I forgot this."

  Serge lifted the scissors when she leaned forward for the file. "I wonder if you recognize this woman."