Double Blind 292f37

DOUBLE BLIND

Published by Reputation Books

www.reputationbooksllc.com

Copyright © 2002 by D. P. Lyle

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in manner whatever without written permission from Reputation Books, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, publisher at [email protected].

Book design by Lisa Abellera

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Catag-In Publication Data (TK)

ISBN-13: 978-1-944387-29-7 (paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-1-944387-30-3 (ebook)

Reputation Books Second Edition: September 2021

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the help of many trusted friends. The of my writing group: Roger, Ticky, Vicki, Anna, Darwin, Christi, and Cheryl. The always excellent advice from my fellow Fictionaires. My designated readers: Aunt Nancy, Janny, Jimmy, Bobbie, Hawk, Sparky, Tootie, Roxy, and Mikey, who read every draft under duress. Miss Megan who helped with the totally awesome rave culture speak. And of course, Nan and our feline “kids,” Missy, Peanut and Bennie.

It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand aside; but to climb back again, to retrace one’s steps to the upper air-there’s the rub, the task.

from The Aeneid

Virgil

CHAPTER 1

Satisfied, he placed the journal on the floor beside his cot and eyed the objects that lay beside him on the gray wool blanket. This is it, he thought. The moment he had planned for two months.

He picked up the syringe, held it to the light, and gently rotated it between two fingers, examining the amber liquid inside. Despite the snow and the cold February wind that lashed at the exterior of the cinder block building, it felt warm inside. A trickle of sweat eased down his neck. He laid the syringe aside, planted his elbows on his knees, rocked forward, and buried his sweat-slicked face in his equally damp hands. He swallowed hard, attempting to suppress the uneasy feeling that wound around his gut.

No, this wasn’t the time for self-doubt. He had thought this through, every contingency considered.

The air seemed thick and sweet and his heart thumped almost audibly as he stretched the rubber surgical tubing tightly around his arm. Three pumps of his fist and a thick purple vein swelled in the soft recess of his elbow. After a quick swipe with an alcohol swab, he felt only a slight sting as the beveled needle slid beneath his skin and popped into the distended vessel. He released the tourniquet and smoothly depressed the syringe’s plunger, sweeping the sallow liquid forward. A warm, paresthetic tingling crept up his arm and into his chest. He yanked the needle free, placed a dry cotton ball over the puncture site, and folded his arm across his chest.

Closing his eyes, he lay back on his cot, unsure what to expect. Breathing slowly and deeply, he willed himself to relax. His heartbeat, if a little stronger than

usual, remained steady. A vague twinge of nausea rose in his gut and a fine patina of cold sweat frosted his skin. These sensations slowly receded and he felt his anxiety slip away.

It was five minutes before the first wave of fever and shaking chills racked him. His lips, his hands, and then his entire body shook and a new, stronger wave of nausea gripped him. An acidic burning swelled in his chest and pushed upward into his throat. Sweat poured from every pore, his breath a series of ragged gasps, and his heart fluttered an irregular rhythm.

Just as the fear that he might die swelled within him, the fever and chills began to dissipate. He laid there, his sweat-soaked shirt pasted to his skin. Exhaustion pressed him into the cot’s thin mattress. Thank God that’s over, he thought.

Then, the second wave struck.

He endured four more episodes of burning fevers and icy chills, gripping nausea and soaking sweats, each mercifully milder than the previous one, until finally they abated and fatigue pulled him into a deep exhausted sleep.

CHAPTER 2

The rider urged his horse forward, up a slight rise in the valley floor. Reaching the higher vantage point, he tugged at the reins, bringing the high-spirited roan to a halt.

Spring had barely taken its first breath and the soil remained firm, with patches of ice and snow in the sheltered dips of the terrain, relics of last week’s storm. Islands of gray brown grass, mangled by months of harsh weather, displayed the slightest hint of green. April, a transition month in the Colorado mountains, seemed always unpredictable. Above him, the peaks of the San Juans retained a jealous hold on their snowcaps and the air was heavy with the promise of even more snow.

The horse pawed at the frozen turf and tested the air with flaring nostrils, each breath exhaled in a white mist. The rider gently caressed the sweat-matted hair of its neck, attempting to calm the animal. Its head jerked against the reins as if anxious to continue the chase.

The rider looked westward, where the sun had dipped behind the ragged peaks, and now only faintly brightened the hammered pewter clouds that canopied the deep valley. Fat snowflakes flew by his face and the cold northerly wind bit at his cheeks. Night would come quickly. It always did in this valley, especially on early spring days like this. It was as if the same gravity that pulled the snowmelt from the peaks into graceful waterfalls, tugged the clouds downward, muting the sun’s glow, deepening the shadows.

Only an hour of decent light left, the man thought.

He lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his thick blonde hair, then reseated the Stetson with a tug. Standing high in the stirrups, he scanned the rolling meadow before him.

He called on all his hunting skills. Skills honed by years of tracking deer, elk, bear. He knew their habits and strengths and weaknesses. He knew, even before they did, which evasive measures they would employ and what maneuvers he must make to bring them into his cross hairs. After many years and hundreds of hunts, these skills came naturally, without conscious effort.

But a man was a different kind of animal.

A man, unarmed and running for his life, should be easier prey. No God-given speed or strength or camouflage or animal instincts to aid his escape. Driven by panic, he would run and run, believing speed a better ally than stealth, not understanding that nature’s own patterns and colors would provide concealment if he would only seek them out, melt into them.

Of course, the same man could be thoughtful, clever. Devise methods of escape that the hunter might not consider. It was this possibility that made this hunt uniquely exciting.

Eyes working methodically, sliding back and forth, he searched for movement. A shape or color that lifted itself from the greens and browns and grays of the background. His gaze traveled higher, up the sloping meadow, toward a grove of aspens huddled at the foot of the mountain.

There. Struggling up a slope, slipping on the cold wet grass and patches of snow, his prey lurched and stumbled forward, winding his way through the trees. Stripped of their leaves by winter, the aspens offered little cover, but if he made it higher, into the thick spruces and pines, he would be harder to track.

He yanked off one glove, slipped two fingers into his mouth, and blew out a sharp whistle, which echoed across the valley. The other two riders that flanked him pulled their steeds to a stop. With a wave of his hand, he directed them to close on the fleeing man.

Spurring his horse forward, avoiding the deeper snowdrifts, favoring drier, firmer ground, he quickly reached the cluster of aspens. He guided the roan through the thin, white barked trees, which stood stiffly like a regiment of matchstick soldiers, until he reached the shadowy spruces.

The other two men rode up.

“Where’d he go?” one of them asked.

The blonde man nodded toward the thick darkness of the evergreen forest that climbed the slope before them. “In there,” he said. Even above the raspy breathing of the horses, he could hear the scraping of brush and scrambling footsteps. “We’ll go on foot from here.”

“He can’t have gotten far,” the third man said.

“He got this far,” the other man said. He eyed the blonde man. “He’s faster than we figured.”

The blonde man dismounted and pulled a rifle from the long scabbard that hung from his saddle. “He can’t outrun this.” He cranked the lever on his Winchester, seating a shell in the firing chamber. “You two flank him to the west. Drive him toward the waterfall. Whatever happens, don’t let him make it to the mines. He gets in there, we’ll play hell flushing him out.”

Exhaustion chewed at his leg muscles and the cold mountain air tore into his lungs. Thickly scented spruce branches clutched at his clothes, slapped against his chest and face, and shredded his hands as he pushed them from his path.

He had no idea where he was going except higher into the mountain, away from his pursuers. He was amazed he had eluded them long enough the reach the forest. Or was that their plan all along? Herd him into the trees where no one would see what happened? No one would see anyway. He was miles from town. And no one would miss him, come looking for him.

Maybe he should stop. Give up. Let them finish this. Yet, the survival instinct is strong and can’t be denied. Even in someone like him, whose life expectancy could likely be measured in minutes.

His boot came down on a rock and rolled over it, turning his ankle sharply inward. Pain knifed up his leg and he stumbled, but managed to remain upright. Ignoring the fiery discomfort that now accompanied each step, he continued his push up the steep hillside.

The thick layer of soft pine needles that covered the forest floor and the calfdeep collections of snow that settled in the shallow depressions of the uneven terrain sapped the energy from his aching legs. Outrunning his pursuers seemed less likely with each stride.

He knew there were hundreds of mines in these hills. He had never actually seen or been inside one, but had heard stories of people getting lost for hours, days, forever. Right now, he would welcome being lost.

He scrambled over a massive snow-frosted boulder but slipped and tumbled from its rounded crest, landing hard on his back against a thick, scaly barked pine. Air burst from his lungs. He rolled away from the tree and struggled to his feet, sucking air, trying to ignore the knife-like pain that ripped along his ribs. A crow screeched from the branches above him.

He staggered between two trees and into a small clearing. Before him, large, feathery snowflakes swirled on the wind, seeming reluctant to fall to the ground.

He clutched his damaged ribs as he took several deep breaths and then crossed the clearing and continued upward. Through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a mine. Its black mouth yawned open, waiting. Head down, legs trembling with fatigue, he plowed toward it. His knees buckled and he fell to all fours, but pushed himself up and, with the determination that only fear can generate, pressed forward.

His boots, unable to secure a firm hold, slipped on the icy rocks, loose gravel, and damp pine needles. Like his childhood nightmares, where he struggled against unseen restraints to escape from some horrible, faceless creature of the night, it seemed that the faster he moved the less distance he covered and the more deeply he descended into the depths of panic.

If he only had a gun. Maybe he could ambush them. Get one or even two of them. Better his odds.

Again his legs wobbled and he nearly fell, but clutched a tree trunk and steadied himself. He gulped air and wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Don’t stop, he told himself. One more push, against the loose soil, against the

hill, against gravity and he would find the protective depths of the mine.

The tree bark beside his head exploded. The crack of the rifle reached his ears. Another crack and a searing pain ripped through his chest. Blood, his blood, peppered the tree before him. Then, three quick pop-pop-pops, followed by the hiss of one bullet by his head and two more explosions of bark.

He looked up.

Near the mine, two men leveled rifles at him. Whether he jumped or fell or simply collapsed, he couldn’t be sure, but he found himself on hands and feet crawling into the trees to his right. A volley of rifle fire snapped tree branches and pinged off rocks. He dug the toes of his hiking boots into the soil, rose to his feet, and ran. Fatigue and exhaustion evaporated in an adrenaline-fed race for his life.

He pushed aside spruce and pine branches as he hurtled forward, neither knowing nor caring where he was going so long as it was away from the gunmen. Taking the easiest path, he descended diagonally across the slope’s fall line, allowing gravity to aid his flight.

Hot pain bored through his right chest and increased with each breath. The warmth of his own blood saturated the front of his shirt and a fine red mist escaped his lips with each rattling exhalation.

He stumbled, fell forward, rolled to his feet, and continued running. His heart leaped against his chest as though trying to urge him forward. Needle encrusted spruce fingers whipped against his face. One slapped across his open eye,

causing him to spin around, yelp with pain.

Still, he ran.

The forest began to thin and the ground became more rocky and strewn with loose pebbles and weathered pinecones. He could hear the roar of rushing water, echoing through the trees. Above him, the crow continued its scolding, seeming to follow his every move and caw to his pursuers, “Here he is.”

He burst from the trees and came face to face with the rushing, swirling waters of Crystal Falls. Skidding on his heels, he slid to a stop, his racing heart kicking into an even higher gear.

Crystal Falls, a local landmark and tourist attraction, tumbled down a deep gash in the rocky mountain, plunging in a series of stair step cataracts more than a 1000 feet from the vast snow fields above before taking a final 100-foot leap into a misty cauldron that would become Gold Creek. It was this final segment that faced him.

The burning pain in his chest spread to his back and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He reached beneath his shirt and felt the small, round entry wound just beneath his right collarbone. Sliding his hand over his shoulder, through the hot sticky blood that matted the flannel to his back, his fingers just reached the upper edge of the ragged exit wound. He knew instantly the bullet had ed through his lung, through his entire chest. He wiped his bloody hand on his pant leg.

A fit of coughing doubled him over. Blood peppered the rocks and the tops of his

boots. He clutched his chest until the paroxysm subsided.

He looked up the slope, and then down, frantically searching for an escape route. He turned back toward the trees. Among the shadows, he could see the forms of the two men closing fast.

Just above him, the waterfall crashed into and cascaded over a rocky ledge before reforming into the thick ribbon that plunged downward. Along the ledge, three large ice encrusted rocks nosed through the cataract, each ten feet apart, each bearded by fifteen-foot long stalactites of ice. Maybe he could use the rocks to cross the fall.

He scrambled up the hill along the edge carved by centuries of snow melt. When he reached the ledge, his escape route looked less inviting. The rocks were domed and slicked with ice. The graceful beards of ice he had seen from below now looked like cold, hard fangs. The force of the water’s impact vibrated the ground beneath his feet; its cold spray lacquered his face.

This isn’t possible, he thought. He would have to leap over ten feet of churning water to an icy dome-shaped rock and not slip off. Then, repeat that feat three more times to reach the other side.

Another wave of coughing gripped him. He leaned his hands on his knees, bracing himself against the fiery pain, and expelled long strands of crimson mucous.

“There he is.”

He turned toward the voice. The three men stood below him. One raised his rifle and directed the muzzle toward him.

Without hesitation, without further internal debate on the wisdom of such a move, he took one step and leaped. He seemed to float in slow motion over the roaring water, arms flapping, legs churning against nothing but air, as if by these efforts he could somehow extend his flight. He slammed into the first boulder. His fingers and the toes of his boots clawed the hard ice, but could not prevent his slide over the face of the rock and down the tapering stalactite. Just when he thought he would plunge into the icy water below, one toe caught in a crevice in the ice. He hugged the giant icicle and dug his aching fingers into its unforgiving coldness.

He looked up. An un-scalable cylinder of ice. Right and left offered no escape, only columns of rampaging water. Downward, his only apparent option, a 100foot drop into a frigid pool and sure death.

His foothold slipped, but he quickly jammed the toe of his boot back into the crevice.

He looked over his shoulder, toward his pursuers, just in time to see the muzzle flash. The bullet struck inches from his head. Ice shards stung his face and neck.

The ice creaked and groaned. A fissure, jagged, deep, erupted before his face. Another creak, a groan, a sharp crack, and, with a rush, he fell.

The ice, no longer his savior, was now his enemy. An enemy that would crush him in matter of seconds if he didn’t break free. With what strength remained in his arms and legs, he shoved himself away from the icy mass as both accelerated toward the water below.

CHAPTER 3

Must be 35 out Lloyd Varney thought as he sat behind the wheel of his pick-up truck. Rather cold for June but the past week had been one of those cloudy, drizzly spells that frequently visited these mountains, even in summer. An hour and a half earlier, he had parked on Fourth Avenue, inching up to its intersection with Main Street. From this vantage point, he possessed a clear view of the front of his store, a half block away and across the street.

He considered cranking up the windows to knock back some of the chill, but decided against it. He needed his ears as well as his eyes if he was going to catch the thief.

He took another bite of the ham he had layered inside a tall, fluffy biscuit. Crumbs tumbled across the front of his down vest and fell onto the wrinkled, grease-stained waxed paper on his lap. A lick and a jab collected the larger tidbits on his fingertip. He shoved them into his mouth and continued to chew.

God, he loved Louise’s biscuits.

That’s why he married her. Or so his standard tease went. To which, Louise would reply, “You married me because nobody else would have you.” Their banter always brought chuckles from anyone who knew them.

He took another bite, tearing the ham with his teeth, showering more biscuit crumbs onto his lap.

Louise would fuss at him tomorrow for taking the biscuits and ham rather than the apples and oranges she kept in the wooden bowl on the kitchen counter, easily seen, easily reached. She would poke a finger at the roll that lapped over his belt and call him “Doughboy.” Yet secretly, he knew she loved that he relished her cooking.

He washed down the last of the biscuit with a slug of the coffee he had poured from his thermos. The hot liquid, bolstered by a shot of Jack Daniel’s from the pint bottle he had slipped into his pocket before leaving home, warmed his belly. Louise would fuss about that, too. Not, the coffee, the whiskey. But, if he had to sit here on a cold vinyl seat half the night, he deserved a little nip. Or two.

Hunching forward in the seat, he cradled the coffee cup with both hands, his breath momentarily fogging the windshield.

Lloyd owned and operated Varney’s General Merchandise in the heart of downtown Gold Creek, Colorado. He had done so since he opened the doors 42 years earlier, three months before he and Louise were married. He had been 22, Louise 18.

He was proud of what they had created together. Their store sat wedged between Mama Rose’s Bistro and the Gold Creek Bank and was the second tallest building in town, not counting the steeple of the hundred-year-old church, a block behind him, on Church Street. The three-story Begley Hotel was taller by four feet.

Varney’s possessed two levels. The upper floor housed a storage area and a makeshift, free-to-the-public mining museum. Hard hats, lanterns, pick-axes,

and the like filled shelves and glass cases. Each piece had seen service in one or more of the thousands of mines that wormed into the surrounding San Juan Mountains and had been donated by miners forced to find other work when the last of the mines closed a decade earlier. Each dark, damp shaft an ode to the government’s interference in the gold and silver trade.

Lloyd and Louise had carefully cataloged every piece on the off chance the mines, still rich in gold, silver, and uranium, might reopen. In which case, each item would be returned to its original owner for the asking.

The business occupied the first floor. Tools, clothes, camping gear, canned goods, tourist trinkets, and hundreds of other items filled shelves, racks, and tables. Two large picture windows faced Main Street.

In 42 years, he had had a few minor thefts. Kids pocketing candy or soda or cigarettes. Maybe a tee shirt or a cap. He always scolded the ones he caught, but could never bring himself to tell their parents. After all, he too had done such things as a boy.

But, over the past six weeks, someone had broken in three times and taken expensive items. Camping gear, down jackets, boots, tools, and food items. Always on a Saturday night when the thefts would not likely be discovered until Sunday afternoon. Typically he opened for business at 8 a.m., but on Sundays not until after church.

Changing the locks hadn’t helped. The thief managed to pick his way in anyway. The alarm system he had ordered from Denver wouldn’t be delivered for another two weeks.

So, here he sat, freezing his butt off, waiting for a thief that might or might not show. He rubbed his sleepy eyes with the heels of his hands and stifled a yawn.

His old nickel-plated Smith and Wesson snub-nosed .38, which he hadn’t fired in over 20 years, was wedged against his right thigh. He knew he wouldn’t need to use it. Just waving it around would get the thief’s attention. He had considered not loading it, but had anyway. Just in case.

Of course, Police Chief Forrest Wade knew about the thefts and had promised “to keep an eye on things,” but Lloyd didn’t believe that. Wade was nice enough, just not overly enthusiastic about law enforcement, which was fine since Gold Creek rarely needed any laws enforced. By this time of night, Wade would have already knocked back a couple of bourbons and be sound asleep in his city-paid apartment above the police station two blocks up the street.

Besides, Varney’s General Merchandise wasn’t successful because Lloyd waited for someone else to work the counter, stock the shelves, or sweep the sidewalk out front. Except for Louise that is. And if his store needed protecting, then he was the one to do it.

Louise wouldn’t him on this adventure, however. “You’re not a cop, you old fool,” she told him as he buttoned his flannel shirt and tugged on his down vest. “You’ve been watching too much TV. Let Wade take care of this. That’s what he gets paid for.” She let him go anyway, but only if he promised to call at midnight and be home by 2 a.m., regardless.

She didn’t know about the gun.

He refilled his cup from the thermos. After adding a shot of Jack Daniel’s, he blew across the steaming brew and took a careful sip.

He glanced at the dash clock. Ten till midnight. Time to stroll over to the pay phone at the Shell station and check in with Louise. He placed the cup on the truck’s dash, but as he reached for the door handle he saw something. A shadow, moving in the alley that ran between his store and the bank. He froze, his gaze locked on the dark gap. One minute, two minutes. Nothing.

Was it his imagination? The bourbon? He’d only had one shot and as cold as it was felt absolutely no effect from it. Better check it out, he thought, rather than sit here and have someone rob him right under his nose.

The truck’s dome light startled him when he pushed open the door. He jumped out and eased it closed, the latch catching with a soft click. In the night air, it sounded to him like a whip cracking. He ducked behind the truck and peeked over the hood.

Fearful the thief might have seen the light or heard the door snapping shut, he dropped to one knee and waited, but saw no further signs of an intruder. Standing, he reached through the open window, grabbed his gun, stuffed it in his vest pocket, and hurried across the street.

Staying close to the buildings, he moved quietly along the sidewalk, past Mama Rose’s, and peered through the corner of one of the large front windows of his store. The ornate copper street lamps, which lined Main Street, cast only a meager glow through the glass. He looked beyond the checkout counter in front and into the darker recesses of his store.

He saw no one. Nothing appeared out of place. The store seemed to be asleep, which was what he should be doing instead of playing private eye. He was tired and cold and his plan to catch the thief seemed lamer by the minute.

As he stepped back and began to turn toward his truck, the soft ping of metal against metal stopped him. Then, a dark shadow caught his eye. He ducked behind the window frame.

All his doubts evaporated.

Someone was inside, in the back corner, beyond the racks of parkas and rain gear, beyond the display tables stacked with sweaters and work shirts. After 42 years, Lloyd knew every square inch of his business. The thief stood near the back wall where an array of shovels, axes, and walking sticks hung from a pegboard display. Again, he heard a soft metallic ping as the thief lifted something from its perch.

The intruder appeared large. Very large. At least six-two, he would guess. And thick. Definitely not kids. In fact, the only person he knew who was that size was Billy Bear Wingo. But that made no sense. Why would Billy steal from him? Billy was practically family and could have anything he needed anytime he wanted. Besides, this person’s movements didn’t look like Billy. His shoulders appeared more rounded, more slumped. But then, he couldn’t see him all that well.

Maybe he should call Chief Wade. He glanced to his left, toward the pay phone at the Shell station. Or he could simply walk the block and a half to Wade’s apartment. But by the time Wade rolled out of bed and got down here, the thief might be gone.

Besides, if it was Billy, better not to drag Wade into it. Wade and Billy didn’t get along as it was.

Lloyd slipped into the dark narrow age between his store and Mama Rose’s. The pungent aromas of decaying onions and garlic and grease from the cluster of trashcans that sat behind the restaurant greeted him as he peered around the corner into the alley that ran behind the businesses. Seeing no one, he circled behind his store and crept along the far wall to the side door, the entry the thief had used each time.

CHAPTER 4

Deputy Samantha Cody guided her Jeep through the twists and turns of Colorado’s Highway 550, the famous San Juan Skyway. In the darkness, she could see none of the incredible scenery that made this route so popular with tourists. To her, the two-lane blacktop highway seemed to be a serpentine version of old Route 66, which marked the southern edge of her hometown, a California high desert speck on the map called Mercer’s Corner.

Each road was famous, even though interstate highway now replaced most of Route 66. To Sam, both were dangerous stretches of asphalt that Mother Nature had chewed into submission. The murderous heat of summer and the torrential rains of winter continually assaulted the portion of Route 66 that she patrolled on a regular basis, while, for the San Juan Skyway, the rains of summer and the bitter cold and heavy snows of winter did the damage. Pock marked, cracked, and tortuous, 550 proved to be an even more fatiguing drive.

In the halo of the Jeep’s headlights, she could barely see the road’s tattered edge as it wound its way upward between a wall of mountain rock to her right and a 500-foot shear drop to her left. Every sudden hairpin turn and rock outcropping that jumped at her from the darkness gave her a start. More than once, she envisioned a plunge over the edge and into a black void. It was all she could do to concentrate on the centerline that continually slid beneath the left fender. A line so faded that she could not determine if it had originally been yellow or white. It seemed more an apparition than a reality.

She yawned and rubbed one eye with the back of her hand.

Last night’s boxing match in Las Vegas had worn her out. And sitting behind the

wheel of her Jeep for the past 12 hours had added its own brand of stiffness to her muscles. Her shoulders, arms, back, and legs ached, a deep burning ache. Flu-like, only worse.

Her face was tender and even in the weak dashboard lights the bruise that had blossomed beneath her left eye was clearly visible. She could still feel the blow. A cobra like overhand right landed by Marta Sanchez in the third round. Damn that woman could hit. She had seen it coming, but couldn’t deflect or slip it quickly enough. Her knees had buckled and she nearly dropped to the canvas.

Her first two professional fights had been easy, both first round KOs. But last night, before an unruly crowd at Caesar’s Palace, the scheduled four rounder nearly went the distance and she could have suffered her first loss. The fight was too close to call.

And last night, for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of choosing boxing as an avocational pursuit.

She and Marta had waged a war of jabs and hooks and body shots and pain, with neither gaining the upper hand. Then late in the fourth round, Sam caught the stocky, rock hard Marta with a clean left-right-left combination and staggered her. Mustering what little strength she still possessed, Sam attacked furiously and finally put Marta down and out with a wide left hook.

Though she ached all over, her swollen and bruised knuckles were the worst. It became increasingly difficult to grip the steering wheel. She alternated hands, allowing one to rest in her lap, while the other throbbed through each turn. She fidgeted and shifted in her seat more and more with each ing mile, seeking a position that would ease the knots in her back and shoulders.

The road slipped away from the shear cliff and flattened as it snaked across a forested mesa. Ahead, Sam could faintly make out snow-capped peaks that seemed to hang above the trees in the black sky.

Alyss had said Gold Creek was a little over 20 miles south of Montrose. It seemed to her that she had ed through the flat, featureless town long ago. The dashboard clock indicated it had only been a half hour. Finally, her headlights caught the road sign:

GOLD CREEK 2 MILES

She slowed. Alyss had also said the road to Gold Creek was about a half mile past the sign and that the marker indicating the turn-off had long since disappeared and had not been replaced.

Of course, she should have arrived hours ago. She had intended to leave Las Vegas early, but by the time she and Nathan struggled out of bed, ate breakfast, packed, and checked out of Caesar’s Palace, it was noon. She called Alyss to tell her she would be late, and then saw her trainer Jimmy Ryker off on his way back to Mercer’s Corner. After dropping Nathan at the airport so he could fly to New York to cover an alien abduction, or a three-headed baby, or whatever story he was chasing for his tabloid, “Straight Story,” she climbed on I-15 and headed east.

She spotted the turn and wheeled on to the two-lane blacktop that led to Gold Creek. An audible sigh of relief escaped.

It would be good to see Alyss. How long had it been? Three years? Seemed longer. They talked on the phone occasionally and even though Mercer’s Corner was only a couple of hours from Alyss’ former home in LA, they never seemed to find the time to get together. That’s what happens when making a living gets in the way of living. The 9 to 5, or in the case of a cop the 24/7 eats up your life, saps your energy, dulls your senses. Add to that the Richard Earl Garrett case, her blossoming boxing career, and the gorgeous Nathan Klimek and a trip to LA moved down her list of priorities. Now, that Alyss had moved three states away, Sam finally decided to visit.

The narrow, two-lane road wound downward through a deep notch in the mountains. As she rounded a curve, the steep slopes seemed to melt away and a narrow valley opened before her. The soft lights of the town came into view. The road descended into the mouth of the valley and became Main Street, which carried her into the heart of downtown Gold Creek. A sign of dark wood with yellow block lettering peeked from beneath a large spruce tree and announced: “Welcome to Gold Creek, Population 821, Elevation 6243 Feet.”

The town appeared to be about six blocks long with well-preserved buildings, standing shoulder to shoulder along each side of the wide street. It was exactly as Alyss had described. Quaint, rustic, clean.

Ornate, oxidized copper lamps lined the sidewalks and cast more mood than light from their perches on black wrought iron poles. Though electric, their soft golden glow created the illusion that they might be gas lamps. No traffic signals disturbed the serenity. To Sam, the scene looked like a hundred year old sepia print. She half expected to see a horse drawn carriage come down the street.

But the town slept. That peaceful slumber reserved for small isolated communities, which like sated cats curled up early and dozed unmolested.

CHAPTER 5

Lloyd eased up to the door, which stood slightly ajar, and carefully pushed it open. Its ancient hinges released a soft groan. He froze. The shuffling of feet and the scraping of metal hangers on racks came at him from the far back corner of the store where the darkness thickened.

He stepped through the door, his heart hammering an incessant rhythm. The odor of Mama Rose’s trashcans followed him from the alleyway, except now, inside, it was even stronger. And it took on a different character. Mustier, more unpleasant.

Sweat erupted on his forehead and he wiped moisture from his hand on his pant leg. He grasped the .38, but as he attempted to pull it from his pocket, the hammer caught on the edge. He yanked but it wouldn’t come free. Fear gripped him as he envisioned the intruder, leaping from the shadows to attack him. Heat swelled in his chest. Again, he tugged on the weapon and mercifully it slipped free.

His breath came in heavy gasps as he waved the .38 toward the dense shadows.

“Who’s there?” he said, his voice cracking. Attempting to sound more forceful, more in control, he repeated, “Who’s there?”

Again he heard shuffling footsteps and saw the top of the intruder’s head, moving toward the front of the store, staying low behind a table piled with woolen sweaters and corduroy pants.

“Billy?” Lloyd said. “Is that you?”

The man stopped, dropped from sight behind a rack of jackets.

“Billy?”

No response. No movement.

“Who are you?”

The intruder remained silent.

“I’m armed,” Lloyd said.

He peered into the shadows, looking for any movement but saw nothing. In the darkness, the thief’s raspy breathing seemed to come from every direction.

He needed more light. The overhead light switch was near the front door. Too far away and too near where the thief was now hidden. But to his left along the wall a brass lamp sat on the desk where he kept books, ordered supplies, and chatted with friends and customers.

He sidestepped toward it, keeping his eyes and the gun trained on where he had last seen the intruder. His fingers found and yanked the pull chain. The cavernous darkness easily consumed the weak glow from the 60-watt bulb. Some shadows dissolved, others intensified.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” Lloyd said. “Come out where I can see you.”

Nothing. Only the sound of his own sibilant breathing and the whooshing of his heart beat in his ears.

“Billy? If that’s you, come on out. I don’t want to call Wade and get you in trouble again.”

Holding the gun before him, Lloyd crept toward the table that concealed the intruder. Skirting it, he expected to see him huddled in the shadows, but no one was there. Lloyd spun around looking in every direction. Where did he go?

Then, he heard movement and turned. Slipping through the shadows, weaving around the tables and racks of merchandise, a form moved toward the side door.

He’s going to get away, Lloyd thought. He rushed back toward the door to block any escape, but the quick movements of the intruder easily won the race. But rather than escape through the door, the thief stopped, rose up so that the lamp backlit him, making him appear even more massive. Only a dozen feet separated them. The intruder’s coarse breathing was almost a grunt. The musty odor, now stronger, seemed sour, sweaty, feral.

Lloyd realized this wasn’t going as he had planned. The thief did not appear intimidated by the gun. Sweat trickled down Lloyd’s forehead, into his eyes. He swiped his shirtsleeve across his face and raised the weapon. He squinted, attempting to make out the thief’s face. He had thick hair that hung to his shoulders and a dark unruly beard, but he could make out few details.

“Billy? Is that you?”

No response.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lloyd took a step back. “Take anything you want.” Panic cracked his voice.

With a sweat-soaked, shaking hand, Lloyd pointed the gun toward the thief and squeezed the trigger. The sound was deafening, the recoil surprising.

The intruder came at him with quick predatory strides.

He fired again, but the swipe of a huge hand deflected the gun away. The weapon fell from Lloyd’s grasp and banged against the hard wood floor.

The intruder towered over him, extending a folding shovel above his head.

Lloyd looked up into two dark eyes. A scream swelled in his throat as he raised his arms for protection. Too late. Pain and a flash of light erupted in his head.

Reeling, he reached out toward his attacker, searching for any , closing his fist around the intruder’s wiry beard. Consciousness escaped him as he slumped to the floor.

CHAPTER 6

As Sam drove along Main Street, several antique shops, a 1950’s style gas station, and a pharmacy that appeared to have a soda counter caught her eye. Near the center of town, she saw Mama Rose’s Bistro, a faded redwood structure with French doors and windows, framed by floral curtains. Next door loomed a two-story wooden building. Lettering on its expansive front windows indicated it was Varney’s General Merchandise.

Varney’s was the only store that exhibited an interior light. Sam guessed security wasn’t a big problem in a town of 821. But as she ed, she caught a movement from the corner of her eye, a shadow that danced across the front windows.

Without thinking, her foot shifted to the brake. She slowed and glanced back at the store.

A quick flash illuminated the windows, followed by a soft pop. Then, a second flash-pop. She jerked to a complete stop in the middle of the street.

Gunshots?

Now a half a block up the street, she pulled to her right, tires scrapping the curb. Her cop’s mind automatically kicked into gear.

Gunshots? Here in this sleepy little town? Mercer’s Corner wasn’t much bigger than Gold Creek and gunfire never occurred there. Well, almost never. Maybe she didn’t really see anything. It happened so suddenly. Maybe it was nothing more than optical illusion, a reflection of the light off the windows, and her brain, fatigued by 12 hours behind the wheel, had conjured the rest. However, the muffled popping sounds weren’t so easily dismissed.

The idea that she was on vacation twisted around in her mind, but couldn’t prevent her from stepping from her Jeep. The cold air stabbed at her. She snagged her leather jacket from the front seat and slipped it on.

Now what?

The committee in her mind gaveled itself into session. Most of the voices agreed: Go on to Alyss’. Go to bed. This isn’t your problem. This isn’t your jurisdiction.

However, one faint voice chimed in: But what if?

She glanced back at the store. The interior was now dark. So much for an optical illusion.

Ahead, at the end of the block, a rectangular white sign with black lettering marked the Gold Creek Police Department. Smaller lettering indicated the Chief of Police was someone named Forrest Wade. The two-story white frame building beyond was dark.

Sam stood in the street, listening to the faint ticking of the cooling engine, and weighed her options. She could walk back and check things out. Or, wake up Chief Wade and let him handle it. But where was he? Not in his darkened office. She looked up and down the street. Not a soul. Not even a stray dog. How would she reach Chief Wade and how long would it take? If she had indeed seen and heard gunfire, time wasn’t a luxury at her disposal.

With her mental committee still squabbling, she reached into her Jeep, popped open the glove box, and removed her .357 Smith and Wesson, a small flashlight, and her badge wallet.

Might as well get this over with.

She stuffed the badge in one pocket, flashlight in the other, and clipped the gun on her belt at the small of her back. The coldness of the mountain air bored into her and she tugged up the zipper of her leather jacket. She flexed and relaxed her fists several times, the aching ts protesting the movements.

Sam eased along the sidewalk, staying close to the buildings. When she reached Varney’s, she carefully peered through the lower corner of the front window into the cavernous darkness. The faint light that filtered in from the street revealed that everything appeared in order. The cash sat undisturbed on a counter near the front. The merchandise she could see from her vantage point was neatly stacked, nothing out of place. She searched for a shadow among the shadows, but saw nothing.

Then, along the right wall, a change in the darkness, a faint wedge of gray disrupting the blackness. An open door?

She pulled the .357 from its holster. The weapon seemed heavier than usual as she wrapped her swollen fingers around it. She sneaked down the narrow alley between Varney’s and the Gold Creek Bank until she reached the door, which indeed stood partially open. She listened, but heard nothing except the sound of her own breathing and the thumping of her heart in her throat.

She started to rap her fist on the doorframe, announce herself as a police officer, but froze when she detected an odor, drifting through the door. A stale, musty odor. Animalistic, but laced with something else. Her brain quickly sorted through its files, made the connection.

Cordite. No illusion. Someone had fired a gun.

Her heart up shifted. Taking a deep breath, she reached to push open the door with her left hand.

Suddenly the door swung away and a huge man, shoulder lowered, slammed into her. She flew backwards. Her gun escaped her grip as she collided with the wall of the bank next door. Her head ricocheted off the stucco, cracking her teeth together. Flashes of light exploded within her brain.

Stunned, she rolled on to her side and looked toward the fleeing man. She judged he was easily 6-3, well over 250 pounds, with thick rounded shoulders. And he could move. Fast. Faster than his bulk would suggest.

He never broke stride as he darted down the alleyway and turned to his right, behind the bank.

She struggled to her feet, fighting to ignore the wave of dizziness that swept over her. She scooped up her gun and took off after him.

She entered the alley that ran behind the buildings, the .357 leading the way. Her senses went to full alert, eyes probing every shadow, ears seeking the sound of footsteps, nose capturing only the faintest remnant of the musty odor.

“Who’s there?” she shouted.

No answer.

“I’m a cop. Come on out.”

Silence.

She searched the alley, the narrow ageways between the shops, and behind a cluster of trash cans. Nothing. No one. It was as if he had evaporated into the cold night air.

She returned to the open door. Gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, she stepped inside, turning one way and then the other, the light beam directed down her line of sight.

“Anybody in here?” she shouted. No answer. She panned the light around the room, its narrow beam stabbing into the darkness. Nothing appeared out of place.

The odor of cordite commingled with the remnants of the intruder’s musty smell, both now laced with another aroma. What was it? She knew it, had smelled it before, but couldn’t identify it.

She swiped the wall beside the door, searching for a light switch, finding none. A desk with brass lamp sat to her left. She yanked the pull chain; the light pushed back some of the shadows.

The room was wide and deep, with soaring ceilings. Racks and tables of clothing and supplies filled most of the floor and wall space. Everything appeared in order, quiet, until she looked down. Several bloody shoe prints on the hardwood floor led from behind a rack of flannel shirts, past where she stood, and out the door.

Despite the cold, sweat trickled down her neck, between her breasts, and slicked the palms of her hands. Her gun pointed the way as she circled the rack of shirts, stepping carefully around the shoe prints to avoid damaging the evidence. The blood added a healthy dose of caution and fear to her every movement.

The thought that she had no business being there crossed her mind.

She rounded the display rack and froze. A body lay on the floor. A man, on his back, unmoving, wearing a red and yellow checked flannel shirt and beige down vest. A pool of black cherry blood fanned out from his left ear, which like the

entire left side of his face, was crushed and discolored. Two eyes as black as pools of oil stared up at her. She directed the light beam at them. No pupillary reaction.

CHAPTER 7

The jangle of the phone ripped through the dark studio apartment Police Chief Forest Wade called home. Cramped and drafty, it wasn’t much, but it conveniently occupied the upper floor of the Gold Creek Police Department and came free with the job.

He faintly heard the first two rings, muffled by the pillow that lay over his head. Two hours earlier, he had downed three bourbons, one more than his usual, while watching the ten o’clock news, and had fallen into a deep sleep.

The third ring pulled him from beneath the pillow. He swung his legs off the narrow mattress that served as a sofa by day and a bed at night. The TV on the empty nail barrel across the room spit static at him. He reached for the phone, interrupting the fourth ring in mid stride, but fumbled the receiver. It hit the linoleum floor with a bang.

“Goddamn it,” he growled.

He grabbed the cord and swung the receiver up, catching it with his other hand. The clock on the two-burner stove in the corner blinked 12:25 a.m. One of the better parts of his job was that no one ever called at this hour and he couldn’t imagine who this might be.

“This is Wade,” he said as he brought the phone to his ear.

“Chief Wade. It’s Louise Varney.”

“Louise? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Lloyd. I’m worried about him.”

Wade forked his fingers through his thinning hair and then snatched the remote from the bedside table and punched the TV into silence. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You know those break-ins we’ve had. Well, he left about ten to go watch the store and try to catch whoever’s been doing it. I told him not to, but … well … you know how pig-headed he can be.”

“So, why’re you worried?”

“He was supposed to call me at midnight, but he didn’t. I dozed off and just woke up. I’m afraid the old fool fell asleep. And as cold out as it is, he might catch pneumonia or something.”

Wade sighed heavily. “Well, I’m awake now. I’ll take a stroll down there and shoo him on home.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’d feel better if you did.”

He hung up the phone and stepped into his pants, which lay on the floor beside the bed. After slipping on his shirt and boots, he splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink. The aroma of dried tomato soup, last night’s dinner, wafted up from the dirty bowl he had neglected to wash.

He strapped on his gun belt, snagged his jacket from the back of the chair where it always hung, and headed out the door.

The old wooden stairs, which ran down the side of the building, creaked in protest as he descended them. The acrid aroma of smoldering wood from the fireplaces of nearby homes, a smell he never tired of, hung in the crisp night air. Stepping off the last step, he took a deep breath to clear his fuzzy brain and headed across the department’s front lawn and down the street toward Varney’s. A half block later, he came to a white Jeep with a roof mounted light bar and black and gold door decals that read: “Mercer’s Corner Sheriff’s Department.” Curious.

Looking across the street toward Varney’s, he saw an interior light shinning through the front windows. “Lloyd never leaves lights on,” he muttered to himself.

Then, he saw the nose of Lloyd’s pick-up, parked at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Main, and walked toward it. Lloyd wasn’t there, but a cup of coffee sat on the dashboard. A half empty box of .38 shells and a nearly empty pint of Jack Daniel’s lay on the enger’s seat. He exhaled loudly and shook his head.

As he crossed Main Street and approached Varney’s, the light that spilled through the front windows flickered, shadows dancing on the glass. Someone was inside. Probably Lloyd.

He peered through the window, didn’t see anyone, but noticed the side door stood open. He headed around the building.

After Sam searched the dark nooks and crannies of the store and found no one, she returned to the body. Squatting, she reached out and touched the man’s wrist, checking for the pulse she knew wouldn’t be present. His dilated black pupils had already told her the story. His skin was warm. Several long strands of dark hair lay in his open palm.

“Now will you call the damn police, Samantha?”

she said aloud. She started to rise, but heard something and dropped back to one knee, senses on edge. A scrapping sound, footsteps, just outside the open door. The killer? Had he returned to eliminate the witness?

A shadow moved across her and she heard the distinct sound of shoes against the hardwood floor. Whoever it was, was inside now.

Gripping her Smith and Wesson, ignoring the pain in her battered knuckles, she popped up to a standing position and leveled the .357 at the backlit shadow before her.

“Freeze!” she shouted. “Police.”

The intruder stopped. He was much shorter than the man who had run over her. And possessed narrower shoulders and a broader midsection. Accomplice? Even in the dim light, she could see the look of surprise on his face. She could also see the gun that appeared in his right hand.

“Drop the piece,” Sam commanded. “Now!”

“What the hell … ”

“I said now. Drop it.”

“I’m the Chief of Police, Goddamn it,” he said.

Confusion swept through her. “Police? What’s your name?”

“Wade.”

That fit. That was the name on the sign in front of the police department. She noticed he not only hadn’t dropped the gun, but also had pointed it in her direction.

He took a step toward her. “Now, why don’t you put that thing down and tell me who the hell you are and what you’re doing here,” he said.

“Show me a badge,” Sam said.

“Don’t have it on me. Never wear it. Everybody knows who I am.”

That made sense, too. In a town this size, everyone would know the police chief.

“I’ll ask again,” he continued. “Who are you?”

“Sam Cody. Sheriff’s Deputy from California.”

“That your rig up the street?”

“Yeah.”

“Long way from home aren’t you?”

Sam felt increasingly uncomfortable pointing a gun at who was apparently the Chief of Police and even more uncomfortable staring down the barrel of his gun. “Okay,” she said. “I’ve got my badge in my pocket.”

“Let’s see it.”

She pulled out her badge wallet, flipped it open, and held it out toward him. He glanced at it and then lowered his gun. Sam stuffed her .357 back into its holster.

“Okay, Deputy Cody, what’s going on here?”

“There’s a dead man here,” she said.

“What?” He leveled the gun toward her again. “Keep your hands where I can see them and step back.”

She guessed Wade was pushing 60, with thin, graying hair and fleshy jowls. Wrinkles ravaged his denim shirt and the lamp reflected off a large oval silver belt buckle, which held in a gut that suggested most of his meals came with fries on the side.

He stepped around the rack of flannel shirts that separated them and looked down. “Jesus Christ.” He knelt down by the body. “It’s Lloyd.” He cocked his head up toward her, eyes narrowing. “Want to tell me what you have to do with this?”

“Nothing. I found him just before you got here.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“The door was open.” She told him of driving by, seeing and hearing gunshots, stopping to investigate, and getting run over by the apparent murderer.

“What’d he look like?”

“I didn’t really see him, but he was big.”

“Hmm,” Wade said.

“You know who it might be?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” He stood and looked around the room. “How big?”

“Maybe 6-3 and 250 or more. Built like a tank. Fast on his feet.”

Wade sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sounds like Billy Bear Wingo.”

“Who?”

“One of our local trouble makers. Course, he ain’t never done anything quite this bad.” Wade hitched up his pants. “There’s a half empty box of shells in Lloyd’s truck. You find a weapon?”

“No, but a gun had been fired. I smelled it when I first got here.” Sam panned her flashlight beam across the floor. The circle of light swept past a dark object,

which nosed from beneath the shirt rack, near the dead man’s hand. “What’s this?” she said.

She knelt. Wade stepped around the body and peered over her shoulder. She pushed the shirts back, revealing a revolver. Wade slipped a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. She lifted the weapon by the trigger guard and sniffed the barrel. “It’s been fired.”

Wade pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and took the gun. “Looks like a .38,” he said. He walked to the desk, swung open the cylinder, and shook the shells out on the desktop. Four bullets and two empty casings. “Looks like Lloyd got off a couple of rounds.”

“There,” Sam said, pointing to splintered hole in the wall above the desk.

“Let’s get some more light in here,” Wade said. He walked to the front of the store and flipped on the overhead lights. The sudden brightness caused Sam to flinch.

“Jesus,” Wade said. “Look at this mess.”

Sam walked toward him. The other smell she had sensed earlier increased as she approached. Then, she saw the three ruptured cans of Campbell’s Pork and Beans. Their gooey contents clung to nearby cans and cascaded off the shelf to the floor. That’s the mystery smell. Pork and Beans. A staple of her childhood.

Wade picked up the phone from the front counter and dialed. “Eloy, drag your butt out of bed. Stop by the office, pick up the crime scene kit, and meet me at Varney’s store. Lloyd’s been murdered.” He hung up and looked at Sam. “Eloy and I’ll see what evidence we can find.”

“Want some help?”

“We’ll handle it,” Wade said.

“I’d be happy to give a hand. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep for a while yet, anyway.”

“Where’re you staying?”

“I’m visiting my friend. Alyss Cameron.”

“Yeah. She just bought the Aspen Creek B and B up the road here. Nice lady,” he said.

“We’re old friends.”

He jerked his head toward the street. “They let you bring the county vehicle this far?”

“The Jeep’s mine. The lights and the decals belong to the county.”

Wade gave her a half smile. “Sounds like your budget’s about as generous as mine.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll call Alyss, let her know I’ll be there later, and give you a hand here.”

After Sam called Alyss and told her what had happened and that she would be even later arriving, she and Wade worked the scene. An empty boot box, a couple of shovels lying on the floor at the rear of the store, and a stack of sweaters knocked off a display shelf were the only things out of place. And of course, Lloyd Varney’s body and the bloody boot prints that led out the door into the night.

Sam slipped the strands of dark, thick hair she had lifted from Lloyd’s palm into an envelope and ed it to Wade. He folded it and shoved it into his shirt pocket. She then leaned on the desk and examined the two slugs she had placed on a paper towel. One she had pried from the wall with a screwdriver she found in the desk drawer; the other Wade had discovered by digging through the contents of a ruptured Pork and Beans can.

“Hello.”

Sam jumped. A man stood in the open side doorway. He wore a faded orange sweatshirt beneath frayed tan overalls and carried a gray tackle box with “Crime Scene Kit” printed in black marker on the side.

“You scared me,” she said.

The man gave her a head-bobbing apology, muttering something that sounded like “Sorry,” though Sam couldn’t be sure.

Wade introduced her to Eloy Fuller, Gold Creek’s only other police officer. They

shook hands and then Sam returned to examining the slugs while Wade brought Eloy up to speed on what they had thus far found.

To say that Eloy was strange didn’t even approach the truth. Sam figured he possessed more than his share of recessive genes. He was short, thin, edgy, with wide, low set ears that projected from the side of his head like open car doors. His misaligned eyes constantly darted around the room as if following some invisible moth. He emitted an aura of old sweat and stale cigarettes.

As Wade spoke, Eloy seemed to only half listen, appearing more interested in Sam’s anatomy than any evidence that might be present. Every time she glanced over at him, he would quickly look away as would a child caught by his mother pilfering cookies. He would then turn his attention to Wade, furrow his brow, and nod his head, as if he was concentrating on the Chief’s every word.

Sam scraped the slugs into a plastic bag and handed it to Eloy. He smiled at her. She couldn’t decide which eye to look at, but offered a half smile in return.

Wade and Eloy dusted the door, the lamp, and the shovels they had found on the floor for prints. Then, Eloy began taking Sam’s prints for exclusion. As he rolled her ink stained fingers on the print card, he held the first two a little longer than necessary.

“I can finish this myself,” Sam said.

“Sure.” Eloy nodded and shuffled away, shoulders slumped like a scolded child.

Sam completed the process in less than a minute and then cleaned her fingers with a paper towel.

Wade took one last look around the store and sighed. “I guess that about does it.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly two. You both get home and grab some sleep. I’ll lock everything down here and go see Louise Varney.” He released a heavy sigh. “This is going to kill her.”

CHAPTER 8

Abright morning and the aroma of fresh muffins and coffee greeted Sam when she rolled out of bed. She stood and stretched, her muscles and ts protesting every movement. She felt older than 27. Much older.

Last night when she finally reached Alyss’, the inn had been dark and quiet. A note, telling her which room to settle into, had been taped to the front door. She had simply dropped her bags in the corner, shed her clothes, fallen into bed, and lapsed into a coma-like sleep. Now, she saw the room for the first time.

A four-bladed fan hung from a white, pressed tin ceiling and spun lazily overhead. An antique writing desk sat to her right and a heavy armoire squatted in the corner to her left. The pale yellow walls with white crown molding, window trim, and lace curtains, the four-poster bed, and the puffy down comforter were so Alyss. Tasteful. Perfect.

She walked across to a pair of French-style, multi-paned windows that faced the front of the inn, flipped the latch, and pushed open one side, She looked out over a lush flower garden embraced by a weathered split-rail fence. Thick clusters of red, yellow, and variegated pink and white roses filled the yard and scented the clean morning air. Rich green hydrangea shrubs, still a month or so away from showing their bright blue and white snowball-like flower clusters, hugged the fence and the front of the inn. To her right, toward the east, a sun-gilded meadow stretched the length of a deep, narrow valley, which was ringed by towering snow-capped peaks.

Unbelievable. Samantha, you aren’t in Mercer’s Corner anymore.

A yawn escaped and she eyed the bed again. Maybe just one more hour. Before she could crawl beneath the covers, the kitchen aromas captured her attention once again, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the quick stop in Grand Junction last night. What time was that? Twelve hours ago at least. Her stomach released a series of audible grumbles.

She made her way to the bathroom and eyed her reflection in the oval mirror that hung above the pedestal sink. Not pretty. Her strawberry blonde hair looked like a wind-blown wheat field and both eyes puffed out at her. She gently fingered the small blue bruise on her left cheek, still tender. Thanks Marta.

After a quick shower, she raked a comb through her tangles and pulled her hair into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic band. A thin coat of make-up muted the bruise. Somewhat. Not perfect, but it would have to do.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a faded black LA Raiders tee shirt and then followed her nose to the kitchen.

Alyss sat at a round dining table, behind an open newspaper. She let the paper collapse and looked over it as Sam walked in. “There you are,” she said, standing, dropping the paper on the table. They hugged.

Alyss had changed little in the three years since Sam had last seen her. Still trim and fit, with lively green eyes, her auburn hair was longer, now reaching her shoulders.

“It’s so good to see you,” Alyss said.

“You, too,” Sam said. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I figured you needed the sleep. What time did you get in?”

“After two.”

“Hungry?”

“Starved,” Sam said.

“Here.” She peeled back the floral towel that covered a basket of muffins. “Blackberry.”

“Hmmm.” Sam selected one, broke off a piece and took a bite. “Delicious.”

Alyss lifted a carafe that sat on the table. “Coffee?”

Sam nodded. “Please.”

Alyss poured a cup for Sam and refilled her own. She retrieved a bowl of fresh strawberries from the counter and placed it on the table. Sam selected one and bit into it, catching the juice that slipped down her chin with a napkin.

“Tell me about Lloyd,” Alyss said. “What happened?”

Sam told her the story, including her gun barrel to gun barrel face-off with Chief Wade.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot.”

“That thought crossed my mind a couple of times. Darkness, fear, adrenaline. Bad mixture.”

“Why would anyone want to kill that sweet man?”

Alyss asked. “Looks like a botched robbery.”

Alyss shook her head. “I heard he’s had several burglaries lately.”

“That’s what Chief Wade said.”

“I moved here to be in a safe place. Then, the burglaries. Now this.” Alyss shook

her head. “This crap is the reason I left LA.”

“So, you knew him?” Sam asked. “The victim.”

“Everybody knew Lloyd. And his wife Louise. Nice people. Did Wade have any idea who might have done it?”

“Not really. Said there was only one person in town as big as the man that trampled me.”

“Billy Bear Wingo,” Alyss said.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. That’s who he said. Who’s Billy Bear?”

“I don’t really know him,” Alyss said. “I’ve only seen him a couple of times. Big. Very big. I’d guess 6-4, maybe 300 pounds. Long, thick beard, ponytail. A mountain man for sure. He owns a ranch near here.”

“Would he do something like this?” Sam asked.

“I hear he’s a little wild. He and Wade have apparently had a few run ins in the past. For what, I don’t know, but I do know he’s close to the Varneys. Helps out at the store from time to time.”

“So, he would know the layout? Maybe even have a key?”

“Sam,” Alyss scolded. “This is a vacation. ?”

Sam laughed. “I know. I know.”

“I saw you on HBO Friday night,” Alyss said. “Congratulations.”

Sam nodded a “Thank you,” her mouth too filled with muffin to speak.

“Why do you do that?” Alyss asked.

Sam washed down the muffin with a sip of coffee. “I was asking myself the same thing about halfway through the third round.”

“Looks like you survived it okay.”

“I covered the damage,” Sam said.

Alyss laughed.

“So,” Sam said. “How are you?”

“Not bad.”

“And Shelby?”

“She’s here.”

“Where?” Sam looked around as if she expected to see Shelby sitting in the corner.

“She went out for a walk and to pick some flowers. She’ll be back soon.”

“I thought she was living with Dan?”

“She is. He and his rich bitch girl friend.” Alyss sighed heavily. “He and Tiffany … don’t you just love that name? Tiffany. Like the damn lamp.” Her eyes glistened.

Sam reached out and took her hand, squeezing it, unable to find any soothing words.

Alyss tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, but it refused to stay.

“Anyway, he and Tiffany are off to Europe for a couple of months, so they packed up Shelby and dumped her here three days ago. No warning. And he knew I was struggling to get this place put together.”

“But you are glad she’s here?” Sam asked.

“Of course. I miss her so much. Everyday.” Alyss offered a weak, half-smile, which dissolved into a worried frown. “But she’s changed.”

“How?” Sam released Alyss’ hand and lifted her coffee cup, cradling it with her fingers, taking a sip.

“Angry. Rebellious. She calls herself a raver. Dresses like a clown. Stays out at all night parties.”

“Dan lets her do that?”

Alyss massaged the back of her neck. “He’s changed, too. He’s not the dedicated detective you knew when you worked with him at LAPD. He’s totally Hollywood now. Fancy clothes. Fancy haircut. And Tiffany. Silicon and all.”

Sam couldn’t suppress a laugh. The image of the Dan she knew---lean, fit, starched, crew cut---as a Hollywood hustler was comical. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“Go ahead. If it weren’t so painful I’d think it was funny, too. Hell, I think it’s funny anyway.”

“I just can’t picture Dan that way,” Sam said.

“I couldn’t either,” Alyss shrugged. “Until he packed up and left.”

“You think he’s responsible for the rift between you and Shelby.”

“Partly. Mostly. But I am, ‘like, you know, totally uncool,’ as Shelby would say. She’s not exactly overjoyed to be here. She wanted to hang in LA with her friends. Apparently one of the parents offered to let her stay with them, but that I wouldn’t stand for. I’d rather fight with her every day than lay awake every night and worry where she is and what she’s doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “Anything I can do?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Alyss said. “Talk to her. She’ll listen to you. She always has. Me? I’m the enemy. Whatever I say sparks a war.”

“She’s a teenager,” Sam offered. “She’s supposed to rebel.”

“It’s more than that.” Alyss dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye with her napkin. “She chose to live with her father. Not with me.”

Sam started to protest that that wasn’t true, but footsteps on the porch silenced her. The front door swung open and Shelby came in.

Shelby’s face lit up when she saw Sam. “Aunt Sam,” she said, using the only name she had ever called Sam. She handed her mother a fistful of flowers and then hugged Sam.

Sam pushed her back and examined her. She had last seen Shelby three years ago. Since then, Shelby had turned 17, sprouted four inches, and matured into a beautiful young woman--tall, lithe, with bright green eyes, like her mother’s. Those were the good points. The rest disturbed Sam and she fought not to betray her shock.

Six earrings lined her left ear, four her right. Her eyebrows were dark, pencil thin and her beautiful, long auburn hair clipped and dyed into a jet-black skullcap. That is except for a half a dozen braided strands tipped with multicolored plastic clips of Elmo, Big Bird, and other Sesame Street characters. She wore over-sized fuzzy lime green pants and a strategically torn white tee shirt, which exposed most of her belly. A multi-colored tattoo of abstract design haloed her navel and a gold ring perforated its lip.

Alyss had used the word “clown” to describe Shelby’s dress. Sam agreed. She held back what she really wanted to say and instead said, “Look at you. You’ve grown so much.”

Shelby offered a mock curtsy.

“New color?” Sam said as she touched Shelby’s hair.

“Yeah. You like it?”

“Your hair was so pretty before.”

“Mom hates it. And she hates my tattoos and my piercings.”

Sam smiled and offered a wink to Alyss and then looked at Shelby. “Maybe your Mom’ll come around when she’s older.”

Shelby laughed and hugged Sam again. “I knew you’d understand.”

Alyss smiled at Sam and nodded a “Thank you.” Then, she said: “I thought we’d go into town and show Sam around. And I need to stop by Tony’s Market and pick up a few things.” She looked at Shelby. “Want to go?”

“Sure. Let me jump in the shower.” Shelby headed down the hall to her room.

Alyss walked to the sink, dumped a basket of blackberries into a metal colander, and began rinsing them.

Sam ed her. “Let me do that.”

Alyss dried her hands, retrieved flour, sugar, and shortening from the cabinet, and began work on dough for the cobbler she was preparing for dinner.

“The good thing about her being here,” Alyss said, “is that she can’t go to those all night rave parties like she does in LA. There are all kinds of drugs there. Marijuana, alcohol. That Ecstasy stuff that has killed so many teenagers.”

“I thought that fad had ed,” Sam said.

“I wish. According to Shelby, it’s bigger than ever.”

“Shelby’s smart. She’ll take care of herself.”

“A year ago, I would’ve agreed with you. But, since she’s been with Dan and his trinket, her judgment hasn’t been the best. And God knows they haven’t disciplined her one bit.”

After they finished the cobbler and slipped it into the refrigerator to be baked later, Alyss led her upstairs. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”

The inn was wonderful. Six bedrooms, four for rent, including the one Sam occupied, each decorated in a different color scheme, each more beautiful than the last.

“I bought it furnished,” Alyss said. “I only had to do a little painting and buy new draperies and carpets.” She pushed open the door to the last room, which occupied the front corner of the second floor directly above Sam’s room. “This is the Honeymoon Suite.”

The walls were a rich, creamy green. White lace curtains, held open by polished brass hooks, framed French windows that looked out over the rose garden. A massive, waist high four-poster bed dominated the room. A sheer canopy tented the top and dropped graceful tendrils to the floor along each post. A mantled fireplace occupied one corner.

“Wow,” Sam said. “This is spectacular.”

“I hope my first guests agree. They’re newly weds, coming in from Denver later today.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “They’ll be impressed.”

“I wonder if they know about the murder? Maybe they’ll pack up and leave when they do find out. Maybe they already know and won’t show at all.”

Sam locked her arm with Alyss’ as they walked down the hall toward the stairs. “Quit worrying. They’ll show up. And they’ll love it.”

CHAPTER 9

The news of Lloyd Varney’s murder settled over the town like a winter frost, chilling an otherwise clear, sunny day. It swept up Main Street, ing from person to person like a virus, infecting each in turn with a smoldering fear. The horror slipped softly from one person’s lips to another’s ears, the words heavy with sadness and disbelief.

Those who had attended church heard Reverend Phillip Blaine speak of Lloyd’s kindness and generosity, of how he had lived in Gold Creek his entire life, a native son, and would now be buried in the small cemetery behind the church he had attended since boyhood.

Now, the churchgoers, dressed in their Sunday best, mingled with other townspeople, sharing their loss in hushed tones. Most shuffled along Main Street, confused and shocked, while a dozen or so clotted together in front of Varney’s General Merchandise as if being close to the scene would somehow make it more understandable. Children stood silently at their parents’ sides, seeming to sense a gravity most were too young to comprehend.

Sam, Alyss, and Shelby rounded the corner from Fourth Street, where Sam had parked her Jeep. As they neared the throng, several people nodded to Alyss and eyed Sam with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. One older couple whispered to each other, their mutual gaze tracking Sam’s approach, glancing down and away when Sam looked toward them.

The outsider, Sam thought. Just like back home. Visitors, new faces are always greeted with polite suspicion. No one would say or do anything, but the wall of separation was almost palpable. Except here, she was the outsider.

As she neared the gathering, Sam smiled and nodded to the couple that seemed so curious about her, but they turned to each other, continuing their conversation as if they hadn’t seen her olive branch.

Chief Wade stepped out of Mama Rose’s, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand. Sam nearly collided with him.

“How are you doing, Deputy Cody?” Wade said.

“Tired,” Sam said.

“Alyss,” he nodded.

“Chief Wade.” Alyss lay a hand on Shelby’s shoulder. “This is my daughter Shelby.”

Wade touched the brim of his worn and stained Stetson. “Nice to meet you.”

“Anything new on your investigation?” Sam said. She noticed that the crowd’s murmurings waned as it turned its collective ear toward them, no doubt searching for some scrap of information that might shed light on what exactly had happened to Lloyd Varney. Wade apparently sensed this, too. He moved down the sidewalk, away from curious ears. Sam followed. Alyss and Shelby remained behind.

Wade stopped near the corner, beneath one of the ornate lampposts. Sam glanced back up the street and saw the older couple strike up a conversation with Alyss. Probably to find out who Sam might be and if they had heard correctly when Wade addressed her as “deputy.” Morbid curiosity apparently doesn’t dwindle with age.

Wade tilted his hat back with a finger under the brim. “That empty shoe box you found. Timberline boots. Size fourteen. Billy Bear’s brand and size. Lloyd orders them in special for him and a shoe that big sure wouldn’t fit anyone else around here.”

“So, he was stealing boots that were his anyway?” Sam asked.

“Cheaper that way, don’t you think?” Wade pulled a toothpick from his shirt pocket and shoved it into the corner of his mouth. “And Billy’s the only person around here as big as the guy that ran over you.”

Sam felt a twinge of apprehension. Wade’s suspicion appeared to be based solely on her description. She never really saw the man, only the shadow of a run-away bull. And a swirl of stars after her head hit the wall of the bank. “I never really got a look at him,” she said.

“Yeah. I know,” Wade said. “But Billy’s not our most upstanding citizen.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

“He’s got a sheet. Nothing like this, but fighting, growing dope, stuff like that.”

“Marijuana?”

“Never could prove it. It was on his land, but out from his house a ways. Guess it could have been anyone. Of course, Billy never denied using the stuff. Just denied growing it, which would have gotten him before the judge.”

“Have you talked to him?” Sam asked.

“Not yet. Went by his place. Wasn’t there. He’s probably out in the mountains. That’s where he is half the time.”

“Doing what?” Sam asked.

“Hiking around mostly. He’s gone for days sometimes. Likes to camp up there.”

“You going to go find him?”

“Me? No way.” Wade shook his head for emphasis. “Couldn’t find him anyway. Nobody knows these hills better than Billy and if he doesn’t want to be found, ain’t nobody going to find him.”

“You really think he killed Mr. Varney?” Alyss asked.

Wade scratched his ear. “He knows the lay out of the store. Even has a key.” Wade shifted the toothpick to the other corner of his mouth. “If Billy did this and run off, we’ll never find him in these mountains. If not, he’ll be back in a day or two, I suspect.”

Eloy Fuller, head bouncing on his long neck, cigarette bobbing from the corner of his mouth, eyes darting around as if following a gnat, walked toward them. He seemed to focus one eye on Wade and the other on Sam. He offered Sam a grin and then turned to Wade. “Chief. They’re here to take the body over to Montrose.”

Sam flashed a quizzical look at Wade.

“Abe Summers. County Coroner,” Wade said. “Up in Montrose. Examines all homicides in the county, which is almost never. But we’ll see what he has to say. Probably not much since the cause of death seems fairly obvious, and I doubt he can tell us who did it.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it in the nearby trashcan. “I’d better get this done since Abe has kindly agreed to do the post today. That way we won’t have to delay Lloyd’s funeral too long.” He nodded to Sam. “See you later.” He turned and followed Eloy up the sidewalk.

Eloy looked over his shoulder at Sam a couple of times as he and Wade crossed Main Street and headed toward the Police Department.

Alyss walked up, Shelby in tow. “Looks like you have a fan.”

“Spare me,” Sam said.

“Come on,” Alyss said. “I’ll show you the town.”

“I’ve seen it,” Shelby said. “I’m going over to the music store and see if they have anything that’s not like totally lame.”

“Okay,” Alyss said. “We’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Sam and Alyss strolled down Main Street. While they walked and chatted, Sam decided that despite her introduction to the town last night and the understandably suspicious nature of the crowd outside Varney’s, she liked Gold Creek.

In the daylight, it appeared very different. The stores were old but seemed to wear their age well. Clean and tidy, but with no hint of Disney-like contrivance, they were the real thing. Built by hand from sturdy materials. Aged by time and weather, not some artisan’s patina.

Alyss pointed out some of the historic buildings, mostly Victorian, dating from a time when gold and silver were big business. Many had served as homes for the wealthy mine owners. Most had been restored; others still needed work.

Alyss showed her one particularly impressive three-story Victorian that had been the town’s main brothel. It was now the Begley Hotel. Stately, sedate, yellow with caramel trim, and stained glass everywhere.

“The brothel was run for over forty years by a woman who called herself Belle Bovary,” Alyss said. “I forget her real name.”

“When did it close?”

“Belle died in the 1930’s. A couple of the girls kept it running until the mid Forties. After the war, Thomas Begley bought it and converted it to a hotel.”

“It’s beautiful.” Sam shielded the sun from her eyes as she inspected the building.

“My main competition,” Alyss said. “They have eighteen rooms. I have four.”

“I’d bet yours are better though,” Sam said. “Besides, yours come with peace and solitude. And you.”

Alyss laughed.

“And down comforters and fresh muffins,” Sam continued.

They veered off Main Street long enough for Alyss to show Sam the hundredyear-old stone church with its soaring white steeple and gold cross. “It’s plated with real gold,” Alyss said.

“You’re kidding?”

“Apparently, they had more gold around here than they knew what to do with.” Alyss turned and looked back toward the Begley Hotel a block away. “The miners that visited Belle’s girls usually paid in nuggets and dust. That’s all they had, I guess. Anyway, Belle donated the gold for the cross.”

“Buying salvation?” Sam said.

“Or trying to keep the local powers out of her hair.”

Sam turned back to the church. The church’s property covered an entire block, set off from the sidewalk by a black wrought iron fence topped with ornate spikes. The grounds were park like, with manicured lawns and stately spruce trees. Reverend Blaine’s modest white, frame home sat only a few yards from the church’s rear door. Beyond lay the cemetery, a garden of flowers, shrubs, and headstones. Soon to be Lloyd Varney’s final resting place.

They continued their stroll, circling the church’s property. As they neared where they had started, Sam asked, “What’s the story on Chief Wade?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s he like? An okay guy?”

“Seems to be. He’s been Police Chief for over 20 years, I understand. The town must like him.” Alyss stopped and looked at her. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

“Come on, Sam,” Alyss said. “It’s me. I know all about you and curiosity.”

Sam laughed. “I just feel uncomfortable. As far as I can tell, he’s basing his suspect list of one on what I saw and the size of a missing pair of boots.”

“Shouldn’t he?”

“Eye witnesses are always unreliable. Even cops. Even me. I told him I didn’t really see the man. And a pair of eighty dollar boots doesn’t make a great motive for murder.”

“But you haven’t met Billy,” Alyss said. “He fits the part.”

As she walked, Sam brushed her hand along the wrought iron fence pickets, then stopped and grasped one of the ornate fence spikes in each fist. She gazed across the cemetery. “You mean like … if the shoe fits … ”

“Something like that.”

But did it all fit? Was Billy Bear the killer? Sam didn’t know what to believe. Not yet. She didn’t know this town or its people or Wade or Billy Bear Wingo. She just didn’t want her eyewitness , such as it was, to implicate the wrong person.

Alyss laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know it wouldn’t do any good for me to remind you that you’re on vacation and that this isn’t your concern.”

“I know.”

“The truth,” Alyss continued, “is that I’m scared.” Sam started to say something but Alyss raised a hand to stop her. “The entire town is. I could feel it. And with Shelby here … ” She looked at Sam. “I don’t know how good or dedicated or anything Wade is, but I know you.”

Sam couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I never thought I’d see this day. You’re actually encouraging me?”

Alyss shrugged. “I know you’ll find the truth whatever it takes.”

Sam let go of the fence spikes. “Wade might not like me snooping around?”

“Since when did that ever stop you?”

They locked arms and continued their walk.

Returning to Main Street, they ed several cluttered antique stores, Mark’s Pharmacy and its fifties style soda counter, and Tankersly’s Pool Hall, the local “den of iniquity,” according to Alyss. Finally, after collecting Shelby from the music store where she had found only one CD that wasn’t “like totally stone age,” they reached Tony’s Market, a small corner grocery store.

“I need to pick up a few things for dinner tonight,” Alyss said as they walked inside.

The market was neat, clean. Three aisles, filled with the usual grocery store items, ran the length of the store. Deep wooden bins, brimming with orderly displays of ripe vegetables and fruits, lined one wall. At the rear, sat a freezer cabinet of ice cream treats and a butcher’s case of fresh meats and fish. A slim man with thinning black hair and gold-rimmed glasses smiled as they walked up.

“Hello, Alyss,” he said. “How are you doing today?”

“Okay, Tony. You?”

Tony shrugged and extended his hand, palm down, and rocked it back and forth, indicating ambivalent feelings. “Terrible thing about Lloyd.”

“Yes, it is.” Alyss introduced Sam and Shelby and then asked for five Cornish hens.

“Coming right up,” Tony said and then disappeared into the walk-in refrigerator behind him.

“I thought I’d make tomato and butter lettuce salad, stuffed hens with port wine sauce, veggies, and French bread,” Alyss said. “And we’ll get some ice cream to go with the cobbler.”

“Sounds delicious. When’s dinner?” a deep masculine voice behind them said.

Sam turned to see a striking looking man. Tall, trim, mid fifties, he wore a dirtstained denim shirt that deepened the cool blue of his eyes. Equally soiled jeans and boots and thick blonde hair, graying slightly at the temples, lent a rugged masculinity. Not the kind of man you would miss in a crowd or anywhere else. A casual glance would become a lingering gaze.

“Sam, this is Burt Eagan,” Alyss said. “Burt, Sam Cody and my daughter Shelby.”

Burt shook hands with Sam and then turned to Shelby. “Your mother has told me a lot about you, but you’re even prettier than she said.”

Shelby blushed. “Thanks.”

“Pardon my appearance,” Burt said. “And the smell. We had to move some cattle this morning.”

Alyss smiled. “I don’t know how you keep up with a ranch the size of yours. I can barely handle my two little acres.”

“Sounds like you ladies have big plans tonight,” Burt said.

“Dinner for my first guests,” Alyss said.

“Congratulations. Exciting isn’t it?” Burt said.

Alyss nodded. “And a little scary.”

“It’ll be great.” He looked at Sam. “I understand you had the misfortune of finding Lloyd.”

“True.”

“Terrible thing. He was a fine man.”

“So I hear,” Sam said.

Burt nodded. “You’re a deputy. California isn’t it?”

How does he know all this? Sam wondered to herself.

As if reading her mind, he added, “Forrest Wade called this morning and told me about it.” He shook his head. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen around here.” He looked at Alyss. “You be careful until Wade tracks down whoever did this.”

“We will.”

“Not meaning any offense,” he said. “But three ladies, alone … I could have one of the boys camp outside your inn until this is solved.”

Alyss smiled, nodding toward Sam. “Thanks, but she’s armed and dangerous.”

Burt smiled. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

A young man wearing a white apron walked up. “Mr. Eagan, you’re groceries are ready up front. I’ll take them out to your car whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Jimmy,” he said. The boy walked away. Burt turned back to them, his gaze bouncing off Sam and falling on Alyss. They stood, eyes locked on each other, for a long moment.

Alyss broke the silence. “You’re welcome to us this evening.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Burt said. “Besides, you need to entertain your guests, not me.”

“Still, you’re welcome to come.”

He turned to Sam. “I’ve been trying to get her out to dinner for weeks, but she’s been too busy.”

“Really?” Sam said, eying Alyss with a raised eyebrow.

Alyss frowned at her. “Putting the house together has been a full time job.”

“Now that you’re officially open, maybe you’ll have more free time,” Burt said.

“I hope so.”

His eyes lingered on Alyss once again. “Well, I’ll leave you to your shopping. I’ve got a few more errands myself. Nice meeting you, Sam, and especially you, Shelby. Hope to see you again soon.” He turned, and then stopped and looked back at Alyss. “Why don’t you all come over to Casa Grande tomorrow afternoon? We’ll take some horses out for a ride.”

Shelby’s face brightened. She looked hopefully at her mother.

Alyss hesitated and then said, “Okay. What time?”

“How about one?”

“We’ll be there.”

“It’s a date then.” He smiled, turned, and walked down one of the aisles.

“Hmmm,” Sam said.

“Not a word,” Alyss said.

“I didn’t say anything.” Sam winked at Shelby.

“Then, don’t,” Alyss said.

Shelby laughed. “Mom, he’s like a total babe.”

Sam laughed; Alyss shook her head and rolled her eyes.

They left Tony’s, each carrying a bag of groceries, and walked down Main Street toward Sam’s Jeep.

“So, Burt rates a personal call from Wade about Lloyd’s murder?” Sam asked.

“You should know, you live in a small town. Everybody knows everything. I’d guess not much goes on around here that Burt Eagan doesn’t know about. Besides, Burt and Wade are good friends.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “They seem so different.”

“I suppose.”

“What does Burt do?” Sam asked.

“He owned a company. Sold it a few years back. He’s not hurting for money, I can tell you that. I hear he owns nearly two thirds of the valley and could probably buy the whole town, several times over. You should see his spread, Casa Grande. Thousands of acres and a huge house. I’ve only seen it from a distance. Never been inside.”

“I guess we’ll see it tomorrow,” Sam said.

CHAPTER 10

The town of Gold Creek, Colorado nestled near the mouth of a deep, narrow valley, cradled by the 11,000-foot peaks of the San Juan Mountain Range. The only road into the valley entered from the west where Highway 550 zipped past. Gold Creek Road split off the highway and wound through a deep notch in the mountains to reach the town, and then continued eastward, bisecting the valley.

Though the steep mountains protected the valley from the most severe storms, it still received its share of snowfall, averaging over 100 inches each year. The mountain peaks attracted at least twice that amount and thus displayed yearround snowcaps, which gave birth to half a dozen waterfalls and several creeks, all of which ultimately fed into Gold Creek itself. Gold Creek paralleled Main Street and marked the northern edge of town before rumbling westward to the Uncompahgre River near the state highway.

Though no one knew the exact number, it was believed that as many as 10,000 mines punctured the slopes of the San Juan Mountain Range. Several hundred bored into the peaks that surrounded Gold Creek.

Standing in the mouth of one of these shafts--the Old Watkin’s Mine--he combed his thick fingers through his unruly beard and watched a hawk soar across the clear blue sky. The sun hovered low, the shadows long. His dark eyes followed the hawk as it twisted first one way, then the other, aligning its attack, before scudding toward the ground, only to rise again, some small animal in his clutches.

He turned and shuffled back into the mine where a gas lantern provided a dim light. He sat on his sleeping bag and removed the last of the hunk beef he had

cooked last night and gnawed off a piece. He consumed the meat along with a tomato and chunk of stale bread, washing it down with huge gulps of water.

He stuffed the empty plastic bottle into his backpack where several others lay. Better hike over to Aspen Creek and refill them, he thought. Then in a few hours, after darkness settled over the valley, he could go hunting again.

He snatched up the pack and headed out into the waning daylight.

Alyss’ Aspen Creek Inn sat 200 feet above the valley floor and a mile east of town. Pressed against a grove of white barked aspens, it possessed a 180-degree view across a rolling, flower-dusted meadow. Aspen Creek tumbled down the sloping terrain a hundred feet from the house on its way to Gold Creek near town.

After carrying the groceries in, Shelby headed to her room to listen to her new CD while Sam and Alyss put away the perishables, dressed and stuffed the hens with a hazelnut-cornbread mixture, then retreated to the front porch, each with a cup of herbal tea. Sam curled into one corner of a wooden swing that hung by two shiny new chains, while Alyss sat in a weathered ladder back rocker.

The sun hung near the jagged peaks to the west and bathed the porch with its final blush. Its warming rays gilded the roses that filled the front yard and added diamond-like sparkles to the churning waters of Aspen Creek.

Sam inhaled the clean, crisp air. “This place is fabulous,” she said. “You really picked a winner.”

“I had my doubts at first,” Alyss said. “But the longer I’ve been here the more I love it.”

“I can see why. Your inn, the town, the mountains. It’s all so perfect. Not like home.”

“That’s because Mercer’s Corner isn’t fit for habitation,” Alyss teased. “Except

for snakes and scorpions.”

Sam laughed. “That’s true.”

Shelby came out the door, dressed in shorts, tee shirt, and tennis shoes, her green Elmo backpack slung over one shoulder. A Macintosh iPod hung from a black cord around her neck and headphones covered her ears. Her head bobbed back and forth and she sang, woefully out of tune, with the music that spilled around the ear pads.

Finally, Sam thought. For the first time since Sam had gotten there, Shelby looked like a normal teenager, not some LA raver. Except for the Sesame Street hair clips that is.

“Where are you going?” Alyss asked.

Shelby slipped the headphones from her ears. “For a walk.”

“Don’t go too far,” Alyss said. “There’s a murderer on the lose, in case you forgot.”

“Mom, you worry too much. I’m not going far. You said you wanted me to get out of my room more.”

“Okay.” Alyss held her hands up, palms out in surrender. “Just stay within sight

of the house. It’s easy to get turned around and lost up here.”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Want me to drop bread crumbs?”

Alyss frowned. “No. I just want you to be careful.”

“I will. I’ll stay near the creek.” Shelby reseated the headphones, ending further conversation, bounced down the porch steps, and headed around the inn toward the forest.

“See what I mean?” Alyss said.

“She’s a teenager. I seem to arguing with my mom, too.”

Alyss sighed. “Maybe I’m just too sensitive. Too judgmental.”

“That’s what moms are supposed to be, isn’t it?” Sam said. When Alyss didn’t respond, Sam continued. “Besides, you’re a little off balance right now. The divorce, the move, Shelby testing your limits. This murder.”

“Maybe.” Alyss finished her tea and placed the cup on the porch beside her. “You know me, Sam. I’m like you. Simple, practical. I don’t believe in much. Sun, rain, seasons, the laws of physics. The things that aren’t subject to interpretation. Then, of course, there’s happiness, joy, promises. But those beliefs evaporated the day Dan waltzed in, packed a bag, and said he was

leaving. For Tiffany.”

“I know it’s tough. But you’ll survive.”

“It’s what they’re doing to Shelby that I can’t stand. I don’t even know her anymore. She’s seventeen for Christ’s sake.” She massaged her temples. “They bought her a new BMW convertible. She’s not doing well in school, rebelling against everything, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she was using drugs. And they reward her. Does that make sense?” Alyss rocked forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I wish I could help,” Sam said.

“Just your being here helps.”

“Then, let’s have some fun,” Sam said. “Laugh a little.”

“I could use that.”

“What about Burt Eagan?” Sam asked. “He seemed interested.”

“I don’t know. I’m too old for the dating game.”

“You’re 35, not dead.”

“It’s awkward, uncomfortable. You know. The guy wears his best shirt and splashes on enough cologne to be flammable. And the girl destroys her hair, trying to make it something that it’s not, and suddenly develops perfect manners, all the while hoping the childish nervousness that causes her giggle too often and laugh too loud, doesn’t settle in her stomach and make her throw up. Not my idea of fun.”

Sam laughed. “You’ve been out of circulation too long. You’re not eighteen. You’re an adult.”

“Is that why last week I cried because the new curtains I bought for the honeymoon suite didn’t match anything in the room?”

Sam smiled. “Honestly, I don’t see how you’ve kept this many balls in the air.”

“It’s had its moments.”

“It’s time you lived a little. Burt is handsome and charming and successful. What have you got to lose?”

“Only what’s left of my sanity,” Alyss laughed.

“See. You’re better already.”

“What about you?” Alyss asked. “Tell me about your new guy.”

“Nathan? He’s a doll. You know he writes for that tabloid, ‘Straight Story.’ He lives in LA and travels a lot so we don’t get to see each other that often.”

“I read his story on the Richard Earl Garrett case. He made him out to be the son of Satan.”

“He may have been Satan himself.”

Alyss raised an eyebrow.

“Garrett seemed to have some kind of power over people,” Sam said.

Alyss looked at Sam as if she had spoken in tongues. “Come on, Sam. Don’t tell me you bought into that stuff.” Alyss laughed. “What has this Nathan guy done to you? Samantha Cody believes in the supernatural?”

The specter of Garrett’s face, haughtily laughing, then surrounded by flames and contorted in pain, formed in her mind. A montage of images from her Garrett infused dreams followed. She pushed these memories aside and shrugged. “You had to be there, I guess.”

“You should’ve brought Nathan with you. I’d love to meet him.”

“He might be able to get away in a couple of days.”

“Where’s he now?

“He’s in upstate New York chasing a story. Probably a three headed alien or something like that.”

Alyss laughed. “I’m sorry. But knowing you … little Miss Pragmatic … I can’t see you with a tabloid reporter.”

“You should see him. Gorgeous with a capital G.”

“Like Dan,” Alyss said.

“Yeah.”

“Next time,” Alyss said, “I’m going to marry an ugly guy who can cook.”

They laughed.

Shelby followed Aspen Creek as it wound upward, through the trees until she came to a place where it tumbled down a stair step of rocks and boulders and into a wide crystalline pool. She had found this place her first day in Gold Creek and had immediately claimed it as her own. No one around, no one to bother her or nag her, no noise except the chirping of birds, the scurrying of squirrels, and the swirling water. And, of course, her music.

She dropped her Elmo pack near the bank and sat down, leaning against a thick spruce trunk. After adjusting her headphones, she pulled a plastic bag from a zippered pocket near Elmo’s ear. Inside lay several neatly rolled ts. She selected one, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

Her mother would shit if she knew what she was doing. And if she knew about the raves back in LA, she’d probably have a seizure.

Her father would be upset, but he’d get over it. Tiffany? Tiffany gave her the bag of ts just before she boarded the plane for her trip here. Tiffany was way cool.

Luckily, he had completed refilling his water bottles when he saw her approaching through the trees and had concealed himself behind a boulder near the top of the cascade before she wandered into the clearing. She had not seen him, but from his vantage point, he possessed a clear view of her, and even a hundred or so feet away, he could smell the aroma of the marijuana. He watched as she took several long drags, holding each for a time before exhaling the pale smoke skyward. She then licked a thumb and forefinger, pinched the glow from the roach, and dropped it on the ground next to her. She leaned back against the tree, adjusted her headphones, and closed her eyes.

He couldn’t ever having seen her before. And had he, he would definitely . She was beautiful, trim, with long legs. Strange, colorful clips tipped what appeared to be half a dozen short pigtails, which sprouted in no discernible pattern from her short jet-black hair. Her head bobbed slightly in time with whatever music she listened to.

He swept his unruly beard aside and rested his chin on one thick forearm. He imagined them sitting together beneath the tree, talking, laughing, holding hands, kissing, making love. He imagined that they were in love, had a life, a future together.

He knew none of it was true. None of it could ever be true. Not after what he had done.

Judging from the angle of the shadows, it was well after five and he had things to do before darkness arrived in a couple of hours. He took one last look at her, storing her image in his mind, and picked up his backpack, now stuffed with refilled water bottles.

Before he could take a step, he saw her yank off the headphones and stand. He ducked. Had she seen him? He held his breath and listened for her scream or the patter of her running feet, but all he heard was the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.

He carefully peered around the boulder. She stood facing the pool as if studying it. She slipped off her shirt and unhooked her bra, dropping both to the ground behind her. She stepped out of her shorts and then her black bikini panties.

His heart fluttered in his chest. She was incredible. Her skin had been lightly toasted by the sun. Her breasts were small, firm with erect nipples, and her long legs ed at a soft brown triangle. A colorful tattoo circled her navel.

She stepped into the water, ankle deep, knee deep, shivering, arms wrapped across her chest, and hesitated as if the coldness would drive her back to shore. With a soft squeal, she stretched out on the water and gracefully stroked to the middle of the pool. Rolling to her back, she kicked to the other side, where she turned and backstroked across the pool once again.

He leaned on the boulder, transfixed, watching her every move. Her long, lean body glided back and forth, and then she stood beneath a small cascade, letting the water flow over her head and breasts. Finally, she climbed out of the water, shivering, and dried herself with a towel she pulled from her backpack. She dressed and then relit the t. After taking two long hits, she flicked the remnant into the water and reseated the headphones. She snatched up her backpack, stuffed the towel inside, and disappeared through the trees.

He waited, listening, hoping she would return. She didn’t. Finally, he trudged up the slope, turned eastward, and followed a trail that led deeper into the forest.

After discussing the men in and out of their lives, Sam and Alyss turned to other topics--books, movies, clothes, food, and old memories. Sam heard Shelby’s footsteps before she rounded the corner of the porch and climbed the steps.

Alyss looked up. “Your hair’s wet. What happened?”

“Nothing. I went for a swim.”

Concern knitted Alyss’ brow. “Where?”

“There’s a neat pond about a half mile from here. Up in the trees.”

“I thought I told you not to wonder too far.”

“A half mile? That’s far? Besides, nobody knows about this place.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s not exactly on the beaten path.”

Alyss sighed. “Go dry your hair before you catch a cold or something.”

“I will, mother,” Shelby said and charged through the door into the house.

A car came up the winding gravel drive and stopped. A young couple stepped out. Alyss’ first guests had arrived.

CHAPTER 11

Sam found Kurt and Debbie Kendall to be a cute couple. Both had short, trimmed blonde hair, pert little yuppie noses, blue eyes, and flawless smiles. They looked like a People Magazine cover photo of the latest Hollywood power couple, but with a more innocent glint in their eyes.

As she and Alyss helped with their bags, they learned the couple had spoken their vows the previous afternoon before Debbie’s minister in the Denver suburb of Littleton, then presided over a reception for 400 people that continued until well past midnight. After sleeping late this morning, they drove the 300 plus miles to Gold Creek. Giddy from excitement and fatigue, they giggled and ohhed and ahhed over the Honeymoon Suite.

While the Kendalls settled in, Alyss retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Sam offered to help, but Alyss said there was little left to do, so Sam decided to go for a run.

“Maybe I can shake out some of the kinks,” she said, massaging her neck.

She slipped on a pair of black Spandex knee length shorts, a sports bra, a tee shirt, and laced up her tattered New Balance running shoes. Time to buy a new pair, but running shoes, like old jeans, are difficult to part with.

She pulled her back-up piece, a small .25 caliber Berretta, from her suitcase, ejected the clip, inspected it, and snapped it back into position. She debated whether to take it with her or not. Taking it seemed foolish, even wimpy. Yet,

there was a killer loose. Deciding to play it safe, she slipped the weapon into her fanny pack, which she fastened around her waist.

Flashing a wave at Alyss, she headed out the door, down the winding gravel drive, and then veered eastward onto a trail that cut diagonally across the meadow and deeper into the valley. Soon the knots in her back and shoulders released their grip, her legs relaxed, and she settled into a comfortable pace.

She ran easily, each foot accepting the ground, not challenging it, gliding along as if she knew the trail. As she ascended a gentle rise in the meadow, two ribbonlike waterfalls, which cascaded down the gray peaks, came into view. The one nearest her made its dramatic final plunge into a pool and lifted a misty cloud into the surrounding trees. Two crows soared overhead, loudly arguing with one another.

She mentally compared the dry, monotonous bleakness of the desert trails she ran near Mercer’s Corner with the majestic beauty around her. The peaceful meadow, the snow-capped peaks, the shimmering Aspen leaves, the graceful blue green spruces, and the crystalline waterfalls seemed almost unreal, as if this much beauty could not collect in one place.

She inhaled deeply. The air was crisp and clean and laced with a faint hint of pine. Not like home. There, on hot, windy days, she would tie a bandana over her nose and mouth to protect her lungs from the swirling dust. Her boss, Sheriff Charlie Walker, often teased her about looking like a bank robber.

Maybe Gold Creek wouldn’t be a bad place to live. Of course, the air was a little thinner up here. She slowed her pace and wiped sweat from her face with the hem of her tee shirt.

She continued to follow the trail, which cut through knee-deep grasses dotted with blue lupine, raspberry and lemon colored Indian paintbrush, and purple polemonium, before meandering upward toward a grove of aspens, which hugged the base of the mountains. She settled into a comfortable stride, losing herself in thought. The rhythm of her breathing melded with the soft pat-pat-pat of her footfalls.

He followed her progress from deep in the trees, her form visible in flashes through rifts in the thick foliage. He moved higher, mounting a rock outcropping, and pushed a sagging spruce branch aside. Now, with an unobstructed view, he saw her more clearly. Her body was tight, athletic, and he marveled at her grace. Strong, lithe, she seemed to run without effort, her strawberry-blonde ponytail bouncing behind her in rhythm with each stride.

Who was she? Where had she come from? He knew everyone in town, or at least at one time he had, but had never seen her. Or the young swimmer he had seen earlier. He settled back into the shadows and watched her glide up the meadow’s slope toward the forest.

By the time Sam reached the trees, the sun had dipped behind the peaks to the west, casting the entire valley in deepening shadows. She continued along the path, winding her way through a grove of white barked aspens. Their apple green canopies fluttered in the breeze and threw a protective shroud over their saplings, which, though slim and delicate, stood as straight as their parents.

The trail continued upward into the thicker spruces. Ahead, she heard the muted rumble of waterfall, a sound that grew louder with each stride, and then she saw glimpses of it through the trees. The trail swept around a cluster of pines before opening into a small clearing at the fall’s edge. She stopped.

Before her, the water swirled and tumbled over a rocky ledge, and then fell a hundred feet or more in a thick column toward a clear pool. The ground beneath her throbbed with the water’s power and its bracing spray cooled her skin. Sweat and mist collected on her brow and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

After taking a few deep breaths, she continued along the trail, which climbed the steep slope, paralleling the swirling waters for a short distance, before turning to the west, toward home. She had been running for 45 minutes and guessed another 30 minutes would bring her back to the Aspen Creek Inn.

Just before the trail turned back into the trees, she caught a glimpse of a broad rocky ledge that cantilevered over the falls, a hundred feet above her. She veered off the trail and trudged upward through the spruces.

As she stepped from the trees and onto the flat ledge, the valley opened before her in a panorama that literally took her breath away. The valley floor was a blanket of rich green and to the west the sun gilded the edges of the peaks and

painted the sky a golden peach. She looked down on the rumbling waterfall as it plunged into the mist-shrouded pool she had seen earlier. From the pool, a broad creek emerged and wound its way toward town.

She absorbed the view and the clean crisp air for a few minutes, before turning to head back down to the trail.

Then, she saw it.

Something moved through the trees above her. She eased to the edge of the clearing and ducked behind a thick spruce trunk. Her heart jumped to a higher gear and suddenly the air seemed even thinner.

Peering around the tree, she saw nothing but she heard it, plowing through the brush and tree limbs, seemingly unconcerned. Then, the dark form reappeared. It moved among the shadows, a difficult to define mass, coming down the slope, directly toward her. She couldn’t make out any details or colors, only its size, which was huge and seemed to grow second by second.

What the hell was it? A bear? What should she do? She spun her fanny pack around and unzipped it. Her fingers closed around the Berretta. Not exactly the ideal weapon for bear hunting. No way it would kill or even harm it. More likely only anger it.

Think, Samantha.

She had read somewhere that defending yourself from a bear differed, depending upon whether it was a Grizzly or a Black Bear. One you fought; the other you played dead. But which was which? It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t know one from the other anyway.

Her first impulse was to run, but she also ed reading that running was dangerous regardless of what type of bear it was. It would be bigger, faster, and would think anything running from it must be food.

She sidestepped to her right and squatted behind a stocky boulder. A small gap between two other nearby rocks looked inviting and she considered wedging herself in the shadows of the crevice. But, if the bear found her, sniffed her out, she would be trapped. Indecision paralyzed her.

The crunching and scraping grew louder. She peeked over the rock. It was closer, maybe a hundred feet away, but was still difficult to see clearly in the deepening gloom of the forest. Yet, now she could tell that it didn’t move like a bear, but rather walked upright.

She dug her toes into the loose soil as would a sprinter. Hopefully, whoever or whatever it was would by and not notice her. But, if it did, it was too big to fight and her small caliber gun wouldn’t stop anything that size. Her only hope would be to outrun it. She crouched, coiled for flight.

It moved to her left, rounding the boulder. She tensed, her legs burning with anticipation. Just as she prepared to launch herself forward, the hulk spoke.

“Hello there.”

She jumped, losing her balance, grabbing the face of the boulder for . She looked up into two dark eyes and a thickly bearded face.

To say he was big didn’t cover the subject. Not even close. Six-four, possibly 300 pounds, with a barrel chest and muscular arms. He held a tall walking stick in his left hand and a stuffed backpack hung from his other shoulder.

“Hello,” he repeated. “Who are you?”

“Sam,” she managed to squeak out.

“I’m sorry.” A broad smile erupted. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You did. I thought you might be a bear.”

He laughed. A deep laugh that resonated in his cavernous chest. “Well, I am. People call me Billy Bear.”

Billy Bear?

The Billy Bear that killed Lloyd Varney? Or might have anyway. He possessed the same bull like build as the man who ran over her last night. Was it just last night? She looked down. His boots. Big, wide, new, but in the shadowy light, she

couldn’t determine the make. Her hand slipped within the fanny pack and once again wrapped around the gun.

Her mind raced. Stay or run, be cool or panic? Show the gun? Fighting didn’t seem a good option. Her sore fists would probably crumble against his square jaw.

As if he sensed her apprehension, he said, “Don’t be afraid, I’m harmless.” He extended a hand toward her. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Sam froze for a second, unsure what to do with the thick-fingered hand that he extended toward her. Finally, she released the gun and they shook hands, her fingers disappearing inside his massive paw, which pumped her arm up and down.

Sam couldn’t imagine Billy actually being born. He must have been constructed. Probably by Peterbilt. He was as wide as a freeway and appeared as solid as concrete. A thick brown beard, peppered with gray, hid everything except his nose and a pair of intense espresso-colored eyes, which emitted an impish twinkle when he spoke. Unruly dark hair swept back into a ponytail that hung to his mid back. He wore a faded, sweat-stained yellow Caterpillar hat and a brown and green checked flannel shirt, sleeves ripped off at the shoulder seam, exposing biceps as big as her thighs.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said.

“A little flimsy for hiking,” he said, eying her outfit.

“I wasn’t. Just out for a run.”

“From where?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest.

Conflicting signals. His size and mountain man crudeness were intimidating, but his relaxed manner, soothingly resonant voice, and soft brown eyes were nonthreatening, even comforting. Sam felt her inner tension wane slightly.

“I’m visiting a friend. Alyss Cameron.”

“Yeah. Don’t really know her. Seen her a few times. Seems like a nice lady.”

“She is.”

“Well, how do you like our fair city?”

“I just got in last night. Haven’t seen much of it yet.”

“Well, right here’s one of the prettiest sights in the state.” He moved out of the trees and across the open area to the edge of a shear cliff. He slipped his backpack from his shoulder, eased it and the walking stick to the ground, and took a deep breath. “Ain’t this grand?”

Sam stepped out of the trees, hesitated, looked back over her shoulder toward the trail below them. “I should be getting back.”

Either Billy didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her. “Right there,” he said, pointing downward, “is where Gold Creek begins.” He sat down on the ledge, his feet dangling over the edge. “Isn’t this the prettiest place you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s beautiful,” Sam agreed. She adjusted the gun in her fanny pack so she could easily grab it if needed. Yet, she didn’t sense Billy meant her any harm. He didn’t act like a murderer on the lam. Of course, he could simply be a cool customer. Maybe trying to get her to let down her guard.

He rocked back and forth slightly as he gazed out over the valley. “I love it up here. Not just right here, but up here anywhere. Away from people. Just me and Mother Nature.”

“A real renegade, huh?” Sam said.

He smiled. “Yes. And no. Like everyone else around here, I’m a landowner. With a house made from trees and a gas guzzling truck. I just apologize to nature for it. Others don’t.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that. I spend part of every day up here. Hiking, enjoying what Mother has

to offer.”

“And that’s an apology?”

“Of sorts. I believe it makes her happy when we enjoy her beauty. Aren’t most women that way?” He flashed a devilish grin.

Despite her earlier apprehensions, Sam began to relax. “Most men would like to believe that,” she laughed.

Billy laughed with her, rocking back on his hands. “Still, nature is pure, people are mostly bullshit. She’s beautiful, glorious, and honest. Also deadly and merciless. But either way, whether she kisses you or kills you, it’s real.”

“I’ve never heard it put that way before,” Sam said.

“Look down at that meadow.” He pointed with his walking stick. “Peaceful, serene, full of renewing life. But also a killing field. Mother rabbit gives birth to her young, hides them, protects them. Yet, a coyote or a bobcat or a hawk can take one of them in a heart beat, without warning. The young rabbit’s death squeal might silence nature for a brief moment, but soon the sounds of rooting and feeding and hunting and singing return as if nothing had happened. That’s pure, simple, honest.”

“You’re quite a poet,” Sam said.

“A regular John Muir or Walt Whitman.” He rocked back again and released a full-throated laugh.

Billy slid a thick hunting knife from its scabbard, which rested against the small of his back, the blade making a soft twanging sound. Sam gripped the gun, her trigger finger sliding into position. An apple appeared from Billy’s backpack and he deftly sliced off a chunk, offering it to Sam on the knife’s blade.

“Thanks.” With her other hand she took the apple slice and bit into it. “Hmm. Good.”

Billy nodded, cut off another piece, and shoved it into his beard. “Got a pear, too. If you’d rather have that.”

“No. This is great.”

They chewed noisily on the apple, Billy carving off slices for them.

Sam thought she should feel uncomfortable. After all, Billy could be a murderer. But something inside her said that this man wasn’t a killer. Stupid, she told herself. She’d known him how long? Fifteen minutes. And murderers don’t usually wear a “Scarlet Letter” or have “Guilty” tattooed on their foreheads.

She looked at him, considering whether to bring up the murder or not. Confront him or hurry her butt back to civilization. Her cop’s curiosity swelled.

He lazily chewed an apple slice while gazing out across the valley. As if he sensed her watching him, he turned toward her. “What?”

“Did you know a man was murdered in town last night?” Sam asked.

He gave her a quizzical look. “In Gold Creek?” He said it with the incredulousness of someone who believed murder and Gold Creek didn’t belong in the same sentence.

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t heard. I slept up here last night. Who was it? One of those biker morons from Tankersly’s?”

“No,” Sam said. “You up here all night?”

Billy cocked his head and looked at her. “I been up here for two days? Why?”

“Doing what?”

A frown appeared on his face. “What’s with the questions?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m a cop. It’s a habit.”

“Cop? From where?”

“California.” She casually put some distance between them by walking over to pick up a pinecone. She turned it over in one hand while the other rested on her fanny pack.

“So? Who was it?” Billy asked.

“Lloyd Varney.”

Billy recoiled. A chunk of apple fell from the knife blade and bounced over the edge of the cliff. He ignored it. “Lloyd Varney? When?”

“Near midnight.”

“What happened?”

“Looks like a botched robbery.”

“Oh, Lord.” He hauled himself to his feet. “I’ve got to get down there. Louise’ll need me.” He wiped the knife blade on his pants. “She’ll go to pieces. I’m the only family she’s got.”

Sam eyed the knife. “You’re related to them?”

“Not really. But they’ve been like parents to me.”

“And you know nothing about his murder?”

“No. But you can damn sure bet I’m going to find out.” He snatched up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“So, why does Chief Wade consider you a suspect?”

Billy stopped and turned toward her. “Me?”

“That might be my fault.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing.

“I found Lloyd’s body. And in the process got run over by the killer. Someone big. About your size. Wade said that could only be you.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, darkened. Her heart quickened to a trot. Maybe she

should have kept her mouth shut. She suddenly became aware of her isolation.

Billy shook his head. “Well, that don’t surprise me none.”

“It doesn’t.” My God, she thought, he’s going to confess. And then what? She looked at the sheer drop to the valley floor, at the knife he held, at the size of the man before her. She didn’t like any of the scenarios that came to mind.

Billy shoved the knife back into its sheath. “Wade’s a moron. And he and his buddies don’t like me too much.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Sam said. “All I know is that Wade wants to talk to you.”

“Well, let’s not disappoint the man,” Billy said. “Come on. I’ll show you the best way down.

CHAPTER 12

By the time Sam returned from her run, dinner was nearly ready. She snatched a piece of bread from the basket Alyss had placed in the center of the table between two tall white candles and munched it as she headed to her room. The warm shower refreshed and soothed her aching muscles. She flexed her hands as the water flowed over them. Still sore, but better.

While she stood beneath the spray, she thought about her encounter with Billy. He was nothing like she had expected. Everyone--Wade, Burt, even Alyss, who had only seen but never met him--had portrayed him as a rough, crude, possibly dangerous man. But Billy had seemed intelligent, gentle, almost ive. As she toweled off and pulled her damp hair into a ponytail, she decided she would talk with Alyss later. After dinner, after everyone had gone to bed.

She tugged on a pair of jeans and a pullover long sleeved shirt, and then ed Alyss, Shelby, and the Kendalls as they were taking their places at the table. “Hmm. Smells wonderful.”

The table was set with a pale green cloth, matching napkins, and Alyss’ best china. The candles cast a soft, romantic glow. Kurt held Debbie’s chair for her, kissing her lightly on the cheek after she sat.

The dinner was exquisite: the stuffed hens, tender and moist; the salad, crisp and clean; the polenta creamy and flavorful; and the blackberry cobbler, served piping hot with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, defied description.

While they ate, conversation revolved around the Kendall’s wedding. Debbie had several Polaroid pictures of the ceremony, reception, and the cutting of the three-tiered wedding cake. She in her lacy white gown and Kurt in his tux and tails looked like the perfect couple, as if they themselves had sprung from the top of the intricately decorated cake.

That they were in love was evident in the way they spoke, held hands, waited patiently for the other to finish a story or snippet of conversation, giggled in duet, and in the way their eyes held each other. Finally, they excused themselves and headed upstairs to their room.

As Sam watched them go, she felt a pang of jealousy. For their youthful exuberance, for their obviously deep devotion to each other, for the family they would one day have. She thought of her own parents and wished they were still living. And she thought of Nathan. She blew a wayward strand of hair out of the way.

Shelby, who had seemed bored and offered little to the conversation all evening, announced she was going to her room “to listen to my music.”

Sam helped Alyss clear the table and wash the dishes. Drying the last plate, she said, “I met Billy Bear today.”

“When?” Alyss asked.

“On my run. He scared the hell out of me.”

“What?”

“It was an accident. Our paths crossed up in the trees. I thought he was a bear at first.”

“He looks like one,” Alyss said.

Sam stacked the plates in the overhead cabinet, while Alyss poured each of them a cup of coffee. They sat at the table.

“So what happened?” Alyss asked.

“I found an incredible overlook with views of the entire valley. Next to a beautiful waterfall. He came through trees like King Kong.”

“What’d you think of him?”

Sam leaned her chin on her hand, elbow on the table. “At first, I was apprehensive. But I figured if worse came to worst I could out run him. Or shoot him. Of course, the bullets would probably bounce off.”

Alyss laughed.

Sam sipped her coffee. “But he seemed … nice.”

“Nice?” Alyss raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Soft spoken. Even polite.”

“And if he killed Lloyd Varney?”

“That crossed my mind.”

“Do you think he was the one that bulldozed you saw last night?”

“He’s big enough.”

“This gives me the creeps,” Alyss said, pulling her cardigan sweater around her. “You were out in the forest with a killer.”

“I don’t think so.”

But was he? Sam thought. She had sensed no guilt or deception in Billy. Of course, murderers, especially the sociopathic variety, could lie at will and usually spoke and looked and acted like everyone else. Rarely did they stand out in a crowd or incite fear in those around them. Except for their victims, that is.

“And you’re basing that on what?” Alyss asked.

“A hunch.”

Alyss rolled her eyes. “Come on, Sam.”

“Plus, he didn’t know about Lloyd’s murder. He was surprised when I told him.”

“He could have been acting.”

“I know. He’s going to talk with Mrs. Varney and Chief Wade. That doesn’t sound like a guilty person to me.”

“Unless he’s a smart guilty person.”

Louise Varney was in agony. Her head hurt and her stomach wound into a painful knot. But mostly her heart ached.

She had cried almost continuously since Chief Wade knocked on her door at 2:30 a.m., telling her Lloyd had been killed. The only breaks she took from her sorrow were two hours of fitful sleep at mid-day and the repetitive calling of well-wishers who stopped by with condolences and food. They were dear friends and she knew each meant well, but she would rather they left her alone, to expel her grief in privacy.

Now, she wandered around the kitchen, too tired to sleep, too sick to eat. She opened the refrigerator several times, intending to eat some of the ham or tuna casserole or corn bread or fruit salad her friends and neighbors had brought to her.

Why did people think food would soothe such a loss? That a banana cream pie might make her accept Lloyd’s death or fill the hollowness in her heart. Nothing could bring him back. Couldn’t they simply leave her alone?

Human nature, she decided. The feeling that you should do something, but knowing there was nothing to do. Besides, she had made similar visits, bearing stacks of her famous biscuits to friends caught up in their own personal nightmares.

She stared into the open refrigerator. Even her favorite comfort food, Oreos dipped in cold milk, wasn’t appealing. She finally selected a piece of cornbread, split it with a knife, and sandwiched a slab of ham inside, and then sat at the table, eating with little interest.

She found herself continually looking up at the back door, hoping to see Lloyd through the windowpanes of the Dutch door that he had repainted only a month ago. She silently prayed he would walk through it and put an end to this unbearable pain.

She thought of all the things she had to do. The funeral, the store. Lloyd’s will and the insurance papers. Lloyd’s clothes. How could she ever sort through his clothing? Give them to the Salvation Army, Lloyd’s favorite charity? She buried her face in her hands. It was all too much.

She had finished only half the cornbread when she glanced up at the back door once again. Billy stepped from the trees and walked toward the house. She raced to the door, flipped the latch, and yanked it open as Billy climbed the three steps to the porch.

“Billy,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his massive body. Tears erupted. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Billy embraced her while she cried into his chest. They stood silently for several minutes.

Finally, Billy spoke. “I’m so sorry. I would have been here sooner, but I just found out. I’ve been out hiking the last two days.”

She stepped back, grabbed his hand, and pulled him through the door. They sat at the table. She saw tears had welled in Billy’s eyes.

“Don’t you start crying,” she said. “You need to be strong for both of us.”

He pulled a paper napkin from the holder on the table and wiped his eyes. He exhaled hard. “I’ll try.”

Louise sniffed back her own tears.

“What happened?” Billy asked.

“According to Wade, someone robbed the store. Lloyd was down there staking it out and apparently surprised the thief.”

“Why the hell was he down there? I told him not to go playing cop.”

“You know what a stubborn old mule he can … could be.” Sobs racked her.

Billy reached out and clasped her hand in his. “You okay?”

“No. But I’ll survive. Somehow.”

Would she? Could she carry on without him? She had always hoped they would

die together. In their sleep. That way neither would have to go through the pain of losing the other.

She stood. “Want something to eat? I’ve got a refrigerator full of stuff.”

“I’ll get it. You sit down,” Billy said.

She waved him away and walked to the refrigerator. “I know you hardly eat when you’re off on one of your hikes. I bet you’re starving.”

She placed the ham, cornbread, and a five-inch thick banana cream pie on the table. She didn’t bother with the tuna casserole, knowing Billy wouldn’t eat it. She then set a plate, utensils, and a tall glass of cold milk before him.

Billy forked a slab of ham on to his plate and sawed off a hunk. It disappeared into his beard. “Good,” he smacked. “Pauline Whitaker?”

“Who else?” Louise said.

Pauline Whitaker raised pigs. She always brought ham, regardless of the occasion.

“I heard Wade came by and told you about it. About Lloyd. Sorry it wasn’t me that broke the news.”

“He was very kind.”

“He say anything else?” Billy asked.

“Like what?”

“I understand he thinks I might’ve done this.” Billy stabbed another piece of ham.

“What? That can’t be true.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Have you talked with him?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure as hell going to.”

“How could he suspect you?” She nervously wound a dishtowel around her fist. “He knows how close you and Lloyd were.”

“Because Wade’s a moron.”

Louise captured his gaze. “If you were up in the mountains, you don’t have an alibi.”

“Don’t need one.” Billy wiped a dribble of grease from his beard with a paper napkin.

“I could tell him you were here,” Louise said. “That I wasn’t feeling well and you came by.”

Billy smiled. “No, you couldn’t. That’d be a lie.”

“But I’d tell him anyway.”

“I know you would. But I wouldn’t let you. Besides, Wade knows I wasn’t here.”

Billy finished two thick slices of ham and three wedges of corn bread, and then dug into a piece of pie.

Louise smiled. “You don’t know how good it is to see you here eating. Like so many other times. It let’s me know life will go on.”

“It will.” Billy shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth. “I’ll go in early tomorrow and make sure everything’s okay at the store. I’ll open up and work all day so

you can stay home.”

“I’ll be there in the morning,” Louise said.

“”No. You stay here. You need the rest.”

“I can’t. These walls are driving me crazy. I need to be there. The store is all I have left.”

“And me,” Billy said.

“Yes. And you.”

CHAPTER 13

Sam lay in bed clad in a white tee shirt emblazoned with a gold Caesar’s Palace logo. One of the trinkets the hotel gave her for fighting there. The down comforter and the feather pillow enveloped her and the residual fatigue from yesterday’s long drive and last night’s lack of sleep should have pulled her into somnolence long ago. But that was not to be the case.

Even the paperback she had been reading, an activity that typically guaranteed drowsiness, lay open on her chest as she stared at the ceiling.

The creaking and squeaking and moaning of the Kendall’s love making filtered downward and filled the room. At first, she found the sounds humorous. For about 15 minutes. Then, they moved to irritating, to maddening, and finally to mocking her as she lay there by herself. She missed Nathan.

The couple had been at it for nearly an hour. Sam knew they were too young to suffer a heart attack, but she could at least hope.

Closing the book, she picked up the phone and dialed the number to Nathan’s hotel room in Syracuse, New York. He answered after the third ring, his voice low and thick with sleep.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Late.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I was just missing you.”

“I was missing you, too,” he said.

“No you weren’t. You were sleeping.”

“I was dreaming of you, though.”

“You’d better be,” she laughed.

“So, what’s going on?”

“I can’t sleep. The newlyweds upstairs are making too much racket. I expect them to crash through the ceiling any minute now.”

“Sounds titillating.”

“Maybe. If you were here. But right now it’s frustrating.”

“I wish I were there. This story is going nowhere, I’m afraid.”

“Well, just make something up,” Sam said. “Your readers won’t care.”

“Don’t start with that.”

“Okay. You should see it here. It’s beautiful.”

“I bet it is. What have you been doing?”

“Relaxing mostly. Except, there was a murder here Saturday night.”

“You’re kidding. What happened?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you another time. But I found the body.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Nathan said.

“I didn’t do anything. I found it by accident.”

“You mean like it just fell out of a window on the sidewalk right in front of you?”

“Well … no.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I heard gunshots.”

“Gunshots?”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t in the line of fire. But I stopped to check it out.”

“Like I said, I’m not surprised.”

“Okay, you win. So, when are you coming here?”

“I don’t know. I have some interviews tomorrow. I’ll have a better handle on it after that.”

“Hurry.”

“Cool your jets. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Meanwhile, I have a ring side seat to Ken and Barbie’s honeymoon.”

Billy Bear Wingo despised Forrest Wade. Wade was soft and lazy and corrupt. Always had been. He had remained Police Chief for over 20 years simply because nobody else wanted the job. But Wade did. Absent the job, the badge, he would be nothing. Invisible.

Billy pulled his truck to the curb in front of the Police Station. He glanced at his watch, 9:15 p.m. He hadn’t called Wade to tell him he was coming. Had he, Wade would have waited for him downstairs in his office. Wade didn’t like people invading the privacy of his upstairs apartment. Probably because the two times Billy had seen it, it was a mess. Unkempt, disordered, like Wade himself.

Besides, Billy enjoyed irritating Wade.

As he took the stairs to the police chief’s apartment, this weak thread of pleasure dampened his growing anger. Somewhat. He rapped his fist against the doorframe, shaking the wall.

He smiled to himself as he heard Wade muttering and shuffling across the floor. He banged the frame again. The latches clicked and Wade yanked the door open, his face furrowed with anger.

“What the hell … ” he began, but stopped when his eyes focused on Billy. He wore wrinkled khaki pants and a stained white tee shirt, no shoes. He took a step back.

“You wanted to see me?” Billy said.

“Yeah,” Wade said, recovering from his initial shock. “But not here. In my office.”

Billy planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Right here’ll do. What do you want?”

“Lloyd Varney was murdered last night.”

“I know.”

Wade stepped closer to him. “How?”

“I suspect everybody knows by now.”

“And?” Wade pushed his thinning hair back. “You know anything about it?”

“Just that it happened.”

“A witness put you there,” Wade said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“I don’t think so,” Billy said. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, one

hand propped on the doorframe. He could smell the alcohol on Wade’s breath. His shadow, created by the dim porch light, fell across Wade’s face.

“Someone saw you in the store right before they found Lloyd’s body,” Wade said.

Billy chuckled. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? But that ain’t how it went. Someone saw somebody who happened to be big. Not me.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know. How’s not important.”

“Where were you last night? A little past midnight.” Wade asked.

“Asleep.”

“Where?”

“You know where. Up there.” Billy yanked his head toward the peaks to the south.

“By yourself?”

“No, Wade. I had a covey of super-models with me. Of course I was alone.”

“You didn’t sneak back into town last night?”

“You got something to say, Wade, you say it and cut the bullshit.”

“Did you kill Lloyd Varney?”

“No. And you know I didn’t.”

“I don’t know any such thing,” Wade said. “You act like Lloyd and Louise are such good friends. But I know what the real deal is.”

“What deal?”

Wade smirked and shook his head. “I think you finally fucked up big time, Billy.”

Billy glared at him. “How do you figure that?”

“A witness saw someone big. Like you. The killer had access, knew the layout.

Like you. He bashed Lloyd’s head in, which means he was strong. Like you. And, he stole a pair of boots. Timberland. Size 14. Like those.” Wade nodded down toward Billy’s feet.

“None of that makes me the killer.”

“Not yet. But my investigation is just beginning.”

“Investigation?” Billy spat. “You couldn’t investigate a one car accident.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Yes. I guess we will.” Billy turned to leave, but stopped and faced Wade. “Be careful, Wade. Don’t go making accusations you can’t back up or I’ll have your ass in court so fast it’ll make you dizzy.”

“Look, Billy … ”

Billy stepped closer. The smell of alcohol increased. “You look.” Billy jabbed a finger in the air between them. “You fuck with me and you’ll be sorry.”

He turned and stomped down the stair.

CHAPTER 14

Sam awoke to silence. Wonderful blissful silence. Maybe the couple upstairs had suffered heart attacks after all. Her prayers had been answered. What time had she finally dozed? Three o’clock or so. The sexual Olympics above her had gone on at least until then.

So, why was she awake? God knows she needed the sleep. Then, she heard birds chattering outside her open window. That must be what awoke her. Or maybe it was the gentle breeze that rustled through the aspen leaves. Or perhaps the first light of morning that pressed against the sheer curtains.

She stretched and yawned, glanced at the clock. Eight. Her muscles were less stiff. Her run had done some good. She flexed her hands. Still stiff and swollen, but less than yesterday.

Fortunately, her next fight was two months away. Plenty of time for her body to heal. Then, back to the gym, the heavy bag, and Jimmy Ryker, her trainer, beating her into physical and mental condition.

Maybe 30 more minutes of sleep. After all, she was on vacation.

Then, it started. A giggle, a laugh, a moan. A faint creak, a squeak, and finally the full-on gasping and grunting of sex. Great. The happy groom had awakened with an erection and just couldn’t let it go to waste. Maybe she should call the bride’s father and tell him his new son-in-law was a sex addict. Maybe he’d come get his daughter and Sam could get some sleep. Or maybe she should call

Nathan again and threaten him with bodily harm if he didn’t get his butt on a plane pronto.

She lay there listening for ten minutes and then gave up and rolled out of bed.

Jesus. Someone should throw cold water on them.

She stepped into the jeans she had dropped on the floor the night before and pulled on a sweatshirt. After splashing water on her face, she ed Alyss in the kitchen. Breakfast preparations were well underway. Bacon sizzled in a skillet and the aroma of baking biscuits drifted from the oven. Sam poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, sipping it.

Alyss broke eggs into a bowl. She looked at Sam and laughed. “Not much sleep last night?”

“A few minutes here and there.”

“I heard them, too. At least until 2 a.m.”

“Then, you missed rounds four and five. Round six’s underway right now.”

“Tell me about it,” Shelby said as she came in. Her hair was a wild mess of tangles and several of her short braids had come unraveled, their Sesame Street clips missing. She accepted a cup of coffee from Sam and fell into a chair at the

table, rubbing one eye with a balled fist.

“I wonder if they’re coming down for breakfast,” Alyss said.

They heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see the Kendalls, flushed with the afterglow of sex.

“Good morning,” Alyss said. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Debbie said.

Kurt and Debbie took seats at the table. Sam poured coffee for them. Alyss served up eggs and bacon and placed a basket of biscuits on the table. Everybody dug in.

“What do you guys have planned for the day?” Alyss asked the couple.

“Drive around,” Kurt said. “See some of the countryside. Maybe go down to Ouray. I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Alyss said. “It’s called the ‘Switzerland of the Rockies’.”

“Then, maybe go for a hike this afternoon.”

“What time would you like dinner?” Alyss asked.

“Last night was wonderful,” Kurt said. “But I think I’ll take my bride out tonight. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Alyss said. “But, if you change your mind, I’ll fix something here.”

“I’m going into town to pick up a few things,” Sam said. She looked at Shelby. “Want to go with me? I’ll buy you some boots for our horseback ride today.”

“I have shoes.” Shelby wore a pair of black sneakers with silver trim and laces and four-inch thick soles.

Sam looked at them and shook her head.

“What’s wrong with these?” Shelby said.

“They won’t fit in the stirrups,” Sam said. “And you’ll need some jeans.”

“I have jeans.” Shelby tugged at her Raver-style jeans.

Fitted at the waist but with hugely oversized hips and legs, to Sam they looked like denim clown pants.

“They’re too baggy for horses,” Sam said. “You need some Levi’s. I bet I have a pair that’ll fit you. Come on.”

She and Shelby went to Sam’s room where Sam dug a pair of old and faded jeans from her suitcase. “These’ll do.”

“The legs are too skinny,” Shelby said. “Nobody wears these.”

“Around here they do. And if you want to keep your butt on a horse, you’ll need them. Just try them on.”

“But … ” Shelby began.

“Humor me.”

Sam intended to take Shelby by Clowers’ Outdoor and Mountaineering Store, but when they ed Varney’s she saw it was open for business. She guided the Jeep into the first empty space she saw and they walked back to the store.

The front door stood open and a woman in a light blue dress and a navy sweater, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, was wiping down the checkout counter with a cloth. She had a pleasant face and neatly combed gray hair.

She looked up and smiled as Sam and Shelby entered. “Welcome,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Louise Varney?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Sam Cody. This is Shelby Cameron.”

Louise offered her hand to Sam and they shook. She looked at Shelby. “Alyss’ daughter?”

“Yes.”

“She’s told me all about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet.” Louise turned to

Sam. “You found Lloyd, didn’t you?”

Sam nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

Louise offered a weak smile.

“Are you okay?”

Louise sighed. “It’s not easy.”

“Why are you here?” Sam asked. “Don’t you want to be home?”

“And what?” Louise replied. “Stare at the walls and cry? I’ve already done that.” Her shoulders gave a sad shrug. “Besides, somebody’s got to run the store.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Startled, Sam turned to see Billy Bear standing behind her, a large cardboard box hefted up on one shoulder. She hadn’t heard him walk up.

“I told her to go home. That I’d take care of things, but she’s too bullheaded,” Billy said.

“This is where I belong,” Louise said.

“Okay,” Billy said. “I’ll stack these sweaters with the others, then I’m going back up the hill to clear a fallen tree out of one of the streams and finish burying the deer carcass I found yesterday.”

“Deer?” Sam said.

“Looks like somebody cut out what meat they could carry and left the rest. It’s been pretty well chewed up by scavenging critters.”

“This isn’t hunting season,” Sam said.

“No, it ain’t,” Billy said. “And I don’t allow hunting on my property anyway. I find out who did this and I’ll break his neck.” He looked at Louise. “I’ll come back later today and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Louise said. “You go ahead. But come by for dinner. I’ve still got a refrigerator full of stuff. You didn’t make much of a dent in it last night.”

Billy carried the box toward the back of the store where he dropped it to the floor, ripped it open, and began stacking the sweaters on one of the tables.

“We need to get Shelby a shirt and some boots,” Sam said.

Louise directed Shelby toward a rack of pullovers. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

Sam walked toward Billy. He had emptied the cardboard container and now crushed the empty box flat with his boot. Sam noticed the Timberline logo on the heel.

“How are you doing today?” Billy asked.

“Fine. And you?”

Billy shrugged an “Okay.”

“Did you talk to Chief Wade?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He’s a jackass.”

Sam nodded toward the floor. “New boots?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just breaking them in.”

“Those the ones Wade’s all hot and bothered about?”

He eyed her with a frown. “Who’s side you on here?”

“Simply making an observation.”

“Sounds more like an accusation.”

Sam held up her hands, palms out. “No. In fact, I don’t believe you’re guilty.”

“But you’re not sure,” Billy said.

Sam shrugged. “Wade seems to think those boots point the finger at you.”

He stepped close to her, his thick chest only two feet from her face, and looked down. “I special order my boots from Lloyd and Louise. Always have. I’m a little hard to fit. Can’t buy off the shelf, so to speak. The rocks up there are tough

on them, so I go through a pair about every six months.” He looked down at his boots. “I always keep a new pair in reserve. The ones that were stolen were mine, too. I just hadn’t picked them up yet.”

“And Wade knows that?”

“Of course he does. He just don’t care.”

“Why is he so sure you did this?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

Billy smiled. “It’s a date then.” He headed toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Louise.”

“Be careful,” she said.

Shelby stepped out of the dressing room, tucking a loose fitting long-sleeved forest green pullover into the jeans Sam had given her. They accentuated her narrow hips and long legs.

“This is all backwards,” Shelby said. “The pants are supposed to be loose and the top tight.”

Sam laughed. “Now, let’s do something about those shoes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Louise had fitted Shelby with a pair of ankle-high boots with deeply treaded soles and rope-like laces. “These are what you need around here. Something that’ll keep you on the ground and upright. You might fall off these things and break something,” Louise said, holding up Shelby’s thick-soled tennis shoes.

Shelby walked back and forth. “These are comfortable.”

Louise rang up their purchases and Sam paid.

“You’re close to Billy, aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“He’s the closest thing to a son Lloyd and I ever had. Haven’t had any real family since my sister died about five years ago.”

“Why do you think Chief Wade suspects him?”

“Because that’s the easy answer, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“You saw someone big. Billy’s that and more. The killer took Billy’s boots. Why would someone steal boots that didn’t fit? Nobody else around here has feet like that.”

“You’re making a good case against Billy,” Sam said.

“Except he didn’t do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Still … ” Sam began.

“Still nothing. I hear you’re a cop. Is the easy answer always the right one?”

“Not always. Sometimes.”

“Look, Sam. Wade’s nice enough, but he ain’t no real cop. We don’t need one. That’s why he’s been here so long. And he doesn’t care too much for Billy. That’s a known fact.”

“Why?”

“Billy’s the closest thing to a criminal we have around here. He’s been in a few fights. Got busted for growing marijuana. Wade couldn’t prove that though.”

“Never been in any real trouble?”

“A couple of years ago he got drunk and broke up Tankersly’s Pool Hall. But he paid the damages so the charges were dropped.”

“And that’s the worst of it?” Sam knew half a dozen guys back home that had done worse than that.

“Yeah. That’s about it.”

Shelby stood before a full-length mirror, spinning one way and then the other as she examined herself. She tugged at her jeans and shirt as if searching for a comfortable arrangement. Sam and Louise shared a brief smile.

“Can I do anything for you?” Sam asked Louise.

“No. But thanks for asking.”

Sam turned to Shelby. “Ready?”

Shelby gave the shirtsleeve one final tug. “Yeah.”

They said their goodbyes to Louise and walked back to Sam’s Jeep. After Sam made a U-turn and headed back toward home, she said to Shelby, “Everything fit okay?”

Shelby fiddled with the laces to her boots. “Mostly. This’ll take some getting used to, but yeah, I think I like these boots. Thanks for getting them for me. And the shirt, too.”

“My pleasure. It’s a good look for you. Shows off your figure.”

Shelby wiggled in the seat. “I like my baggy jeans, though.”

Sam laughed. “You’ll like those after you wear them awhile.”

Shelby wedged a hand in one pocket. “Not much room in here. Good thing I have my backpack.”

“Is that what you call that Elmo thing?”

“Mom hates it. You don’t like it either, do you?”

“Adults never like what teenagers do, but we’ll get over it.”

“I wish mom was as cool as you. And Tiffany.”

Sam looked over at her. “She’s in a little different position than either of us, don’t you think?”

Shelby didn’t say anything.

“What makes Tiffany so cool?’ Sam asked.

“She thinks more like I do. Doesn’t judge me all the time.”

“And your mom does?”

“Constantly. And Tiffany’s younger. More my age. And beautiful and rich.

“Being young, beautiful, and rich doesn’t necessarily make you cool, though,” Sam said. Just an insufferable bitch.

Again, Shelby offered no response. She nervously tugged at her shirt, and then smoothed her hand over her pant leg as if wiping something off her palm.

“Your mom loves you. You know that don’t you?”

Shelby looked down at her feet. “I guess.”

“She does. Maybe more than you realize.”

“Then, why does she pick at me all the time?”

“Because she’s afraid.”

Shelby looked up. “Afraid? Of what?”

“Of losing you.”

“What?”

“She believes that you chose your father over her. She fears that you will grow up and go on with your life and she won’t be part of it. She fears you aren’t

getting the guidance you need and that you might get in trouble in LA. And she fears Tiffany will become more of a mother to you than she is.”

“That’s not true.”

“Have you told her that? Told her that you love her? Told her that she will always be part of your life?”

“No. But she knows that.”

“How does she know? Look Shelby, I don’t want to preach at you or anything like that, but look at your mother’s position. Your father left her. Rejected her. For another woman. A younger woman. And you left her to live with your dad.”

‘That’s not it. I just want to stay in LA with my friends. She’s the one that left and came here.”

“She may have left geographically but don’t you see she feels that your father and you left her emotionally? She felt…she feels like a castaway. Can you see that?”

“But that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” When Shelby didn’t respond, Sam continued. “Just think about it. And give her a hug every now and then. Okay?”

“Okay.”

CHAPTER 15

Casa Grande.

Casa Muy Grande would be more like it Sam thought as the huge estate came into view.

The expansive, multilevel, rambling log and stone home sat at the end of and well above Gold Creek Road in the deepest part of the valley. From its perch, it commanded a view of the entire valley floor and in the distance the town itself. A serpentine gravel driveway, curbed by a fence of artfully placed boulders and logs, ascended the slope through manicured grounds and ended at a circular flagstone parking area and a soaring porte-cochere. A stone stairway led to two massive wooden doors flanked by 20-foot tall stained glass s that extended upward to a sharply slanted roof.

As they climbed the steps, one of the doors opened and a thin attractive Hispanic woman smiled at them.

“Hola,” she beamed, stepping back, allowing them to enter.

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was stunning. The walls of the cavernous entry foyer were of intricately cut redwood marquetry and held several tastefully framed Chagalls, Rockwells, and Remingtons. A ten-foot diameter multi-tiered crystal chandelier seemed to float overhead, while two curving stairways rose to a second floor catwalk.

“I’m Carmelita,” the woman said. “Mr. Eagan is on the back patio.”

They followed her through a dining hall, dominated by a rustic table--a thick slab of polished oak surrounded by twelve chair--and then through a kitchen that was larger than Sam’s house and equipped better than most restaurants. Copper pots of every size and shape hung from the ceiling. French doors and windows welcomed the daylight and opened onto a broad flagstone patio. Beyond lay an Olympic sized swimming pool and a low hacienda style cabana. Further still, a densely treed slope provided a lush background.

Carmelita pushed open one of the doors and Sam, Alyss, and Shelby stepped out onto the patio, which was flanked and partially shaded by two soaring spruce trees.

Burt stood from his chair at one of several circular patio tables and greeted them. “Welcome,” he said.

“Your home is beautiful,” Sam said

“I’ll give you the nickel tour when we get back from our ride,” Burt said. He looked at Shelby. “You look different.”

“Yeah. Aunt Sam dressed me for the occasion.”

“You look like a regular cowgirl,” Burt said. “Can I get any of you something to

drink before we take off? Coffee? Soft drinks?”

“No, thanks,” Sam said. Alyss and Shelby shook their heads.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They climbed into Burt’s black Range Rover and drove the half-mile to the stables, where a Hispanic man, wearing a broad straw hat, met them. He stood between two sleek sorrels.

“This is Carlos Juerta,” Burt said. “He runs the stables for us. You met his wife Carmelita at the house.”

Carlos smiled and offered a brief nod.

“Who do you have saddled for us today, Carlos?” Burt asked.

“For the ladies,” Carlos said, “Betty and Chastity.” He extended one set of reins to Sam and laid the other set across Alyss’ open palm. He then walked back into the stables and reappeared leading a muscular, black Arabian with a nearly perfect white diamond on his forehead. “And for the senorita, Storm.”

“Oh,” Shelby said. “He’s beautiful.”

Storm snorted and bobbed his head in apparent agreement. Shelby stroked his neck, causing him to nuzzle his cheek against her.

“He seems to like you, too,” Burt said.

They mounted up, Burt riding his stocky roan Allegro, and headed off over the rolling terrain.

For someone who had been on a horse only twice and never in an open range, Shelby had no problem. She and Storm zigzagged through the meadow, racing ahead, before circling back only to trot off in a different direction. Sam, Alyss, and Burt rode at an easy pace, saying little, absorbing the beauty of the valley.

Sam moved ahead of them to keep an eye on Shelby and to allow Burt and Alyss the privacy to talk if they wanted. She could tell from they way they looked at each other that chemistry had begun to work its magic.

Sam crested a rise in the meadow and was rewarded with a view of an expansive meadow of green and gold grasses, dotted with flowers of red, purple, and yellow, and a few hundred yards ahead, a clear blue lake. Its mirror-like surface reflected the few cottony clouds that drifted across the valley.

Burt and Alyss rode up beside her and reined in their horses. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Incredible. Nothing like home,” Sam said.

“That’s why I live here,” he said.

“It is intoxicating.”

“You should think about moving here. Wade could use some help and we can always use another pretty lady.”

“Thanks,” Sam smiled. “You and Chief Wade good friends?”

“Good enough,” he grinned. “I could put in a word for you.”

An invitation to the boy’s club, Sam thought. “It’s tempting. But my boss, Sheriff Charlie Walker, would hunt me down if I didn’t come back.”

Burt laughed. He nudged his horse forward, toward where Shelby sat astride Storm near the lake’s edge. Alyss followed.

Sam watched them move away. Somehow she couldn’t picture Burt and Wade as friends. Burt was obviously educated, worldly, and charming; Wade more a good old boy. A political alliance, money and the law, she could see, but buddy-buddy didn’t seem to fit.

She twisted in her saddle, first one way and then the other, and took in the

scenery, every direction another beautiful vista. No, this was nothing like home.

As she ired the multi-colored peaks to the south, a movement caught her eye. Something dark, moving through the forest, high, near the tree line. She looked closer, but whatever it was had melted into the background. Maybe she hadn’t really seen anything. Maybe it was a bear. Or Billy. He had said he was headed up there somewhere.

Sam urged Chastity forward and caught up to the others. “Are there any bears around here?” Sam asked.

Burt nodded. “We see them occasionally. They mostly stay out of sight. Hide in the trees. They’ll come down and hunt in the meadows or drink from the streams from time to time.”

“What kind?”

“Black bears.”

“No Grizzlies?”

“Not in Colorado. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Don’t worry,” Burt said. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that,” Alyss said.

“How much of this land is yours?” Sam asked.

“I have about two thousand acres. Hollis Larsen, my business partner, has about a thousand. And we tly own nearly two thousand more.”

“Quite a spread,” Sam said.

Burt pointed toward town at a rocky outcropping near the base of the northern slopes. “Stretches from that ridge,” he turned Allegro in a tight circle and swept his arm in a 180-degree arc, “to near where that waterfall drops.”

Alyss had been right, Sam thought. Burt did own most of the valley.

“I’m disoriented,” Alyss said. “Where are we?”

Burt laughed. “This valley’s so deep and narrow that unless you know the subtle differences in the surrounding peaks, it’s easy to get turned around in here.” He twisted slightly in his saddle and pointed to a V-shaped groove in the mountains. “See that notch there?”

“The one right above town?” Shelby asked.

Burt nodded. “That’s where Highway 550 cuts through. That’s west.”

Alyss stood in her stirrups and pointed. “So, my place is over there?”

“That’s right,” Burt said. “About a mile as the crow flies over that little rise.”

“Who owns the land between yours and Alyss’?” Sam asked.

“Billy Bear Wingo. He owns about five hundred acres. Left to him by his old man.”

“That explains it,” Sam said.

Burt raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“I jogged through there yesterday.” Sam indicated the area to the west, toward Billy’s ranch. “I bumped into Billy.”

“What’d you think of him?”

“Huge.”

Burt laughed. “He is that.”

“Seemed nice enough,” Sam added.

“First impressions can be deceiving.”

“Oh?”

Burt raised his Stetson, ran his fingers through his blonde hair, and reseated the hat with a tug front and rear. “Let’s just say, Billy has always had a little problem with authority. He can be a handful.”

“I hear he’s had a few fights,” Alyss said.

“More than a few,” Burt said.

“I’d suspect a guy the size of Billy attracts challengers often enough,” Sam offered. “You know, guys feeling their testosterone, trying to whip the local bad boy. I see it all the time back home.”

Burt stared off at the peaks as if in thought.

“Do you think Billy had anything to do with Mr. Varney’s murder?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t surprise me though. Billy has a legendary temper.”

“So, Varney may have surprised Billy and … ”

“Something like that.” Burt eyed her. “I’d bet you’re a good cop.”

“I try.”

“That’s why you should move here and work with Wade.”

“I must it, I can think of worse places to live.”

They continued their ride, circling the lake. As they reached the apex of a gentle rise, Sam spotted a low cinder-block building with a metal roof. It sat in the deepest recess of the valley, well below Burt’s home, and backed against the eastern slopes. It was partially obscured by a grove of aspen trees, whose leaves scintillated in the wind.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My lab,” Burt said.

“Lab? For what?”

“Hollis and I built it after we sold our pharmaceutical company. To continue some of the basic research we had going. Dr. Edgar Locke. You know him?”

Sam shook her head.

“Nominated for a Nobel several years back. Anyway, he ran it until he had a stroke about eighteen months ago. It’s been pretty much dead since then.”

“What kind of research?” Alyss asked.

“Fairly basic stuff. We can’t compete with the big boys, but we thought we might be able to contribute something anyway. At least that was the plan.”

“What do you mean by basic stuff?” Sam asked.

“You are the curious type,” Burt said.

“Like the proverbial cat,” Alyss added.

Burt laughed. “Nothing Earth shaking. You’ll probably find it boring, but I’ll tell you all about it when we get back to the house, if you want.”

CHAPTER 16

After they returned the horses to the stables, where Carlos awaited them, they drove back to the house. Burt gave them a tour. A partial one anyway. The rambling home was simply too expansive to take in at one time. Ten bedrooms, 14 baths, a study, a gym, and an entertainment room complete with a wall sized screen, overhead projector, and theater seating.

“I love old movies,” Burt said. “Especially westerns and fifties and sixties sci-fi. Never outgrew either.”

They returned to the patio, now deeply shaded by the spruces. Carmelita appeared with a plate of homemade taquitos and a frosted pitcher of lemonade. The pitcher and the four matching glasses were exquisitely cut crystal.

Sam picked up one of the glasses and examined it. “These are beautiful,” she said.

Burt smiled. “Waterford. They belonged to my parents.”

Sam ran her fingers along the deep grooves, each perfectly cut. She pictured an old Irishman with gnarled and calloused fingers hunched over a workbench, a roaring fire in the background.

Carmelita poured the lemonade. “How was your ride?” she asked.

“Great,” Shelby said as she snatched a taquito from the tray. “We saw some deer and a pair of foxes. Oh, and a bobcat.”

“A bobcat?” Carmelita said. “You are lucky then. They don’t show themselves very often.”

“He was cute,” Shelby said. “Little tufts on his ears and that tiny little tail. I’ve never seen one before. Except at the zoo.”

Carmelita smiled. “Anyone want cerveza?” she said.

Everyone declined.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Carmelita disappeared into he house.

Burt stretched open his hand and then balled it into a fist, frowning.

“Hurt your hand?” Sam asked.

“Arthritis. One of the prizes for getting older. Hands, knees, back.”

Sam flexed her own hands. Still painful and slightly stiff. The thought that boxing might not be healthy for her ts crossed her mind. “I know the feeling,” Sam said.

“You’re too young for arthritis,” Burt said.

“She fights,” Alyss said.

Burt raised an eyebrow.

“Boxing,” Sam said.

“You? You hardly look the type.”

“I’ve been at it about a year. Had three bouts.”

“Won them all by knock out,” Alyss said.

“I guess you don’t like to lose?” Burt said.

“You know what they say,” Sam said. “In boxing, second place is last place.”

“I’m impressed,” Burt said. “Remind me to never make you mad.”

“She was on TV Friday night,” Alyss said. “HBO. Caesar’s Palace. The whole deal.”

“Well, that deserves a toast.” Burt walked to the kitchen door, peeked inside, said something to Carmelita, and returned to his seat. Carmelita appeared with four small crystal glasses, whose pattern matched that of the larger ones, and an ornate decanter of Remy Martin Louis XIII cognac.

Carmelita poured the golden liquid into three of them, and then eyed Alyss with a raised eyebrow.

Alyss smiled. “Shelby can have a little. After all, she’s seventeen.”

Shelby beamed at her mother.

Carmelita poured a little for Shelby.

Burt raised his glass. “To Sam. The undefeated pugilist.”

They all nodded toward Sam and took a sip.

Shelby coughed, and then exhaled through pursed lips. “Wow. That’s strong.”

Burt laughed. “It gets better. The first taste is always a jolt.”

They sat quietly, savoring the cognac.

“You were going to tell us about your lab,” Sam said.

Burt leaned back in his chair. “Hollis and I owned a pharmaceutical company in Houston. We sold it a few years back.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “Seems like that’s a good business to be in now.”

Burt swirled the cognac in his glass. “It got too big. Too complicated. I like number two yellow pencils, not computers.”

Sam laughed. “I agree with that.”

“When Hollis and I started the company, we had pencils and a ledger book. I could thumb through the pages and tell you exactly how we were doing. I had a feel for the columns of numbers.” He swept his hair back from his forehead. “Then, we outgrew our britches. Computers came in, ledgers disappeared. Everything was hidden in a silicon chip. And even if one of our computer jockeys pulled out what I wanted, it looked funny. Like the numbers were artificial. I felt like a blind man in a dark room.”

“That’s the price of success, I guess,” Sam said.

“That’s when Hollis and I decided to sell out. Then, we came up with the idea of setting up our own lab. Turn back the clock. Do things the old-fashioned way. Here. Away from the bureaucrats. Away from the FDA clowns.”

“FDA? I thought they had to approve everything anyway?” Alyss said.

“Eventually. But, unless you’re doing human or animal research, you won’t likely make a blip on their radar screen.”

“Especially here,” Sam said.

“Exactly.”

“How did you get involved in pharmaceuticals anyway?” Sam asked.

“My degree is in chemical engineering, but I gravitated toward the biomedical and pharmaceutical side. Hollis is a business whiz. It was a good combination.”

“What kinds of things were you doing?” Alyss asked.

He flexed his hands again. “Our main focus was developing new and better arthritis drugs. Everything on the market had too many side effects.”

“Any progress?”

“Some,” Burt nodded. “Not enough to help my ts though.” He spread his fingers, and then flexed them.

Alyss reached out and took his hand. “They seem fine to me.”

He smiled and cradled her hand in his. “They look better than they feel.”

Sam winked at Alyss and got a mock scowl in return.

“How can you develop an arthritis drug without testing it on animals or humans?” Sam asked.

Burt let go of Alyss’ hand, drained his cognac, and then refilled his and Alyss’ glasses. He held the bottle toward Sam but she waved it away. Shelby shook her head.

“The lab here was a chemistry lab,” he said. “Our efforts were directed toward tweaking already available drugs to make them more effective or to reduce side effects.”

“Tweaking?” Sam said.

Burt laughed. “That’s a scientific term. Drugs are just chemical compounds. Each compound’s action in the body is dictated by its structure. If you alter the structure, you alter the effect.”

“How do you do that?” Alyss said.

“That’s where chemistry comes in.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “If you add a couple of atoms here and there, or take a few away, or move them around in certain ways, you change the compound completely. Structurally, the difference between cyanide gas and water isn’t much. One is hydrogen and cyanide and the other is hydrogen and oxygen. But the difference in their action is literally life and death.”

Sam nodded. “I see. If you take an existing drug and move its atoms around or add some others to it, you get a drug with different effects.”

“Exactly. Maybe more effective. Maybe less side effects.”

“Fascinating,” Alyss said. “And if you make a new drug, what happens then?

“Had we developed anything promising, we would have sold it to one of the large companies for testing. That’s when the animal and human experiments would come in.”

“I’m impressed,” Alyss said. “Did you get any new drugs tweaked?”

Burt laughed. “Unfortunately, no. Close.”

“But Dr. Locke had a stroke,” Sam said.

“Right.”

“Why not hire someone else?” Alyss said.

“It’s not that easy.” Burt leaned back in his chair again and turned toward Alyss. “Qualified researchers are hard to come by. They work in universities, for the government, or big companies. Not in small backwoods setups like we had.”

“You found Dr. Locke.”

“Lucky break. He was 70 and retiring. And he wanted to live here.”

“What are you going to do with your lab now?” Sam asked.

Burt shrugged. “I guess it’ll keep collecting dust like it has for the past year and

a half.”

Alyss glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going. I have guests.”

Sam drained her glass and stood. “Burt, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Come back anytime,” he said. “In fact, I’m having a barbecue on Wednesday. My son Conner will be here. He just finished his first year at Princeton. And Hollis and his daughter Kelly will be here. Please come.”

Alyss nodded. “We’d love to.”

Burt walked them to their car, his hand resting on Alyss’ shoulder. “See you Wednesday,” he said to Alyss as he held the door for her.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Alyss said.

Sam waved, got in, and cranked her Jeep to life. As she wound down the driveway, she winked at Shelby in the rear view mirror. “Alyss has a boyfriend. Alyss has a boyfriend,” she chanted.

Shelby howled with laughter and ed Sam’s chant. “Mom’s got a boyfriend.”

Alyss flashed a scowl over her shoulder at Shelby. “Okay, you two. Knock it off.”

After they returned home, Sam showered, made a cup of herbal tea, and curled up on the porch swing.

The sun had dropped behind the peaks to the west so that it tinted only the upper most snowcaps of the eastern slopes a rich golden hue. A cool breeze flowed up the valley, which lay in deep shadows. Sam pulled the cuffs of her over-sized sweater down so that only her fingers protruded. Cradling the cup with her fingertips, she sipped the warm tea.

Her thoughts settled on their visit to Casa Grande and on Burt Eagan. Something about him bothered her. A vague uncomfortable feeling she couldn’t define.

He had been a gracious host and was handsome, successful, and definitely charming. Definitely intelligent. He was obviously attracted to Alyss and from the moony-eyed look that crept into Alyss’ face, the vibe seemed mutual.

Sam had always preferred the rugged, two-day growth type. The guy in jeans, work shirt, and a pick-up truck. Except for Nathan that is. Nathan was definitely GQ and like Burt very charming. But, if Nathan was anything, he was honest and caring. She didn’t get that same feeling from Burt.

Gazing up the valley, she saw two people running through the meadow toward her. As they drew closer, she recognized the Kendalls. Debbie led, Kurt ran on her heels, urging her forward. After last night’s lovemaking marathon, Sam was amazed they possessed the energy for jogging. They came up the drive, each glistening with sweat, drawing air in great gulps.

“Nice jog?” Sam asked.

Kurt, bent over, hands on his knees, raised one hand and sucked in several more breaths. “We weren’t jogging,” he gasped. “We were being chased.”

“By who?” Sam stood and glanced back toward the valley, searching the shadows for a pursuer. Her hand reflexly reached toward the small of her back for her gun, which of course wasn’t there.

“Don’t know,” he said, finally catching enough breath to stand up.

“Something big. And hairy,” Debbie said.

Sam noticed Debbie’s use of “something” and not “someone.” She also saw the tearstains on Debbie’s cheeks, her pale, drawn face, and the tremors that rippled through her body. The poor girl didn’t know what she was saying.

Sam stepped off the porch and walked to where the couple stood. She gently laid a hand on Debbie’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“No.” Debbie burst into tears. Kurt wrapped his arm around her. “It was awful,” she said.

Sam flashed on her encounter with Billy the day before. “A big man? With a beard?”

“This wasn’t a man,” Debbie said. “At first, we thought it was a bear.”

“Maybe it was,” Sam said.

“No,” Kurt added. “It moved upright. We startled it and it ran away. Hid in the trees. But, then it seemed to follow us.”

“I thought you said it chased you?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” Kurt said. “I don’t know. We took off and never looked back.” He sniffed back his own tears. “All I could think of was getting Debbie out of there.”

Debbie’s tears flowed again and she nuzzled into her husband’s chest. He stroked her hair.

“It’s okay, now,” he said.

“Where were you?”

“Up there.” Kurt pointed toward the slopes just east of the inn. “About half way to the tree line.”

That was near the area she had run into Billy. And she had initially thought he was a bear, too. She told them of her encounter.

“I don’t know,” Kurt said. “This thing moved with incredible speed and agility for its size. And it smelled bad.”

Sam recalled the odor that surrounded the man who ran over her in the alley outside Varney’s. “What kind of smell?”

“Awful,” Debbie said, wrinkling her nose. “Musty. Like a dirty animal cage. You know … at the zoo.”

Kurt nodded his agreement. “I hadn’t put it together like that, but that’s exactly what it smelled like.”

“And its breathing was all raspy,” Debbie said. She wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Look at me. I’m crying like a baby.”

Kurt tightened his arm around her. “It’s okay. I was scared, too.”

“How close were you?” Sam asked.

“A hundred, hundred and fifty feet,” Kurt said. “Closer than I wanted to be.”

“And it remained hidden in the trees?”

Kurt nodded.

“So, you never got a good look at it.” Sam said.

“No,” Kurt said. “It stayed in the shadows like it didn’t want us to see it.”

CHAPTER 17

Sam woke to the sound of voices and car doors clicking open and slamming closed outside her window. She stretched, her body stiff from yesterday’s horseback ride and her own restless night.

She had slept poorly, tossing and turning, dreaming of large hairy beasts. Beasts that possessed bear-like teeth and humanoid hands, that seemed to melt from sight into the forest’s deep shadows at will, only to reappear and pursue her once again. Like some animated Rorschach blotch. Every direction she ran led her into even more densely packed trees, which slapped against her skin, raising painful red welts, and clutched at her clothing, preventing her escape.

At least the Kendalls had slept through the night. She hadn’t heard a peep or a squeak or a moan from them.

Another car door slammed.

She rolled out of bed, walked to the window, pushed the curtain back, and looked out. Kurt hefted a suitcase into the trunk of their car.

The Kendalls were leaving? She was sure they had said they were staying until Wednesday.

Sam shimmied into her jeans, pulled on a tee shirt and her jogging shoes, and

headed out the front door. Kurt and Debbie were standing by their car, talking with Alyss. They looked up.

“You guys heading out?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Debbie said, casting a glance at Kurt. “Off to Aspen.”

“I thought you were staying another day,” Sam said.

“We were.” Kurt offered a nervous smile. “But we’re meeting some of our friends there this afternoon.” He looked at Alyss. “As I said, we’ll be happy to pay for the night.”

“No, you won’t,” Alyss said. “It’s your honeymoon. Go have fun with your friends.”

Sam stepped closer to the couple. “Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?”

Kurt started to shake his head, but Debbie spoke. “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m scared. This is my fault. I told Kurt I just couldn’t stay here any longer.”

“It’s okay,” Alyss said.

Sam gave her a sympathetic smile and then turned to Kurt. “Have you thought anymore about what you saw yesterday?” Sam said.

“Sure,” Kurt said.

“And?” Sam asked.

“We don’t think it was a bear. And it wasn’t a man. At least not any man we’ve ever seen.”

Debbie grabbed her husband’s hand and inched closer to him. He slipped an arm around her.

“You said the person or thing you saw walked upright. But how?”

Kurt gave her a quizzical look.

“Did it walk completely upright or somewhat hunched over?”

Kurt glanced at Debbie and then back to Sam. “It didn’t drag its knuckles on the ground, if that’s what you mean.” He smiled. “But yeah, its shoulders were forward and its head seemed to hang low. Of course, we only saw its shadow. Never got a good look.”

“Shuffling?” Sam asked.

Kurt shook his head. “Not exactly. Kind of a broad, almost bow-legged walk. But it didn’t lumber along. Seemed to move pretty fast when it wanted to.”

Debbie nodded in agreement and looked at Sam. “What do you think it was?”

Sam shrugged. She considered telling them about her alleyway encounter outside Varney’s, but decided not to add to their fears. “No clue.”

The Kendalls said their goodbyes, got in their car, and drove away.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“For what?”

“Your first guests. Leaving this way.”

“Not good for business, is it?” Alyss said.

Sam laughed. “Not unless you market Gold Creek as the home of Big Foot. Then, every nut in the country would line up to stay here.”

“That’s a thought. Maybe I could get Nathan to do a story on it.” Alyss locked her arm with Sam’s. “Coffee?” she asked as she steered her up the steps and into the house.

“Absolutely.”

After pouring Sam a cup of coffee, Alyss began filling two baskets with muffins.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Muffins for Louise Varney and Mama Rose. Shelby and I are going to run them into town. Want to us?”

“Sure. Let me get dressed.”

Sam went to her room and quickly washed her face and changed her shirt. She carried her coffee cup back to the kitchen and rinsed it in the sink.

Alyss yelled down the hall to Shelby that they were ready to go. She looked at Sam and asked, “What do you think they saw?”

“It wasn’t a bear and it wasn’t Billy. Billy walks very upright. Leads with his chest.”

“Then, who was it?”

Sam blew a strand of hair away from her face. “The same person that killed Lloyd Varney and ran over me the other night.”

“So, you believe it was a he and not an it?”

Sam frowned. “Of course. There are no its.”

“True. But I thought that Billy Bear was the prime suspect?”

“Not to me,” Sam said.

“Just to Chief Wade, huh?”

Sam shrugged. “Wade’s just doing what any cop would do. Collecting evidence and narrowing the list of possible suspects. Of course, he seems to have narrowed that list to one.”

“And he could be right.”

“Possible. But I don’t think so.” Sam slipped on her jacket. “Of course, Wade may have evidence that I don’t know about.”

While Shelby headed next door to Mama Rose’s to get a table, Sam and Alyss walked into Varney’s. Louise looked up from the papers spread on the counter before her. “Good morning,” she said.

Alyss held one of the baskets toward her. “I made these for you.”

Louise took the basket and peeled back the cover cloth. “Hmm. They smell wonderful.” She picked up one of the muffins, broke off a piece, and took a bite. “Delicious. But I can’t eat all of these.”

“Share them with your customers,” Alyss said.

“I will. This is very kind.”

“My pleasure. I have some for Mama Rose, too,” Alyss said. “I’d better get them over to her before they get cold.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Sam said.

Alyss headed out the door with a wave.

Louise appeared tired, empty. Lines of strain etched her face and her eyes appeared flat as if all emotion had bled from them. Sam ed how she

herself had looked after caring for her mother during her mother’s half-year battle with cancer.

“Do you mind if I ask a couple of questions?” Sam said.

“Of course not.”

“Chief Wade mentioned you had had several break-ins.”

“That’s right. Four times during the past six weeks. Counting this last one.”

“Always Saturday night?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t open on Sundays until after noon?”

“Lloyd figured the thief must have known that. Gave him more time until the thefts would be noticed.”

“Which means it’s probably someone local.”

“Except, our hours are posted on the door,” Louise said.

“Still four B and E’s over six weeks would not be someone just ing through.”

“Probably not,” Louise said.

“What was taken?” Sam asked.

Louise led her to Lloyd’s desk near the side door. She pulled open the lower right drawer. “Lloyd kept a list. He was going to file an insurance claim, but hadn’t gotten around to it.” She shuffled through a stack of papers. “It’s here somewhere.” She extracted a single page from the stack. “Here it is.” Sam noticed Louise’s hand was shaking as she stared at the page.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Louise released a heavy sigh. “Seeing his handwriting. I still can’t believe this.” Tears moistened the corners of her eyes. “All this because he tried to prevent a few meaningless thefts. A stupid waste.”

Sam laid a hand on Louise’s shoulder. “I can look at this another time.”

“No. I’m okay.” Louise handed her the sheet of paper.

The page contained a long list, hand-written in neat block printing, indicating items taken on specified dates.

APRIL 28

JEANS--SIZE 36

FLANNEL SHIRTS--2--SIZE XL

WOOL SOCKS--3 PAIRS

PARKA--GREEN--SIZE XL

CANNED HAMS--2

CRACKERS--2 BOXES

CHEESE--2 -1 LB. BLOCKS

TUNA--6 CANS

BREAD--2 LOAFS

WOOL BLANKET--1

SLEEPING BAG--1

BOOTS--SIZE 10

MATCHES--2 LARGE BOXES

CAN OPENER

HUNTING KNIFE

GLOVES

BACKPACK

MAY 12

JEAN--SIZE 40

GAS LAMP--1

HATCHET

TARPAULIN--20′X20′

CANNED HAMS--3

CHEESE--3-1 LB. BLOCKS

CRACKERS--4 BOXES

TUNA--6 CANS

OLIVES--2 JARS

FLASHLIGHT--1

BATTERIES--8 PACKAGES

HUNTING CAP--1

LIGHTERS--2

MAY 26

JEANS--SIZE 44--2 PAIRS

FLANNEL SHIRTS--2--SIZE XXL

WOOL SWEATERS—2--SIZE XXL

TUNA--8 CANS

CANNED HAMS--6

CRACKERS--4 BOXES

CHEESE--8-1 LB. BLOCKS

WOOL SOCKS--3 PAIRS

BOOTS--SIZE 12

“Every two weeks,” Sam said.

“That’s why Lloyd was sure the thief would return this past Saturday night.”

“What was taken this time?” Sam asked. She couldn’t if the man that ran over her had anything in his hands or not. All she saw was a big shoulder and then stars before her eyes.

“Not much. He apparently high tailed it after you surprised him. He took some food things and a jacket. A canvas bag and a folding shovel.” She furrowed her brow in concentration. “And boots. I think that’s it.”

“What size was the jacket?” Sam asked.

“Extra Extra Large.”

“And the boots were 14’s?”

“That’s right. They were for Billy. Just came in a couple of days earlier.”

Sam looked over the list again. Shirts, pants, jackets, boots. Different sizes. Could there be more than one killer? She shook her head.

“What is it?” Louise asked.

“Maybe nothing,” Sam said. “With the clothes being of varying sizes, it raises the possibility that there was more than one person involved. And the food.” Sam pointed to the list. “That’s a lot of ham and cheese for just one person.”

“I never thought of that,” Louise said.

“Whoever he or they were, it looks like they’re equipped for camping.”

“That’s what Lloyd said. Of course, they could be selling the stuff.”

Sam nodded.

“Maybe for drug money?”

“Drugs a big problem around here?”

“No. But I see it on the news. Addicts breaking into businesses, people’s homes, stealing stuff. I guess it could happen here, too.

“Yes, it could,” Sam said. “Thanks, Louise. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?”

“Other than helping Wade find out who did this, no.”

Sam handed her the list. “I’ll see you later.”

As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she ran headlong into Billy, nearly falling from the impact. His thick fingers wrapped around her upper arm, holding her upright.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Sam said. She looked up at him. “Mind if I ask you something?”

He shrugged, but said nothing.

“Were you up in the hills late yesterday afternoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see anyone? A young couple?”

“Nope. Not a soul. Why?”

“The Kendalls, the honeymooners that were staying at Alyss’ inn, saw someone, or something, up there. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of them.”

“Someone or something?” he said, emphasizing the last word.

“They were pretty spooked.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you thought that might be me, huh?”

Sam laughed. “Well, you scared the hell out of me the other day. At first.”

His face softened. “Well, I didn’t see them. Or anyone else.” His brow wrinkled. “What’d this person look like?”

“Big and hairy was all they could say.” She detected a look of concern in his eyes. “You know anybody like that?”

He glanced up the street, down toward his boots, and then back at her. He smiled. “You mean, except for me?”

“Or maybe whoever it was that killed that deer you told me about.”

“I figure that was a hunter who’s long gone by now.”

Sam sensed that he knew more than he was willing to say. But what? “You sure?”

“I know these hills pretty well. If someone was up there, I’d know it.”

“But you didn’t see the Kendalls,” Sam said. “And they weren’t trying to hide or anything. Merely hiking around.”

“If they’d stayed up there long enough, I’d have run across them.”

“I guess you’re right,” she said. “I’m on my way to Mama Rose’s for breakfast with Alyss and Shelby. Want to us?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some things to take care of for Louise.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be there. Bring Louise if she wants.”

CHAPTER 18

Sam entered Mama Rose’s greeted by an array of wonderful aromas, bacon, coffee, and fresh biscuits immediately recognizable. The decor was decidedly French with peach walls, dark green crown molding and wainscoting, and starched white tablecloths, each centered with a flower-filled vase. Most of the fifteen or so tables were occupied. It seemed as if the clatter of forks and knives dimmed and every head turned toward her as she stood near the door and scanned the room. Alyss waved to her from a table near the back.

A young black man approached. He wore snug jeans, a pink shirt, and a diamond stud in one ear, his walk somewhere between a runway model and a ballet dancer. As he led the way to where Alyss and Shelby sat, Sam felt curious eyes follow her.

Alyss made the introductions. “This is Don Dinsmore. He’s one third of this operation. And, this is my good friend Sam Cody.”

Don offered a soft handshake and then held her chair as she sat. “Are you just visiting or are you moving here, too?”

“Visiting for a couple of weeks,” Sam said.

“From where?”

“California.”

“LA?”

“No. Mercer’s Corner. In the high desert.”

“Jared and I tried LA once,” he said. “When we left Shreveport. Hated it. So did Mama Rose so we came here.”

“Mama Rose is Don’s grandmother,” Alyss explained. “She’s responsible for the wonderful food here.”

Don wagged his head back and forth and rolled his eyes. “Not if you listen to Jared. He’s such a bitch sometimes. He’s back there,” he nodded his head toward the kitchen, “messing with Mama Rose’s French Toast recipe. She’s going to brain him someday, I swear.” He shook his head. “I’ll get you some menus.”

“He’s a trip,” Sam said after he walked away.

“Wait until you meet Jared. He’s gorgeous, too.”

“I take it they’re an item?” Sam asked.

Alyss nodded. “And they bicker like a married couple.”

Don returned with the menus and a pot of coffee. “Coffee?”

“Sure,” Sam said. Alyss nodded, too.

He filled their cups and looked at Shelby. “And what would you like?”

“Coffee,” she said.

“Are you old enough?” he grinned.

Shelby frowned and then laughed, obviously realizing he was teasing her. “I’m seventeen. In LA, that’s old enough for anything.”

Sam noticed Alyss’ slight intake of breath.

Don poured her coffee, then paused, looked at Sam. “You’re the one that found Mr. Varney.”

“News travels fast around here,” Sam said.

“Oh,” Don said, placing the coffee pot on the table. “Tell me what happened.” He snatched a chair from a nearby table, scooted it near Sam, and sat down. One leg fell easily over the other and he clasped his hands over one knee.

Sam told him of her experience the night of Lloyd’s murder.

Don concentrated on her every word, eyes wide, mouth slack. “I can’t believe you just walked in there. After those gunshots and with a dead body.”

Sam laughed. “I didn’t know anyone was dead. Of course, having my own gun helped.”

Don’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a cop or something?”

Sam nodded

“And she has a knack for finding trouble,” Alyss said.

Sam threw a frown at her.

Don fiddled with his collar. “I just can’t believe it. Mr. Varney was such a sweet man. It’s just awful.” His leaned toward Sam and spoke low as if telling a secret. “This kind of thing just doesn’t happen around here.”

“So I hear,” Sam said.

“And Lloyd of all people. He’s like the heart and soul of the town.” He looked down. “Or was.”

Sam saw Chief Wade come through the front door and walk to an intricately carved mahogany hutch along the wall where an urn of coffee sat. He filled his cup, ladled in four teaspoons of sugar and enough cream to turn the mixture a light caramel. He swirled it with a spoon and then nodded at Sam.

“Want to us?” Sam asked.

“Sure.” Wade grabbed a nearby chair, spun it around, and sat down.

A handsome young man came out of the kitchen area. Don waved him over and introduced Jared to Sam. Tall, thin, with thick blonde hair and pale blue eyes, he wore tailored jeans, an orange tee shirt topped with a dark green bib apron, and an ear stud that matched Don’s.

“We have everything on the menu today,” Jared said. “But I wouldn’t recommend the French Toast.”

Don shook his head. “Why do you delight in riling Mama Rose?”

“Please,” Jared said. “She was born riled.”

Wade leaned into the discussion. “Don’t you mess with Rose until she gets my breakfast done or I’ll lock you up.”

Jared released an exasperated breath. “She’s in one of her know-itall moods. I merely suggested adding a little rum extract to her French Toast batter and she hit me with a dish towel.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a cast-iron skillet,” Don said. “Why don’t you leave her … ”

“Yeah, leave me alone.”

Sam looked up as a short, slight black woman marched toward them, balled fists at the end of wiry arms. She wore a red, flour dusted apron and a blue baseball cap that read “Sal’s Pizza, Monrovia, La.” She jammed both fists on her hips and stuck out her chin defiantly. “Keep him out of my kitchen.”

Don looked at Sam. “This goes on all the time. You’d think they didn’t like each other.”

“Like has nothing to do with it,” Mama Rose said. “I like him. I even love his skinny ass. but if he messes with my cooking I’ll smack him.” Her lower lip slid forward, ing her chin in a look of staunch determination as she glared at Jared. “Ever since he got that subscription to Bon Apetite he thinks he’s Paul Prudhomme.”

Everybody laughed.

“Mama Rose,” Don said. “I’d like you to meet our new guest.”

She yanked her glare away from Jared and looked at Sam, a broad grin splitting her face. Introductions were made, and then she said, “Welcome. I hope Mister Smart Ass here,” she jerked her head toward Jared, “isn’t disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Sam said.

“I’m going back to the kitchen,” she said, turning away, and then shot over her shoulder, “I’d recommend the French Toast.”

Jared shook his head. “She’ll never change.” He followed her toward the kitchen.

“Wasn’t that delightful?” Don smiled apologetically. “What can I get you?”

“French Toast,” Shelby said. “Sounds like it’s the specialty.”

“It is,” Don replied.

“Same for me,” Sam said.

Alyss shrugged. “Make it three.”

“The usual for me,” Wade said.

“Bacon, eggs, biscuits, and three orders of French toasts coming up,” Don said as he collected the menus and headed for the kitchen.

They chatted about the weather, Gold Creek, Sam’s home in Mercer’s Corner, and other topics of small talk while they ate. After they finished and the table was cleared, they enjoyed another cup of coffee.

Sam told Wade of the Kendalls’ encounter in the forest, complete with their description of the creature. “Any idea what or who it might have been?”

“I’d suspect smart money would be on a bear.” He drained his coffee cup. “Or Billy. He can be pretty scary. Especially to youngsters out of their element, so to speak. We get these city kids up here who’ve never been out in the country and they see all kinds of things.”

“They were scared half to death,” Alyss said.

Wade chuckled. “I bet they were. Couple of years ago, we had this couple, out from Chicago, went off on a hike and came back wide-eyed and terrified and

jabbering all kinds of craziness. Thought some monster was after them.” He laughed again. “After they settled down a bit and started making some sense, it turned out they had spooked a deer. Probably a big buck. Made all kinds of racket, crashing around through the trees, more scared of them than they were of him. I guess they thought all deer were like Bambi.”

Alyss laughed. “I can see how that would happen. The first few nights I was here, the raccoons banging around in the yard and climbing on the roof scared the hell out of me.”

Wade nodded. “Your couple probably got spooked by a squirrel or something. Their imagination made it into a monster.” He shoved a toothpick in his mouth, working it to one corner. “Of course, if they did see a bear, that’s a different story.”

“How so?” Sam asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time a bear wandered into the valley and caused trouble. Threatening the livestock and all.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Depends. Burt Eagan’s got a lot of cattle to protect. If a bear starts creating mischief, we usually have to hunt it down.”

“Shoot it?” Alyss asked.

“Can’t very well bargain with it,” Wade said.

Sam sensed him before she saw him. Billy pushed open the front door and walked over to the hutch where the coffee maker sat. He nodded to everyone, but said nothing. He poured coffee into two large Styrofoam cups and mashed a lid on each.

Wade looked over at him. “You about ready to come by the office and give me some prints, Billy?”

Billy whipped around, leaving the two cups on the table, and marched toward them, his eyes fixed on Wade, his face carrying a scowl that dissipated smiles and ended conversation.

“Wade, I’ve had about enough of your crap,” Billy said.

Every table fell silent; every eye riveted on Billy.

Unperturbed, Wade rocked back in his chair, shoved the fingers of his right hand beneath his belt, cocked his head to one side. “How’s that?”

“You been shooting off your mouth about me. Saying I’m a suspect.”

“You are,” Wade said.

“To hell with you.”

“Pretty easy to clear this up,” Wade said. “A hair sample, a boot print, and fingerprints should do it.”

“What for? You know the boots that were stolen were mine and you know I help Louise out. My fingerprints are all over that place. Wouldn’t prove nothing.”

“Why not humor me?”

“I ain’t giving you shit, Wade. I know what you’re up to. And I know why.”

“Do you? Want to explain it to me?”

Billy glared at him, but said nothing. He retrieved the two cups of coffee, stacked one on top or the other, clutched them in his huge hand, and headed toward the door.

“Where you going, Billy?” Wade asked. “In case I need to ask you a question or two.”

“None of your business,” he shot over his shoulder.

“Come on, Billy. Don’t make this hard.”

Billy stopped, turned. “Okay. First, Louise and I are going to enjoy our coffee. Then at four, I’ll be at Lloyd’s funeral.” He yanked open the door, then stopped, and faced Wade again. “Why don’t you get off your fat ass and do your job? Find the real killer. He’s out there somewhere. Don’t try to pin this on me or you’ll regret it.” He hooked the door with his boot and yanked it closed as he left.

Wade eyed Sam. “Now, does that look like an innocent man?”

“Innocent? Guilty? I don’t know,” Sam said. “But definitely angry.”

“Maybe he got that way when Lloyd caught him robbing his store?”

Sam shrugged. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like you.” She softened her words with a smile.

“Well, that’s true enough.” Wade set his cup on the table and looked at Sam. “Why don’t you come by the office. I’d like to show you the evidence I have so far.”

“Really?” Sam said.

“You’re a cop. I get tired of being the only one around to look at this stuff. I’d appreciate your opinion.”

“Sure,” Sam said.

Alyss looked at her.

“What?” Sam said.

Alyss laughed. “You’re so predictable,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Alyss smiled.

“You said you’d feel better when this case is solved,” Sam said.

“I will. Half of me wants you to help Chief Wade and the other half wants to remind you that you’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But if I can help, don’t you think that’d be better for

everyone?”

“Like I said, you’re predictable.” Alyss stood. “I’d better get back and do the laundry.” Then to Wade: “If she gets in your way just shoo her on home.”

Wade chuckled. “She won’t. And I can really use her help. Eloy ain’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

Sam laughed and then dug her car keys out of her pocket and tossed them to Alyss.

“How will you get back?” Alyss asked.

“I’ll take her,” Wade said.

“Or I’ll walk,” Sam said. “I need the exercise, anyway.”

CHAPTER 19

The business end of the Gold Creek Police Department occupied the ground floor of a modest white frame house on the corner of Sixth and Main. As with many of the buildings along Main Street, it had originally been someone’s home, but, unlike the others, possessed none of the Victorian accents. Plain, simple, square.

The entire department consisted of five rooms: a reception area, which hadn’t possessed a receptionist in three years; a bathroom; a rarely occupied holding cell; a never used deputy’s workroom; and Wade’s office.

Sam followed Wade down a short hallway. The wall to her left displayed a rogues’ gallery of past Gold Creek Police Chiefs. All men. A cheap wooden frame surrounded each black and white photo. The first, Delbert “Del” O’Sullivan, peered through cracked glass. He wore a dark Stetson, an even darker lop-sided mustache, and a grim expression. A carbine, cradled by his arms, lay casually across his chest as if it were a permanent fixture. The last was a much younger picture of Forrest Wade. Probably taken 20 years earlier when he first pinned on the badge.

The hallway led directly into Wade’s office. He hadn’t put much effort into making it look like a real office, however. The lighting was poor, the curtains old and faded, and his desk disheveled. Piles of papers and magazines covered its surface as though they had been blown through the window by a stiff breeze and dropped there. A tarnished brass lamp clung to one edge while a phone peeked through the mess as if searching for breathing room. A gun case, filled with rifles, shotguns, and pistols, stood against the far wall.

No flags. No picture of the President, or even the Governor.

Sam eyed a dusty 8-point buck head that hung above Wade’s desk. A cobweb dangled from one antler and rode on the air spun from a ceiling fan that ticked its way toward extinction.

She sat in a wooden chair with a worn and faded red seat cushion, facing Wade across his desk. “I talked to Louise this morning, From the items taken, it looks like there could have been two of them.”

Wade stared at her but said nothing.

“I mean the clothes,” Sam continued. “The boots. Different sizes. And all that food.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” he said. “Only found one set of boot prints, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t two of them.”

“And she brought up the point that the thief or thieves could be selling the items.”

“Possible,” Wade said. “If they tried to sell them around here, I’d know in a hot minute though.”

Small towns, Sam thought. Not much gets by unnoticed. “True.”

Wade pulled a folder from the top drawer of his desk. While he shuffled through the pages inside, he snatched up a pack of Camels that had been buried somewhere in the desktop chaos, shook one halfway out, and clenched it between his teeth. He flicked open a worn metallic Zippo and thumbed it to life. A single long pull fired the cigarette’s tip to a cherry glow. He clacked the lighter closed and exhaled smoke from the left side of his mouth, away from her. He finally extracted a sheet of paper from the file.

“Prelim from the ME up in Montrose says Lloyd was struck by a single blow to the left temporal area. Crushed his skull and mushed his brain. Killed him instantly.”

Wade ed her the piece of paper, his hand-written report on Varney’s murder. Sam scanned the page.

“Says the perp was strong, right-handed, and a good bit taller than Lloyd.” Wade leaned back in his chair. “I also sent him the slugs and Lloyd’s gun along with the hair you found in Lloyd’s hand. The ballistics will take a day or two. Course, I don’t expect them to tell me anything I don’t already know. The hair had several follicles attached. Hopefully enough to get some DNA. That testing will take longer. A couple of weeks. That is, if Billy will give up a blood sample for comparison.”

Sam landed the report back to him.

“No forced entry,” Wade continued. “The killer either had a key or was good at picking locks.”

“That lock appeared pretty flimsy to me,” Sam said. “Probably wouldn’t be too difficult to open.”

“That’s true. Course, it didn’t look like it’d been jimmied. Not with a crowbar or screw driver or something like that anyway.” Wade exhaled a cloud of smoke and waved it away with one hand. “None of this looks to good for Billy.”

“What I don’t get,” Sam said, “Is why would Billy kill Lloyd?”

Wade gave her a fatherly smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time Billy hammered somebody. He’s got kind of a short fuse. Like you saw over at Mama Rose’s.”

“That wasn’t without provocation,” Sam said.

Wade shrugged. “About six months ago he tore up Tankersly’s. In his defense, the other guy started it, but in pretty short order he wished he hadn’t. Biker dude. Hit Billy with a pool cue. Billy proceeded to knock out half his teeth with a chair and beat his two compadres unconscious. Tossed one of them through the front window.”

“He whipped three of them?”

“It wasn’t much of a contest. Billy simply rolled right over them.”

“But Louise said Lloyd and Billy were close.”

Wade leaned back in his chair, the fingers of his right hand automatically wedging themselves beneath his belt. “Lloyd was a good man. Too good. He could be the proverbial old fool. He believed in the righteousness of everyone. Never saw the bad. For some reason, he and Louise latched on to Billy. Took him under their wing.”

“That’s what Louise said. And that she saw no way Billy could have done this.”

Wade smiled. “Did she tell you that Billy’s in Lloyd’s will?”

The words hit Sam like a left hook. “What?”

“Changes everything, don’t it?” He extracted his fingers from beneath his belt and scratched at his ear. “The way I understand it, he don’t get nothing unless both Lloyd AND Louise were to die. If I were Louise, I’d be a bit nervous.”

“You don’t really think … ” Sam began.

“Of course I do. The Varney’s are fairly well off. By Gold Creek standards. Billy would stand to get a nice chunk of change.”

“What does Billy do for money now?” Sam asked.

“Nothing. He inherited his land from his dad.” Wade leaned forward, propping his elbows on the edge of his desk. The cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, “Billy worked for a couple of years at one of those computer companies over in California. Silicon Valley. Made a good deal of money. How much, I don’t know, but enough so as he don’t have to work now.”

“Somehow I can’t picture Billy and a computer in the same frame,” Sam said.

“Don’t let that mountain man exterior fool you. Billy’s plenty smart. Graduated from Stanford. With honors. Majored in mathematics, I believe.”

Sam shook her head. “Does he have any debts?”

“Not that I know.”

“Pays his taxes?”

“Believe so. Property taxes for sure. I’d know otherwise.”

Sam captured Wade’s gaze. “You really believe Billy did this, don’t you?”

Wade nodded. “I do.”

“How sure are you?”

“This evidence points in only one direction.” He waved his hand over his desk as if all the mess between them was proof of Billy’s guilt. “Billy had motive, means, and opportunity. And the forensics I have so far indicate a big, strong, right-handed man who wears the same boots as Billy. Pretty strong stuff.”

“But circumstantial stuff,” Sam said.

Wade shrugged, and then stubbed out the cigarette in a butt-filled ashtray.

“What about whoever or whatever the Kendalls saw?” Sam said.

“What about it?”

“If there is someone else. Someone big. Couldn’t that person be the killer?”

“If we assume they didn’t see a bear, then it was probably Billy that spooked them,” Wade said.

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “Whoever or whatever they saw was the same something that ran me down the other night.”

Wade smiled. “And both could have been Billy. None of you got a good look, did you?”

“But we all smelled him and neither Billy nor anyone else I know smells like that.”

“I imagine he can work up quite a goat hiking around up there for a couple of days.”

“This was more than that.”

“Maybe we should have a line up and get you and that couple to sniff all of them.”

Sam couldn’t suppress a smile, but it faded quickly. “If you really believe Billy killed Lloyd or that Louise could be in danger, why don’t you arrest him?”

“Don’t have enough evidence for that.”

“Why not get a warrant and search his house?”

“Not enough for that either.”

“It seems to me that you have enough to show probable cause. I’d bet a friendly judge would give you warrant.”

“That’s a problem. Showing probable cause to Judge Rhinehart over in Ouray ain’t easy. We ain’t exactly the best of friends. Besides, like I said, Billy’s smart. If he stole that stuff he’s either sold it or hidden it up in one of the mines.”

“Why not search them?”

Wade laughed. “Any idea how many mines there are up there?”

Sam shook her head.

“Thousands. Rumor is that over ten thousand holes have been punched into these hills. Nobody knows for sure. And I’d bet nobody knows where half of them are anymore.”

“This job is never easy is it?” Sam asked.

“No. But the pay sucks.” Wade laughed.

“True,” Sam said.

“There’s one way to put all this to bed,” Wade said. “If Billy would come in and give me some prints and a hair and a blood sample, we’d know straight away if he was involved.”

“He doesn’t seem overly inclined to do that,” Sam said.

“Maybe he’s afraid of the results.”

“Maybe.”

She had to it that Billy’s lack of cooperation was bothersome. Made him look guilty. Was he? She mentally ran through the evidence. Size, strength, knowledge of the layout, temperament, boots, lack of cooperation, and the will. Fairly damning stuff. Especially the will. How often was money the root of a crime? Too often.

Despite the evidence, her gut said Billy wasn’t the murderer. She wasn’t sure why she felt that way, but her instincts were almost always right, and right now they told her Billy was innocent.

“Any other places hit recently?” she asked. “Besides Varney’s.”

“Yeah. Marks’ Pharmacy a couple of months ago. Other than that, nothing for years.”

“What was taken?”

“Not much. Some medicines and bandages. Things like that.”

Sam stood and moved toward the door. “You going to Lloyd’s funeral this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Coroner Summers put a rush on his work and Bill Tucker’s mortuary up in Montrose did a good job of covering the damage. Body came back early this morning. Cutting it a little close, but now it looks like everything’s set.”

“See you there,” Sam said and headed out door.

CHAPTER 20

Sam walked the two blocks down Main Street to Marks’ Pharmacy. Everyone she ed greeted her with a smile, a nod, or a “good day,” giving her a warm feeling. She felt less like an outsider. Like her hometown of Mercer’s Corner, tight communities welcomed strangers slowly. Especially if under the dark cloud of a brutal murder.

When she entered the pharmacy, two boys sat on stools, sipping milkshakes and talking with the teenage girl behind the counter. Sam continued to the rear of the store where the pharmacy was located. A fiftyish man with a few strands of hair flattened over his bald pate and a pleasant smile looked up as she approached. He wore a white short sleeved shirt and a slightly off kilter red bow tie.

“I’m looking for Mr. Marks,” Sam said.

“That’s me. I’m Ralph Marks.”

Sam extended her hand. “I’m Sam Cody. I’m visiting Alyss Cameron.”

“Of course.” He shook her hand. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “About what?”

“The break-in you had a couple of months ago.”

A slight frown developed at the corners of his eyes.

Sam smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy in California where I live. I guess I’m kind of unofficially helping Chief Wade investigate the murder of Lloyd Varney.”

His frown slackened. “You the one that found Lloyd?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Terrible.” He shook his head for emphasis. “We don’t have this sort of thing happen around here.”

“I know.” It seemed as though everyone in town knew Sam had found Lloyd’s body and was eager to assure her that “this sort of thing” didn’t occur in Gold Creek.

He came around the counter. “Where are my manners? Let’s sit down.” He guided her to one of the small tables near the front. “Can I get you a soda? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

He nodded toward the young girl behind the lunch counter. “Steph, could you get me a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” the girl said.

He held Sam’s chair for her before taking a seat across from her. The girl placed the coffee and a small metal creamer on the table and then returned to her conversation with the two boys.

Ralph poured a healthy measure of cream into the coffee and took a careful sip. “What can I tell you?”

“When exactly did your robbery occur?”

“Let’s see.” He rubbed his chin. “It was a Saturday night. April 28th. Same night as Lloyd’s first robbery.”

“What was taken?”

“Gauze, four by four bandages, and tape. Some antibiotics. Two tubes of Neosporin Ointment and a bottle of Amoxicillin. Bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide.

And about fifty Vicodin pills. Those were the only narcotics taken. Oh, yeah, and a quart of ice cream. Chocolate.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah. Strange, huh?” Ralph said. “Actually ate the ice cream right here.” He waved toward the soda counter. “Even washed out the empty container and the spoon he used.”

Sam smiled. “A well mannered thief.”

Ralph nodded. “Seems so.”

“Any idea who or why?”

He shook his head. “Of course the Vicodin has a street value. I figured someone stole them to use or to sell.”

“Yeah. But the other things,” Sam said. “The bandages and antibiotics. Sounds like someone knew what they needed.”

After Ralph Marks walked her to the door and gave her a open invitation to “come back anytime for a milkshake on the house,” Sam walked up the street and crossed over to Varney’s, hoping Billy would be there. Louise, busy doing paper work, said Billy had just left and was likely at Tankersly’s’ having lunch. Sam thanked her, headed back across the street, and entered the pool hall.

Tankersly’s had two pool tables, a line of red vinyl booths, a long bar, and dozens of neon beer signs. The smell of testosterone, beer, and barbecue laced the cloud of gray smoke that hung in the air. It reminded her of Red’s Tavern back home. A place where a fight could break out at any moment for no apparent reason.

The lunchtime crowd was small. Two scruffy men played pool, one puffing on a chewed cigar. A couple occupied one booth, three men another. The bartender leaned on the bar and chatted with Billy, who sat on a stool near the far end. Sam was amazed the stool didn’t collapse beneath him.

The bartender looked up as she approached. She slid up on the stool next to Billy. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“Having lunch.” He took a slug from the beer he held. The bottle appeared unnaturally small in his massive hand. “ me. I ordered plenty.”

“You eat. I’ll have a beer.” She looked up at the bartender. “A Bud.”

The bartender pulled a dripping bottle from an ice chest and popped the cap off.

“Want a glass?”

“This’s fine.” Sam took a swallow. “Not many things better than an ice cold beer.”

The bartender moved away, wiping the bar top as he went.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Billy asked.

“I just had a chat with Wade.”

He glanced over toward her. “And?”

“He tells me you’re in Lloyd’s will.”

“So?”

“Could be a motive for murder?”

Billy swung around to face her. “Or it could be because we’re family. The three of us. We take care of each other. Have for years.”

“Wade doesn’t see it that way.”

“That’s a surprise,” he smirked. His dark eyes captured hers. “I didn’t kill Lloyd and anyone with half a brain knows I didn’t.”

“Wade seems to think so.”

“I said anyone with half a brain. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Wade’s an incompetent jerk.” He drained his beer bottle and raised it toward the bartender, who immediately replaced it with a fresh one. “And you? What do you think?”

“The evidence doesn’t look good. But something doesn’t smell right.”

“How’s that?”

“Can’t really say. My gut tells me you didn’t do it.”

“Then, I’d go with that feeling. It’s the right one.”

A waitress spun through a saloon door from the kitchen with a plate piled with ribs and set it on the bar in front of Billy. “Anything else, Billy?” she asked.

“This’ll do.”

She looked at Sam. “Anything for you?”

“No.”

Billy picked up a thick rib and gnawed off a bite. “Hmmm. The best. Help yourself.”

“No. Thanks.”

“Don’t know what you’re missing.” He wiped sauce from his beard with a napkin.

“Tell me about the will. The truth.”

“I did. We were a family. Now, it’s just me and Louise.” He gnawed off another bite, and then sighed. “Look, I told Lloyd and Louise not to. Told them I didn’t need their money. They did it anyway.” He wiped his beard again and looked at her. “Because they wanted to.”

“You do see that looks bad, don’t you?”

“Who’s side you on?”

“I told you, I believe you. But, if you didn’t kill Lloyd, someone else did. Someone who’s still around. I want to know what the truth is.”

“There are a lot of truths around here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you have the real truth, Wade’s truth, and Burt Eagan’s truth. And they don’t often match up.”

“Burt Eagan? What does he have to do with this?”

“Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. Maybe he’s just an opportunist.”

“I don’t understand.”

Billy dropped a well-gnawed bone on the plate and picked up another rib. “Keep digging. Maybe you will.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because, I don’t know what the truth is myself. Not yet. But I do know that if Wade is the only one looking into it, the truth will never turn up and if it does it’ll get shoveled under so much shit it’ll never see the light of day.”

“And you think if I keep snooping around I’ll find this elusive truth?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“I guess that’s a vote of confidence or something.”

“You have honest eyes. And, you ain’t a marshmallow like Wade. I can tell you’re a tough one, aren’t you?”

Sam shrugged. “If need be.”

He laughed. “I just bet you are.”

“Look, Billy. I stumbled into this by accident. I should simply walk away, but now I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” he said.

“Not if I want to live with myself. But I’m an outsider. I don’t know the players or the rules around here. You seem to think I can help you. But you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on. Starting with Burt Eagan and how he fits into this.”

Billy nodded. “Okay.” He wiped his hands and beard with his napkin and leaned toward her, speaking in a low voice. “My problems with Burt go back several years. He wants my land.”

“Why?”

“It’s the best piece around here. And it has unlimited water.”

“And you think Wade would frame you to help Burt.”

“In a New York second. He’s on Burt’s payroll. Unofficially.”

Sam sighed. “I suspected as much.”

“It’s the God’s truth.”

“You’re suggesting that Burt killed Lloyd to frame you?”

“Burt wouldn’t get his own hands dirty. He’d hire somebody. Or maybe he simply took advantage of a situation. Somebody else killed Lloyd, but Burt saw an opportunity to blame it on me. He wins. See?”

“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

Billy fixed Sam in his gaze. “Burt tried everything he could to get my ranch. Offered a shit pile of money. I told him I didn’t need his money. Got enough. Not a lot, but enough. Then, he tried some legal tricks. Something about water rights, public lands. That blew up in his face when he tried to bribe Judge Rhinehart down in Ouray. Not that Rhinehart is all that honest, just that he hates Burt and Wade and that crowd. Then, he tried to go way back to when this was government land. Said my daddy’s deed was all sideways. That didn’t work either. Now, I guess he figures he can pack me off to prison and steal it.”

“Is your land worth all this?” Sam said.

“A good water supply is as valuable as gold. More so. Can’t farm, can’t raise cattle without it. And a good deal of Burt’s water comes across my land. That lake of his would dry up if it weren’t for the water from Crystal Falls and Gold Creek. Both are on my property.”

“So you could turn off his faucet, so to speak?”

“Could. Wouldn’t. Ain’t really my water. It’s everybody’s. But Burt Eagan likes to have control. Of everything. Doesn’t trust anyone.”

“I see.”

“Besides, he already owns half the valley. If he gets my land, he’ll have two thirds. I believe he’d like to own the whole damn town.”

“Why?”

“Greed has no bounds,” Billy said. “Besides, rumor is that he wants to expand that lab of his. Owning the entire valley sure would cut down on the opposition to such a move, don’t you think?”

“But his lab is shut down.”

“For now.” Billy licked sauce from his fingers. “Don’t underestimate Mr. Eagan. He started that lab with profit in mind. It ain’t in his nature to walk away from money. If he saw a chance to open it up again and make a pile of cash, he’d do it in a heart beat.”

Sam sat for a minute digesting what Billy had said. She downed the last of her beer and turned on her stool to face him. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find out, but I want you to do something for me.”

“Like what?”

“Give Wade what he wants.”

Billy shook his head. “No way.”

“Listen, Billy, you’re not helping yourself here. Give Wade a boot print and some blood and a hair sample. When nothing matches, maybe Wade will back off on you and start looking for the real killer.”

“Is this for Wade? Or for you?”

Sam smiled. “I do believe you, but I can’t deny that I would feel better if a crime lab backed up my belief.”

Billy nodded. He ran a finger around the lip of the beer bottle he held. “I’ll think about it.”

The waitress returned, snatched up Billy’s empty plate, and scooted a dish of chocolate ice cream in front of him. “I assumed you wanted the usual.”

“Absolutely,” Billy said. He looked at Sam. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

Billy shoveled a spoonful into his mouth. “If I knew when my last meal was going to be, this’d be it. Ribs, beer, and chocolate ice cream.”

CHAPTER 21

After Sam returned home, she showered and changed clothes and then she, Alyss, and Shelby drove to the church, arriving just before the 4 o’clock service for Lloyd Varney. It appeared as though the entire town was there.

Over a background of sniffs and suppressed sobs from the gathered mourners, Reverend Phillip Blaine offered a heartrending eulogy from the church pulpit and then lead the congregation to the adjacent cemetery where he stood quietly, as Lloyd’s casket descended into the ground. Billy, scrubbed and dressed in a suit and tie, clutched Louise’s hand, tears soaking his cheeks and beard.

Afterwards, everyone remained frozen in stunned silence as if unsure what to do or say. Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Sam, Alyss, and Shelby offered their condolences and prayers to Louise and then headed for the gate that led from the cemetery grounds.

An elderly couple walked toward them. The woman held the man’s right arm as if helping him balance. His gait was more a shuffle, his left leg dragging behind him as if it were afterthought. His left arm, thin, with pale, parchment-like skin and freckled with brown liver spots, protruded from his blue short-sleeved shirt. Flexed at the elbow and again at the wrist, it lay across his chest, the hand balled into a useless fist that seemed to clutch at his heart.

As he neared them, he smiled. At least the right half of his face did; the left frozen in a plastic stare. He looked like a living drama mask; one side smiling, the other crying. His eyes sparkled pleasantly.

“Hello, Dr. Locke,” Alyss said. “Martha.” She nodded to the woman and then introduced everyone.

“Nice to meet you.” Sam said.

“Our pleasure,” Martha said. She had soft gray hair and even softer eyes. “You’re the one that found Lloyd, aren’t you?”

Sam nodded.

“Terrible thing,” she continued. “A nice man and a good friend.”

They stood in awkward silence for a second until Alyss spoke. “Dr. Locke is our resident genius. He was nominated for a Nobel Prize once.”

“Really?” Sam said.

“Long ago,” he said.

“What field?” Sam asked.

“Medicine. I didn’t win though.”

“Still, to be nominated is a great honor.”

“You’re very kind,” he said.

Sam’s brain made the connection. “You ran Burt Eagan’s lab.”

He nodded.

“We saw it on our ride the yesterday,” Alyss said. “A low, concrete structure? Down by silver Creek?”

“That’s the one,” Edgar said. “I worked there for a little over a year. Until my stroke. After that, I was unable to continue, so Burt had to shut it down. I don’t know whether he ever found anyone else or not.”

Sam shook her head. “Burt said it wasn’t operational.”

“That’s too bad. I hoped he would get it up and running again. We had some very interesting experiments underway.”

Sam marveled at this man. Despite his frail body with its withered arm and leg, its half frozen face, his eyes were bright and clear and his mind quick. It was as if what the stroke took from him physically, it returned mentally.

Martha smiled apologetically. “We’d better be going. Edgar’s stamina isn’t what it used to be.” They said their goodbyes and turned down the sidewalk toward town.

Sam watched them go. “Impressive man. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Noble nominee.”

CHAPTER 22

The next day, Sam, Alyss, and Shelby arrived at Casa Grande a little past one. Carmelita ushered them to the patio where Burt introduced them to his son Conner and Hollis’ daughter, Kelly.

Conner, eighteen, had just finished his freshman year at Princeton. He was tall, fit, blonde, and possessed his father’s intelligent, intensely blue eyes. His smile was welcoming and his handshake firm. Sam liked him immediately, but noticed Alyss nervously studying Shelby’s reaction to the attractive young man.

Kelly, like Shelby, was seventeen and two weeks out of high school. She had porcelain skin, green eyes, and a pixie-like face, framed by raven hair, cropped and combed so that it curled beneath her jaw. The sunlight added a tempered blue hue. A faint sprinkle of freckles lay across her nose.

Kelly turned to Shelby. “Did you bring your swim suit?”

“Right here,” Shelby said, indicating the Elmo backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Cool bag,” Kelly said. “Come on. I’ll show you where to change.” She led Shelby around the Olympic-sized pool to a low cabana that extended its entire length.

Conner followed them as far as the pool deck. He stripped off his shirt, revealing a lean muscular body above his denim colored swim trunks. He dove into the water and with smooth strokes swam to the other end where he executed a perfect flip turn and reversed his direction.

“He swims like a pro,” Alyss said.

“Conner’s on the swim team at Princeton,” Burt said, his face beaming with pride.

The two girls came out of the cabana, giggling as if they were old friends, raced each other toward the pool, and jumped in.

The water sparkled in the sun. Sam could smell a faint hint of chlorine mixed with the aroma of the pines. Beyond the pool, near the cabana, Carlos was busy firing up a huge oil drum smoker.

Sam accepted a bottle of Budweiser from Burt and sat at one of the patio tables. Burt and Alyss settled across from her, nudging their chairs near each other.

Carmelita placed a plate of quesadillas on the table. “Cheese, Ortega chili, and red onion,” she said. “But don’t eat too much. Carlos is going to smoke some ribs and brisket.”

“I can’t on these,” Sam said. She snatched one of the quesadillas and took a bite. “Hmm. Carmelita, do you cook like this everyday?”

“Only for my Carlos,” she said with a twinkle in her root beer brown eyes. “Mr. Eagan, he eat like a bird. That’s why I like when he has guests. I can make all the things I like.”

“Call me anytime,” Sam said. “I could eat like this every day.”

“She’s not kidding,” Alyss said. “I wish I could eat like her, but if I did, I’d weigh two hundred pounds.”

“Simple,” Sam said. “Just take up boxing as a hobby.”

Carmelita retreated to the kitchen. As soon as the door closed, it reopened.

“Here’s Hollis,” Burt said.

Sam looked up as a man, at least ten years older than Burt, stepped onto the patio. Hollis’ entire appearance screamed vanity. Over-dressed for the occasion, which Sam guessed was typical for him, he wore a caramel cashmere jacket over a white silk shirt and brown pants. The shirt gaped open to the fourth button, revealing a tuft of silver hair and a single gold medallion, which hung from a matching chain. His teeth were perfect, capped; his tan, indoor, paid for. He approached them, a wave of cologne leading the way and a broad, practiced grin on his face.

Burt made the introductions. Hollis shook Alyss’ hand and then Sam’s, which he

cupped in both of his. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said. His dark brown eyes swept over her face as if studying it for flaws. He released her hand and sat next to her. “Are you ladies enjoying yourselves?”

“Very much,” Alyss said.

“Beautiful day,” Hollis added. “Better than Houston. It was ninety-five and sticky when we left yesterday.”

Burt laughed. “I’ve been telling Hollis that he should build on his land and move here permanently, but I can’t get him out of Texas.”

“Why should I build when I have this place to visit whenever I want?” Hollis said, waving an arm toward the house.

Carmelita appeared with a scotch on the rocks and handed it to Hollis. He took a deep pull. “That’s wonderful. Carmelita, you’re the best bartender I know.”

“Where’s Niki?” Burt asked.

“Getting dressed,” Hollis said. “She’ll be down shortly.”

As if on cue, the door opened and Niki appeared, wearing a bright yellow string bikini beneath a sheer black shirt, open in the front. Sam wondered what took so long to put on.

Even though she was only 22, Niki Upton had a household face. Not homely, household. One that had been in every home in America. Vogue, Cosmo, Elle, Redbook, and a number of fitness and lingerie magazines. She was tall, thin, with sunken cheeks, a pert nose, and huge blue eyes, which gave her a startled look that only added to her youthful beauty. Her short blonde hair looked like a tastefully trampled cornfield.

Sam was amazed. And more than a tiny bit pissed. She had seen Niki’s face dozens of times, staring from the magazine rack at the grocery store or on the coffee table at the homes of friends. Niki had even been featured in a television special on the production of some sports magazine’s annual swimsuit layout. Sam had convinced herself that all these beautiful super-models weren’t actually that beautiful. That the camera was simply kind to them. That they wouldn’t really stand out in a crowd. Niki proved all that wrong. Even with no make up, no special lighting, she was incredibly beautiful. Damn it!

Then there were those breasts. They looked like two ICBMs, each of which could level a major metropolitan area. Sam felt as if she should move from the line of fire in case Niki’s brain stumbled onto the launch code.

Niki accepted a glass of wine from Carmelita and walked toward them, hips swaying indifferently as if walking the runway in the latest Armani or Versace design. She sat in the empty chair next to Sam.

When Burt introduced Niki to Sam and Alyss, her cool demeanor dissolved into a warm smile. “Sorry I’m late. I was on the phone with my agent. Did I miss anything?”

“No.” Sam said. “There are a few of pieces of quesadilla left.” She slid the plate toward Niki.

“Great.” Niki took one of the wedges and bit into it. “God, I’ve missed Carmelita’s cooking.” She devoured the wedge and took another. “I always eat like a pig when I’m here.” She patted her bare belly. “And I’ve got a lingerie layout to do in Paris in two weeks.” She bit into the second wedge, then licked grease from her fingers. “Oh well, an extra hour in the gym tomorrow.”

Conner, a towel draped over his shoulders, walked up to the table. “Dad, we’re going to take some horses and ride up to the lake. What time’s dinner?”

Carmelita looked out the open window from the kitchen. “Five,” she said. “And don’t be late.”

Conner laughed. “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

Burt introduced Hollis and Niki to Shelby. Shelby’s eyes widened when she shook Niki’s hand.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Shelby said. “Conner said you were here. I see your pictures everywhere.”

Niki smiled. “You must work in a garage. Mechanics seem to love my calendars.”

Shelby laughed. “So do the guys on the football team at my high school. And my friend Kaylee thinks you’re like the greatest model ever.”

Niki blushed slightly. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, don’t be. I love fans. Where would I be without them?” Niki ran her fingers through her hair. “Give me your friend’s address and I’ll send her a couple of signed pictures. If you think she’d like them.”

“Like them? She would like have a major stroke.”

Everybody laughed.

Beautiful, witty, cool, charming. Niki had it all, Sam thought. She would be easy to hate if she wasn’t so damn nice.

“Come on,” Conner said. “Let’s get going.”

Alyss looked at Shelby. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here and swim?”

Shelby rolled her eyes, released an exasperated sigh, and whispered to her

mother. “Mom, don’t do this. I’m not a baby.”

“Something wrong?” Burt asked.

“I’m just concerned,” Alyss said. “Lloyd’s murder. Then, the Kendalls saw something. God knows what.”

Burt smiled. “I heard about that.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

“Forrest Wade told me. I’m sure it was Billy they ran into.”

“I don’t know,” Alyss said. “Besides, Shelby’s not very experienced with horses,” Alyss said.

“She rode beautifully the other day.” Burt leaned toward Alyss, placed a hand on her arm, giving it a gentle pat, and smiled. “Don’t worry. Conner’s been on horses all his life. And he knows these horses better than anyone. And there isn’t some wild man running around in the forest.”

“How do you know?”

“This is a small valley. Not much can hide in here. At worst, it was a bear.”

“Okay,” Alyss said. “So it was a bear. I still think it would be better if they didn’t go riding off somewhere and run into it.”

“Trust me. If it’s a bear, it’s more afraid of them than they are of it.”

“Really?” Alyss asked, her wrinkled brow relaxing slightly.

Burt smiled and took her hand in his. “Yes, really. They’ll be okay.”

Alyss looked at Shelby. “Okay. But be careful.”

Shelby gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.”

The three teenagers headed toward the cabana to change. Returning five minutes later, they piled into Conner’s truck and drove off toward the stables.

Alyss looked nervously after them.

Sam leaned over and touched her arm. “Want me to go with them?”

Alyss shook her head, “No. Shelby would have a fit. I’ll be okay.”

“So will they,” Sam said.

Sam kept a watchful eye on Alyss, who seemed to relax as the conversation turned to the weather, politics, movies, and other topics. Sam noticed however that Alyss frequently glanced toward the stables as if hoping Shelby would change her mind and return to the pool.

Burt dominated the conversation with Hollis adding comments here and there. To Sam’s surprise, Niki more than held her own on a variety of subjects. Brains, too. It wasn’t fair. Finally Burt launched into the history of Gold Creek.

Niki stood and stretched. “I’ve heard this story before. I think I’ll see what else Carmelita has to nibble on.” She headed toward the kitchen.

Burt continued his story.

Gold Creek sprouted a hundred and fifty years earlier as a collection of miner’s tents along the creek from which it took its name. Later, several log houses, two saloons, and a hotel appeared, followed by a pair of brothels. Near the turn of the century, Victorian buildings began to replace the log structures and the town became one of the hidden jewels of the Rockies.

Mining reigned supreme until the 1980’s when the price of gold and silver dropped and the cost of mining sky-rocketed, making it cheaper to import these

precious commodities than to hammer them from the hard rock. The mines closed, the town staggered, but hung on, transforming itself into a tourist spot for those who wanted quiet, natural beauty and a place to uncoil from the pressures of urban life. Now, according to Burt, it was the best place on Earth to live.

By the time Sam finished her Bud, the conversation turned to the murder of Lloyd Varney.

“Sam saw the murderer,” Burt said.

“You did?” Hollis asked.

Sam explained what had occurred on that night for what seemed like the twentieth time.

“I told her, Billy Bear Wingo’s the only one around here that fits that description,” Burt said.

“And he has the temperament,” Hollis added.

CHAPTER 23

Shelby extracted her foot from the stirrup, swung her leg over Storm’s muscular back, and dismounted. She released the reins and the black stallion wandered over to where his two stable mates were munching grass.

Conner spread out a blanket near the shore of the lake and the three of them sat down. He pulled a bottle of wine from the canvas bag he had brought and looked at Shelby. “This cool with you?”

“Totally. I love wine.”

A wine opener and three plastic glasses appeared next. Conner opened the bottle and poured. “Merlot. I clipped it from dad’s cellar. He’ll never miss it.”

Shelby took a sip. “This is awesome.”

“This is better.” Kelly tugged a plastic baggie from her pocket and opened it. Inside were three neatly rolled ts. “Do you party?” she asked Shelby.

“Totally,” Shelby said.

Kelly fired up the t and inhaled deeply. She ed it to Shelby.

Shelby took a hit and ed it to Conner. She held the toke, and then exhaled. “I can’t believe you guys actually know Niki Upton. She’s like a mega-model.”

Kelly laughed. “Yeah, Niki’s cool. She and Dad have been together for about four years.”

“What about your mom? What does she think of Niki?” Shelby asked.

“Mom lives in Houston, too. She hates Niki though. I never bring her name up. If I do, Mom goes ballistic.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shelby said. “My Mom’s the same about my Dad’s new girlfriend Tiffany. Hates her.”

“I hope I never get hung up on that jealousy trip,” Kelly said. She took another hit and ed the t back to Shelby.

Shelby took a deep drag, held it, and as she exhaled said, “You guys are like totally cool. I was beginning to think this place was completely dead.”

Conner laughed. “We always have fun.”

Shelby took another hit and ed the t to Conner. “What I really like is E.”

Kelly cast a quizzical look. “E?”

“Ecstasy.”

“You’ve done that?” Kelly asked.

“Sure,” Shelby said. “It’s big in LA. I mean like everybody does it.”

“What is it?” Conner asked.

“I don’t know. Something they mix with water or juice or anything. You drink it and fly. Especially if you have a couple of beers with it.”

“Sounds wild,” Kelly said. “Where do you get it?”

“Everywhere. I know a couple of guys at school that always have some. Hell, they come to school sick everyday.”

“Sick?”

“You know. Wrecked. Fucked up. Mangled.”

“You guys in California seem to have the wildest lingo for everything,” Kelly said.

Shelby sipped her wine and giggled. She could feel the marijuana’s effect. “Yeah, E is cool. And Special K.”

Conner took the t. “My favorite cereal,” he said.

Shelby laughed. “Ketamine. We call it Special K. Then, there’s GHB. It’s a lot like E.”

Kelly took the t from Conner. “I heard GHB was dangerous.”

“No,” Shelby said. “It’s fun.” She drained her wine glass and held it out as Conner refilled it. “There was like this one kid that died. I didn’t know him, but I was there that night. A huge rave out at Big Rock.”

“You go to those?” Conner asked.

“Yeah. All my friends do.”

“What are they like?”

“A bunch of people. Cool music. Drugs and alcohol. Everything that’s fun.”

“How many show up?” Kelly asked.

“I went to one out in the desert, near Palm Springs. A massive group. They say four thousand. Maybe more.”

“Four thousand? Where were the cops?” Conner asked.

“They did a couple of fly-bys in helicopters, but they like didn’t bother us. We weren’t like really breaking any laws.”

“Drugs? Alcohol? Aren’t those illegal in LA?” Conner said.

“Yeah. But nobody really cares.”

Kelly extended the t toward her.

“I’m like totally mangled already,” Shelby said as she pinched the roach between her nails. “But what the hell.”

“How do you find out about them?” Kelly asked. “The raves.”

“Word of mouth. Fliers. Now they’re on the web.” Shelby took a toke and handed off the weed to Conner. She exhaled the smoke skyward. “Somebody’ll get a place, either out in the desert or up by Big Bear in the mountains. Sometimes a warehouse over in San Bernardino. They’ll set up a generator, a bunch of turntables and speakers for the music, and people will show up. Weed. E. Special K. Shrooms. Everybody gets ripped. Has a good time.”

“Shrooms?” Kelly said.

“Mushrooms,” Shelby said. “Very trippy.”

Conner took a final hit from the t and tossed the roach into the lake. “I think I’ll stick to weed and alcohol,” he said.

Kelly stood and peeled her shirt over her head, exposing her small firm breasts. “I’m going swimming.” She stepped out of her jeans.

“It’s cold,” Conner said.

Clad in only black thong panties, Kelly walked into the water. “It is cold,” she said, but continued out until the water was waist deep. She stretched out and swam several strokes into the lake and then turned, treading water. “Come on in, you guys.”

Conner stripped off his shirt and jeans and jogged into the water.

Maybe it was the weed. Or the wine. Or the thin air. But Shelby sensed none of her usual modesty. She pulled off her shirt and jeans and protected only by her sheer white panties, waded into the frigid water, which seemed much colder than the water in her secret pond above her mother’s inn. “My God, it’s freezing.”

“Come on,” Kelly said. “It’s better after you’re all the way in.”

Shelby swam to where they were. They formed a circle, holding on to each other, treading water, giggling.

Sitting on a rock, high, near the tree line, he watched the three teenagers frolic in the water. They seemed young and happy, without a care in the world. He munched on a piece of hard cheese, a chunk of stale bread, and apple slices, sipping water from a plastic bottle.

As he watched the kids swim and splash water at each other, the germ of a plan sprouted in his mind. He turned it over a few times, liking it more with each cycle.

So, Burt’s son Conner was here, he thought. For how long? A week? A month? A few days would be enough.

He stood, tossed the remnant of the apple away, and wiped its juice from his beard with the back of his hand. After one last look at the kids, he descended into the trees.

CHAPTER 24

Up the stairs, hang a right, third door on the left, Burt had said. But, when Sam entered the room, she was surprised to see, not a bathroom, but a bedroom. Cavernous, with 12-foot ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, a bay window with a sitting area, and a king-sized four-poster bed. Perched on the edge of the bed, Niki looked up as Sam walked in.

Niki had changed out of her bathing suit and now wore a pair of jeans with a black silk blouse that hung open, revealing her deep cleavage. She cocked her head to one side and exhaled a cloud of smoke. A t dangled between two slender fingers.

“Sorry,” Sam said, backing toward the door. “I was looking for a bathroom.”

“There,” Niki said, nodding toward an open door to Sam’s left, through which Sam saw a raised brown marble tub and an expansive counter with a two sinks.

“No. That’s okay,” Sam said, feeling uncomfortable about invading Niki’s privacy even if Niki showed no concern.

“Want some?” Niki extended the t toward her.

“You know I’m a cop, don’t you?”

“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.”

“No thanks.”

Niki shrugged. “Go ahead.”

For a moment, Sam thought she was talking about the t.

Niki nodded toward the bathroom. “Use that one. It’s nicer than the one next door anyway.”

Sam hesitated.

“It’s clean,” Niki said.

“That’s not it,” Sam said. “I don’t want to intrude on your … uh … party.”

Niki stood and walked toward her with that sensuous roll to her hips that only models seemed able to capture. She stood close to Sam. Too close. She trailed the back of her fingers across Sam’s cheek. Sam froze, not sure what to say or do.

“It takes two to party,” Niki said.

Sam was dumbfounded. Speechless.

“You’re very beautiful,” Niki said. She brushed a wayward strand of Sam’s hair away.

Sam stepped back. “Niki, I … uh … what are you doing?”

“Exploring the possibility.”

“I guess I should be flattered,” Sam said. “But I’m not into girls.”

“Sure you are,” Niki said. “All women are once they try it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Pity,” Niki said. She returned to the bed and sat down. She rubbed her hand across the satiny spread. “I could use a little diversion about now.”

“A diversion? Is that what you call it?”

“It’s just fun. Nothing serious.”

“I see,” Sam said. Her heart had finally slowed enough that she could breathe, think. “If you like women, what’s your deal with Hollis?”

“He’s good to me.”

“I bet,” Sam said.

“Not like you think,” Niki said. “I pay my own way. I can afford my own vices without Hollis’ help.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … ”

“Sure you did. Everyone does. You see an older man with a twenty-two year old woman. It’s a natural conclusion. In fact, we started that way.” She swept her fingers through her hair.

“Oh?”

Niki relit the t and took another hit. “Sure you won’t have some?”

Sam shook her head.

Niki exhaled and waved the smoke away with one hand. “I was eighteen when we met. I had a stepfather who liked to visit my room. Started when I was all of fourteen.”

“Where was your mother?”

Niki frowned. “Mother? Now, there’s a piece of white trash if there ever was one.” She took another hit. “She knew, but was too weak and to drugged to give a shit. In fact, she encouraged it.”

Sam moved to the foot of the bed and leaned against the bedpost.

Niki continued. “Sometimes another man would in. Sample the goodies. I think cash changed hands a few times.”

“Your mother prostituted you?”

Niki nodded. “Then, I met Hollis. I was serving drinks, he was buying. I quit on the spot and walked out the door with him. We’ve been together ever since.”

Niki’s casual openness was more than a little unnerving. “What does your mother think about you and Hollis?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I sent her a post card from Paris a week later. Two words. ‘Fuck you’.”

Sam’s first impulse was to go to Niki. Comfort her. But, with Niki’s inclinations, she feared it might be misunderstood. “I’m sorry,” was all she managed to say.

“Don’t be. That’s my story. Everybody has one.” She looked up toward the ceiling and shook her head. “Just think, if it weren’t for Ralph … don’t you just love that name … my step-father, I would still be waiting tables and screwing losers.”

“So, Hollis took you away from all that, so to speak?”

“Exactly. Money and connections always go together. Hollis has both. He hooked me up with a few modeling gigs in Houston and my career just took off. New York, Rome, Paris, you name it.”

“A surrogate father sort of thing, huh?”

“Not really. I love him. And, of course, we have sex. He needs it and I don’t mind.”

“But you prefer women?”

Niki shrugged. Her blouse fell open further, revealing more of her breasts.

“Sure.”

“Does Hollis know?”

“Of course.”

Sam released a nervous laugh. She felt off balance. She might be six years older than Niki, but she felt as though she were a decade younger. Maybe more. Niki seemed so experienced. So confidant. Definitely full of surprises. “I guess my life’s been pretty tame compared to yours.”

“Sure you don’t want to spice it up a little?” Niki’s ice blue eyes sparkled.

“No. I’m sure.”

Niki stubbed out the t in the ashtray that sat on the bedside table. “Maybe another time.”

“I don’t think so.”

Niki cocked her head to one side and looked at Sam. “I suppose you find Burt attractive.”

“Not really. Why?”

“Most women do. At first. Your friend seems interested.”

“Yes. Alyss is a little infatuated.”

“Tell her to be careful.”

“Oh?”

“Burt can be a snake. He’d sell his mother if it was in his best interest.”

“Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

“Not really.”

“Want to explain?”

Niki shrugged. “I love Hollis. And I’d do anything to protect him. He’s a good man. Except when he’s with Burt.”

“And then?”

“Hollis is a good man, not a strong one. Burt’s strong. He … what’s the word? … influences Hollis.”

“But aren’t they partners? Friends?”

Niki released a short laugh. “Sam, you seem to be bright. You’ll probably figure out Burt before long. Just be careful until you do.”

Sam wasn’t sure why she should believe Niki’s take on Burt. After all, despite her apparent experience, Niki was still young. And stoned. Yet, she was obviously in a position to know Burt well. Besides, something about Burt had gnawed at her own gut. Something she couldn’t yet define.

“What has he done that’s so bad? Screwed people? Most rich business men do that every day.”

Niki looked up at her. “Worse.”

“Robbed a bank? Rustled cattle?”

“Worse.”

“Rape? Murder?”

Niki stared at her, but said nothing. Then, she stood and brushed past Sam. Her shirt slipped from her shoulders. She stopped at the bathroom door and turned, naked to the waist. “I’m glad we had this talk. Just tell your friend to keep her eyes open.” She entered the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

CHAPTER 25

Shelby shivered, hopping from foot to foot, unable to get her clothes on fast enough. She yanked her shirt down over her head. “God, I’m freezing.”

Kelly and Conner, hurriedly pulling on their own clothing, laughed.

“Getting out of the water’s always the worst part,” Conner said.

When they were dressed, they huddled together and Conner wrapped the blanket around them. Kelly lit another t and they ed it around as their combined body heat began to calm their shivering. By the time Conner took the last hit and flicked the butt into the lake, they were warm and comfortably numbed from the marijuana.

Conner looked at Shelby. “So, how do you like it here so far?”

“It’s okay. Totally different from LA.”

“That’s for sure,” Kelly said. “But LA’s cool.”

“Have you been there?” Shelby asked.

“A few times,” Kelly said. “With dad. He goes there on business a lot.”

“You’ll have to visit me next time.”

“That’d be great. I’ve only seen LA from restaurants or the back of a limo. Seems like every time I go, Dad has a lot of meetings. I get to go shopping or to a movie sometimes. Went to the beach once.”

“I could show you some cool things,” Shelby said. “We live in Beverly Hills. I have my own car. It’s a totally awesome BMW convertible. We could go like everywhere.”

“Maybe one of those raves?” Kelly asked.

“Sure. You’d love it.”

“You could come, too,” Kelly said to Conner. “The three of us would have a great time.”

“Sounds cool,” Conner said, tucking his shirt into his jeans. “But, right now, we’d better head back. If we’re late, Carmelita will strangle us.”

“Let’s take that trail through the trees,” Kelly said to Conner. “The one you showed me last summer.”

“Okay.”

“Shelby, you’ll love this,” Kelly said. “It goes right by a huge waterfall.”

“Sounds tight,” Shelby said.

“Tight?” Kelly looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“You know. Cool. Fun. Tight.”

“More LA-speak,” Conner said.

Shelby pulled Storm to a halt near a pool at the base of a waterfall, where Conner and Kelly sat astride their horses. Conner pointed upward and her gaze followed his direction. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips.

The waterfall appeared as if it fell from the sky. It cascaded down the mountain in enormous strides before making a final plunge into a churning pool, generating a thick blanket of mist, which fractured the sunlight into a delicate rainbow that appeared so close she could almost reach out and touch it. Its bracing spray peppered her face

“This is like totally cool,” she shouted above the roar of the water.

Conner nodded and then reined his horse back on the trail, which paralleled a creek that emerged from the pool. The girls followed until they came to a place where the creek shallowed. The crystal clear water swelled and surged over the multicolored rocks that made up the creek bed.

Conner looked back toward the falls. “It’s called Horse Tail Falls. It’s the origin of Silver Creek.” He pointed, tracing the creek’s path as it emerged from the pool and wound down the slope. “Silver Creek runs across the ranch and s Gold Creek near town.”

Shelby saw that Silver Creek meandered across the valley floor, flanked by regiments of Aspen tress, whose leaves danced on the soft breeze. To her it had the appearance of a greenish-gray shimmering ribbon.

Conner spurred his horse forward. “We’ll cross here.”

Shelby hesitated. The water rippled and frothed and appeared as if it could easily wash her and Storm downstream.

Conner crossed over, his horse taking careful steps on the slippery rocks, the water swirling around his horse’s knees. He reached the other side and swung around to face them.

Kelly followed, but Shelby held the reins tightly even as Storm inched forward as if eager to move on.

“Come on,” Conner said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry, Storm’s as surefooted as they come.”

Reluctantly, Shelby slackened the reins. Storm danced across the rocks, no hesitation, no missteps. He pranced up the opposite bank and came to a halt next to the others, flipping his head and snorting as if to say, no problem.

Shelby felt foolish for having worried.

“See?” Conner said. “Piece of cake.”

Conner and Kelly pushed their horses into a trot and disappeared down a trail, which melted into a dense thicket of spruce trees. Storm urged Shelby to follow,

but she tugged on his reins, taking in one last look at the waterfall and the rainbow that floated within its mist. She inhaled the cool air, savoring the scent of the evergreens. This place was truly beautiful, she thought. No wonder her mom loved it so much.

Finally, she gave Storm his head and he lurched forward into the trees.

The thick forest consumed the daylight and for a moment she could see very little, only shadows and darker shadows. As her vision adjusted, she saw that the trail cut through the trees in a serpentine manner. Storm followed the path without any guidance from her. He obviously knew the way home.

Strewn with gravel, dirt, and pine needles and crisscrossed with tree roots, the trail wound upward over a rise. When she reached the summit, she expected to find Conner and Kelly. They were nowhere to be seen. She stopped. Storm pawed at the ground.

“Conner,” she shouted. “Kelly.”

No response.

“Conner,” she called again, but the trees seemed to devour her shout.

Her heart kicked into a higher gear. She patted the horse’s neck. “You do know the way home don’t you, boy?”

Storm bobbed his head and pulled at the reins as if to answer her question.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Storm moved forward. The path sloped downward, back up a gentle slope, and then downward once again. As she crossed the bottom of the depression and started back up another steeper rise, an odor, musty, animal-like, caught her attention. She reined in Storm. The horse pranced nervously in place, his head cocked up, nostrils flaring, testing the air. He had sensed something too, she thought.

Then, she detected movement, in the shadows, not more than two hundred feet away.

“Conner?” she called out. “Is that you guys?”

No response.

The form moved again, along a ridge above and slightly ahead.

“Come on you guys,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

She heard the scraping of feet, the snapping of twigs, and the rattle of loose pebbles. The odor intensified, irritating her nose. The wheeze of its raspy breathing seemed to surround her as the thick shadow lumbered across the slope,

paralleling the trail, heading toward a thick cluster of spruces. She lost sight of it as it melted into the denser shadows of the trees.

What was it? A bear? Definitely not Conner and Kelly. What if it was trying to cut off her escape? Trap her here in the forest? And if it did, what then? Backtrack? To where?

She had to do something and do it quickly. She leaned forward in the saddle. “Come on, boy,” she whispered to Storm. “Let’s go.”

The horse hesitated, took a step backwards and then another. Pressure swelled in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.

She dug her knees against into Storm’s flanks and rocked forward. “Come on, Storm,” she pleaded.

He shook his head, took a step to the right, and then bolted forward, up the hill, spraying gravel and dirt in his wake. Shelby was thrown back, one foot slipping from its stirrup. She clawed at the saddle horn, frantically clutching it. She dropped back into the saddle, hard, the impact knocking what little breath she still possessed from her. She collapsed forward and wrapped her arms around the charging horse’s neck, praying she could hang on.

Storm rocketed up the hill, toward, and then by the form that remained in the shadows. Now only fifty or so feet from the creature, Shelby could make out a rough form. It stood on two legs and was huge. As tall as Storm’s head and as thick as the trunks of the spruces it hid among. Its shoulders hunched forward and it appeared to be covered with dark fur. The odor was stifling.

Storm accelerated. She looked back toward the dark figure, but it remained motionless and, as the horse reached a full gallop, melted once again into the murky forest.

Shelby hugged Storm’s sweat slicked neck while she attempted to reseat her foot in the stirrup and regain control of the reins that had somehow wrapped themselves around her arm. Storm sped down the trail until they burst from the trees and into the sunlight. Shelby looked over her shoulder once again, half expecting to see some wild beast explode from the trees and pounce on her. She saw nothing.

Ahead, Conner and Kelly sat on their horses, staring at her in astonishment. Shelby finally untangled the reins and yanked on them, slowing Storm and then bringing him to a stop. The horse pawed the ground nervously, jerked his head from one side to the other. The flesh along his neck twitched.

“What happened?” Conner asked.

“I saw something. It scared me.”

“What?” Kelly asked. She rose up in her saddle and peered past Shelby toward the trees.

“I don’t know. It was big and hairy. And it smelled bad.”

“A bear?” Conner asked.

“I didn’t get a good look at it.”

Storm continued to paw at the ground and whip his head around, his eyes widely alert.

“Whatever it was,” Conner said, “it sure spooked Storm.”

“ that bear we ran into?” Kelly asked Conner. “When was that? Summer before last?”

“Yeah,” Conner said, then laughed. “Scared the shit out of both of us.”

Shelby continued to scan the trees behind them. “Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER 26

By the time Sam came back down stairs, Burt, Hollis, and Alyss had moved from the patio into the den. Apparently, Carmelita had run them off so she could prepare the patio tables for dinner.

Sam had not seen the den during her tour of the house two days earlier and wasn’t prepared for its size.

The walls were of finely grained light oak. An intricately patterned pressed copper ceiling, which exhibited traces of blue green patina, rose 20 feet above her head. The south-facing wall was mostly glass and afforded sweeping views of the valley and the snow-capped ridges beyond.

Intimidating was the word that came to mind.

The intimidation she felt came not only from the vastness of the room, but also from the dead animals that filled it. Deer, antelope, elk, and big horn sheep heads vied for wall space. A bearskin rug lay on the floor before the hearth and a 12foot Grizzly, paws raised, mouth snarling, stood in one corner. Sam suspected it probably looked less menacing through a rifle scope from a half-mile away, which was surely how Burt had viewed the magnificent creature.

She ed the others before a monolithic stone hearth and fireplace that looked as though it had been constructed by some primitive race with large hands and small minds. An ornate copper screen fronted it.

A deep ox-blood leather sofa and three matching chairs created a conversation area near the fireplace. Burt and Alyss sat close to one another on the sofa. He had one arm thrown casually around Alyss’ shoulder as she sagged against him. They laughed as if sharing a private joke.

Hollis sat in one of the chairs, a snifter of cognac in his hand. Sam sank into a chair opposite him. She eyed Burt, going over in her head what Niki had said, while resisting the temptation to scream at Alyss to get away, that Burt was dangerous.

“How about a before dinner cognac?” Hollis asked.

“Sure,” Sam said, pulling her gaze away from Burt.

Alyss and Burt nodded in agreement.

“Me, too,” Niki said as she entered the room.

Sam looked up. Niki had changed clothes yet again. This time to black slacks and a peach silk shirt, both tailored to hug her curves and peaks like a second skin, as if Mattel had made them for her Barbie body. More likely, designed by Lagerfeld or Versace. Obviously, Niki didn’t shop the racks, unless the racks were in Bergdorf-Goodman.

Hollis walked to an antique oak table along the wall, lifted a crystal decanter

from its silver tray, poured the four cognacs, and refreshed his own. After ing one to each of them he returned to his chair.

Niki snaked into the chair with him, kissing him lightly on the cheek. Her eyes locked with Sam’s for a brief moment and a faint smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

Sam heard a commotion behind her and turned as Shelby, Conner, and Kelly came in. Shelby rapidly and with exaggerated waves of her arms told of her encounter in the forest.

Alyss rose from the sofa and hugged Shelby. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just a little spooked.”

“Probably a bear,” Burt said.

“I don’t know,” Shelby said. “I didn’t see it very well, but it stood upright. On two legs. Don’t bears move on all fours?”

“Like that one?” Burt said, nodding toward the Grizzly in the corner.

“Well, yeah. But what I saw wasn’t that big.”

Sam caught a quick exchange of glances between Burt and Hollis.

“Probably a black bear,” Burt said. “Or maybe you bumped into Billy Bear. He can look pretty frightening.”

Shelby looked at Burt, and then her mother. “I don’t know. I was scared.”

“Did it threaten you?” Sam asked.

“Not really. At first, I thought it was trying to block the trail I was on, but then it seemed to want to stay in the trees.”

“Like it was afraid to show itself?” Sam asked, thinking of what the Kendalls had said.

Shelby nodded. “Yeah. It seemed that way.”

“And you said it smelled bad,” Kelly said.

“Yeah,” Shelby said. “It never really got close to me, but I could smell it anyway.” She wrinkled her nose.

“What did it smell like?” Sam asked.

“Like a litter box.”

Everyone laughed. Alyss stroked Shelby’s hair and rearranged a Big Bird clip that looked as though it was losing its grip.

Hollis drained his glass and placed it on the table next to the sofa. He glanced at Burt. “Probably a bear. They can smell pretty bad. We had one … when was that, Burt? A couple of years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“It killed a couple of calves,” Hollis said. “Took us two days to track it down and kill it.”

“Is bear hunting legal?” Sam asked.

“On my property it is,” Burt laughed.

“Do you hunt, Sam?” Hollis asked.

“No.”

“Quite exhilarating. You should try it some time.”

“Doesn’t seem fair to me,” Sam said. “The hunter has the gun.”

Burt laughed. “You wouldn’t think so if you looked a 800-pound bear in the eye. Like that one.” Burt gestured toward the Grizzly again.

“Did you get close enough to see his eyes?” Sam asked.

“Not a chance. I’m not that brave,” Burt said. He retrieved the decanter and refilled everyone’s glasses.

“Then, there you go,” Sam said. “It’s a rigged game.”

“Look at the size of him,” Burt said. “Would you want to get close to that?”

“No. Not by choice.” She sipped the Cognac. “But maybe a knife would have made it a fairer fight.”

Hollis laughed. “You’re a pistol, aren’t you?”

“She’s more than that,” Alyss said. “And she’s undefeated.”

“What?” Hollis asked.

“Sam’s a boxer,” Burt said.

“Really?” Hollis looked surprised. “I must it, I don’t follow boxing anymore. Not since Ali. I thought women boxers were bigger. More like female Russian weight-lifters.”

“We come in all shapes and sizes,” Sam said.

“Sam’s apparently quite good,” Burt said. “Three wins and no losses? All knockouts, right?”

Sam nodded.

“My, that is good,” Hollis said.

Sam shrugged. “Not good enough,” she smiled and touched her cheek. “Third round. Forgot to duck.”

Hollis leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he inspected her face. His breath carried the distinct smell of cognac. “It doesn’t look too bad. In fact, I hadn’t noticed it before.”

“Make-up does wonders,” Sam said.

Hollis leaned back. “I think I’ll stick to deer hunting. Much more civilized.”

“Civilized?” Sam said.

Hollis smiled. “Isn’t boxing violent?”

“Actually, hunting’s a lot like boxing, don’t you think?” Burt said, more as a statement than a question.

“How so?” Sam asked.

“Both fighters are stalking the other, while at the same time trying to avoid falling into a trap. Each is both the hunter and the hunted.”

“Never thought of it that way,” Sam said. “Of course, neither fighter has an ordinance advantage.”

“The hunter may have the gun,” Hollis said, “but the deer or bear or whatever has stealth and speed and cunning on his side. The hunter must think and learn. Know the prey’s habits. It’s actually an intellectual pursuit.”

“But a 30.06 tends to stack the deck, don’t you think?” Sam said.

“Maybe you two should hunt each other,” Niki said, looking at Burt.

Out of the mouths of babes, thought Sam. “Yeah. That would be fair.”

Niki shook her head. “Hunting another person would be cool. Like that short story, ‘The Most Dangerous Game.’ I think it was by Richard Connell.”

Sam looked at Niki. Of all the things she thought might come from Niki’s mouth, a literary reference wasn’t high on the list. Sam knew the story. Had read it in high school. The evil master of a private island would use a fake lighthouse light to lure unsuspecting ships onto the island’s surrounding rocks. Initially treated with great kindness, the surviving sailors are ultimately released and hunted for sport.

“One of you could be General Zaroff,” Niki continued. “The one with the gun. The other could be Rainsford. The deer.”

“But that would be appalling,” Burt said. “Not to mention illegal.”

“I thought everything was legal at Casa Grande,” Niki said. Her eyes seemed as cold as an iceberg as she looked at Burt.

From the corner of her eye, Sam caught Burt’s glance toward Hollis. The two men stared at each other for a brief moment.

Niki stood up and stretched. “Enough about hunting. I’m hungry.”

Sam looked up at her. “You’re not a hunter, I take it.”

“It’s stupid. And cruel.”

Burt drained his cognac. “Cruel or not, I’m not going to lose any calves this year. Tomorrow, I’ll send a couple of the boys up there to see if they can track it down.”

“And kill it?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” Burt gaze bounced toward Hollis once again. “Probably.”

CHAPTER 27

Sam sat at one of the patio tables, flanked by Niki and Alyss, Hollis seated across from her. The teenagers were at one of the other tables. Sam caught Alyss watching Shelby, who laughed and chatted animatedly with her new friends.

Sam leaned over and touched Alyss’ arm, speaking low. “That’s more like the Shelby I ,” Sam said.

Alyss nodded and smiled. “She does seem more at ease each day, doesn’t she?”

“Give her a little more time and she’ll be a regular mountain girl. Maybe leave that LA raver crap behind.”

Alyss gave Sam a hopeful look. “Do you think I could convince her to move here? Stay with me?”

“Maybe. We’ll work on her.”

Burt returned to the table and sat, nudging his chair a little closer to Alyss. “And what are you two whispering about?”

“Kids,” Alyss said. “We were just talking about how much Shelby seems to like

it here in Gold Creek.”

Burt laughed. “What’s not to like? I doubt in LA she can ride a horse or walk in a forest. And she definitely can’t breathe this clean air.”

“That’s true,” Alyss said. “Of course, in LA she has her BMW and very little supervision.”

Carmelita pushed open the kitchen door. “Mr. Burt, everything is ready.”

After onishing everyone to stay put, Burt helped Carmelita carry bowls of beans and potato salad and trays of ribs and brisket to the serving table, which Carmelita had earlier covered with a red floral cloth. A basket of fresh flowers served as a centerpiece.

“Come and get it,” Burt said.

Each of them filled a plate with meat, beans, and potato salad, and returned to their seats. Niki ed on everything except a mound of potato salad and slid back into her chair.

Sam watched as Niki pulled a brown plastic medicine bottle from her pocket and twisted off the cap. She shook an array of vitamins and supplements and God knows what else onto the table, and then selected a handful of green and orange and brown pills, downing them with a gulp of Diet Coke.

No wonder she’s so skinny. There’s no room left for food.

Niki offered a pale orange pill to Hollis, but he waved it away. She scraped the remaining pills off the table into her hand and returned them to the bottle. “I can’t get Hollis to take vitamins,” she said. “I told him it would give him more energy and stamina, but he won’t listen.” She smiled at Sam. “Do you take vitamins?”

“Not that many.”

“Nobody takes that many,” Hollis said.

Niki stuck her tongue out at him. “Just looking after your well being.”

“What are all those?” Sam asked.

“The usual vitamins and minerals,” Niki said. Her leg brushed against Sam’s, then again. Niki made no attempt to avoid the . “The alphabet stuff. The As and Bs and Cs. And zinc, chromium, iron. Alfalfa, sea weed for iodine, ginkgo biloba, billberry, kava kava, Siberian ginseng, Echinacea. The usual stuff.”

Usual? Sam had never heard of half of them. She guessed these herbs and spices must be a trade secret known only to models.

“I guess my off the shelf multiple vitamin must be a little deficient,” Sam said.

“This is better than any vitamin.” Hollis picked up a thick rib and gnawed off a bite. “And it’ll give you all the stamina you need.”

Niki laughed. “You can have them. But Carmelita’s potato salad is a different story.” She took a taste. “Perfect as usual.”

Sam marched through a plate of ribs and brisket and was on her second beer when Chief Forrest Wade arrived. She hid her surprise as best she could. Burt hadn’t mentioned Wade was coming and she still couldn’t picture them as bosom buddies. They seemed to have so little in common. Except, as Billy Bear had pointed out, one had power and the other money.

After apologizing for being late, Wade piled a stack of ribs and a mountain of potato salad on his plate and sat down across from Sam. Carmelita placed a cold Coors in front of him.

Alyss excused herself and went over to talk with the kids, while Burt went into the house to make a phone call.

Wade chewed the meat off one of the ribs as if he hadn’t eaten in days and wiped sauce from his chin with a napkin. Sam, Niki, and Hollis made small talk while Wade offered the occasional nod or grunt of agreement. Finally, he pushed back his plate, which now held only a pile of gnawed bones.

Wade looked at Sam. “I guess I owe you a word of thanks.”

“For what?”

“Billy came by yesterday afternoon, after Lloyd’s funeral. Gave up boot prints and a hair sample. Then, Eloy took him over to the hospital and got a blood sample drawn.”

“He did?”

Wade nodded. “Said you convinced him it was in his best interest to do so. Must it I’m a bit surprised that Billy would listen to anyone. He can be stubborn to a fault.”

“I chatted with him at lunch. I suggested he come by and see you, but when I left, I didn’t really think he would.”

“He did. Thanks to you.” He tipped his beer bottle toward her and nodded.

Burt came out of the house and pulled up a chair next to Wade. “Anything new with the investigation?”

“That’s what we were just discussing,” Wade said. He told Burt about Billy coming by the day before. “Also, I got the final report on Lloyd’s autopsy.”

“And?” Sam asked.

“Blood alcohol was point O four. Probably had a couple of shots of whiskey while he was waiting. Not unusual for Lloyd. Especially as cold as it was that night. I didn’t tell Louise. She didn’t like him drinking and I don’t see any reason she should be upset.”

The little white lies cops sometimes had to tell, Sam thought. By the very nature of the job, cops often uncovered things that were better left concealed. Sometimes small things, like Lloyd’s nips; sometimes darker, more disturbing family secrets. Things that had no bearing on the case, but would haunt the survivors, the families forever. She had to it she was surprised the man across from her, with barbecue sauce on his chin, possessed that much comion.

Wade took a couple of gulps of beer and suppressed a belch. “The ME says Lloyd was hit with one of those folding shovels. Apparently, the imprint of the back of the blade was visible under indirect light. He’ll send us some photos in a couple of days.”

“That’s good work,” Sam said.

“Abe Summers is a good man. Worked in the state lab in Denver for a dozen or so years. Anyway, he says the killer is right handed and at least six feet and as much as six-four or five.” He took another swallow of beer and wiped his chin with a napkin. “The boot prints we got from Varney’s are definitely from Timberlands. Size fourteen. Eloy took the stuff we got from Billy up to him this morning. The hair and blood went on to Denver, but Abe will compare the boot

prints. Should have that back tomorrow. For what it’s worth now.”

“What do you mean?” Burt asked.

“Billy’s been wearing them for a few days. Up there where he stomps around. They’re all scuffed up. The ones we got at Varney’s were brand new. No wear marks. Doubt Abe will get a conclusive match.”

Sam eyed Wade. He seemed completely comfortable discussing the details of the case with Burt, as if such a discussion was expected.

“Still might be able to get a good enough match to convince a jury,” Burt said.

Wade shrugged. “It is a bit odd…or maybe convenient…that Billy just happened to breakout a new pair of boots about the time an identical pair disappeared from Varney’s. On the very night Lloyd was killed.”

“Very convenient,” Burt said.

Sam looked from Burt to Wade. “The way Billy explained it to me is that he always keeps a pair reserve. When a new pair comes in, he changes to his reserve ones. He just hadn’t taken his new boots home yet.”

Burt smiled. “Like I said, very convenient.”

“Both of you think Billy’s guilty, don’t you?” Sam said.

“Yes. And you?” Burt replied.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Sam rested her elbows on the table. “And, I don’t think the man that ran over me that night was Billy.”

“Why not?” Burt asked.

“Same size, but this guy was thicker and had an unforgettable odor.”

Wade looked at her over the lip of his beer bottle. “Still could’ve been Billy. I don’t have to tell you how unreliable eyewitnesses can be.” He smiled. “No offense, but it was a rather sudden encounter you had. And dark. And I’d imagine more than a little frightening.”

“That’s true,” Sam said. “So far, all the evidence is circumstantial. Of course, the hair fibers and the DNA could change all that.”

“We’ll know soon, I guess,” Wade said.

“Billy’s that big old hairy guy we see in town sometimes, isn’t he?” Niki asked.

“Yeah,” Hollis said.

“He’s looks scary to me,” Niki said.

“But that doesn’t make him guilty,” Sam said. “Have you ever met him?”

“No.”

“You should,” Sam said. “He’s actually quite intelligent.”

Wade eyed Sam. “Do you plan to talk with Billy again?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

Sam noticed that Wade kept flashing looks at Burt. “He and I are butting heads right now. He seems to like you. At least he took your advice about giving up the samples and prints. Maybe you can find out a few things.”

Sam shrugged. “Would this chat be official?”

Wade cut his eyes toward Burt, but quickly looked back at Sam. “More an unofficial pow-wow. Just two citizens shooting the breeze.” Wade leaned back and shoved the fingers of his right hand beneath his belt. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that might step on Billy’s rights. Anything some smart ass lawyer could use if we do make a case against him.”

“Since I’m not part of the posse, so to speak,” Sam said, “I wouldn’t be restrained by the same rules as you.”

Again, Wade glanced at Burt and Sam thought she caught a slight nod of Burt’s head from the corner of her eye. “Something like that. He might open up and talk to you. Maybe keep this whole thing from getting ugly.” Wade said.

“Sure,” Sam said. “Who knows, maybe he’ll confess.”

Sam drove slowly on the way home, Alyss sitting next to her, Shelby in the back seat, head rocking with the rap beat that spilled from her headphones. Sam’s brain churned over her conversation with Burt and Wade again and again.

“You okay?” Alyss asked.

“Sure. Why’d you ask?”

“You’re off somewhere.”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Something doesn’t smell right.” Sam said.

“Such as?” Alyss asked.

Sam peeked at Shelby in the rear view mirror. Shelby appeared lost in her music. “I’ll tell you later.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Shelby?”

Shelby pulled her headphones down around her neck and lowered the volume on her iPod. “Yeah?”

“What exactly did you see up there?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you don’t think it was a bear. Why?”

“It like stood up. On its back legs. Like a man. A big hairy smelly man.”

“Hairy? You didn’t say that before.”

“I didn’t?” She cocked her head to one side. “I didn’t get a good look. It was pretty dark in the trees. But I think it was hairy.”

“Hairy as in a beard?”

“I had the feeling it was, you know, like hairy all over. If it was some dude, maybe he had a beard and was wearing dark clothes or something.”

“Was he or it as big as Billy?”

“At least.”

After they got home, Shelby went to her room, while Sam and Alyss had a cup of tea on the porch. Sam watched Alyss as she sipped her tea and gazed out across the valley. This was a conversation she didn’t want to have, but she really had no choice. Better just to jump right into it.

“How do you feel about Burt?” Sam asked.

Alyss smiled. “I like him. He’s easy going and fun to talk with. And, well, he’s handsome.”

“And?”

“And what?” Alyss laughed. “You mean could it get serious? I don’t know. Maybe, in time. Right now, it’s just good not to think about all the crap I’ve been through with Dan.”

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Shelby, but I think Burt and Wade are trying to frame Billy.”

“You’re not serious? Why would they?”

Sam told Alyss of her conversation with Billy about his land and Burt’s tricks to steal it. And of her feeling that Burt was overly involved in the investigation. “Then, Wade wants me to buddy up to Billy. Try to get him to confess or whatever.”

“So? That makes sense to me.”

“The fact that he asked me to get friendly with Billy isn’t what bothers me. He seemed to wait for Burt’s permission before asking.”

“How do you know that?”

“A look ed between them. One of those giving-getting permission looks.”

“You think Burt might be pulling Wade’s strings?”

“Maybe. And Billy said they had some kind of arrangement.”

“You mean payoff?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s Billy’s take on it.”

“Wouldn’t be the first case of police corruption,” Alyss said.

Sam finished her tea and placed the cup on the porch. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“Niki told me some interesting things about Burt.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t care much for Mr. Eagan, it seems. She feels he’s a bad influence on Hollis.”

“The same Hollis that’s sleeping with a girl that could be his granddaughter?”

“That’s what I thought. At first. But seeing them together today, it’s more than that.”

“Come on, Sam.”

Sam held up a hand, palm out. “Just hear me out.” She told Alyss about her bedroom conversation with Niki.

“And you believe her?”

“I don’t know. But after today, I know Burt and Wade are up to something and Niki just might know what it is.”

“You plan to talk to her again?”

“Absolutely. In the meantime, I just want you to keep your eyes open. Be careful. Burt may not be what he seems.”

“Is anybody? , I was married to Dan.”

“Dan’s just playing Peter Pan. Burt may be something else again.”

Burt stirred the fire and added another log. He poured two glasses of cognac, handed one to Hollis, and then eased into one of the chairs. Hollis sat on the sofa. Niki, Conner, and Kelly had already gone to bed and except for the occasional crackle and hiss from the fireplace the house was quiet.

“What do you think Shelby saw up there?” Hollis asked.

“A bear.”

“You know Goddamn well it wasn’t any bear. And it wasn’t a bear that spooked that couple that was honeymooning at Alyss’. It was him.”

“He’s dead.” Burt stared at the fire and sipped his cognac.

“You don’t know that. You never found his body.”

“Nobody could have survived that fall,” Burt said.

“Nobody normal. But he wasn’t. You saw what he had become.”

Burt sighed. “Yes. I saw.”

“And if that was him, if he is alive, he could talk. Where would that leave us?”

“Don’t worry. I have things under control.”

“Shit.” Hollis stood and paced before the hearth.

“Walt and Ted are coming down. They’ll track down whoever or whatever is up there.”

Hollis drained his glass and refilled it. “I hope to hell you’re right. That son-of-abitch has already screwed up everything and if he talks, we’re dead.”

“If he exists, he’ll never get the chance.”

Hollis stopped pacing and turned toward Burt. “So, you it that it could be him.”

“Anything’s possible, but I think they all saw a bear. Or Billy. And if Walt and Ted just happen to run across Billy up there, our troubles … all our troubles … are over.”

Hollis sighed and collapsed into one of the chairs. “And what about Sam? She seems to be on Billy’s side.”

“Relax. She’s a visitor. She’ll be gone in another week or so.”

Hollis turned and looked at him. “And in the meantime?”

“If she becomes a problem, we’ll deal with that, too.”

Hollis shook his head. “You’re amazing. How can you be so calm about all this?”

“Not calm. Rational. I have all the bases covered.” He swirled the cognac in his glass and took a sip. “Besides, when the hair and DNA match Billy to the crime, Sam will become a true believer. An ally.”

“They had better match.”

“They will.”

CHAPTER 28

Fatigue weighed heavily on Walt Packer. He had slept little the night before, drinking and bouncing around with Lois. He hadn’t seen her in three weeks, her husband being unable to work his usual night shift at the Wayside Motel due to a back injury. Lois made up for lost time. He finally extricated himself from her a little after two and made his way home only to find a message from Burt Eagan on his answering machine, telling him to round up Ted Smyth and be at Casa Grande by eight.

Begging off never crossed his mind. Five hundred a day and two grand each if they bagged their prey, working for Burton Eagan was a perk he cherished. Four and half hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and a couple of stale donuts had pumped enough life into him so that he made it with time to spare.

It was a gray morning and promised to become even grayer. Bruised clouds gathered to the north and spilled over the peaks into the valley. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Walt stood just inside the stable, next to Ted and out of the fine mist that muted the morning. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, denim jacket, and a sweat stained Stetson. He pulled a cigarette from the wrinkled Marlboro pack in his shirt pocket and tapped down the tobacco on the face of his watch. He flicked a match to life with his thumbnail and lit the cigarette with one long drag. Smoke trailed from his nostrils. “Gonna be a shit day,” he said.

“Yep,” Ted agreed. He pinched a wad of tobacco from a zippered pouch and shoved it into his left cheek, wedging it into position with his tongue.

Walt looked up as Burt’s Range Rover approached and came to a stop near them. “Morning,” he said as Burt stepped from the vehicle.

Ted nodded, saying nothing. He pressed the tips of his index and middle fingers against his lips and launched a thick stream of brown spittle out the door into the mist.

Burt looked up at the sky. “Looks like a front’s moving in.”

“Yeah,” Walt said. “Won’t last long.”

“Carlos saddled horses for you,” Burt said. “I had him grab a couple of ponchos, too.”

“So, we got a bear up there?” Walt said, the cigarette bobbing in the corner of his mouth.

“A bear of some type.”

“I see.” Walt glanced at Ted and then back to Burt, cocking his head to one side. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same one we hunted a couple of months back, would it?”

“Possible. Or it could be that other bear that has caused us so much trouble.”

Walt pursed his lips. “I’d guess we’d have the right to defend ourselves in either case.”

Burt locked his gaze on Walt. “Of course, without a body your rights would never come into question.”

Walt stared out at the drizzle. “Maybe he’s holed up for the day. With this weather.”

“Perhaps,” Burt said.

“I ‘spect we’ll see.” The ash fell from his cigarette and landed on his boot.

Carlos appeared from the rear of the stable, leading their horses, two oiled canvas ponchos draped over one arm. Walt slid his rifle into the saddle’s scabbard, pulled on the poncho, and took the reins.

After Ted slid his poncho over his head, he fired another wad of tobacco juice out the door, and then checked the saddle’s cinch. “Let’s get at it,” he said and mounted the horse.

Walt swung into the saddle and looked down at Burt. “We’ll be back by sunset.” He flicked the cigarette butt into a rain puddle. “Maybe sooner.”

Walt urged his horse forward, into the gentle rain. Ted followed. They crossed the open fields of Casa Grande, weaving through the 500 head of cattle, which, with the exception of a few turned heads, ignored their age.

Walt tilted his hat back and examined the sky. Thick black clouds capped the valley and fat raindrops began to fall, hammering a steady rhythm on the brim of his Stetson. He pushed his horse into a gallop, taking a direct path toward the cover of the forest.

As he entered the trees, he yanked on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. Ted sidled up next to him. Walt pointed ahead.

“What the hell?” Ted said.

Before them lay the carcass of a calf. Its throat had been ripped open and several chunks of flesh gouged from its shoulder, flanks, and rump. Predators had gnawed away skin and flesh. Two crows balanced on an exposed rib, cawing a loud protest at the intrusion, and eyed the two men with cocked heads. As Ted and Walt dismounted and approached, they took to the nearby trees where their scolding continued.

Walt knelt beside the mutilated animal. “This wasn’t no bear.” He stood, surveyed the area, and then turned his attention back to the dead calf. “This is fairly fresh. Two days. Three at the outside.”

“Burt ain’t going to be none too happy about this,” Ted offered.

“I think the bear that did this is the two footed variety and carries a knife,” Walt said. He lit a cigarette, the end glowing hotly in the gloom as he took a deep pull.

“It’s him, ain’t it?” Ted asked.

Walt nodded. “That’d be a safe bet.”

The wind whipped the treetops releasing deep moans and creaks from their trunks and shaking water loose from their dark green needles. Walt cupped his cigarette in his hand to keep it dry.

Ted untied one flap of his saddlebag and retrieved a pint of Jack Daniel’s. He took a swig and offered it to Walt. “Where you think he’s at?”

Walt took a couple of pulls from the bottle and ed it back. “Bet he’s holed up in one of the mines. It’s not like he could stroll into town and get a room at the Begley.”

“You figure we can find him?”

“Eventually.”

Ted took another swig and then stuffed the bottle back into his saddlebag. “You

think he’s different? I mean, you saw him before. Maybe he’s even worse now.”

“We ain’t paid to think. We’re paid to hunt. Burt wants whatever or whoever is up here and we’ll damn well give it him.”

Ted spit a stream of tobacco. He stared toward the calf’s mutilated carcass. “You think he ate them? Those missing parts?”

“Probably.”

“This is creepy, man,” Ted said. “I don’t like this shit.”

Walt tugged his hat down. “Let’s get going.”

They remounted and headed up the slope, winding through the trees, and drifted a couple of hundred yards apart to widen their area of search. For the next two hours they zigzagged up and down the mountain, working their way to the west, searching the ground for tracks.

The rain slackened, the wind died, and the day began to warm as the storm moved to the east. Walt pulled the poncho over his head, shook the water off, and crammed it into one of the saddlebags.

Though he hadn’t seen Ted for the past hour, he knew where he was. A few hundred yards below and slightly ahead. They had hunted together so often that

they knew each other’s movements. He could occasionally hear the sound of Ted’s horse pushing through the brush or clapping over a rocky area.

Entering a clearing in the forest, he reined his horse to a stop. After dampening his kerchief with water from his canteen, he wiped sweat from his face and then massaged his neck, attempting to relax the taut sinews.

A squirrel scurried up a nearby tree, barking a warning, alerting others that an intruder was present. Walt fired up another Marlboro and gazed up at the bright blue sky, broken only by a few clouds that straggled behind the storm. The sun hung high overhead. Time for a bite of lunch, he thought.

A rifle shot echoed through the trees followed by a heavy silence.

He turned his horse toward the sound. “Ted,” he hollered. Cupping one hand around his mouth, he shouted again. “Ted.”

Silence.

He crushed the cigarette against his metal canteen, tossed the butt aside, and urged his horse forward. He snaked his way through the trees toward the gunshot until he rounded a large rocky outcropping. Before him, Ted lay face down on the ground, unmoving. He yanked his horse to a stop and jumped from the saddle. He pulled his rifle and cranked a shell into the chamber, but caution prevented him from approaching his friend. Instead, he remained near his horse, shielded by the animal’s bulk. “Ted?”

No response, no movement.

He looked around. Ted’s horse was nowhere in sight and his rifle lay near his body.

An odor wafted toward him. Thick, harsh, animalistic. Hunched behind his horse, he couldn’t determine from which direction the stench originated. Then, he heard a scrapping sound. Above him.

Looking up, he saw something along the flat top of the rocky mass, scurrying away from him, into the trees, up the slope. It appeared to be a large man-like form. He sidestepped to his right, away from his horse, attempting to draw a bead. He couldn’t see the assailant, but he heard him, thrashing through the trees, heading higher.

He pointed the rifle toward the sound and fired. The bullet snapped a tree branch fifty feet ahead of him. He levered the gun and fired again. The slug slapped through the foliage before thudding into a tree trunk.

He listened, but now heard only the gentle rustle of the trees as the breeze pushed against their branches.

He rushed to where Ted sprawled face down on the forest floor. Kneeling, he shook his friend, but got no response. He rolled Ted’s limp body over and recoiled. Acid rose in his throat. The killing blow had split Ted’s skull, revealing the underlying brain tissue, and had crushed left side of his face, exploding the adjacent eye from its socket.

Jesus. He swallowed hard. A wave of nausea rose in his gut and a cold sweat slicked his skin.

He picked up a thick tree limb that rested against one of Ted’s boots. Fragments of flesh and streaks of blood clung to a fractured segment of its coarse bark.

He stood and backed away, attempting to control his grinding stomach. He lost the battle. Leaning against a nearby tree, he gagged and heaved, but expelled only hot, bitter bile.

He wiped the dribble from his mouth and climbed back into the saddle. He looked down at Ted’s body. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll run this son-of-a-bitch down and blow him the fuck away.”

He yanked the reins to the left and spurred the horse forward, toward the fleeing form. He charged through the trees, brushing aside branches with the sweep of one hand. The horse churned up the slope with powerful strides, its hooves digging into the dirt and gravel and pine needles, tossing them in its wake. The animal’s breath came in great sibilant whooshes.

Near the tree line, the forest thinned, revealing a rocky slope that led up to the long abandoned Old Watkin’s Mine. As he ducked beneath the last spruce limb, he caught a glimpse of his prey, disappearing into the mouth of the mine.

He urged the horse up the slope to within 50 feet of the opening where he tugged on the reins and leaped from the saddle. He cautiously approached the entry,

standing to one side, just in case his prey was armed. He hadn’t seen a gun and the assailant hadn’t bothered to pick up Ted’s rifle. Maybe he didn’t have time. Maybe he was already armed.

“Come on out,” he shouted.

No response.

“Don’t make me come in after you.”

Silence. He swung his rifle around and fired three random shots into the darkness. He waited for the echoes to die away.

“Goddamn it,” he said under his breath and, staying low, darted into the dark throat of the mine.

CHAPTER 29

Hollis awoke with a start. Initially disoriented, he blinked his eyes clear, and then noticed that weak sunlight pushed through the curtains and dimly lit the room. What time was it? Had he slept all afternoon? Or was it morning? He ed stretching out on the bed to rest, but little else.

He rubbed his eyes and then saw Niki standing across the room, staring out the window. She wore a black silk shirt that hung just low enough to create the illusion of modesty where there was none. Niki didn’t know the meaning of the word. Her self-assuredness, despite her youth, was one of the many things he loved about her.

The soft sunlight silhouetted her lithe form through the flimsy shirt. The firm globes of her buttocks peeked beneath the hem.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

She turned toward him, the shirt falling open to reveal her breasts and closely trimmed triangle of blond curls. “I was out by the pool for a while. Then I took a long bubble bath.”

“What time is it? I dozed off.”

“You dozed three hours ago. It’s nearly five.”

He stretched. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep.”

“Come here.”

She walked toward him, the silk shirt slipping from her shoulders and floating to the floor in her wake. He never tired of looking at her. A feeling shared by the thousands men all over the world who collected her pictures. A dozen or so renegade web sites were dedicated to displaying her image.

She threw back the covers and straddled him, smiling. “You want something?” She reached for him, massaging, stimulating, arousing. At first he responded, but then, softened in her hand. “What’s the matter?”

“Tired.”

She rolled off and lay next to him, snuggling against his shoulder. “Are you bored with me?”

He turned to face her, his fingers cupping her chin. “Of course not.”

“Want to take a Viagra? I can wait.”

He pulled her against him. She felt so wonderfully warm. “No. I’m content.”

“But lately … you’ve had more trouble. I thought maybe it was me.”

“Not likely,” he said. “I guess I’m just getting old. Maybe too old for you.”

“Don’t say that.” She hugged him tightly. “It’s just a down period.”

He laughed. “Down is right.”

She playfully poked a finger at his ribs. “You know what I mean.”

“Why do you put up with me?” Hollis asked. “I’m moody. I’m old. And I can’t take care of you like I should.”

“Because I love you. I always have.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

They held each other, saying nothing, their breathing falling into a synchronized rhythm.

Niki spoke first. “When are you going to get your research started again? Get that wonder drug you were working on finished?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months.”

“You can’t just call 1-800-SCIENTIST and get qualified researchers.”

“I know,” Niki laughed.

“We do have a line on a couple of people. One looks very promising.”

“Well tell them to hurry up and get to work.”

He laughed. “I told you, it’s not a fountain of youth.”

“You also said it might help.”

“It might.”

“Good.”

A knock at the door startled both of them.

“Yeah,” Hollis said.

Burt’s voice came through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

Hollis pulled the comforter over them. “Come on in.”

Burt stepped into the room. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “But something’s come up.”

Niki slid from beneath the covers, snatched her shirt from the floor, and threw it over her shoulder. She walked past Burt toward the bathroom. “I’ll let you guys huddle. I’m going to wash my hair.” She pulled the door closed behind her.

“What is it?” Hollis asked.

“Ted’s horse came back. Without him and without Walt.”

CHAPTER 30

Sam stretched out on the bed, the phone cradled between her ear and the pillow. “You’re in Port Angeles, Washington? What on Earth for?”

“Working,” Nathan said.

“I thought you were coming here?”

“I was, but I had to swing up here first.”

Nathan had called earlier and left a message on Alyss’ answering machine, saying that he was leaving New York but couldn’t yet come to Gold Creek. He had to go to the Olympic Peninsula and would call later and explain everything.

“What is it this time?”

“Someone found some unusual tracks. Sasquatch, they say. Up here near Hurricane Ridge.”

Sam groaned. “Give me a break.”

“Don’t start with that. The pictures they showed me are impressive. Tomorrow, I’m hiking up there to see the site for myself.”

“We have our own Sasquatch here.”

“How so?” Nathan asked.

“Billy Bear Wingo. One of the biggest humans I’ve ever met.”

“Does he have anything to do with the body you found?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “But I bet his feet are bigger than your whatever it is. Size fourteen.”

Nathan laughed. “The ones in the photos look more like twenties.”

“Okay, you win. So, when are you coming here?”

“Two days.”

“Two more days?”

“Maybe three.”

“Your job is a pain.”

“But it pays well,” he laughed.

“I don’t care. I miss you.”

“That’s a mutual feeling.”

“It had better be.” She swung her legs off the bed and sat up. “My vacation is nearly half over and I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ll call tomorrow when I know more and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

They hung up. Sam crawled beneath the covers and with little effort slipped into a deep, much needed sleep.

Earlier, after the lone horse returned, Burt, Hollis, and Carlos had mounted a search for the two men. On horseback, they had meandered through the forest, shouting, receiving no response. Nightfall slowed their progress and two hours after sunset, the thick darkness of the forest ended their hunt. They returned to Casa Grande where Burt called Wade and enlisted his help for a search to begin at first light. Wade said he would get Eloy Fuller to them. Burt welcomed Wade’s assistance, but his tolerance for the simple-minded Eloy was nonexistent. Wade insisted on bringing him along, saying even Eloy’s misaligned eyes were better than none.

Now, well after midnight, Burt stretched out on his bed, his aching muscles welcoming the soft mattress. Fatigue pulled him into a deep sleep that lasted all of ten minutes.

The phone rang. Angry, he snatched it up. “Yeah?”

“Senor Burt. Senor Burt,” Carmelita shouted over the phone. “Fire.”

Burt was out of bed and into his clothes in seconds. He rousted Hollis and Conner and they jumped in the Range Rover. Even from a half-mile away, they could see bright orange flames leap from the stables high into the night air. The acrid smell of smoke burned his nostrils. By the time they drove to the stables, the structure was fully engulfed.

Carlos rushed up to them, his face blackened with soot. Carmelita stood well away from the flames, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Carlos, with waving arms, rattled rapidly in half-English, half-Spanish about seeing the flames from his bedroom window. He and Carmelita lived in a logstyle cabin midway between the stables and the main house. He said someone had apparently opened the stalls and released the horses into the pasture before the fire started. He had tried to douse the flames, but the fire had spread rapidly and the heat had forced him to back away.

Carlos hung his head. “I am sorry. It is my fault. I should have seen the fire sooner.”

“No, it’s not,” Burt said, clapping his hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “You did all you could.”

One wall of the stable wavered, buckled, and collapsed. The corrugated-metal roof fell, dragging the other walls with it. Hot flames and swirling cinders exploded skyward as the fire consumed the wooden walls and warped and blackened the roof. Everyone stood and watched, unable to do anything else.

Thirty minutes later, the fire abated enough so that they could approach with hoses and knock down the remaining flames. The fire hissed and spat, releasing clouds of thick white steam, but finally gave up.

After soaking down the cinders to prevent any flare-ups, they rounded up the horses and locked them in the nearby holding pen. Carlos broke up a bail of hay for them and Burt filled a portable metal trough with water.

For an hour, he had squatted in the edge of the trees, less than a quarter mile from the fire and watched the spectacle before him. Now, he munched on an apple, its sweet aroma mixing with the bitter stench of the water soaked ashes.

As Conner and Carlos poked through the rubble, searching for residual hot spots, Burt stared up into the forest. He seemed to look directly at him. But he knew he was invisible in the dark shadows beneath the trees.

Finally, Burt, Conner, and Hollis climbed into the Range Rover and headed toward the house. Carlos and Carmelita returned to their home.

He could imagine Burt’s fury. That someone could come onto his property and do this. That his fortress was not as secure as he thought. That despite all his wealth, his influence, he was vulnerable.

He took one last look at the charred remains, then lumbered deeper into the forest.

CHAPTER 31

Dawn had barely lightened the cloudless eastern sky and the air was cool and crisp. Burt stood next to the blackened relic of his stables. The pungent smell of the damp cinders irritated his nose. “Well?” he asked.

“They measure out,” Wade said. Squatting next to the boot prints in the soft dirt, he looked up at Burt. “I agree with you. Looks like Billy’s boots.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Eloy said.

Burt looked at Eloy, but unable to decide which eye to focus on, shifted his gaze down toward the dozen or so prints. He shook his head. “What the hell is that son-of-a-bitch up to?”

Wade stood. “Beats me,” he said. He tugged a cigarette from the pack of Camels in his shirt pocket and lit it.

Burt stepped away from the cloud of smoke. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’d say he was pissed,” Eloy said.

No shit, Burt wanted to say. “He’s lost his Goddamn mind if you ask me. I want

his ass locked up.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Wade said. “But first, let’s go find these boys.”

Conner pulled up in his truck and got out. “Want me to go with you?”

“No,” Burt said. “You and Hollis better stay here. Somebody’s got to protect things while we’re gone.”

“Protect? From what?”

Burt laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I doubt he’ll come back, but Niki, Kelly, and Carmelita will be here. Somebody’s got to look after them. Just in case.”

Conner nodded.

“Get a couple of the rifles out of the gun case and load them.”

“You really think that’s necessary?” Conner asked.

“Better to be safe.”

Carlos had saddled horses for them and Carmelita had packed sandwiches and bottles of water into their saddlebags. Burt climbed up on his horse, Allegro. The others mounted up and they headed south, crossing the eastern tip of the valley. Wade and Burt rode 50 yards behind Eloy and Carlos as they crossed the meadow and approached the forested slopes that embraced the valley’s southern edge.

“Just because those boys didn’t come back last night,” Wade said, “it don’t mean anything happened to them.”

“It doesn’t smell that way to me,” Burt said. “Walt and Ted are good hunters. They know horses and they know these mountains. If something wasn’t wrong, why’d only one of the horses come back? Alone.”

“There are a lot of places up here where a man can get himself in a predicament. Ravines, sheer cliffs, a waterfall or two.”

“Yeah. If one of them got hurt, the other would have brought him back. If both of them fell off something, then both horses would have come back. They do that, you know. Follow each other.”

“Maybe one of the horses fell, too.”

Burt lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and reseated it with a tug. “That’s a lot of maybes.”

“Let’s just wait and see what we find,” Wade said.

“What about Billy Bear?” Burt asked.

“What about him?”

“My guys are missing. His boot prints all over my burned down stables. Makes me wonder if the two aren’t related.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe hell. He burned my Goddamn stables down and he killed Varney. Why wouldn’t he do the same to Walt and Ted?”

“We don’t know any of that for sure,” Wade said. “Don’t get all worked up until we find Walt and Ted. Maybe they can shed some light on all this.”

“If they’re alive.”

“Chief,” Eloy shouted. He and Carlos had just entered the fringe of the forest and now, Eloy backed his horse to where they could see him waving, urging them forward.

Burt and Wade spurred their horses and quickly reached Eloy, who pointed to where Carlos stood near the carcass of a calf. Burt dismounted and walked a circle around the remains. Even in the murky dawn light, the interlocked CG of the Casa Grande brand was readily visible on the calf’s rump, near where a large chunk of flesh had been hacked away.

“Jesus,” Wade said. “What happened?”

“It sure as hell wasn’t a bear,” Burt said.

“Look.” Carlos extended a finger toward a patch of soft dirt. Two distinct sets of hoof tracks led eastward.

“Walt and Ted were through here,” Burt said. “Must have seen this.” He climbed back in the saddle. “Let’s go. Two hundred yard spread. We’ll work our way westward.”

A half hour later Burt stumbled on the body of Ted Smyth. After examining him and assuring himself that Ted was as dead as he appeared, he circled the body, scanning the ground. He found the blood-soaked tree limb, Ted’s rifle, and several boot prints identical to the one’s at the stables. He fired a single shot in the air. Ten seconds later he fired a second, and then squatted against a tree trunk and waited for the others to arrive.

Burt looked up as Carlos, then Wade, and finally Eloy came through the trees. Each dismounted and hovered near the body. Burt showed them what he had found.

“Looks like what happened to Mr. Varney,” Eloy said.

Burt eyed Eloy. “What do you mean?”

“His head’s all stove in. Just like Mr. Varney’s.”

Burt looked at Wade. “That right?”

“Yep. Looks the same. Left side. Near the eye and forehead. Killer probably right handed.”

“Like Billy,” Burt said.

“Yep.” Wade tugged out a cigarette and lit it.

Burt walked close to Wade and spoke in a low voice. “Billy’s lost it. Varney, my stables, this. Don’t you think you got enough to bring him in?”

“Sure do.” Wade exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked at Eloy and Carlos. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Consider this an arrest order for Billy Bear. I went by his place this morning to have a chat with him about the fire, but he was gone. That means he’s probably up here wandering around or whatever the hell it is he does in these hills. If you see him, you’re to hold him until I get there. Understand?”

The men nodded, but said nothing.

“And if he threatens you or tries to run,” Burt said. “Shoot him.”

Eloy looked from Burt to Wade. “Chief?”

“You heard the man,” Wade said. “If he gives up peaceable, then okay. If not, take him down.”

Eloy bobbed his head in agreement.

Wade continued. “Let’s concentrate on Billy. But keep an eye out for Walt. We have to assume he’s dead, too.”

Carlos and Eloy rolled Ted’s body up in blanket as best they could. His legs dangled out one end, but his face was covered. They tied the bundle across Carlos’ horse, just behind the saddle.

“Let’s spread out,” Burt said. “See if we can pick up a trail.”

For twenty minutes, they circled and zigzagged around the area, until Eloy shouted. “Got some tracks over here. Look like the same boots.”

Burt and the others gathered around where he pointed. Several distinct boot prints scarred the soft earth.

“Heading that way.” Burt pointed up the slope. “Let’s go.”

Burt led and the others followed. Soon, they exited the trees into a clearing. Above them, a rocky slope rose to the mouth of the Old Watkin’s Mine. A dark form lay near the mine’s entrance. Burt’s pulse quickened. He rose in his saddle, straining to discern what it was.

Then, to the right of the mine, movement among the trees. Billy stepped into the sunlight. He looked down at the form, and then at the four men on horseback.

“Hey,” Burt yelled.

Billy stopped, a startled look on his face. He took a step back toward the trees.

“Don’t move,” Burt shouted as he pulled his rifle from its scabbard and levered a shell into the chamber.

Billy turned and ran toward the thick spruces.

Burt raised the rifle to his shoulder, calmly followed Billy’s retreat, and squeezed

the trigger. The roar echoed off the rocks; Billy staggered, fell, scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the trees.

Burt spurred Allegro up the slope, the others right behind him. As they approached the mine, the form became a horse, dead, lying on its side. They continued past, toward where Billy had run.

“I think I nicked him,” Burt said.

“You sure did,” Eloy said, pointing to the rocks where several drops of blood were visible. “And there.” Blood painted the branches of an elderberry bush.

The men fanned out and eased into the forest. They circled the area, explored rocky crevices, scanned the trees above them but found no sign of Billy. After twenty minutes they regrouped.

“That son-of-a-bitch can hide anywhere up here,” Burt said. “Let’s go back and check out the mine. Maybe that’s where he was holed up.”

He whipped Allegro around and returned to the Old Watkin’s Mine.

“Jesus,” Burt said as he jumped from his horse and stood beside the carcass. Two large chunks of flesh had been cut from its shoulder and flank.

“Looks like that calf,” Eloy said, stating the obvious. His head swiveled around,

nervously scanning in every direction.

Wade peered into the mine. “Walt? You in there?” he shouted. The darkness seemed to devour his voice. He ducked beneath a cracked and splintered cross beam, which had once ed the entrance, but now seemed to grip the rocks as if fearful of its own collapse.

Burt removed a flashlight from his saddlebag and followed Wade into the mine. Inside the temperature dropped at least twenty degrees. He panned the light across the walls and ceiling. Moisture dampened every surface and water dripping from cracks above them. Ahead, the shaft divided. They followed the right fork, the larger of the two. Soon it too split.

“Which way you think?” Wade asked.

“I don’t have a clue,” Burt said. He swept the circle of light first down one shaft and then the other.

As the light stabbed into the left shaft, Wade grabbed his arm. “What’s that?”

Burt directed the light into the darkness, down along the floor. Several small pools of water were visible. They appeared as dark and black as an oil slick. Except one. A larger pool, near the wall, reflected a hint of maroon back toward them. A few feet beyond lay the body of Walt Packer.

Carlos and Eloy carried Walt’s corpse out into the light, laid him on the rocks,

and backed away as if standing too close would cause them a similar harm. Carlos crossed himself while muttering a brief prayer in Spanish.

Burt looked down at the body and released a long slow breath. A gray face, a mouth locked in a grimace, and two dead eyes stared back. The scalp covering the back of his head displayed a jagged wound as if struck by some heavy object.

Burt said, “Any more doubts about who’s behind all this?”

Wade shook his head. “None.”

Wade puffed on a fresh cigarette and watched while Eloy and Carlos rolled Walt’s body into another blanket and strapped it across Eloy’s horse. He then turned toward the carcass of the horse and shook his head. “Don’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?” Burt asked.

“This.” He nodded toward the dead animal. “Why would he do that?

“I don’t know. We can ask him after we find him.”

Wade exhaled heavily. “Won’t be easy.”

“Maybe,” Burt said. “Maybe not. Let’s get Walt and Ted out of here and I’ll call Murph. His dogs will find him.”

CHAPTER 32

Sam had awakened early and slipped on a pair of black Lycra shorts, sports bra, a gray Everlast tee shirt, and her New Balance running shoes. Careful not to awaken Alyss and Shelby, she headed out the front door and across the rolling terrain, eastward, deeper into the valley. She had run easily for the first mile, then kicked up the pace for the next two, before slowing again.

The sun still nestled behind the deep purple mountains and brightly gilded their edges. Its glow bled into the eastern sky, giving it a warm golden hue. The slightest hint of evergreen laced the air.

Her route took her across Billy’s land and near his ranch house. She stopped where the trail crossed the dirt drive that rose from Gold Creek Road and wound up the gentle slope toward the modest weather worn, gray wooden structure. Its single stone chimney emitted no smoke and no lights were on as far as she could tell. Billy’s red pick-up sat in front.

She jogged up the drive. Three sagging wooden steps led to a wide covered porch. A rocker and two pairs of scuffed and tattered boots sat near the front door.

Nailed to the wall, a hand painted sign said: “If I Don’t Answer, I Ain’t Here.”

She rapped on the door. No answer.

She peeked through the front window into a dark and quiet interior. No sign of Billy. She jumped off the porch and circled to the rear of the house where a neat stack of firewood huddled near the rear door. Still no Billy.

She guessed her chat with him would have to wait. Not that she knew what she wanted to talk about anyway. Maybe she needed to reassure herself of Billy’s innocence. Put her remaining uncertainty to rest. Every time her mind tossed around the evidence, a knot wound up in her stomach. It didn’t look good. Then she would picture Billy, go over their conversations, listen to her gut feelings, and would dismiss the evidence as totally circumstantial.

Maybe it was simply that she liked Billy. Wanted to know him better. Wanted to help him. One thing was certain, she wasn’t going to be Wade’s spy.

She knelt, retied a loose shoelace, and then resumed her run. The trail looped across Billy’s land to a three-stranded barbed wire fence that demarcated Burt Eagan’s property. White metal signs with “No Tresing” stenciled in red hung from the upper strand at regular intervals. As the trail turned down the slope toward Gold Creek Road, she slowed to a walk.

The sun, having completed its climb up the eastern slopes, peeked into the valley, its sudden brightness causing her to shield her eyes. From this vantage point, she could see that Casa Grande dominated the valley. The expansive mansion, perched high on the northeastern slopes, looked over the ranch. Beneath it, in the deepest part of the valley, she could just make out the roof to Burt’s lab. She looked to the west, toward town, and then back to Casa Grande. Burt did own most of the valley and had created a private enclave by positioning his home and lab far from town.

She flashed on something her father had once told her: “Money can only buy

you two things, Freedom and privacy. Freedom from want, freedom to do what you want, and the privacy to keep other people from complaining about it.” Of course, he never had much money and spent most of his life working for someone who did.

She kicked her pace back up to a jog and followed the trail, which veered down the slope and paralleled the fence until it reached Gold Creek Road. She turned west, toward home, hugging the left edge of the asphalt.

Jogging easily, she watched as a hawk cut through the air above her, its dark silhouette sharp against the brightening sky. Though it was surely hunting, it did so with little urgency, seeming to prefer a lazy ride on the mountain currents.

Soon, Alyss’ B and B came into view and she picked up her pace. Before turning up the gravel drive, she heard a vehicle approaching from behind. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Burt’s Range Rover coming down the road toward her. The headlights flashed. She stopped and waited.

Burt drove; Wade sat in the enger’s seat. The truck eased off the road and came to a stop near her.

“Good Morning,” she said. “How’re you doing today?”

“Not well,” Burt said. “Two of my guys were murdered. Their bodies are in the back.” He jerked his head toward the rear of the vehicle.

“What?” Sam said, unsure she had understood what he said.

“Ted Smyth and Walt Packer. Looks like Billy killed them.”

Sam stepped toward the back of the SUV and looked into the rear cargo area, cupping her hands around her eyes to block the reflection of the sky and the mountains. Two bodies, rolled in blankets, lay side by side. She returned to the driver’s window, and looked at Burt. “How do you know it was Billy?”

Wade leaned forward to look past Burt at Sam. “We saw him near where we found the bodies. Burt winged him.”

“Winged?”

“Yeah,” Burt said. “Not enough to stop him though.”

Sam couldn’t believe what she heard. Two bodies. Billy shot. “Where is he?”

“We lost him,” Wade said.

“And last night he torched my stables,” Burt said.

“I don’t believe it,” Sam said.

Wade shrugged. “Left his boot prints all over the place.”

Sam’s head spun. This was too much. It made no sense. She looked Wade in the eye. “Why?”

“That’s the million dollar question, I guess,” Wade said.

“Hop in,” Burt said. “We’re taking the bodies to the hospital morgue. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

Sam slipped into the back seat, eying the bodies behind her.

During the five-minute drive to the hospital, Burt told her everything that had happened over the past 12 hours. The horse returning alone. The fire. The finding of the bodies and his wounding Billy. Returning to Casa Grande and loading the bodies into the Range Rover. She heard the words, understood them, but could make no sense of what Burt said. It was simply too bizarre to comprehend.

Burt parked near the emergency room ramp and they walked inside. Two nurses and a pair of orderlies rolled stretchers out to the Range Rover, loaded the bodies, and wheeled them inside. Doctor Beth Hartsman, who was seeing one of her patients in the ER, made the official death pronouncements.

“We’ll get them down to the morgue,” Beth said. She looked at Wade. “I assume they’ll be shipped off to Abe Summers for posting?”

“Yep,” Wade said. “I’ll call and give him a heads up.”

Sam, Wade, and Burt walked outside. She looked at Burt. “I can’t believe Billy did this?”

“Believe it,” Burt said. “He tried to run when we found him. That’s why I had to shoot him.”

“Running doesn’t make him guilty. I’d do the same if someone pointed a gun at me.”

“What’s it going to take for you to see the truth?” Burt asked.

Billy’s words about the different types of truths in Gold Creek echoed in her head. “Which truth is that?”

“The one that says Billy’s a violent person. That he’s capable of crushing someone’s skull with a single blow. That he’s now hiding out in these hills to escape paying for his crimes. What will it take for you to see all that?”

“I’d have to hear it from Billy.”

Burt shook his head, rolled his eyes. “You’re the stubbornest woman I’ve ever met.”

“I hear that a lot.” Sam turned to Wade. “Now what?”

“We’re going to go and try to find Billy,” Wade said.

“And if you do. What then?”

“Depends on him, I guess,” Wade said. “Arrest him unless he puts up a fight.”

“You think you can find him up there?” Sam said. She shielded the sun from her eyes with one hand as she looked east toward the mountains.

Wade’s gaze paralleled hers. “Won’t be easy. But Burt nicked him earlier and that should slow him down a bit. And Hollis is calling Jake Murphy. Murph’s got some tracking dogs.”

“I see.”

Burt and Wade climbed back into the Range Rover. “Want us to drop you back by Alyss’?” Burt asked.

Sam jumped into the back seat. “I’d rather go with you. Maybe I can help.”

Wade cast a glance at Burt and then said, “Sure. I guess we can use all the help we can get. And for whatever reason, Billy seems to listen to you. When we do find him, maybe you can talk some sense into him.” He turned in his seat to face her. “But I’m in charge. Clear?”

“Of course. I’m just part of the posse.”

Burt looked at her in the rear view mirror. “You might want to change clothes.”

Sam jumped out of the Range Rover and ran inside the Aspen Creek Inn. Alyss was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Sam left Burt to explain things to Alyss while she took a quick shower and put on jeans, a black long-sleeved pullover, and boots. She snapped her gun to her belt, nesting it against the small of her back, and pulled on her jacket.

When she returned to the kitchen, Burt and Wade were finishing cups of coffee. She grabbed two pieces of toast and a bottle of orange juice on the way out, promising to call Alyss as soon as she knew something.

By the time they arrived at Casa Grande, Hollis, Eloy, Carlos, and Jake Murphy with two bloodhounds tugging at their leashes were waiting. Eloy’s eyes widened when he saw Sam. One eye pointed into space but the other one, the business one Sam guessed, coursed over her. She felt them more than saw them, keeping her eyes away from him, not wanting to give him even the slightest encouragement. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw his stance, the tilt of his head, his entire body language undressing her.

Get a life, Eloy.

Burt introduced Sam to Murph. He was small and wiry, with a thick mustache that drooped below his chin. A cigar stub, more chewed than smoked, protruded from the corner of his mouth. “Pleased to meet you,” he said as he pumped her hand. “This here’s Lady and Tramp.” He nodded toward the dogs.

Not knowing which was which, Sam just returned his nod and smiled. “Beautiful animals.”

“They can track a flea across the Mojave,” Murph said, chest pushed out, chin thrust forward in a manner that ended any arguments Sam might want to make.

“Let’s get going,” Burt said.

CHAPTER 33

“R ed-headed twins?” a shocked Liam MacCorkell had said. Not shocked that his wife Jane had had twins. That they had expected. But red hair? He groaned, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

The doctor smiled and shrugged.

Liam looked at his wife, knowing she was thinking the same thing as he. The redheaded gene could only have come from his great, great grandmother, Abiageal MacCorkell--a feisty, wiry, combative Irish woman who had fled the starvation of the potato famine for Ellis Island and America. The couple had said a silent prayer that the twins had not inherited any other of her characteristics.

Their prayers went unanswered.

As the boys grew, Abiageal’s personality emerged. Not bad boys, they were inquisitive, mischievous, and not overly respectful of authority. Coupled with “the twin thing,” as they called it, the boys bedeviled their parents, their teachers, and their coaches. Whether dissecting frogs on the back porch or waiting for wasps to hatch from a nest in a mayonnaise jar or disrupting class by releasing live bats they had caught in one of the abandoned mines they were forbidden to enter, the boys never understood what the fuss was about.

They continually bent, expanded, and distorted the rules.

Like today.

Two weeks shy of their 14th birthday, they ventured farther from home than ever. For years they had heard stories about Burton Eagan’s secret lab. How he created bugs for germ warfare. How he mixed up batches of witch’s brew that possessed magical powers. How he created monsters that would eat you if you crossed their path.

Today, they would see for themselves. None of the other guys would come with them. Too scared was Jonathon and Jeremy’s assessment.

Their father at work, their mother off to shop in Ouray, and most of their chores done, they pumped their bikes along the tree lined path that bordered Silver Creek, a serpentine finger that originated deep in the valley and paralleled Gold Creek Road, before flowing into Gold Creek itself near their home. The trail had been popular with hikers until Burt Eagan bought up the valley. Now, it ended abruptly at a three-strand barbed-wire fence. Hanging from the top wire, a sign with red lettering announced “Private Property--No Tresing.”

Neither the sign nor the fence deterred the boys. Not today. Not after they had bragged to the other guys what they had planned.

Jeremy tugged the middle strand upward while pushing the bottom one down with one foot. “Come on, weenie, hurry up.” The twisted wire dug into his hand.

“You’re the weenie,” Jonathon said. “Pull harder. I need more room.”

Jonathon finally maneuvered both bikes through the fence. They scrambled through, remounted, and pedaled on.

Oscar, their yellow Labrador retriever, followed, apparently relishing the adventure. He noisily splashed in the stream, rooted beneath shrubs, occasionally falling behind only to rocket past them, ears flapping, tongue swaging.

Hidden by the thick growth of aspen and spruce trees that flanked the creek and sheltered the path, they crossed a mile and a half of Eagan’s property, toward where the lab was rumored to be. Their fear and excitement grew with each rotation of their bike tires.

The tricky part? They had to within a quarter-mile of Eagan’s mansion. Sitting high on the slope, the rambling house loomed over them and seemed to watch their every move. They were certain that at any minute someone would burst out the door and descend upon them. Speed was their only ally. They pedaled furiously, staying close to and beneath the aspens, until they slipped safely past the house.

Finally, Jeremy braked to a stop and looked anxiously back over his shoulder. He swung off his bike. “It should only be a little farther. Let’s hide our bikes and go

on foot. That way if someone shows up we can hide and they won’t know we’re here.”

They laid their matching Schwinns in the tall grass that grew near the creek, pointing toward home in case they had to make a quick getaway. That was Jeremy’s idea.

Five minutes of trudging along the creek bank brought the low cinder block building into view through the fluttering leaves of the aspens. Jonathon grabbed Oscar by his collar to prevent the dog from exposing them with his wild galloping. They squatted in the grass and surveyed the area.

Nothing. No one. Perfect.

Oscar broke free and charged toward the building, but became distracted by a bright yellow butterfly and leaped and spun in this new pursuit.

The twins eased from the shadows, Jeremy leading the way, and approached the rectangle of gray cinder block. It seemed quietly sinister but less menacing than what their imaginations had conjured.

Still, Jeremy’s heart thumped against his chest as he neared the structure. He carefully touched the rough wall, quickly jerking his hand away as if he expected a shock or something equally painful. Feeling nothing, he rubbed his fingers along the wall as he circled the lab. Two horizontal, narrow rectangular windows, which stretched just beneath the roofline along each side, and a single door broke the monotony of the concrete.

As he rounded the last corner, returning to where he had started, he saw Jonathon, fingers hooked in the recess of one of the windows, sneakers clawing against the cinder block wall, attempting to pull himself up enough to get a peek inside. Jeremy laced his fingers and boosted his brother upward.

Jonathon cupped one hand over his eyes. “I can’t see anything,” He jumped to the ground.

“Come on,” Jeremy said. “There’s a door around the other side.”

They ran around the building until they approached the gray metal windowless door with “No Tresing” stenciled in black. A heavy padlock hung beneath the door handle.

Jeremy grasped it and yanked. It popped open, startling them both.

“It’s not locked,” Jonathon said.

Jeremy examined it more closely. “No. It’s broken. Look. Somebody’s jimmied it.” He twisted the lock and slid it free. “You want to see what’s inside?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You go first,” Jeremy said.

“No way, dude. You first.”

“Chicken.”

“Look who’s talking, you weenie,” Jonathon fired back. “Besides, your older.”

That was true. By all of two minutes.

Jeremy pushed on the door. The hinges squealed as it swung open. The twins froze, neither venturing the first step inside.

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “I got the door open. You have to go inside first.”

Jonathon leaned in and looked both ways. “I can’t see anything. It’s too dark.”

“Is there a light switch?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, look and see,” Jeremy said.

“You look if you want to know so bad.” Jonathon took a step back.

“What a wimp.” Jeremy hooked one arm around the doorjamb and slid his hand along the inside wall. He found a switch and flipped it. Fluorescent ceiling lights flickered to life.

They stepped inside. Before them lay a bewildering array of scientific equipment. At least a dozen tables held electronic gadgets that looked like something from a sci-fi movie. Along the far wall, sat two-dozen empty cages.

“What is all this?” Jonathon asked.

“How do I know? It’s creepy though.”

Jeremy walked among the tables, careful not to touch anything, eyes wide with a combination of wonder and fear. The only devices he recognized were two computers, which sat on a desk in one corner.

“I wonder what those are for?” Jonathon asked, indicating the cages.

“I don’t know, but I’m getting out of here,” Jeremy said.

They hurried out the door, shoved it closed, and repositioned the lock as best they could.

“Where’s Oscar?” Jonathon said. “Oscar?” he yelled.

They heard the dog yelping and snorting, around the corner, toward the back of the building. They hurried to where Oscar was digging furiously beneath an elderberry shrub.

“What is it, boy?” Jonathon said.

Oscar ignored him, attacking the soft ground with both paws, dirt flying. Something white flew out with the dirt and landed near their feet. Jeremy picked it up. He turned it over, brushing it with his fingers.

“What’s that?” Jonathon asked.

“A bone. Something’s buried in there.”

The boys crawled under the shrub with Oscar and all three began shoveling dirt. They uncovered a dozen bones and a small animal skull.

“What do you think it is?” Jonathon asked.

“”Maybe a raccoon or something.”

“Cool. Maybe it’s a bob cat or a whistle pig,” Jonathon said, using the local name for a marmot, whose shrill whistle could often be heard echoing among the peaks.

“I know who’ll know,” Jeremy said. “Dr. Proctor.”

“Yeah. Let’s ask him.”

They gathered up the bones and hauled Oscar away from his excavating beneath the elderberry. They returned to their bikes and pedaled toward Proctor’s Veterinary Clinic.

CHAPTER 34

Sam sat astride Storm and followed Burt up the slope. They wound through the trees, until they reached the Old Watkin’s Mine, where Burt had last seen Billy. Sam swallowed hard when she saw the dead horse. Flies circled and buzzed around the carcass and feasted on the two gaping wounds left by whoever had hacked out the chunks of meat.

“This is where we saw him,” Burt said, pointing toward where Billy had run into the forest. “Found Ted back down the slope a few hundred yards and Walt inside the mine.”

Sam looked back down the hill and then at the mine. From her brief examination of the bodies back at the hospital, it appeared to her that both men had been killed by a blow to the head. At least, no other injury was apparent. No gunshot or knife wounds. She thought back to her encounter with Billy in the forest that day. He didn’t have a rifle or a handgun that she had seen. A knife, but no gun.

“I assume Walt and Ted were armed?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“So you think Billy ambushed Ted. Maybe Walt saw him whack Ted, took after him, followed him into the mine, and Billy jumped him.”

“That makes the most sense. Looked like Walt was hit from behind.”

Sam pointed down at the horse carcass. “And then what? He cut out a couple of chunks of horse meat and had lunch?”

Burt didn’t respond.

Sam shook her head. “It just doesn’t fit. Why would Billy, who apparently knows these hills better than anyone and could disappear in a minute, ambush two armed men?”

“Because he’s crazy,” Burt said.

Storm pawed at the ground as if eager to move on, put distance between him and his dead stable mate. Sam stroked the side of his neck. “Or maybe, Billy thought they were trying to kill him.”

Burt looked at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing.

“Were they?” Sam asked.

“What are you saying?” Burt said.

“I’m not saying anything. I’m asking. What were Ted and Walt doing this morning?”

“Tracking the bear that scared Shelby. Protecting my livestock.”

Liar, she wanted to shout. She also wanted to knock his teeth into his lungs. Instead, she said, “I see.”

Burt backed Allegro up a step and turned toward her. “Why are you so convinced that Billy’s innocent?”

Sam shrugged. “Gut feeling,” she said. “”Besides, so far the case against him is a lot of smoke, but no real fire.”

Murph rode up, dogs in tow. “You ready to get going?” he asked Burt.

“Yeah,” Burt said.

Murph dismounted, opened his saddlebag, pulled out a pair of boots, tied together by their laces, and dropped them in front of the dogs. They immediately began nuzzling and sniffing them. Sam recognized them as one of the pairs she had seen earlier on Billy’s porch.

“Where’d you get those?” she asked.

Murph gave her a sideways glance. “I stopped by Billy’s on the way over. Needed something for Lady and Tramp to scent off of.”

Sam guessed the Fourth Amendment didn’t mean much up here. She looked at Wade. “Is that legal? Taking something from his home like that?”

Wade smiled. “We’re looking for a murderer. Or a wounded man. Trying to save his life. Take your pick” He glanced at Burt. “I guess either’d make it okay.”

An uneasy sensation rose in Sam’s gut. This was becoming more a lynch mob than a search party. And maybe Walt and Ted had been on a similar mission. As if to confirm her feelings, Burt pulled his rifle from its scabbard and cranked a shell into the chamber.

“We are going to let him give up, aren’t we?” Sam said. “If Billy’s injured, we’re here to help him. Right?”

“If that’s what he wants,” Burt said. “If not, we’ll have to deal with him. He’s a murder suspect and a fugitive.” His eyes cut toward Wade for a brief second and then back to Sam. “Don’t worry. If we can corner him, he’ll give up. Billy’s not that stupid.”

Murph led the way, Lady and Tramp out front on two long leashes. The dogs worked as a team, back and forth, heads down, nostrils testing everything. They apparently sensed something, because they let out low yelps and turned into the trees, tugging against their tethers. The makeshift posse followed Murph as his

dogs lead them deeper into the forest.

“Let’s spread out,” Burt said. “A hundred yards between us. Billy’s smart. He’ll know we’ve brought the dogs in. He might’ve laid a scent trail and then backtracked, hoping we’d go right by him.”

Sam and Burt moved to the right, Eloy and Wade left. Carlos stayed with Murph and the dogs. Sam slipped further to Burt’s right, higher up the slope, and fell 50 yards behind him. Far enough to be out of his line of fire, but close enough to know where he was at all times. She soon lost sight of him, but could hear his horse rustling through the trees.

She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her gut. She reached back and touched her gun, assuring herself it was still there. Would she need it? Would Burt actually try to gun down Billy if given the chance? She felt her only hope of preventing that was to stay behind, but close, to Burt.

For 45 minutes, they searched, the dogs leading them eastward, deeper into the valley, the occasional yelp escaping their droopy jowls. Near the tree line, Sam ed two more abandoned mines. One had a dilapidated 20-foot wooden tower-like structure topped with two rusted pulley wheels and hoist cable fragments protecting its entrance. Two equally rusted rails led into its dark interior. From its mouth, a pile of rubble, the flotsam and jetsam of the miners’ search for gold or silver, cascaded down the slope.

Below and to her left, she caught glimpses of Burt winding his way through the forest. The sun drove its heat into her, glistening her with sweat. She guided Storm down into the trees, welcoming the shade, and continued paralleling Burt’s path.

Squatting near the entrance of the mine, high above them, he watched the search party ride by, catching glimpses of them through the trees. Wade, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and Eloy, sneaking sips of whiskey, while Burt rode high in the saddle just beneath the tree line, his hat pushed back on his head.

He swallowed the last four gulps of water in the bottle he held and watched the parade move on eastward. Maybe Burt would lag behind or slide far enough away from the others that he could get to him. Set his plan in motion.

He tossed the empty bottle aside, slipped from the mine, and descended toward the trees.

Sam’s legs and back ached from her morning run and from her effort to remain in the saddle over the uneven terrain. She twisted one way and then the other in an attempt to loosen her tight muscles.

The sudden crack of a rifle echoed through the trees. Sam jerked Storm to a halt. Which direction? She couldn’t tell. The echo seemed to come from everywhere. Then a volley of three more shots. Behind and to her right. She wheeled Storm around and headed toward the sound.

She emerged from the trees near the abandoned mine with the crumbling wooden tower she had ed earlier. Burt and Wade rode up at the same time.

Eloy crouched behind a rock and jabbed his rifle barrel at the mine. “He’s in there.” Obviously proud to be the one that found Billy, he glanced at Sam, offering a tobacco-stained grin, and then looked at Burt. “I figured he might back-track on us, like you said, Burt. So, I dropped back and waited. Sure enough, here he come, slipping down this slope, trying to sneak away.”

“Did you hit him?” Wade asked.

Eloy’s head began to bob and he gave Sam another quick glance, before his gaze dropped to his feet. “Didn’t have no clean shot.”

Sam didn’t see very many obstructions. The fifty or so yards between where Eloy stood and the mine entrance was a rock-strewn slope. No trees. No boulders. Eloy must have aimed with the wrong eye. Whichever one that was.

Murph, his dogs, and Carlos came out of the trees toward them.

“Is he armed?” Burt asked.

Eloy scratched his chin. “Didn’t see no gun. Could of been one in his pocket, I guess.”

“Let’s see if we can talk him out?” Wade dismounted and walked to the mine’s entrance, careful to stay to the side, out of the line of fire. He pulled his gun, peered around the edge of the opening into the mine, and yelled. “Billy?”

No answer.

“Billy. Come on out. There’s no need for anybody to get hurt.”

Silence.

“Billy? You hear me?”

“I hear you fine.” Billy’s voice rumbled from the mine’s throat.

“Come on. Don’t make this difficult.”

“I don’t see that happening,” Billy said. “You sons-of-bitches have already shot me once. I’m not giving you another chance.”

Sam and Burt stepped up behind Wade.

“He won’t come out on his own,” Burt said. He pulled a gun from his jacket pocket. “Guess we have to go in.”

“No,” Sam said. “Give him a chance. He’s wounded.”

“He didn’t look very hurt to me,” Eloy said. “He moved pretty good, anyway.”

Sam glared at him, fighting the urge to say “Shut up, you moron.” Instead, she grabbed Wade’s arm. “Just give him a chance. Let me talk to him.”

“Go in there? I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

Wade scratched the back of his neck. “Because if he does anything to you, I’m responsible.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?” Burt asked.

“A feeling.”

Burt rolled his eyes.

“Look,” Sam said. “What have you really got to lose? You want to attack a man who may be armed and sitting in the dark waiting for you? He’ll be able to see you against the light. You won’t see anything. Except maybe a muzzle flash.”

“But he’s not armed,” Burt said.

Sam cocked her head to one side and looked at him. “Want to bet your life on it?”

Wade glanced at Burt. “It is a ticklish situation, isn’t it?”

“That brings up plan B,” Burt said.

“Plan B?” Sam asked.

Burt untied Allegro’s right saddlebag and pulled out a bundle wrapped in red paper. He unrolled it, revealing a half a dozen sticks of dynamite. “Plan B,” he announced.

“You’re kidding?” Sam said. This situation was getting completely out of hand. Too much testosterone and not enough brains. “You can’t blow him out of there. You’ll kill him.”

“So?” Burt said, his jaw set. “That’ll save the courts having to convict him.”

Anger boiled up in Sam’s gut. She turned to Wade. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I am,” Wade said.

“Then act like it.” She scanned his face. His eyes cut toward Burt and then back to her. Her jaw tightened and she turned to Burt. “There is no way in hell I’m going to stand here and let you do this.” She took a step forward, placing herself between Burt and the mine.

Burt’s face relaxed. “Why do you think he’ll talk to you?”

“Because I’ll listen. Because I don’t have an over abundance of testosterone stomping all over my common sense.”

A faint smile lifted the corner of Burt’s mouth. “Have at it.” He waved his hand toward the mine.

Sam turned and stared at the mine. Images of Richard Earl Garrett flooded into her brain. The last mine she had seen was a black hole punched into Granite Mountain, a pile of rocks in the Mojave’s Devil’s Playground. She had hung upside down, nude, hands cuffed, ankles bound, while Garrett prepared her sacrifice.

Get a grip, Sam. Garret’s dead and this is nothing but a hole in the ground.

She shoved Garrett’s image aside, edged to the mine’s entrance, and peeked inside, attempting to ignore her heart as it leaped against her chest. Two rails extended away from her, melting into the thick darkness. Visibility? Twenty feet max. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and stepped into the entrance. “Billy. I’m coming in. Alone.”

“Why?” Billy said.

“To talk. Maybe prevent this situation from getting ugly.”

“It’s already ugly.”

“Not completely. But it’s going to be. Okay if I come in?”

Billy didn’t answer.

“Billy?” she yelled.

“Just you. Tell Burt nothing funny. I can see every move he makes.”

“Just be cool,” Sam said. She slowly walked toward his voice.

“Follow the rails,” Billy said. “Stay between them and you’ll be fine.”

Sam took a dozen careful steps into the mine, and then stopped, allowing her eyes adjust to the darkness.

“Come ahead,” Billy said.

Sam moved deeper into the dark tunnel. It smelled dank, like wet limestone. And it was cold. She heard water dripping, echoless, flat. Fifty feet further, she stopped again. “Where are you?”

“Here,” he said, startling her. He stood next to her.

“Jesus. You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you okay? Did you get hit?” she asked.

“Yeah. Left shoulder.”

“Bad?”

“Hurt’s like a bitch, but I’ll live.”

“If you see a doctor,” Sam said.

“I’d like that, too. You didn’t happen to bring Dr. Hartsman with you, did you?”

Sam couldn’t suppress a soft laugh. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” Billy said.

Her vision accommodated to the dim light. Billy appeared pale, drawn. She

could see strain lines around his eyes. His shirt displayed a dark smear that spread from his shoulder across his chest. “Jesus,” she said.

“Looks worse than it is.”

“If you say so.” She looked into his face. “Did you kill Walt and Ted?”

“What?” Even in the darkness she could see the surprise in his eyes. “They’re dead?”

“You didn’t know?”

“How could I?” Billy said. “I didn’t stick around when Burt started shooting. What happened?”

“Somebody bashed their heads in. Like Mr. Varney.”

Billy sighed and shook his head. “Let me guess. Wade and Burt have convinced everyone that I killed them and Lloyd?”

“That’s about it. And that horse. You know anything about that?”

“God, no. I wouldn’t do that to an animal.” He looked down at her. “This

morning, I came up on the horse and was trying to figure out what had happened when Burt plugged me. But I didn’t do it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said.

Billy eyed her. “So, how do you propose resolving this?”

“Simple. Come out with me.”

“Right. You have no idea what’s going on. Burt wants me dead and Wade’s his hand puppet. And if you don’t believe that by now, you might as well run on back out there, because you can’t help me. I’ll take my chances up here where I have the advantage.”

“Some advantage. You’re wounded. You’re cornered in a cold, damp mine.”

“Not exactly cornered.” Billy said. “These mines interconnect. I know a half dozen ways out of here.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Then what? Die from a wound infection? Come on, Billy, think straight.”

He paced back and forth, but said nothing.

Sam grabbed his arm. “Burt has a load of dynamite out there.”

“That’s just great.” He looked past her, toward the entrance. “And you don’t think he wants me dead?”

“That’s why you have to come with me.”

“Say I do come out. What’s going to keep them from shooting me? You?”

“Me. And this.” She pulled her .357 from the small of her back.

Billy laughed. “You’re a ballsy woman, Sam Cody. I’ll give you that.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sam said. “Besides, even if Burt and Wade wanted to do anything, there are too many witnesses. Me, Eloy, Murph, Carlos. Trust me. We’ll get through this.”

“Then what?”

“You see the doctor. Get an attorney. If you’re innocent, the truth will come out. I promise you that.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Burt’ll blow you to pieces.” She sighed. “Look Billy, let’s just get out of this situation, get you some medical help, then examine the options. I know you want to fight, but this is neither the time nor the place.”

He rotated his shoulder slightly, grimacing with pain. “I guess I don’t have much choice, right now.”

“Not that I see.”

Sam led Billy from the mine. In the daylight, she could see a ragged wound beneath the shredded left shoulder of his flannel shirt. Dried blood matted his beard where it lay against his chest. His left arm hung stiffly at his side as he walked.

Burt aimed his rifle at Billy.

Sam stepped between them her .357 at her side, muzzle pointing down. “Relax,” she said. “Billy’s going to cooperate.”

Wade stepped up. “Billy, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lloyd Varney, Ted Smyth, and Walt Packer and the arson of Burton Eagan’s stables.”

Billy looked at Sam and then Wade. “Arson?”

Sam grabbed Billy’s arm. “Don’t say anything. Not until you talk to an attorney.”

Wade dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of him.

“He doesn’t need those,” Sam said. “He’s wounded and he gave himself up.”

Wade ignored her and ratcheted the cuffs on to Billy’s wrists.

CHAPTER 35

Will Proctor cocked his head back so he could see through the lenses of his half glasses, which rode low on his nose. He carefully laid the bones on the green surgical towel he had spread out on one of the exam tables in his veterinary clinic. He picked up the skull, turning it over, examining it from every angle.

His mind ran through the possibilities as his fingers played over the yellowed bones. Rabbit, squirrel, bobcat. fox, marmot. None fit.

Jeremy and Jonathon leaned their elbows on the edge of the metal table, watching Will handle the bones. Oscar wedged his head between them and rested his chin only inches from the towel, his nostrils flaring as he performed his own examination.

“Curious,” Will said.

“What is it?” Jeremy asked.

“Just a second.” Will retreated to his office and returned momentarily with a thick textbook, stained and frayed from use. He laid it on the table, opened it to the index, found what he wanted, and then thumbed to a page filled with intricate line drawings of animal skulls.

“Cool,” Jonathon said. “What’s that book?”

“It’s a text of comparative veterinary anatomy. See, we can match this skull with those in the book.” He flipped through several pages that showed even more drawings and photos, studying each page. Finally, he looked at the boys. “This is strange.”

“It is?” Jeremy said, his eyes wide. He nudged his brother with an elbow.

Oscar apparently sensed their excitement. He looked from one brother to the other, his tail beating the air in a steady rhythm.

“I told you Dr. Proctor would know what it was,” Jeremy said. “Is it a whistle pig?”

“Afraid not. I’m not sure what it is. Looks like a rabbit, but it’s too big.”

“What’s too big?”

Will turned to see Don Dinsmore, holding Precious, Mama Rose’s Cameo Persian. “Hello, Don. Is Precious here for her yearly shots?” Will reached out and massaged the cat’s thick fur.

“Yeah. What do you have here?” Don said, indicating the collection of bones.

“A mystery. Jeremy and Jonathon found these. Look like rabbit bones, but they’re too big. Too thick.” He looked at the boys. “This is going to take some study. Mind if I keep these for a day or two?”

Disappointment fell over their faces.

“Tell you what,” Will said. He selected a few bones from the array. “Why don’t you hold on to these and I’ll get the others back to you in a few days? Okay?”

“Can we keep the skull, too?” Jonathon asked.

“That’s the one I need the most if we’re going to find out what this is. I’ll take care of it and you can have it when I’ve finished.”

Jonathon looked at Jeremy. “I guess that’ll be okay.”

As soon as they arrived at the hospital ER, Sam called Alyss and gave her a brief run down of what had happened, saying she would explain more later. Alyss said she and Shelby would come down and pick her up.

Sam returned to the treatment room where Dr. Beth Hartsman was cleaning Billy’s wound. Wade stood by, both thumbs hooked over his belt. Billy grimaced as Dr. Hartsman flushed the hole in his left shoulder with a reddish brown solution.

“Betadine,” she said. “This stuff will kill anything.”

“Is the bullet in there?” Billy asked.

“No. Through-and-through wound. That’s good. Otherwise we’d be taking you to the OR and digging it out.”

“Sounds pleasant,” Billy said.

Dr. Hartsman smiled. “We’d knock you out. But that’s not the story anyway. And no bones or blood vessels are damaged. You’re lucky. We’ll clean and dress this, get you itted, and pump you full of antibiotics. It should heal nicely.”

“I have to stay in the hospital?”

“Afraid so.”

“Why?” Billy asked.

“This is a dirty wound. You don’t want to mess with it or it might get infected. Then, you’d have big problems.”

“Can’t we keep him over at the jail?” Wade asked.

“Jail?” Beth asked. She looked at Billy, and then back to Wade. “Why?”

“Billy’s under arrest. Suspicion of murder. Three counts.”

“I didn’t kill anyone and you know it, Wade,” Billy snapped.

“That’s for the court to decide,” Wade said. “Meanwhile, you’re in my custody.” He looked at Beth. “So, can he stay over at the jail or not?”

Beth looked perplexed, but retained her composure. “Maybe in a few days, but right now he needs to be here.”

“Guess we’ll just have to cuff him to the bed.”

“Is that really necessary?” Sam asked.

“He’s a murder suspect,” Wade said.

“But he’s injured,” Sam said. “He lives here. I don’t think he’s going to run off.”

“He ain’t going to run off,” Wade said, “because he’d have to drag a bed with him.”

“But … ” Sam began.

“I’m not going to give him a chance to get back up there in the mountains. Injured or not, he wears the cuffs.”

Beth Hartsman held up her hand. “Cuffs or no cuffs, I don’t care. But right now, he’s my patient and what I say goes.” She flashed a stern look that prevented dispute. “You two take this argument outside and let me finish here.”

“Did you hear anything from the lab about the prints or the DNA?” Billy asked.

Wade shook his head. “The DNA stuff will take a couple of weeks. I expect something on the hair samples later today.”

Billy laughed. “I can’t wait to see your expression when they don’t match.”

“We’ll see,” Wade said. He cuffed Billy’s wrist to the bed rail and turned toward the door. “He’s all yours, Beth.”

Sam followed Wade out of the treatment room. Shelby sat behind a table in the nurse’s station where one of the nurses was showing her how to listen to her own heart with a stethoscope. Alyss and Burt were standing near the ER entrance talking. Sam pushed past Wade and walked over to them.

Burt looked up and nodded to Sam, and then said to Alyss, “I better get back home and check on things. See you at Mama Rose’s tonight. About seven.” He smiled and headed out the door.

“What’s that about?” Sam asked.

“The kids are going to a movie tonight, so Burt invited us to dinner.”

“You’re kidding. After what just happened?”

Alyss looked to Sam. “What did you do up there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Burt said you interfered with him and Wade doing their job. Said you could have gotten hurt.”

“What?” Sam’s jaw tightened.

“He wanted me to talk to you. Calm you down. He said you could get into trouble with your crusade to protect Billy. He thinks Billy killed Lloyd and those other two men.”

Sam’s fists clenched at her side, heat rose in her chest, and she felt her face begin to flush. She looked around and then grabbed Alyss’ arm. “We’ve got to talk.” She led Alyss outside into the ER parking area. Burt’s Range Rover turned from the lot onto Church Street and disappeared down the road.

Sam paced back and forth, trying to control her rising anger. She stopped and faced Alyss. “First. Arresting Billy isn’t Burt’s job. It’s Wade’s. Second. There’s a lot more going on here than is apparent. Third. Billy didn’t kill anyone.”

Alyss started to say something, but Sam cut her off with a wave of her hand. She then told Alyss what had happened at the mine. Alyss’ eyes grew wider as the story progressed.

“You can’t mean Burt was actually going to use dynamite,” Alyss said.

Sam nodded. “I believe he would have if I hadn’t been there. Wade sure didn’t

do anything to stop him.”

“That’s crazy. Why?”

“I don’t know, but Burt’s determined to see Billy blamed for these crimes. Or dead. I know he wants Billy’s land, but there’s more to this than dirt.”

“Like what?”

Sam shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’s big enough that they feel they have to trample all over the Fourth Amendment.”

Worry etched Alyss’ face. “Maybe you should butt-out of this. It’s not your concern.”

“Really? After Burt gets Billy’s ranch, what’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe Burt wants the whole damn valley. Maybe he wants your land, too.”

“Why would he?”

“I don’t know. But that’s one of the things I want to find out.”

Alyss took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “What now?”

“I need to talk to Billy. And Niki. She knows something and I got the feeling the other day she wants to tell me.” She looked at Alyss. “Are you okay with this?”

“Of course. He isn’t getting my land without a fight. And, if Burt’s dirty, I want to know so Shelby and I can stay as far away as possible.” Alyss sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair. “I’ll cancel dinner.”

“No,” Sam said.

“Why not?”

“If Burt wants to play nice-nice, we’ll let him.”

“But … ”

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said. “Just be cool. Act as if nothing has changed. Burt could make it hard for me to get to Niki since she’s staying in that castle of his. And Wade could stop me from talking to Billy now that he’s in custody.”

“I see,” Alyss said.

“Tell Burt you talked to me and I’ve seen the error of my ways. Or whatever. If he thinks I’ve backed off my so-called crusade, it’ll make sorting all this out easier.”

“Okay. My role is to be Burt’s girlfriend and your role is … ?”

“To be the calm, quiet, ive friend.”

Alyss laughed. “This I’ve got to see.”

CHAPTER 36

Burt snagged a Diet Coke from the refrigerator and ed Hollis and Niki on the patio. Hollis wore tailored jeans and a gray silk shirt; Niki a one-piece bright orange swim suit beneath a casually draped black silk shirt. They were having lunch, Hollis a turkey sandwich, Niki vitamins and a salad. Burt fell into a chair.

“How’s Billy?” Hollis asked.

“He’ll live. Hartsman patched him up.”

“Jail?”

Burt nodded. “A few days in the hospital first.”

Hollis leaned over and patted Niki’s bare thigh. “Baby, why don’t you finish that by the pool? Burt and I need to talk.”

Niki shook her head, and then stood and stretched. “You’re like two little boys. Always plotting. So secretive.” She gathered her plate. “I’ll go inside and talk to Carmelita. Maybe we have secrets too.” She mussed Hollis’ hair. “Be careful. I don’t want you two to strain your brains.”

Burt watched until her long legs and swaying hips disappeared through the kitchen door and then looked at Hollis.

“Now what?” Hollis asked.

“Wait for the wheels of justice to grind. You know, we couldn’t have done better if we had planned this ourselves. It’s perfect.” He took a swallow of Coke. “Well, almost perfect. It’d be better if Billy were dead.”

“Convicted of murder is about the same thing,” Hollis said. “As far as we’re concerned anyway.”

“True.”

“Do you really think he’s the one that killed Ted and Walt? And Varney?”

Burt gently squeezed the Coke can, denting its sides. “Who cares, as long as he takes the fall.”

“Yeah,” Hollis said, leaning back, eyes narrowing with concern. “But do you really believe Billy did all this?”

Burt finished his Coke. “We’ve been through this already. Nobody could’ve survived that fall.”

“No human. But he wasn’t really human anymore.”

“Oh, he was human all right. Human enough to bleed. And human enough to die.”

“Damn it, Burt,” Hollis said. “Don’t joke about this. If he’s out there, if he gets to the right people, we’re fucked.”

Burt smiled. “Relax. Everything’s taken care of.”

“Want to explain it to me then.”

“Billy goes down for the murders and we get what we want. His land and water. And the privacy to continue our work. Expand the lab as we planned. Without any more attorney’s fees or bribes. Meanwhile, we track down our former employee, if he indeed exists, dump his body down a mine shaft, and walk away clean.”

“And just who’s going to find him? Me and you? Wade?”

Burt smiled. “I have a tracker and two shooters coming in from Wyoming on Monday. The best there is. If he’s up there, they’ll find him.”

“So, you agree that he may be alive?”

“You know me. I cover all the bases.” He looked at Hollis. “Including the possibility that he might have survived.”

“And Sam? She seems convinced that Billy is innocent. And I’d suspect that a woman who laces on gloves and climbs in the ring isn’t one to back away. She could pose a problem for us.”

“Now that we have Billy in custody, a pile of evidence against him, and more on the way, any protests from her are going to sound pretty hollow.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” Burt crushed the empty Coke can in his fist. “The hair and the DNA should convince even her that Billy’s guilty.”

“If they match.”

“I told you. They will.”

Hollis looked at him and shook his head. “You don’t leave much to chance, do you?”

Burt shrugged. “Never have. Besides, she’s a small town cop. And cops like all that hair and DNA evidence. Makes them feel smarter than they are. She’ll buy it. And the other stuff? She knows nothing about that. No one does.”

“He does.” Hollis gazed toward the snow-capped peaks to the west.

“Details. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. And once we do, what he knew will be moot.”

The lunchtime crush at Mama Rose’s was larger than usual, but Sam, Alyss, and Shelby managed to get a table in the back corner. Apparently, Mama Rose had whipped up a pot of her famous chicken and andouille gumbo, which she rarely made, and the word had gotten out. Sam looked up as Edgar and Martha Locke came through the front door. Martha held Edgar’s arm, offering , while they scanned the room for an empty table.

Sam waved them over. “Come on. We have plenty of room.”

Edgar shuffled toward them, held a chair for Martha, and after she sat, took the seat next to her. “Thank you. You’re very kind to share your table with us.”

“We’re glad you’re here,” Sam said.

“Edgar never misses Mama Rose’s Gumbo,” Martha said. “She always calls whenever she makes it.”

By the time they each finished a bowl of the rich, spicy soup, the crowd had thinned considerably. Jared brought apple pie and refilled their coffee cups.

“Where’s Don?” Sam asked.

“Cat duty,” he laughed. “One of the advantages of being on Mama Rose’s shit list, is that she only lets Don take Precious to the vet.”

“That’s because he’s nice to her.” Mama Rose peered through the window from the kitchen.

The front door swung open and Don walked in, Precious cradled in one arm.

“Speak of the devil,” Jared said.

“Who me?” Don asked.

“No. The cat.”

Mama Rose flew out of the kitchen. Don handed off Precious and she scratched and cuddled the cat, scowling at Jared. “What did Dr. Proctor say?” she asked Don.

“She’s healthy as horse.”

“Good. That’s better than some little smart ass is going to be if he don’t watch out.”

Jared looked at her. “I love cats,” he said. “They taste like chicken.”

Mama Rose glared at him. “Come on, Precious,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs and get you some food.” She headed toward the stairs near the back of the restaurant that led to their second floor apartment.

Don poured himself a cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. “Dr. Locke, I’m glad you’re here. Something strange happened that I’d bet you’d be interested in.”

Edgar perked up. “Really?”

“Over at Proctor’s Clinic. The MacCorkell twins brought in some bones they had dug up. Will couldn’t figure out what they were. Said they looked like bones from a giant rabbit or something.”

“A giant rabbit?” Shelby said. “Cool.”

“Will wasn’t sure what they were,” Don continued. “He had a book out and was looking up stuff. Said they sure looked like rabbit bones, but were too big or too thick or something.”

The right half of Edgar’s forehead furrowed. “Where did the boys find them?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

“Hmmm,” Edgar said.

Sam sensed his growing concern. “What is it?”

“Maybe nothing,” Edgar said, looking at his wife. “But I’d like to see them.”

Martha smiled patiently. “Of course you would, dear.” She looked at Sam. “I must apologize for my husband. He’s always sticking his nose in other people’s business. The curse of an inquisitive mind, I guess.”

Sam glanced at Alyss. “See, I’m not the only one.”

“Are you the curious type, Sam?” Martha asked.

“More the meddling type,” Alyss interjected.

“Funny,” Sam said.

“Edgar’s always been that way,” Martha said. “Even his stroke didn’t slow him down. Of course, he’s no longer doing research, but he’s reading or writing or surfing the net all the time.”

“Well,” Sam said. “I’d like to see these mysterious bones, too.” She smiled at Edgar.

“Me, too,” Shelby chimed in, looking anxiously at her mother.

Alyss shrugged. “Why not?”

CHAPTER 37

Fifteen minutes later, Sam, Edgar, Alyss, Shelby, and Martha stood by a table littered with bones. Will Proctor held up one of them for everyone to see.

“This is a rabbit femur. The upper leg bone.” He handed it to Edgar, who examined it closely. “However, it’s too long for any species we have around here. I guess it could be someone’s exotic pet, but I’d have to do more research to assure myself of that.”

Edgar Locke picked up a bone that had been snapped in half and peered into the empty marrow cavity.

“Leave to you to get right to the heart of the matter,” Will said.

Edgar shrugged. “I don’t know much about rabbits, but judging from the length of this one, it looks to me as if the cortical bone is thickened.”

“Exactly,” Will said. “This bunny ate his Cheerios and drank his milk.”

Shelby laughed.

Edgar shuffled through the bones, and then picked up the skull and turned it

over, scanning its base. Again, half his forehead furrowed with concern. “The sphenoid and the entire floor of the skull seem thickened, too. And the parietal and orbital areas. Do rabbits get pituitary tumors?”

“That’s a good thought,” Will said. “That might explain a lot of this.”

“Will you guys speak English?” Sam asked.

Will laughed. “The pituitary is the master gland. It hangs off the bottom of the brain and sits here in this bony depression called the sella turcica.” He pointed to a fingertip-sized concavity in the skull’s base. “It produces a handful of hormones that stimulate or control most of the other hormone secreting glands in the body. The thyroid, the adrenals, the reproductive tissues. Some tumors of the pituitary cause it to overproduce certain hormones, particularly growth hormone. You’ve heard of giants, acromegalics?”

“We studied something about that in school,” Shelby said.

“If the tumor produces too much growth hormone, the bones thicken, muscles bulk up, things like that.”

“Like André The Giant? The wrestler?” Shelby asked.

“Exactly,” Will said. “He was big and tall and had a thick jaw, big hands, and a deep voice. That’s what too much growth hormone does.”

Edgar spent 15 minutes carefully studying the bones. When he replaced the last one on the table, he said, “Where’d the boys find these?”

“They said near Silver Creek,” Will said.

“On Burt Eagan’s property?” Edgar asked.

“They didn’t say.”

Sam and Edgar walked up the sidewalk to the MacCorkell’s house. Everyone else waited in the Jeep so the entourage wouldn’t frighten the boys or their parents. The house was a modest white, wood frame structure with a cleanly landscaped yard. Two steps led to a small porch. The front door stood open behind a screen door.

Jane MacCorkell answered Sam’s knock. An attractive woman with wavy brown hair, she wore an apron and dried her hands on a dishtowel as she approached. “Can I help you?”

“Mrs. MacCorkell, I’m Sam Cody. A friend of Alyss Cameron’s. And this is … ”

“Why yes, I know Dr, Locke. Please come in.” She pushed open the screen door and stepped back, allowing them to enter. “I’m Jane.”

“We hate to bother you, but we need to ask your sons a couple of questions,” Sam said.

Concern creased her face as she looked from Sam to Edgar and back again. “What’s this about?”

“Your sons found some animal bones today,” Sam said. “Took them over to Dr. Proctor.”

She shook her head. “They’re always digging up stuff.”

“Well, this time they uncovered something very unusual,” Edgar said.

“What?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine.” The functional half of Edgar’s face smiled.

Jane wound the dishtowel into a knot. Sam could see the lines of concern on her face deepen.

“It’s nothing serious,” Sam said. “They didn’t do anything wrong. We simply want to know where they found the bones so we can see if there are any others. Maybe solve this mystery.”

Jane gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I never know what mischief those two are going to get into next.”

Jane led them to the kitchen. A chopping block near one wall was topped with a pile of fresh peaches. A large copper pot simmered on the stove.

“I’m making jam,” Jane said.

“Smells wonderful,” Edgar said.

Jane looked out the kitchen window. “Jeremy. Jonathon. Come in here for a minute.”

Two redheaded, freckle-faced boys clamored through the door into the kitchen. Dirt spotted their faces and the knees of their jeans. They stopped when they saw Sam and Edgar.

“Boys, this is Sam and Dr. Locke. They need to ask you some questions.” She eyed her sons. “About some bones.”

Their eyes widened. They mirrored each other’s movements, hands jammed into their pockets, rocking onto the sides of their shoes, staring down at the floor as if this would make Sam and Edgar disappear. Sam knew instantly that wherever they had found the bones, it was someplace they weren’t supposed to be.

Sam smiled. “I saw the bones you guys found. Good work.”

Now, both looked up at her and smiled, their eyes alive.

“Yeah. They’re cool aren’t they?” Jonathon said.

“Did Dr. Proctor figure out what they were?” Jeremy asked.

Sam pulled a chair away from the dining table and sat, so that she was on their level. “Not yet. That’s why we’re here. We need your help.”

“Sure,” they said at the same time.

“We’d like to see if there are anymore. Where did you find them?”

Their smiles evaporated. They looked at each other and then back at their shoes.

“I don’t ,” Jeremy said.

“Me neither,” Jonathon agreed.

Sam lowered her head to capture their downward gaze. They looked at her, and then at their mother.

“I don’t know,” Jeremy said.

“It’s important,” Sam said.

“Over by Silver Creek,” Jeremy mumbled, too soft for Sam to hear clearly.

“Where?”

“By Silver Creek,” he repeated.

Edgar bent down toward the boys. “Where exactly?”

“Down behind that lab,” Jonathon said.

“Burt Eagan’s lab?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “They were buried under a shrub.”

“What?” Jane said. “When were you over there?”

“This morning,” Jeremy mumbled at the floor.

“You know you’re not allowed on his property,” Jane said. “And that lab must be two miles from here.”

They hung their heads, their eyes glistening slightly.

“How’d you find them?” Sam said.

Jonathon wiped a tear from one eye. “Oscar.”

Sam gave him a quizzical look.

“Our dog,” Jane said. “He’s about as poorly behaved as these two.” She frowned at her sons.

“It was Jeremy’s idea,” Jonathon said.

“It wasn’t either,” Jeremy said, hitting his brother on the arm.

“Stop it,” Jane said. “Or I’ll whack both of you.”

Sam suppressed a smile. So much for not getting them in trouble. “Why’d you go there?”

“Just because,” Jonathon said.

“’Cause the other guys are scared to go there,” Jeremy said, his chest puffed out proudly.

Sam smiled. “So now you can brag to the other boys that you guys weren’t chicken.”

“Yeah,” they answered together.

Jane, arms crossed over her chest, shook her head and sighed.

“You didn’t go into the lab, did you?” Sam asked.

“No way,” they said in chorus.

“It’s too creepy,” Jeremy added.

Still feeling guilty about the newly grounded MacCorkell twins, Sam drove the Locke’s back to their car, which they had parked along Main Street. In the rearview mirror, she watched the worry in Edgar’s face grow by the minute. After pulling to the curb behind their car, she stepped out and held the door as Edgar and Martha got out.

Martha thanked them and got into their car; Edgar hesitated.

‘What is it?” Sam asked.

“Something’s wrong. Dreadfully wrong, I fear.”

“The bones?

He sighed and nodded. His gaze turned to the east, toward Casa Grande. “I’d love to see the lab again. See what’s changed.”

“Burt won’t let you?” Sam said.

“Not if what I suspect is true.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d rather not say just yet. I need a little more information.”

Sam gently touched his arm. “You can trust me.”

Edgar smiled. “I know.”

“So?”

He hesitated as if considering what to say. Finally, he shook his head. “I fear Burt may have reopened the lab. Maybe doing animal studies.”

“And if so, these experiments would be illegal?”

“Very. But, as I said, I need more information to be sure.”

“And you think the lab might contain what you need?”

“Possibly.”

Sam looked toward the eastern peaks. “What if I can get inside? Take a look around. You could tell me what to search for.”

Edgar cocked his head slightly. The functional half of his brow wrinkled. “A little illegal, wouldn’t you say?”

Sam shrugged. “But, if I could get in, what would you like checked out?”

CHAPTER 38

The Friday night crowd at Mama Rose’s was unusually noisy. It was as if the tension and fear and sadness of the past several days demanded release. The patrons ate too much, drank too much, talked too loud, and laughed too hardily.

Sam sat at a corner table with Alyss, Burt, Hollis, and Niki. They exchanged small talk through their meal. Sam said little, while Burt dominated the conversation. He did so with amazing aplomb, telling this story or that anecdote, always making everyone feel as though they were part of his monologues. Even though Sam felt uncomfortable after their disagreement that morning, she acted as though she was swept up in Burt’s tales, listening attentively and laughing with everyone else.

She had to it he was smooth. Maybe slick was a better word.

Niki appeared cool and distracted throughout the meal. She ate little, said little, laughed rarely, and more than once Sam felt her gaze. But, when Sam looked back at her, Niki would quickly look down at her plate and move her food around with her fork.

What is it, Niki? Do you want to tell me something?

Burt ordered a round of Cognac for everyone. As they savored it, he leaned toward Sam and spoke softly. “I never did thank you for your help this morning.”

Sam cast him a quizzical look. Her memory of the morning’s events was more confrontation than cooperation.

“You defused a volatile situation,” he continued. “That was a very brave. Going into the mine like that.”

“I’m just glad it worked out,” Sam said.

“Thanks to you, it did.” Burt smiled. “Now, maybe the town can put this behind them.”

“If a jury convicts him,” Sam said,

“They will. I’d say the evidence against Billy is pretty solid.”

You’d like that wouldn’t you, Burt?

Sam smiled. “You never can tell what a jury will do.”

Burt took a sip of his cognac. “Around here, the courts are fairly straight forward. Judge Rhinehart doesn’t put up with any defense tricks. He’s a by-thebook kind of guy.”

Don came from the kitchen and seeing them, walked over. Sam silently prayed he had forgotten about the rabbit bones.

“What did you guys find out about those bones?” he asked.

Burt looked up. “What bones?”

Don told about his trip to Proctor’s Clinic and the strange bones the MacCorkell twins had found. He looked at Sam. “I bet Dr. Locke knew what they were.”

Sam felt heat rise in her face. Her tongue felt as if it were coated with paste. She took a sip of cognac.

Burt looked at her. “Edgar Locke? What’s this all about?”

Sam told of their visit with Will Proctor. “Dr. Locke was curious, so we took him over to Dr. Proctor’s office to see them.”

Burt’s brow furrowed slightly and he cast a glance at Hollis, and then said, “So, what were they?”

Sam shrugged. “Will Proctor felt they were from a rabbit. A large rabbit. Maybe with some kind of tumor or something.”

“Of the pituitary gland, I believe he said,” Alyss added.

“Interesting,” Burt said. “What about Edgar Locke? Did he agree with that?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Though he itted he didn’t know much about rabbits.” Sam pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, parking it behind her ear.

Burt seemed to relax a bit. “What did you think of Dr. Locke?”

“He’s impressive,” Sam said.

“Yes, he is. And his stroke was a real blow. Not only to him and Martha personally but also to our research.”

“So the lab has been sitting idle all this time?” Sam asked.

Burt nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“Seems such a waste. Edgar said you and he had been doing some exciting research. I got the impression he misses it.”

“We all do. But replacing Edgar Locke is no small feat.”

Hollis nodded in agreement. “He should have won that Nobel.”

Sam finished her Cognac. Burt motioned to Don to refill everyone’s glasses. Don made the round with the bottle, but when he came to Sam she waved him away with a smile.

“I think you said before that you didn’t use animals in your projects,” Sam said.

Burt shook his head. “No.”

“So that funny bunny wasn’t an escapee from your lab?”

Burt laughed. Nervous or genuine? Sam couldn’t decide. “No, he wasn’t ours. I’m sure Edgar Locke told you the same thing.”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Niki stiffen slightly. “Actually, I didn’t ask him. I just now thought about it.”

“We didn’t get involved with animal studies,” Hollis said. “That would have gotten the FDA and the SPCA and God knows who else involved.”

Niki stood, excused herself, and headed toward the ladies room. She glanced at Sam and then quickly looked away.

Sam stood. “Me, too.” She looked at Alyss. “Then, we should probably head home.” She gave Alyss a look that she hoped said, “Stay put and see that everyone else does, too.”

Sam entered the small restroom. Niki was putting on lipstick. Sam caught her eye in the mirror.

“I got the feeling the other day that you wanted to tell me something. About Burt?”

“I did. I told you to be careful.”

“Anything else?”

Niki turned and glanced past Sam toward the door. The lipstick tube slipped from her hand and clattered on the floor. When Niki picked it up, Sam noticed her fingers trembling.

Sam touched her arm. “Niki, there’s something going on here. Something I don’t entirely understand, but it revolves around Burt. And it could lead to an innocent man being railroaded into prison. Any idea what’s going on?”

The door to the single stall stood slightly ajar. Niki pushed it completely open and looked inside. She turned to Sam.

“I don’t know, but Hollis is wound up tighter than I’ve ever seen him. And he won’t talk to me about it.” Her eyes glistened. “He always tells me everything.” She sniffed back a tear. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”

“And you have no idea what?”

Niki shook her head. She slipped the lipstick into her purse and snapped it closed.

Sam sighed and leaned against the sink. What were they up to? Why was getting rid of Billy so important?

“Burt’s lying,” Niki said suddenly.

“About what?”

“This research stuff you guys were talking about.” She glanced nervously at the entry door. “That lab’s been open for over a year. And they are using animals.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve been there. Seen them. Rabbits and mice anyway.”

“I see.”

Tears welled in Niki’s eyes. “You’ve got to help Hollis. He’s not like Burt.”

“What makes you think I can help?”

“You’re a cop. You’re smart. I can see that much.”

“Isn’t Hollis in this as deep as Burt?”

“Not even close.”

“I can’t promise anything, but you’ll have to tell me everything you know. Anything you can find out.”

Niki dabbed a tear from her eye.

“Who has been running the lab for them?” Sam asked.

The sound of a commode flushing came through the wall from the adjacent men’s room. Niki’s eyes widened. She shook her head.

“Who? It’s important.”

Niki turned toward the door. “I can’t”

Sam grabbed her arm. “Are you afraid of Burt?”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“I think you are.”

Niki started to say something, but stopped. She pulled her arm from Sam’s grasp. “I can’t.” She pushed past Sam and out the door, colliding with Burt as he stepped from the men’s room.

Sam turned on to Main Street toward Alyss’ inn. She told her what Niki had said. Alyss apologized for not keeping Burt at the table.

“He got up right after you left. I couldn’t think of any way to keep him there short of faking a seizure.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said.

“Do you think he heard anything?”

“I don’t know. The walls are pretty thin.” She banged her fist against the steering wheel. “Damn it.” If he had, Niki could be in trouble and her inside source, such as it was, would evaporate.

After they returned home, Sam called the hospital to check on Billy. The nurse caring for him said he was doing well and sleeping at the moment. Sam told her to tell Billy she would stop by tomorrow and visit. She then called Edgar Locke and told him of her dinner conversation with Burt and of her encounter with Niki.

“What do you think Burt’s up to?” Sam asked.

She heard Edgar’s sigh over the phone. “I don’t know,” he said. “But tomorrow I’m going to make a few calls to some former colleagues and see what I can find out.”

“Would they know?” Sam asked.

“The research community is fairly close knit. With a very active grapevine.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Tonight, I’m going to go see if there are any more bones, and if I can get into the lab, I will. As we discussed.”

‘Tonight?”

“Tomorrow may be too late. Now that Burt’s aware that we know about the bones, if there is anything in the lab, he might hide it or destroy it. I’ll try to get the things you wanted and I’ll call or come by as soon as I do.”

She hung up and then called Nathan and discovered he would be tied up in Port Angeles until Sunday afternoon. He would then fly to Denver, spend the night, and catch a puddle jumper to Montrose first thing Monday morning and drive down to Gold Creek from there.

After she hung up, she walked out to the porch and sat in the rocker, facing the swing where Alyss sat.

“What’s this all about?” Alyss asked.

A moth fluttered around the porch light, its wings tapping against the glass shade, its magnified shadow dancing over them. Sam watched it for a moment.

“Burt and Wade are trying to frame Billy.” Sam leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “And now, it looks like someone’s been doing animal research at that lab and Burt lied about it. Edgar thought so and Niki just confirmed it.”

Alyss shifted in the swing, sitting more upright, looking at Sam. “And these two things … the murders … the lab … are connected how?”

“They’re not. At least not that I see.”

“But…?”

“Any cop will tell you that when a lot of strange things occur around a case, they’re usually related. Connecting all the dots is the tough part. So, Burt’s reopening the lab and his attempts to frame Billy could be notes of the same song.”

“I see.”

Sam rocked back and watched the moth for a moment. It ricocheted off the light and bounced against the wall. Part of her felt like she was doing the same. Attracted to solving a mystery, but only able to flap her wings against unforgiving obstacles. Maybe she should fly to Washington and meet Nathan and

leave all this behind.

“What is it?” Alyss asked.

“Just thinking.”

“Thinking, or regretting getting involved in this?”

Sam offered a weak smile. Alyss knew her too well. “Too late now. It’s got me and I don’t know how to throw the hook.” She stood. “I’ve got to get dressed for my B and E.”

“And I can’t talk you out of this stupidity?”

“No.”

“Then, what can I do to help?”

CHAPTER 39

Sam pulled on black stretch pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a Navy-blue knit ski cap Alyss had given her, stuffing her hair underneath. After lacing her running shoes, she stuffed her fanny pack with a flashlight, screwdriver, plastic trash bag, Polaroid camera, and her .25 Berretta. She chugged a glass of water, hurried out the door, and climbed into the back seat of Alyss’ car. Shelby sat up front with her mother.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

“I’m just the driver.”

“This is like so cool,” Shelby said. “I feel like a Green Beret or a Navy Seal or something.”

“Cool your fins, minnow,” Alyss said. “We’re just dropping Sam over by Silver Creek and then us Seals are going back home and locking the doors.”

The drive was short, less than a mile, but it byed open fields, crossed over both Gold and Silver Creeks, and deposited Sam at the gated fence that marked the boundary of Casa Grande. As soon as the car stopped, Sam jumped out.

“I’ll see you back at the house in a couple of hours.”

“Be careful,” Alyss said.

“I will.”

Sam slipped through the barbed wire fence and ran up the path that the MacCorkell twins had used. She heard Alyss make a U-turn and head back toward home.

You’re on your own now. Don’t fuck this up.

The path hugged the creek, protected by the regiment of aspens that flourished along each bank. After ten minutes of running at a steady pace, the lights of Burt’s mansion came into view, twinkling through the trees a half a mile to her left and up the slope. She ran on, confident that no one would see her in the darkness. Soon, she came to where the creek began its swing to the right. She stopped. According to Edgar, the lab should be nearby, just across the creek.

She used two large stones to avoid the water. As she climbed the far bank, the lab loomed before her. In the soft moonlight, it looked dark, even sinister. She guessed it was at least 100 feet by 50 feet, probably more, and had a flat metal roof. The wall that faced her was plain, cinder block, with two horizontal rectangular windows near the roofline.

She immediately headed toward the rear of the building and easily found the excavation site beneath the elderberry shrub, exactly as the McCorkell twins had described. She shoveled and sifted the dirt with her hands, extracting another

two dozen bones and three more skulls, one similar to that found by the boys, the other two much smaller. She stuffed them into the plastic bag and knotted it closed. She walked down to the creek and washed her hands, drying them on some nearby grasses. Leaving the bag of bones near the water for later retrieval, she climbed back up the bank.

Burt stood next to the fireplace in his den, while Hollis lounged in one of the deep leather chairs, facing him.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Hollis said.

“No. Let’s do it now.”

“What’s got you all fired up?”

“The bones. Those Goddamn kids,” Burt drained his cognac. “And now a half a dozen others know about them.”

“But the bones don’t prove anything.” Hollis looked up at him, the flickering fire reflecting from his face. “And they can’t be connected to us.”

“Oh really? Edgar Locke and Will Proctor aren’t fools. Sooner or later they’ll put two and two together, if they haven’t already. And if someone gets those journals? What then?”

“And how could that happen? They’re locked up in the lab.”

“Those kids got in here and found those bones and if anyone gets those journals, we’ll play hell explaining them. They’ll be safer up here in the house.”

Hollis sighed. “I suppose that’s true.” He finished his cognac. “Let’s get it over with.”

Sam stood near the lab and looked up toward Burt’s house a half mile away, now visible through the tops of the aspens. Quiet, few lights, and no activity. So far, so good. She circled the lab, finding only one door, centered along the end of the building that faced west, toward town. Even in the dim moonlight, she could see the damaged lock, dangling from the latch.

Her senses amped up several notches. She pulled her Berretta, leaned against the wall beside the door, and listened. Nothing.

She removed the broken lock and pushed the door open. The interior was even darker, with only faint remnants of the moonlight ing through the narrow windows. She hung the lock on the door’s latch ring and removed the flashlight from her pack. The beam cut through the darkness as she stepped inside and eased the door closed.

She scanned the room, her gaze following the cone of light. Two rows of metallic worktables, each topped with arrays of scientific equipment, dominated the middle of the room and extended from where she stood to near the far end. In the far right corner, an open door led to a small separate room. Sinks and cabinets lined the adjacent wall. She directed the beam to her right, highlighting floor to ceiling stacks of wire cages.

She stepped further into the room. Now, she could see that a thin veneer of dust covered everything.

As the beam swept across the floor, she saw several clear shoe prints in the dust. She squatted, flattening the angle of the light. The patterns jumped up and now she could tell there were two distinct sets. One, small tennis shoes. The

MacCorkell twins, those little scamps. The other, larger, much larger. Similar to the ones she had seen days earlier, at Varney’s, in blood.

OK, Samantha. Get what you need and get the hell out of here.

Standing, she returned her gun to the pack and took out the camera. Holding the small flashlight in her mouth, she waited for the flash to charge, and then snapped several pictures of the interior, including the cages in most of the shots.

Now, the journals.

Edgar had said they would be in the bottom right drawer of the desk that sat along the right wall. She saw it wedged between the bank of cages and the wall of the small room and hurried in that direction. But, as she rounded the row of tables and the wooden desk came into view, she saw that the drawer had been pulled open. Empty, its lock appeared mangled, the surrounding wood splintered.

Someone had taken the journals. Burt? No, someone else, who also didn’t have a key.

Lights flashed across the windows and then the sound of a car engine and the crunching of tires broke the silence.

Sam snapped off the flashlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. Partially anyway. She looked around, searching for someplace to hide. She stepped into the small room and allowed herself a quick burst from the flashlight. Before the

light winked off, she saw a cot, bookshelves, a dresser with a TV on top, a toilet, and a corner glassed-in shower. No place to hide.

Car doors slammed. She turned back to the lab area.

She knew the worktables offered no refuge. No cabinets beneath, each possessed only a single open shelve, stacked with beakers and other glassware.

She turned to the sinks and yanked open the cabinet doors. Empty except for a stack of Bon Ami cleaner canisters. She pushed them aside and crawled in, folding her legs beneath her. Cramped, but functional.

Voices filtered through to her.

“What the hell is this?”

Burt.

“Somebody smashed the lock.”

Hollis. Great. Just fucking great.

Her gun dug into her back. She tried to reach for it, but the tight space prevented

her. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Light from the overhead Fluorescents flickered through a small gap between the cabinet doors.

“Goddamn it,” Burt said.

Footsteps approached, stopping near her hiding place.

“Look at this,” Burt said. “Somebody’s been in here. The journals are gone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

She heard the door to the sleeping quarters smack against the wall.

“Nobody in here,” Burt said.

“It’s him.” Hollis said. “I told you he was still around.”

“Well, he’s not going to be for long. That’s for Goddamn sure.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Where’s that spare lock?” Burt asked.

“Upper drawer. Left side.”

Sam heard the sound of a drawer sliding open and then slamming shut. Footsteps retreated. The lights died, the front door closed, and the lock snapped closed. Car doors slammed, the engine started, and the crunching of tires on gravel faded.

She kicked the cabinet door open and rolled out on to the floor. She grabbed gun, aimed the flashlight ahead of her, and crossed to the door. Grasping the handle, she yanked it. Nothing.

The metal door fit flush with the metal frame. No gap, no play. With the lock on the outside, shooting it open wasn’t an option.

She moved to the windows. Five feet off the floor, three feet wide, but only a dozen inches high, she saw no way out through them, even if she could break the wire-mesh glass.

She searched the desk and the sleeping room for a crowbar, a hammer, anything that would pry the door from its hinges, but found nothing. She would even accept dynamite about now.

Think, Samantha.

She ran her fingers along the cinder blocks. How long would it take to dig out the concrete mortar and remove enough of them to crawl through? Definitely longer than sunrise.

Bang. The impact against the door shook the room.

What the hell was that?

She killed the flashlight and dropped to one knee behind the row of worktables, leveling her gun at the door.

Bang, The room shook again.

Bang. The door flew open, slamming into the cinderblock wall with a deafening clang. Her heart jumped into her throat and she curled her finger around the trigger. Holding her breath, she waited. Nothing. No one came through, no sound, no sense of movement in the darkness beyond the open door.

Only the odor.

Thick, pungent, feral. Recognition was immediate. And the last time she had smelled it, someone or something had ripped a door open and charged right over her. She expected to see the same massive person barrel through the doorway at

any moment.

Sam remained motionless, breathing short and shallow. A minute, two, still nothing. Sweat trickled into her eye and she blinked it away.

She flicked on her flashlight and cautiously approached the doorway. The odor grew stronger as did her heartbeat. Looking around the doorjamb, directing the light one way and then the other, she saw nothing. The odor began to fade as the soft breeze collected it.

She stepped out into the night and again looked around. Nothing.

Sam stood on the porch, bent over gasping for breath. She had retrieved the plastic bag from near the creek bank and run hard. Not to Alyss’, but to Edgar Locke’s. Edgar opened the front door, a look of shock on his face.

“Sam?”

She offered a weak wave and continued pulling air. “Just…a…sec,” she said between breaths. Sweat dripped from her forehead and splattered on her shoes. She pulled off the ski cap.

“Come in.”

She wobbled through the door. Her legs ached and trembled with fatigue. After regaining her breath and wiping the moisture from her face and arms with the towel that Martha offered, she told Edgar of what she found and of her rescue by whoever smashed open the locked door. She then called Alyss and asked if she could come pick her up.

Edgar looked through the Polaroids Sam had taken and then rummaged through the bag, examining each bone carefully. He held up one of the smaller skulls. “I know what this is,” he said. “It’s a mouse. I did research at MIT on them for decades.” He went on to point out areas of thickening along the base, exactly as he had found in the skull at Proctor’s Clinic. He sighed heavily.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“I’m afraid your friend Niki was telling the truth.”

“The lab has been up and running?”

Edgar nodded. “The cages and these bones say so. With just one unusual rabbit skull, it could be a disease, like a tumor. Or a freak of nature. But now, we have similar changes in two different species. This is no natural accident. This is manmade. These came from the lab.”

“You’re certain?”

“There can be no other explanation.”

“It didn’t look like it had been in mothballs for a year and a half,” Sam said. “Maybe a couple of months. I didn’t see a bunch of cobwebs or anything like that. Only a little dust on the equipment.”

Edgar’s shoulders slumped further, but he said nothing.

“If someone did crank it back up,” Sam said. “Who? Why?”

“I don’t know. But the stolen journals are very bothersome. Someone besides Burt doesn’t want anyone to know what’s been going on there.”

Sam nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Another possibility could be that someone learned about whatever Burt has been up to and stole the journals to expose him. Who? I don’t know.”

“Maybe the someone who left Billy’s boot prints all over the lab and around Lloyd Varney’s body. And helped me escape tonight.”

“That would be a good bet.” Edgar looked at her. “It would be a gross understatement to say that Billy dislikes Burt. How sure are you that Billy isn’t guilty?”

“I’m sure. Well, as sure as I can be. I know it wasn’t Billy that ran over me that night at Lloyd’s store and it definitely wasn’t Billy that helped me out tonight. He’s chained to a hospital bed. I honestly believe Burt and Wade are trying to frame Billy.”

“Why?” Martha asked.

“Billy thinks it for his land. I think there’s more to it than that and tonight’s developments sure put a whole different spin on it.”

“Could Billy know what Burt has been up to at the lab?” Edgar asked. “Maybe he’s blackmailing Burt or something?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s not my read on Billy. But you can bet I’m going to ask him anyway.”

Edgar sighed. “It’s a perplexing mystery.”

“What now?” Sam asked.

“I’d suggest we keep this between us for now.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “I don’t want a B and E rap.”

Edgar gave her his half smile. “As I said, I’ll make a couple of calls tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

Alyss’ car came up the drive. Sam stood and walked to the door but stopped and turned to Edgar. “Billy Bear said he believes Burt has plans to expand the lab. You aware of anything like that?”

“He mentioned it a couple of times. I doubt the town would go for it though. Some people didn’t even want that small lab built.”

“Oh?”

“Afraid of anything foreign or high-tech. That is until I convinced the city council that nothing we planned for the lab would be dangerous or contaminate anything.” He looked down at the floor. “I hope I was telling them the truth.”

CHAPTER 40

Edgar Locke sat in a ladder-back chair in the breakfast nook. His second cup of coffee rested precariously near the edge of the round oak dining table, leaving just enough room to spread open the day’s Denver Post . One of the many concessions to his stroke induced withered left arm, he had to delay reading the paper until breakfast was completed and the table cleared. Hunched forward, reading glasses in place, he turned the pages with his only functional hand.

The doorbell rang and he heard Martha answer it. After a brief, muffled conversation, Martha came into the kitchen followed by Burt and Hollis. Edgar couldn’t hide his surprise. Burt had visited him on only two occasions since his stroke. Once a social visit while he was still in the hospital and again a month after he returned home to tell him the lab was to be closed down. His anxiety rose. This visit could only be about Sam’s break-in at the lab.

Regaining his composure, he said, “What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”

Martha offered Burt and Hollis coffee and then poured each of them a cup. “I’ll get back to my book,” she said. “If you need anything, let me know.” She left the kitchen.

Burt sat down across the table from Edgar, Hollis stood, leaning against the counter. Edgar knew that when it came to business Burt was not one for small talk and suspected today was no exception. Burt took a sip of coffee, pushed it aside, and propped one elbow on the table. “We visited Will Proctor this morning.”

Edgar looked at him, but offered no response, deciding it was better to find out what Burt knew and what he wanted before saying anything.

“He showed us those bones. What do you make of them?”

Edgar gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. Strange for sure. Maybe someone’s exotic pet. Maybe a local species with a pituitary tumor.”

“You mean the thickening of the cortical bone? The enlarged sella?” Burt asked.

“Exactly.”

Burt’s gaze seemed to bore into him. “Any other possibilities come to mind?”

Edgar rubbed his chin with his good hand. “No.”

Burt leaned back in his chair. “Good. I couldn’t think of any other explanation either. I was afraid it might be some disease that could infect the livestock.”

If Edgar Locke had any remaining doubts about Burt’s involvement in whatever had been going on at the lab, any possibility that someone might be conducting experiments behind his back, they evaporated at that moment. After two decades of research in the field, Burt knew this was no infectious process, that hormonal changes were the only explanation. He was lying, fishing for information. He had reopened the lab and was now trying to determine if his little project,

whatever it was, had been uncovered.

“I don’t think so,” Edgar said. “But Will Proctor would know better than I.”

“He’s confident it’s not anything to worry about,” Burt said.

“Then, I agree,” Edgar said.

Burt retrieved his coffee cup and took a sip. “Have you spoken with Morgan Russell recently?”

Morgan Russell, along with Jane Kinsey, had been Locke’s research assistant at the lab. “No. Not since he left for Johns Hopkins. Why?”

“Just curious about whatever happened to him.”

“I’ve spoken with Jane Kinsey a couple of times, but not Morgan.”

“Where is she now?” Burt asked.

“Cal Tech. Doing well, I hear.”

“But you’ve heard nothing from Morgan?”

“No.”

Burt raised an eyebrow. “I thought he might have called. You and he were close.”

“Yes, we were. I guess he’s busy with whatever he’s doing and has forgotten .”

“Probably.” Burt stood and looked down at Edgar. “You haven’t spoken with anyone about the research we were doing, have you?”

“I don’t know anyone around here who would be interested, much less understand it.”

Burt smiled. “I guess we’d better get going.”

“So nice of you to visit,” Edgar said. He stood and followed them toward the front door. “Come back anytime.”

Burt stepped onto the porch and then turned back to Edgar. “One more thing. You don’t have any copies of our old research journals, do you?”

“No. As far as I know, there weren’t any copies. Just the ones at the lab and I assumed you would have them safely tucked away.”

Burt hesitated for a moment and then said, “Oh, yes, I have those. I just wanted to make sure we hadn’t misplaced any copies.”

After they left, Edgar returned to the table. Martha ed him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He saw the concern in her face. She always knew when he was troubled. He could never hide anything from her. Nor did he really want to. “Burt Eagan is up to some sort of illegal research.”

“Really?”

“The rabbits, the mice, the cages at the lab. Everything says yes.”

“Well, it’s his lab. I guess he can do what he wants.”

“Not if what I suspect is true.”

Martha patiently waited for him to continue.

“We found bones from two species … rabbits, mice … that had been hormonally altered. Most likely by excess growth hormone from a tumorous or an enlarged and overactive pituitary gland.”

“You think they were causing these tumors to develop?”

“That could be one explanation.” Edgar took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “But not the most likely one.”

“Oh?” He could see the growing concern behind her eyes.

“What if the animals were altered genetically and the hormonal changes and the enlargement of the pituitaries we saw were secondary?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Toward the end, before my stroke, we had discussed the possibility of looking at hormonal manipulations that might delay the changes that occur in aging tissues.”

“Yes, I you mentioning that.”

“Aging winds everything down, including our hormone levels. We postulated that if we could keep those levels up, perhaps we could slow the deterioration of certain tissues. Maybe lessen arthritis, heart disease, diabetes. Who knows?

Anyway, one of the ideas we kicked around was using a viral vector to incorporate genetic material … basically altered DNA fragments … into the cells of the pituitary gland. Fragments that would boost the production of the pituitary hormones.”

“Like growth hormone,” Martha said.

He nodded and smiled. One of the many things he loved about her was her devotion to his work. She had always wanted to know what he was doing, prodding him for details. She kept his files straight and typed and reviewed his research papers and grant proposals. Over the past five decades, she had learned more about medical research than most practicing physicians.

“Exactly,” he said.

“But you never started any of that.”

“No. Our discussions were entirely theoretical. These experiments would have required animal research and we were reluctant to enter that arena because of the expense and the regulations that would kick in.”

The furrows of her brow deepened. “Do you believe Burt hired someone to carry out this work?”

Edgar nodded. “And now we have the mysterious theft of the research journals. It’s almost as if someone wanted to hide what they had been doing. Someone

besides Burt and Hollis.”

“Who?”

“Morgan was very interested in anything genetic. He was quite gifted in that area.”

“Morgan? We haven’t heard from him in over a year.”

“Burt asked if I had talked with him. Don’t you think that’s unusual?”

“Maybe Burt’s just curious about what Morgan’s been up to.”

“I got the impression that Burt knows what he’s been up to. The idea crossed my mind that Morgan might have come back here and these rabbits and mice are his.”

“He would have stopped by or called, don’t you think?”

“Maybe he wasn’t allowed to.”

“By whom?”

“Burt can be a very persuasive man.”

“You’ve been reading too many of those mysteries lately,” Martha chided him.

He laughed. “It does sound crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Very.” She picked up the dirty cups and carried them to the sink.

“I’m going to make a couple of phone calls anyway.”

“Of course you are,” Martha said. “I never considered that you wouldn’t.”

He retreated to the den where his desk, piled with papers and journals, sat along one wall. He looked up the number for Dr. Paul Krieger, Director of Genetic Research at Johns Hopkins. Morgan, equipped with a glowing letter of recommendation from Edgar, had signed on at Paul’s lab after leaving Colorado. He hoped Paul would be in on this Saturday as he often was.

The department secretary answered on the third ring. Dr. Krieger was lecturing, but would return around 4 p.m. Eastern time. Morgan Russell? He was no longer there. Left after six months. Got a job in another lab. Where? She had no idea.

After being assured that Dr. Krieger would call as soon as he returned, Edgar

hung up and dialed Jane Kinsey’s number at Cal Tech. They had a pleasant 20minute conversation, touching on how much she missed working with him and he with her, and how her current research endeavors were faring. Morgan? Jane had not heard from him since leaving Colorado.

CHAPTER 41

The Gold Creek Community Hospital, a single-level red brick structure, sat one block off Main Street and a half block from the church cemetery. With forty beds, a modest Emergency Department, a five bed ICU, and three surgical suites, it could handle all but the most complex medical problems. Those would be transferred to Montrose or in extreme situations air-lifted to Denver.

A young girl in a candy-striper’s uniform smiled when Sam walked up to the lobby reception desk. “Can I help you?” she said through a metallic orthodontic grin.

“Billy Wingo. What’s his room number?”

“He’s in 118. But I don’t think he’s allowed visitors. Are you family?”

“A friend,” Sam said.

“Why don’t you go on back to the Nursing Station Two and ask if you can see him? It’s straight down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.”

The nursing station proved to be a small rectangular area behind an L-shaped counter. Charts littered a central table, where two nurses sat sipping coffee and scribbling notes in the patient records.

“Excuse me,” Sam said.

Both of them looked up. The older of the two, a brunette with a hawkish nose and severe features, glared at Sam as if angered by the interruption. The other, a tall woman with disobedient red hair piled on top of her head and a friendly smile, said,” Yes?”

“I’d like to see Billy Wingo.”

“Billy can’t have visitors,” the brunette said.

Sam ignored her and looked at the redhead. “Could you tell him I’m here? I’m sure he would want to see me.”

The redhead stood and eyed Sam up and down. “That ain’t the problem. Chief Wade says no one can talk to him.”

“I know,” Sam said. “I’m helping Chief Wade with the investigation.”

“Who’d you say you were?”

“Sam Cody. I’m a cop. Visiting from California.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re the one that found Lloyd Varney’s body?”

Sam nodded. “Afraid so.”

She skirted the counter. “I’m Darla Esslinger.” She extended her hand and they shook.

Darla wore thick layers of blue eye shadow and a thicker coat of red lipstick, but underneath it all had an attractive face. Her handshake was firm.

“I really need to talk to Billy,” Sam said.

Darla glanced over her shoulder at the other nurse, who had returned to her charting. “Come on,” she said. She led Sam a short distance down the corridor and then stopped. “Do you think Billy did this? Killed those people?”

“No.”

“I thought you said you were working with Chief Wade?”

“Sort of. But that doesn’t mean I agree with him about Billy’s guilt or innocence.”

Darla smiled. “I’m a friend of Billy’s. Known him since the fourth grade. He’s a little rambunctious. Smokes a little weed. But who doesn’t?” Her eyebrows bounced mischievously. “Fights too much, too. But that’s not an unusual activity around here. But kill someone? No way. And Lloyd Varney? Not a chance.”

“You seem sure of that.”

“Absolutely sure.” Darla cocked her head slightly and eyed Sam. “How well do you know Billy?”

“Not well.”

“You should. He’s one of the good guys. You know he was a Marine?”

Sam shook her head.

“Yeah. Four years. Then, he went to Stanford. Full scholarship. Graduated with honors. Went on to get a Masters in Mathematics. Don’t fit his image, does it?” Not waiting for an answer, Darla continued. “Worked for one of those computer outfits in California. Then, his daddy died. Silicosis. From the mines. Just like his granddaddy. Anyway, Billy took it hard, came back here. Turned on and dropped out after that.”

“You’re right,” Sam said. “He surely doesn’t look the part.”

Darla smiled. “You going to help him?”

“If I can.”

Darla glanced up and down the hall. “Wait here.” She walked a few doors down and entered a room. A minute later, the door swung open and she motioned to Sam.

Sam walked in to see Billy lying in bed, the back cranked up 45 degrees. He looked pale and exhausted. A thick bandage, cross-hatched with tape, capped his left shoulder and covered part of his chest. His right wrist was cuffed to the metal bed rail.

“Welcome to the cell block,” he said.

Darla retreated to the door. “I’ll buzz your intercom if Wade or that freak Eloy show up.”

“Thanks,” Billy said.

Sam stood at the foot of his bed. Darla left, pulling the door closed behind her.

“So what’s up?” Billy asked.

“Did you break into Burt’s lab? Steal some journals?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A good one. Did you?”

“No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Somebody did. Somebody wearing your boots.”

“It wasn’t me.”

Sam crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you know Burt had reopened his lab?”

“When?”

“I don’t know for sure, but did you know?”

“Of course not.”

“See Billy, the problem is that your boot prints have turned up everywhere. By Lloyd’s body. At Burt’s stables. The lab.”

Billy exhaled loudly. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“No. You’ve got to get well. Get a good lawyer. This will all work out.”

“Not unless I do something. Don’t you have a key to these things?” He rattled his cuffs again.

“Yes.”

“Then, unlock them.”

“I can’t do that, Billy.”

“Yes, you can. And you’ve got to.”

“No. That would make me an accessory after the fact. Plus aiding and abetting. Wade’d throw me in jail, too.”

Billy cocked his head to one side, studying her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Can I trust you?”

“What do you think?”

“I believe I can.”

Sam smiled. “Then, there you go.”

Billy took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “There’s somebody up there.”

“Where?”

“Up there. In the mountains.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. But he’s the one that killed Lloyd. And Burt’s men.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked.

“I’ve seen his tracks up there. My boots. Smelled his campfire once, but couldn’t find it. I figured he let it burn just long enough to cook. Less likely to attract attention that way. And I’d bet he’s responsible for the deer and cattle that have been killed.”

“And the horse?”

“That, too. I caught a glimpse of him once. A few days ago. From a distance. Through the trees. Couldn’t catch up to him though.”

“What’d he look like?” Sam asked.

“Big. Fast. Hairy. That’s about all I could tell.”

Big and fast and hairy, Sam thought. Exactly like the man that ran her down and scared the Kendalls and Shelby.

“Did you ever smell him?”

Billy laughed. “I’m not a tracking dog.”

“You wouldn’t need to be if the guy you saw is the one that ran over me.” She moved around to the left side of the bed, one hand on the side rail and looked down at him. She considered telling him of her visit to Burt’s lab and her rescue by whoever pounded the metal door into submission, but decided to keep that to herself for now. “Let’s suppose there is someone else. Why do you feel the need to go and find him?”

“Because I’m the only one that can. But to do that, I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Shouldn’t you let Wade handle it?”

“You still don’t understand do you? Burt has me right where he wants me. If he and Wade find whoever it is before I do, that person will disappear. I’ll go down for this and that’ll be the end of it. Burt wins.”

“You really believe that?” Sam asked.

“Burt’ll do what’s necessary. He wants me out of the way and getting me convicted will do the trick. I have to find the real killer before he does. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“I’ve thought about what you told me. About Burt trying to steal your land and water. And the pieces just don’t fit. The murders, the burning of Burt’s stables, the whoever or whatever is roaming around up there. I can’t put all that

together.”

“Maybe they don’t fit. Maybe whoever the killer is has nothing to do with Burt. Maybe Burt saw this as an opportunity to put me away for good. Get my land. The one thing I know for sure is that Burt’s like a rattlesnake. If he sees an opportunity, he’ll strike.”

Sam had to it that her current assessment of Burt Eagan was exactly that. A snake and an opportunist. “What if I try to find this person? Bring him in.”

“No offense, Sam,” Billy said. “But you don’t know these mountains. You might get yourself lost. Or worse.”

“What does that mean?”

“If Burt thinks that you’re on my side or that you might interfere with his scam, he’ll make you disappear too.”

“Kill a cop? I don’t think so.”

Billy reached out and grabbed her arm, a grimace erupting on his face as he moved his injured shoulder. His grip held firm. “Any idea how many people get lost in these mountains? Sometimes they find their way back, sometimes not. Sometimes their bodies are found later, sometimes not. If you end up in the bottom of a mine, the logical conclusion would be that you got lost and died from exposure or starvation or whatever.”

Sam stared at him, letting the words soak in.

“So,” Billy continued. “The only way out of this is for me to get up there and find this person.” He rattled his cuffs against the bed rail.

“That isn’t going to happen,” Sam said. “I’ll help you, but I won’t break the law to do it.”

“Then you’d better go.”

“Don’t be angry with me. I’ll do what I can,” Sam said.

“And I’ll do what I must,” Billy said. He grabbed the bed rail and gave it a shake. “This thing’s pretty flimsy. I’d bet it would fall apart with a little help.”

“Don’t say another word,” Sam said. “If you’re planning an escape or any crime whatsoever and I have knowledge of it, I’m obligated to tell Wade. Whether I agree or not.”

Billy smiled, his eyes flashing mischievously. “I ain’t going anywhere. Why would I? I’ve got clean sheets and good food.”

CHAPTER 42

Edgar Locke had spent the morning reviewing an article for Scientific American. The irony that over the years he had written many papers for the prestigious magazine but was now relegated to vetting the works of others did not escape his notice. After lunch, he settled in his leather chair, feet up on the matching ottoman, a plaid blanket draped over his legs, a paperback mystery in his hand, and promptly dozed off. He slept until Martha shook him awake, telling him Dr. Paul Krieger was on the phone.

He shuffled to his desk and picked up the receiver. “Paul, so good of you to return my call.”

“How are you, Edgar?” Paul asked.

“The same. And you?”

“Working too hard. Thinking about cutting back though.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. I don’t think you know how to slow down.”

Paul laughed. “That’s what my wife keeps telling me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to find Morgan Russell. I understand he left there. Any idea where he might be?”

“No.” The silence that followed hung heavily between them.

“Paul? Is something wrong?”

Edgar heard Paul’s heavy sigh. “We had some problems with Morgan.”

Apprehension rose in Edgar’s gut. “What problems?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Morgan is as sharp as they come. A very gifted young man. But he lacked patience. Cut corners. Took too many liberties with our protocols.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Paul. What did he do?”

“This stays between us. In this day and age, as you well know, I could get sued for revealing anything negative about a former employee. But Morgan stepped over the line. More than once in his brief six months with us. The final straw came when he began a maverick project. Using retroviruses for gene introduction into mice.”

“Retroviruses?”

“I’m afraid so. We have a couple of very strictly controlled protocols underway using them. In cell cultures only. Absolutely no animal studies were allowed. Morgan presented a preliminary protocol for treating mice with induced panhypopituitarism using gene fragments introduced via a retroviral vector. It was actually quite an intriguing study. Well designed. But, in the end, it was rejected. Our relationship with the FDA might have been negatively impacted had we pursued it. Anyway, Morgan went ahead and injected several mice and began following them. Without authorization or supervision. No double blinded protocol. When I discovered what he had done, I had to terminate the experiment. And Morgan.”

“What about the mice?” Edgar asked.

“Curiously, it appeared they were doing beautifully, without signs of pituitary insufficiency. Of course, they had to be sacrificed and the data destroyed. We would never have been able to explain the situation to the FDA investigators had they gotten wind of it.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“You should be glad you’re out of this. Anything in the gene arena is scrutinized to the hilt. Especially since that young man with liver disease died during gene therapy.”

“I’ve followed that story in the paper. Sad. Where did Morgan go after he left?” Edgar asked.

“I’m not sure. I heard he got a job with a private lab somewhere out west. I never received any inquiries about him, so I’m not sure if that’s the case. Why are you looking for him?”

“I was just thinking about him the other day. Wanted to find out what he was up to.” He felt guilty not telling his friend what he suspected, but he could think of no way to explain it. Of course, he wasn’t sure what the truth was himself.

After thanking Paul for his time, he hung up and sat quietly digesting their talk. As the pieces began to fit together, his apprehension grew.

Sam was sitting in the porch swing, talking with Alyss and Shelby, enjoying the soft, flower-scented breeze, when Edgar Locke called. He asked if she would mind coming to see him.

Ten minutes later, Martha ushered her into the den, where Edgar sat in his reading chair. Martha brought them each a cup of hot tea and then left them alone.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, reading the concern that etched the active side of his face.

“Where to start?” he said more to himself than to her. He told her of his conversation with Dr. Paul Krieger.

When he paused, Sam smiled. “I understood part of that. Not all, I’m afraid.”

He smiled and nodded, paternally. “I didn’t expect you would.”

“What bothers you about this?”

“The bones we found. One explanation for them could be that some type of genetic alteration caused the changes we saw.” He shook his head, a tired look sliding over him. “After talking with Paul Krieger, I’m fearful that Morgan may have returned here and reopened Burt’s lab. May have proceeded with the research that Johns Hopkins wouldn’t allow. The skeletons could easily be from

just such work.”

“Wouldn’t he have ed you?”

“Not if what I suspect is the case. Without governmental approval, this type of research would be highly illegal. He would want to hide it, which means I’m the last person he would tell.”

“But Burt and Hollis would have to know.”

“Yes, they would,” Edgar said. “They paid me a visit this morning. First time in a year and a half.”

“Oh?” Sam said.

Edgar sipped his tea. “They wanted to know about the rabbit bones. What I thought about them. I told them I had no idea. But two things bothered me. One, is they asked me if I had heard from Morgan. I thought that was strange.”

“And the second thing?”

“Burt said he had the original journals, which of course we know is a lie, and he asked if I had any copies. He knows there weren’t any. He was fishing. Wondering if I knew where they were.”

“Which means he doesn’t have a clue who stole them,” Sam said.

“That’s right,” Edgar said. “Burt’s smart. Keeps his cards close to his vest. Always in control.” He leaned forward slightly. “Yet today, I saw a bit of concern in his eyes. Maybe even a twinge of fear.”

Sam cocked her head. “Good. Scared people make mistakes.”

Edgar smiled. “He’s afraid I know what he’s up to.”

“Do you?”

“No … but … ” His brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I’m not going to like this am I?” Sam said.

Edgar sighed heavily. Fatigue seemed to press down on his shoulders. “We found only skeletons. No living rabbits or mice. And the lab has obviously been shut down for a few months. Why? What happened? Why did they have to close it? Did they destroy all the animals or did some escape or were they turned loose?”

“And if they were?” Sam asked, guessing the answer, but wanting to hear it from

him.

Edgar placed his cup on the table beside his chair. It made a soft ping against the saucer. “If Morgan did come back and he did alter these creatures, using a retrovirus, as he did at Hopkins, the changes would be permanent. ed on generation after generation. It’s complicated, but that’s the concern.”

“A new species?”

“Basically.”

“It’s not nice to fool with Mother Nature,” Sam said.

“Something like that.”

“Any idea how long those bones had been buried?”

“That would require a forensics expert. Off-hand, I’d guess at least a couple of months. It would take that long for them to become skeletonized.”

Sam ed her forensics classes at LAPD. It usually took several weeks if not months for human remains to be cleaned to the bones by decay and predators and insects. Rabbits and mice should take less time. “But they could have been there for many months, even years?”

Edgar nodded.

“If this is true, where’s Morgan?”

“I guess that’s the million dollar question.”

Sam noticed one sock had slumped around her ankle. She tugged it back up. “This is going to sound strange, but what does Morgan look like?”

“He’s a fine looking boy. Tall, maybe six-three, and thin. Handsome.”

“Athletic?”

“No,” Edgar smiled. “Morgan was the classic nerd. Bookish. I don’t think he played sports.”

“Hiking? Did he like the mountains?”

“Oh my, no. We often teased him about being an indoor person with so much natural beauty around him. He liked to read or go to movies. Why are you asking these questions?”

“It’s probably nothing, but I spoke with Billy today. He believes someone is hiding out in the mountains. The someone that killed Lloyd and the other men. Maybe the same person that’s been scaring hell out of everybody and saved my bacon last night.”

“I see. And you’re wondering that if Morgan is indeed here and no one has seen him, is he this mystery man?”

Sam nodded.

“I can’t imagine Morgan living in the mountains and he’s definitely not a murderer.”

“Billy, me, Shelby, the Kendalls all saw a big, muscular, hairy man or something like a man. And he wears the same size 14 boots as Billy.”

“That’s definitely not Morgan,” Edgar said.

CHAPTER 43

It was after 5 p.m. when Sam left Edgar Locke to his reading and drove into town. A bank of pewter clouds with swollen black bellies slid over the peaks and dumped a brief, but forceful, shower into the valley, complete with thunder and flickering lightning. By the time Sam pulled to the curb in front of the Gold Creek Police Department, the worst of the storm had moved eastward and the deluge had dwindled to a steady drizzle.

She ran up the walk to the front door and stepped inside. Wet boot prints, clearly visible on the linoleum floor, veered to the left toward Wade’s office. Sam followed them and found Wade hanging up his rain soaked jacket.

“Hello,” she said.

He turned toward her. “Good afternoon.” He took off his hat, slapped it against his leg, spraying water over everything, and hung it on the corner hat rack. “Got caught in the rain.” He flopped into his chair behind the desk. The usual droop of his jowls seemed more pronounced. “Just got back from Burt Eagan’s. Someone broke into his lab. Twice.”

“Twice?”

“Stole some journals. When Burt found out, he locked up everything again and then somebody sledge hammered the door again.”

“Any idea who?”

Wade shook his head. “What brings you by?”

“Thought I’d see what’s new.”

Wade motioned for her to sit down. “Got a report on the comparison of the prints. Same boot. Same brand and size as we saw at Varney’s the other night. Except those looked new. Right out of the box. Billy’s showed signs of use. Scars and nicks. Course, he’s been stomping around up in the mountains in them for the past week.”

“So they don’t match?”

“Not completely.”

Just enough to help convict Billy.

Wade tilted his chair back and propped one foot on the corner of the desk. “The hair fibers are different story, though. The ones you found in Lloyd’s hand and Billy’s are a perfect match.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s the prelim. Got it off the FAX a couple of hours ago.”

Sam scanned the report. No mistake. The language was clear and unequivocal, the match perfect. She stared at Wade in disbelief.

He shrugged. “I told you he was guilty.”

Sam’s thoughts tumbled over one another. She was certain that they wouldn’t match. No way Billy was guilty. The killer, the real killer, was whoever broke her out of the lab last night and that definitely wasn’t Billy. He was chained to a bed. But she couldn’t very well tell Wade about her rescue.

And that brought up another troubling issue. Why had the killer helped her escape? Why not kill her, too? After all, she was trying to prove that Billy was innocent and that he, or it, or whatever, was the guilty one.

And now, the hair analysis didn’t match what she believed to be the truth.

Sam stood. “What about the DNA?”

“Nothing on that yet. They said maybe in a few days. More likely a week or so.”

She headed toward the door, and then stopped. “Do you know a Morgan Russell?”

Wade couldn’t hide the wave of surprise that spread over his face. “Of course. He’s a local boy. Been gone a couple of years. Why do you ask?”

“I heard he used to work with Dr. Locke, doing research for Burt. I thought he might know something about those bones the kids found.”

“Haven’t seen him. Don’t expect to either.”

“Oh?”

“Once the young ones get out of here, for school or whatever, they seldom come back.”

“I see.”

Wade walked with her to the front door. The sun now peeked between gray clouds, which released only a light sprinkle. Sam ran to her Jeep. She saw Wade standing in the doorway, watching as she pulled away.

Wade returned to his desk, propped his elbows on the edge, and massaged his temples. Why had Sam asked about Morgan? What does she know about him? No way she or anyone could know the truth. That just wasn’t possible.

He picked up the phone and dialed. Burt answered on the third ring.

“This is Wade. We need to talk.”

Sam and Alyss sat at the kitchen table, sipping wine, while Sam told of her visit with Edgar Locke and her visit to Wade, including the results of the hair analysis.

“Does that mean Billy’s guilty?” Alyss asked.

“It doesn’t look good. But … ”

She hesitated as she heard a vehicle come up the drive and stop in front of the inn. A car door slammed and then someone stepped onto the porch. Alyss walked to the door.

“Hello,” Alyss said. “Please, come in.”

Burt came through the door. He wore tailored jeans and a faded denim shirt, which enhanced the blue of his eyes. He flashed his perfect smile. “How are you ladies doing today?

“Fine,” Alyss said

Burt looked around. “I love what you’ve done with the place. Cozy and warm.”

“Thanks,” Alyss said. “I’m just glad to have all that behind me.”

“It is a lot of work,” Burt said. “But worth it.”

“So, what brings you by?” Sam asked.

“I’m taking the gang to Mama Rose’s again tonight. You’re welcome to us.”

Alyss looked at Sam and then said, “I think we’re going to relax here tonight. But thanks.”

“Is everything okay?” Burt asked.

Alyss nodded toward Sam. “With all the excitement around here, we’ve hardly had time to visit so we’re doing leftovers and wine.”

“I understand. It’s been a crazy week.” Burt looked at Sam. “I hear you had a chat with Wade earlier. Guess the hair matching pretty well seals the deal for Billy.”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t still believe he’s innocent?”

“It’s not my job to decide that. Not Wade’s or yours either.”

Burt’s face hardened. “Fairly strong evidence though. It would be hard for a jury to ignore.”

Sam cocked her head to one side. “Why do you care? What difference does it make to you?”

“This is my town. Where I live. Where my son lives every summer. I’m concerned whenever something like this happens. Especially when it happens to someone like Lloyd. And Walt and Ted worked for me.”

Right. Like you give a shit about anyone but yourself.

“I see,” Sam said.

His eyes narrowed. She could see the muscles of his jaws tense. “Wade said you were asking about Morgan Russell? Mind if I ask why?”

Sam matched his steely glare. “What is it? Does Wade report everything to you?”

“No,” Burt said. “He just thought it was a little unusual that you asked about Morgan.”

“So he sent you here to quiz me?”

The sinews in Burt’s neck tightened. “What’s wrong? Why are you mad at me?”

“Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m a bitch. Maybe I’m sick of being told what to believe about Billy. Maybe I’m just curious about this Morgan guy.”

“Why?”

“I thought he might know something about those rabbit bones.”

“Why would you think that?” Burt said.

“He did work with you guys, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Nearly two years ago.”

“I know you weren’t doing any animal studies, but I thought maybe this Morgan might have done some stuff on his own,” Sam said. “Things you and Edgar weren’t aware of. And then these bones pop up. And since no one knows what they are, I put two and two together and thought there might be some connection.”

“There isn’t,” Burt said.

“How can you be sure?”

“Edgar and I would have known if Morgan had tried something like that,” Burt said.

“I hear he’s pretty smart.”

“Yes. He was.”

“Was?”

His eyes flicked toward the door, the floor, and then back at her. “He’s gone. Back east somewhere. Johns Hopkins I think.”

“I heard that, too.”

“Well that’s all I know about him. That’s all anyone knows.” Burt stared at her for a minute and then glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going.”

Alyss followed Burt out to the porch, said her goodbyes, and then returned to the kitchen, pulling the door closed in her wake. She looked at Sam. “What the hell was that about? He comes here to invite us out and you jump all over him.”

“He didn’t come here to invite us to dinner. He came here to intimidate me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Morgan Russell.”

“Who’s that?”

“Researcher. Worked with Edgar in Burt’s lab. He may be the key to all this.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. But the mere mention of Morgan’s name was important enough that Wade called Burt as soon as I left his office. And important enough that Burt drove over here and threatened me. As he did Edgar.”

“It didn’t sound like a threat to me.”

“It’s not so much what he said, it’s that he felt the need to say anything at all.”

Sam drained her glass. “Edgar fears that Morgan or somebody may have reopened the lab and done some renegade experiments. Animal experiments.”

Alyss sat down. “The bones?”

Sam nodded.

“And that means Burt’s involved and lied about the lab being closed,” Alyss said.

“Exactly.

CHAPTER 44

Billy slept off and on most of the afternoon. He awoke to a dinner of baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. All lukewarm and mostly tasteless.

After a young girl from the dietary department removed Billy’s dinner tray, Darla Esslinger rolled the dressing cart into the room and parked it next to his bed.

“How you feeling?” she asked.

“Not bad.” He lightly touched his shoulder. “Hurt’s less than before.”

“Good.” She rummaged through the drawers of the cart. After removing what she needed, she peeled the bandage from his shoulder. She pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves and cleaned the wound with Betadine Solution, flashing a sympathetic smile as he winced. “Sorry,” she said.

“That’s okay.”

She smeared it with antibiotic ointment. “It looks good. Healing nicely.”

“Darla,” Billy said. “Thanks for letting Sam come in earlier.”

“She seemed okay. On your side anyway.”

“Yes, she is.” He sighed heavily. “And right now, I can use all the friends I can get.”

Darla stacked several sterile gauze pads and placed them over his wound. “What can I do to help?”

“You serious?” Billy asked.

She tore off a strip of tape and secured the gauze dressing. “Anything. Just ask.”

“I need out of here.”

“You need to get well first.” She smoothed another strip of tape into place.

“The real killer’s up there.” He yanked his head toward the window and the mountains beyond. “I’m the only one that knows these hills well enough to find him, but I need out of here to do it.”

“You’re in no condition to go tear-assing around looking for a boogeyman.”

Billy grabbed her arm. “Burt and Wade are going to railroad me into a penitentiary. Or worse. I don’t have a choice and I don’t have much time.”

“What about Sam? She’s a cop. I thought she was going to help?”

Billy released his grip on her arm. “This is something I’ve got to do. Ain’t nobody else that can. And if it means I’ve got to go it alone, then that’s what it’ll be.”

She shook her and sighed. “You ain’t alone, Billy. What can I do?”

He rattled the cuff chain against the bed rail. “You don’t happen to have a hacksaw do you?”

“Better than that. Sit tight.” She left the room, but returned in less than a minute with her purse. She snapped it open and pulled out a key ring, which jangled with two dozen keys. Shuffling through them, she slid one off the ring and held it up. “Cuff key.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked.

“ that cop I used to date? The one from up in Montrose?”

“Wilbur something?”

“That’s him. He liked to play guard and prisoner.” She flashed a devilish grin. “He gave me my own key.”

“That’s more than I need to know,” Billy laughed.

“I’m pulling a double tonight, so I’ll be here until seven in the morning.” She handed him the key. “Wait until after ten or so. Things’ll be quiet then. Leave the key on the table after you’re gone. I’ll pick it up later.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Billy said.

“I know.” She began loading supplies from the dressing cart into a plastic bag. Gauze, tape, antibiotic ointment, a small bottle of Betadine. “You’ll need these. And I’ll swipe a couple of Vicodin from the drug cabinet for you. I’ll chart them as if I had given them to you during the night.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Your clothes are in the closet there.” She nodded toward the metal locker in the corner. “I’ll put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on your door.”

“Bring me a paper clip,” Billy said. “I’ll leave it by the cuffs so Wade’ll think I picked the lock.”

She laughed. “You always were clever, Billy Bear.”

It was nearly 11 p.m. when Billy jumped to the ground from the window of his room. Pain shot through his chest when he landed. He took a sharp breath and leaned against the wall, fighting the wave of dizziness that swept over him. Cold sweat popped out on his face. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he had thought.

After the pain subsided somewhat, he moved along the side of the hospital, checked for cars and pedestrians, and then crossed Church Street. Staying in the shadows, he made his way to Main Street, slipped across, and into the alleyway between Varney’s and the bank. Using his key, he opened Varney’s side door and stepped inside.

He leaned against the closed door and waited for another wave of dizziness and nausea to . His breathing settled to a steady rhythm.

He pulled a backpack from a shelf and began filling it. Flashlight, batteries, rain poncho, knife, wool blanket, socks, an extra shirt, matches, and an assortment of canned and packaged foods. He strapped a sleeping bag to the bottom of the pack and slung it over his good shoulder.

He scribbled a note to Louise. After listing the items he had taken, he wrote:

“Don’t worry, there wasn’t another robbery. It’s only me. I’m okay and I’ll find the person that killed Lloyd. I promise. Love you—Billy”

He placed it in the desk drawer beneath a ledger book where only Louise would find it and then left, locking the door behind him.

CHAPTER 45

Some days are destined to be trouble. Even with no specific clues, a gut-level sense of dread comes with the dawn. The sun paints the morning with its same golden glow as it rises into an identical blue sky as yesterday. The dew forms liquid diamonds on the faces of the flowers, as always. The nocturnal animals hole up for the day and the awakening birds sing their usual songs. Yet, something inside warns that care should be taken.

It was this feeling that greeted Sam when she awoke.

She lay in bed, listening to the birds outside her window. Her mind raced over the events of the past few days. How did she get into the middle of this? Stumbling on to a murder. Breaking into Burt’s lab. Sure the door was unlocked, rather the lock was broken, but B and E was B and E. Becoming confidant to both Billy and Edgar. Raising the ire of Burton Eagan, a man she was sure would do whatever was necessary, including framing an innocent man. Maybe worse.

And what about the creature running around in the mountains? Was it real or merely the figment of a bunch of overactive imaginations? No doubt the thing that killed Lloyd Varney and trampled over her possessed inhuman size and speed, and an odor that was purely animalistic.

And now, this Morgan person. Was he the one that reopened Burt’s lab and performed some rogue animal experiments as Edgar feared?

And how the hell did all this tie together?

She wished Nathan were here instead of somewhere in the Pacific Northwest wilds, chasing Big Foot or whatever the hell he was doing. Of course if he were here, he’d say the killer was Big Foot or something equally outrageous.

Frustrated, she rolled out of bed and climbed into the shower, letting the warm water ease the tension that had crept into her shoulders. After she dressed, she and Alyss went to Mama Rose’s for breakfast. Shelby opted to sleep in since she had stayed up half the night, watching TV in her room.

After a quick muffin and coffee, Sam and Alyss stepped out of Mama Rose’s just as Wade’s truck rolled by. He braked and backed to the curb where they stood.

“Guess you heard Billy escaped last night?” Wade said.

“What?” Sam wasn’t sure why she was surprised. Billy had as much as said he was going to bolt. She had hoped he would reconsider. At least for a day or two until his wound healed somewhat. Men, pigheaded to a fault.

“Picked the lock on his cuffs and jumped out the window.”

“When?” Sam asked.

“Must have been after 3 a.m., according to his nurse. She checked on him every hour up until then. After that she let him sleep until the 7 a.m. change of shift.”

“Now what?” Sam asked.

“I guess we’ll have to hunt him down again.”

“We?”

“Me, Eloy, Burt, Hollis. And Murph’s bringing a couple of dogs down.”

“What do Burt and Hollis have to do with this? They aren’t cops.”

“Actually, they are. We have a group we call the Chief’s Posse. A couple dozen of the men around here belong to it.”

“Posse?” Sam said. “Is that what you call it?”

Wade’s eyes narrowed. “With only Eloy and me, sometimes we have to bring in others to help out. Like when we have to track down a dangerous criminal on the run.”

“Come on, Wade,” Sam said. “Billy’s not dangerous and you know it.”

“Don’t look that way to me.”

“You? Or Burt?”

His jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alyss touched Sam’s arm as if to say relax, back off. Sam pulled her arm away and leaned on the door of Wade’s truck, bringing her face close to his.

“It means I know about you and Burt. And I know about Burt’s agenda here. Trying to steal Billy’s land.”

“You’ve been listening to Billy too much.”

“Maybe the State Patrol will see it my way. Maybe they’ll be interested in assuring that Billy gets a fair trial, not a lynching.”

Wade’s eyes turned cold. “Now, don’t go sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”

“What is it with everyone around here?” Sam said. “People threatening each other all the time.”

“I wasn’t threatening you. I was trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“What trouble might that be?”

Wade shook his head. “Some people just have to piss on a electric fence to see if it’s hot.” He shifted the truck into gear. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have a murderer to hunt down.”

With a roar from the engine, the truck lurched away from the curb and down the street.

“What the hell are you doing?” Alyss said. “Wade’s not the kind of person you can push around.”

“Neither am I,” Sam said.

Alyss grabbed her arm. “Sam, slow down. Think about what you’re saying.”

“I know what I’m doing. Burt and Wade and their little confederacy of morons don’t want to capture Billy. They’re going to hunt him down and kill him. Just like they would have done the other day if I hadn’t been there.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s all they can do. If Billy finds the real killer, Burt loses his chance to cash in and Wade will be in deep shit for his part in the frame.”

“What if Billy is the real killer? No one has seen this mystery creature that supposedly lives in the mountains.”

“I have. He ran right over me. The Kendalls. Shelby. They saw him, too.”

Alyss took in a quick breath at the mention of Shelby’s name. “They saw a bear.”

“No. It wasn’t a bear. It was a big, smelly man-like creature.”

Alyss paled and brought her hand to her chest. “You mean Shelby came face to face with a…?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Oh, God,” Alyss said. “I never … ”

“Let’s go,” Sam said.

“Where?”

“Home. I need to get my Jeep and go after them.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Alyss, I’m not going to let them gun down an innocent man. You know I won’t.”

“But … ” Alyss began.

“But nothing. , you wanted me to solve this thing. I may not be able to do that, but I’m damn sure not going to sit by and watch a mob kill Billy.”

After reaching Alyss’, Sam called information for the number she needed, and then dialed the Colorado Bureau of Investigation Regional Office in Montrose. She spoke with a junior State Patrol officer named Mac McBride who said he was stuck riding a desk for the weekend and no one else was available. She explained the situation, but he said they were short-handed and couldn’t send any officers until the next day.

“Where’s your Captain?” Sam said.

“He’s up in Redstone. It’s his daughter’s birthday.”

“Can he be reached?”

“Nope. Captain Baker don’t like to be bothered unless it’s an emergency.”

“I think this qualifies,” Sam said. “Just your Captain and have him call me as soon as possible.” She gave him the phone number.

She could almost feel his condescending smile over the phone line. After telling her that the CBI didn’t like to stick its nose in local problems unless officially requested, he suggested that she “calm down” and “not get so worked up” and he would have Captain Baker call Chief Wade first thing tomorrow morning.

Furious, Sam slammed the phone into its cradle but missed and it tumbled to the floor. She snatched it up and settled it in place.

After changing clothes and snapping her gun into place on the back of her belt, she drove straight to Burt’s, hoping to stop the hunt before it even started. Carmelita opened the door and let Sam in. “Mr. Eagan’s not here,” she said.

“How long ago did he leave?” Sam asked.

“Half an hour,” Niki said, walking into the entry foyer. She wore a black silk robe, mid-thigh length.

Sam frowned. “Who went with him?”

“Hollis and Chief Wade. And that ugly cop. Eloy.”

“And Murph?”

“The dog guy?” Niki asked.

Sam nodded.

“Yeah. He had different ones this time. Not the old looking cute ones. These looked mean.”

Apprehension wound its fingers around Sam’s gut. “What type of dogs?”

“I don’t know. I hate dogs.”

“Did they take trucks or horses?”

“Horses, I think,” Niki said.

Sam turned toward the door, but Niki grabbed her arm. “I need to talk to you.” She cast a nervous glance at Carmelita, who excused herself and headed toward the kitchen.

“I’m in a hurry,” Sam said.

Niki’s blue eyes moistened. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“I’m afraid. For Hollis.”

“It may be a little late for that,” Sam said.

“No,” Niki said. “It’s not. Hollis isn’t like Burt.”

“Seems that way to me.”

Tears welled in Niki’s eyes, intensifying their blueness, and streaked across her perfect cheekbones. She glanced at the door Carmelita had left through, and then back at Sam. “I over heard them talking this morning. I didn’t understand all of it, but … … I told you Burt was ruthless?”

“Yes.”

“What I didn’t tell you was that he had tried to kill someone.”

“Who? When?”

“I don’t know who, but it was a couple of months ago.” Niki sniffed back tears. “Hollis told me. He said Burt and two other guys hunted some man down and killed him. Up in the mountains somewhere.”

“What do you mean hunted down?”

“Hollis said they turned him lose in the forest and hunted him.”

“What?”

“I got the feeling that maybe the person is still alive. At least Hollis believes he is. And that he’s up in the mountains. Burt plans to track down Billy and this other guy. If they can find them. Hollis tried to talk him out of it, but Burt convinced him that they had to or they would both be in some kind of trouble.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I tried to talk Hollis out of going with them, but he got angry with me. Told me this was none of my business.” Her lower lip trembled. “He never shouts at me.”

“Damn it,” Sam said. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I’ve got to get up there and stop them before they make things worse.”

“Don’t let anything happen to Hollis. He’s not like Burt.”

“I’ll do what I can, but my first priority is protecting Billy.” Sam pulled open the door and then turned back to Niki. “If the State Patrol happen to show up here, tell them everything. Understand?”

“But … ”

“But nothing. The only thing that will help Hollis is a big dose of the truth.”

Since Burt and his hunting party couldn’t have known where Billy had gone, Sam guessed they would return to where they had captured him before, near the Old Watkin’s Mine, and search from there. That’s what she would do anyway. People in trouble tend to return to familiar territory.

She drove across the rolling terrain of Casa Grande to the area where they had entered the trees before and parked. She slipped on her jacket and headed up the slope.

The blue sky rapidly disappeared as another mass of black clouds slid over the peaks, led by a chilling breeze. Several hundred feet above the valley floor, the forest thickened, adding to the murkiness. Breathing heavily, legs aching, she pushed forward, over large rocks, through thick brush, and up gravel-strewn slopes. Despite the cold, sweat frosted her face and trickled down her neck.

She stopped suddenly. Something felt wrong. An uneasy sensation danced over her flesh, pebbling it, pulling the fine hairs on her arms to attention. She cocked her head and listened, but the forest seemed deathly silent. She looked behind her, right, left, ahead up the slope.

Then, she saw him. Almost.

In the gloom, a thick form slid through the shadows, absorbing, then releasing them in its wake.

“Billy?” she said. “Billy? Is that you?”

The hulk stopped, above her, hidden behind the trunk and thick branches of a tall spruce.

“Billy.”

The shadow moved higher, and then stopped again.

The breeze swelled and pushed an odor toward her, feral, fierce, animalistic. Recognition was immediate. This was the person that ran over her, that killed Lloyd Varney, that smashed open the lab door.

Her senses ramped up and she pulled her gun, her heart thumping against her chest. She moved to her left.

At first, she saw only an amorphous blotch. Then, the outline of a head, shoulders. Continuing to her left and slightly up the slope, she stepped over a fallen tree trunk. Now, only 100 feet separated them.

Unable to capture a clear view of the creature, she averted her gaze slightly, a trick she had learned from her father during the hours they had shared stargazing. He had called it “indirect vision.” That area just off center where vision is sharpest.

The creature peered around the tree trunk. She could make out a face, covered with hair, but few details. And now, she could hear its coarse raspy breathing.

It moved away, up the slope, but stopped and turned toward her. Two more steps, another pause, and then it continued up the slope.

It wanted her to follow. She didn’t know who or what this thing was or where it wanted to lead her, but she sensed it meant her no harm. If that were its agenda, it would already have attacked her.

She moved toward it as it continued higher, picking up pace.

She rushed ahead. Even though she could no longer see it, she could hear it pushing through the trees.

She found herself running to keep up. The sound of the creature’s movements grew fainter as the gap between them stretched wider until she could no longer hear it.

She stopped and listened. Nothing. Only the whisper of the wind broke the silence. Her breath came in deep gasps and sweat slicked her face.

She scanned the trees, searching for movement, but saw none. As if it had vanished. Just like in the alley the night Lloyd was murdered. What the hell was it?. It seemed human, yet not. And why had it led her here?

Unzipping her jacket, she welcomed the cool breeze against her sweat-dampened shirt. The first sprinkles of the coming storm peppered the trees above her.

After a few minutes, cooled and replenished with oxygen, she zipped her jacket and continued to the east, hugging the tree line, keeping a wary eye on the thick forest for movement. The rain fell harder.

Above her, the Old Watkin’s Mine came into view, but Wade and his erstwhile posse were nowhere to be seen. Had they already captured Billy? Or killed him?

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the trees. From the east, not far away. She hurried toward the sound, slowing when she heard voices. Careful not to betray her presence, she crept through a veil of spruce branches until she saw them.

The five men stood at the base of a slope, looking up. Murph clutched the leashes of two muscular Pit Bulls. Eloy raised his rifle and fired. The bullet twanged off the rocks.

Sam moved closer and squatted behind several large rocks that were piled beneath the drooping branches of a towering spruce tree. Now, she could see them more clearly, but they would not be able to see her in the shadows.

Two more rifle shots from Eloy and Burt.

Looking higher, she saw Billy crouched behind a boulder..

Another shot, a ping, and a puff from the top of the rock. Billy flinched and settled lower, out of sight.

She peered between the branches at the situation before her. Five men, two dogs, and an overabundance of insanity. Not pretty.

Making a decision, she pulled her .357 and took a deep calming breath. Sinking more deeply into the shadows, she fired a shot upward, through a gap in the foliage.

Startled, they turned toward her. Burt and Wade dropped to a knee and waved their rifles before them, obviously searching for whoever had fired the shot. Eloy stumbled to his left and hid behind Wade. Hollis froze. Murph struggled to restrain the two Pit Bulls, which growled and snarled in her direction. Their legs and shoulders rippled with muscles and their square jaws hung open, revealing long conical fangs.

“Who’s there?” Burt shouted.

“Me,” Sam turned her head and shouted, directing her voice up and away so they couldn’t pinpoint her location among the trees.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Burt asked.

“Trying to keep you from making a mistake,” she said.

“No. You’re interfering with a police operation,” Wade said.

“Is that what this is?” Sam said. “Looks like a lynch party to me. And those don’t look like tracking dogs.”

“Oh, they can hunt all right,” Murph said.

“You keep a good hold on them, Murph, or I’ll shoot both of them.”

Once the shocked look on Murph’s face subsided, he mumbled something to the dogs. They immediately stopped pulling against the leashes and sat, flanking him, head and ears erect. Their eyes seemed to bore right through the tree branches and lock on her.

“I’d say you’re a little out numbered,” Burt said.

“Maybe. But I’ve got a line on the center of your chest and I’m pretty good with this .357.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Want to bet your life on it?” Sam said.

“Come on out, so we can talk,” Burt said.

“I don’t think so. First, you toss the hardware and then we’ll talk.”

Wade stepped forward. “Not much to talk about. We’re trying to catch a murderer. Either help or get out of the way.”

“Either put the guns down or I’ll let Billy run and shoot the first person that tries to stop him.”

Burt whispered something to Wade and then said, “Okay. We’ll put them down and then you come out. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

Wade started to protest, but Burt grabbed his arm. The men laid their rifles on the ground.

“Everybody relax,” Sam said. “Except you, Wade. You collect the guns and empty them.”

He did as she instructed and then said. “Now what?”

“Wrap them in your jacket and then come down the slope toward the trees. And nothing funny. Understand?”

Wade looked at Burt, who nodded. Wade bundled the rifles and walked toward her.

When he reached the trees, she said, “Drop them right there.”

He laid them on the ground.

“Now, get back up the hill.”

She waited for him to re the others and then said to Murph: “Tie those dogs to that tree to your left. And tie them tightly.”

Murph secured the leashes to the trunk of a large spruce. The dogs remained at attention, head and ears erect.

“Billy, you okay?” she shouted.

“Yeah.”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

Wade stepped toward her. “You can’t just walk out of here with a murderer. Billy’s under arrest and he’s got to go back and answer for his crimes.”

“He will. Just not with you. The State Patrol is on the way. Billy’ll surrender to them.” She looked up the slope. “Billy, let’s go.”

“No. I’m close to finding that thing I lost.”

“I think you better come with me,” Sam said.

“You go round up the state boys,” Billy said. “I’ll take care things on this end. And after I do, I’ll come in.”

“Then, get out of here,” Sam said. “I’ll make sure you get a head start.”

As they say, I’ll be in touch.” Billy came from behind the rock, crossed an open area, and disappeared into the forest

“Now, let’s all calm down,” Sam said. “Have a seat and let’s give Billy a little running room.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Wade said.

“It won’t be my first. Now, sit down and shut the fuck up.”

After 15 minutes, she pushed her way through the spruce branches and out into the open. She gathered the bundled rifles beneath one arm. “I’ll leave these at the bottom of the hill.”

Burt glared at her. “It’s a long way home from here.”

“It’s not that far.”

“We’ll see.”

“Where are your horses?” she asked.

Burt smiled. “You know, right this minute I can’t where we left them. Can you?” he said to Wade.

“I don’t recall,” he said.

Sam shook her head. “You guys are just too much. All this for two thousand acres of dirt.”

“You’ve been listening to Billy’s lies,” Burt said.

“I know an honest man when I meet one. I was raised by one. Billy’s honest if nothing else. That’s more than I can say for you.” She turned, slipped back into the trees, and started down the slope.

“You won’t make it,” Burt said.

Sam shook her head. “What are you going to do? Shoot me?” she said over her shoulder.

As she entered the trees, she heard Burt’s words behind her.

“Turn the dogs loose.”

CHAPTER 46

Turn the dogs loose!

The words struck Sam harder than a perfect left hook. She looked over her shoulder, but she was too deep into the trees to see the men. Or the dogs. But she heard the two Pit Bulls snarling, fighting against their restraints. They seemed to sense the coming chase.

She dropped the rifles and ran. Faster than she ever had. Down, stumbling in a near free fall, her feet churning to keep her from sprawling on her face. The tree branches clutched at her clothing, stung her face, and tore at her hands as she attempted to push them from her path.

Even over her own strident breathing, her pounding footsteps, and the slapping of the branches, she heard them coming. Their claws clicked over the rocks and their guttural growls reverberated through the trees.

She leaped over a three-foot high rock. Landing awkwardly, she lost her balance, her momentum throwing her forward. She broke her fall with her outstretched hands and cartwheeled into a tree trunk. A sharp pain knifed through her back.

Fear and a rush of adrenaline pushed her upright. She surged forward once again, but had lost valuable ground to her pursuers. Before she had run another 30 yards, the first of the dogs hurtled over the rock, negotiating it with ease.

She would never be able to outrun them. She reached beneath her jacket and snatched her gun from its holster. Another 20 yards and she whirled around leveling the weapon, squeezing off two rounds. Tree bark exploded near the first dog. It immediately veered to her right, its mate to the left.

She directed the gun at one and then the other, searching for a clear shot. But the animals darted behind trees, rocks, working to flank her.

These dogs were trained for this.

Fear expanded in her chest. She shoved her gun into her jacket pocket and lurched forward, straight down the slope, hoping gravity would be the ally she desperately needed. The dogs crashed through the brush behind her, closer, now trailing by only thirty feet.

She swerved to her right. Ahead, a 20-foot high escarpment towered above her, a pile of rocks welded together by dirt and years of erosion. Hugging its face, a gnarled spruce tree extended high above its table like top.

Without breaking stride, Sam hurled herself upward, welcoming the embrace of the tree’s branches. She grabbed one branch, and then another, her feet searching for a hold.

The first dog, showing no hesitation, flew after her. Its jaws clamped onto the heel of her boot, pulling her downward. The branch in her right hand snapped. She slipped, falling toward the snarling animals. She clutched another branch and with strength she didn’t know she possessed, yanked herself upward. She slammed her other foot into the dog’s muzzle.

It ignored her attack. Even though it hung by the fangs buried in her boot heel, its grip tightened and it began shaking its head violently, attempting to rip her from the tree. The other dog circled to her left and sprang upward, jaws snapping.

Again, she slammed the heel of her boot against its snout. The dog’s teeth lost their grip on her boot and the beast tumbled to the ground. It immediately jumped up and renewed the attack. Now both dogs leaped and snarled, fangs bared.

Sam climbed higher. Some branches cracked; others held. Two steps upward; one slide back. When she neared the top of the rock formation, she worked herself around to the other side of the tree’s trunk.

She wedged her boot against the base of the thickest branch she could see and, without hesitation, leaped across the gap between the tree and the rock, landing hard, flat on the top of the rocky escarpment. Her gun dug into her belly and her teeth cracked together.

She scrambled to her feet, pulled her .357, and looked around. She was on a ledge, 20 feet wide and extending 50 feet back to the slope. That meant three sides offered her protection, while the other allowed an escape route. She looked down at the dogs.

They weren’t there.

Where did they go? She heard them rustling through the brush to her left. At first, she couldn’t see them, then they came into view. They scurried up the slope, coming around behind her, effectively cutting off her escape route.

She quickly evaluated her options. None looked inviting. She could either jump, climb back down the tree, or stand and fight. Only the latter made sense. She had tried to outrun them and that hadn’t worked. She knelt, her Smith and Wesson leveled in the direction from which the attack would come.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it. She wiped sweat from first one palm and then the other and took a deep breath. Don’t panic. Make every shot count. Four rounds left, but she would probably only have time to get off two, maybe three. God, let the first one be perfect. Let one of them fall quickly. One, she might have a chance; two, no way.

They burst out of the brush and abruptly stopped. Their eyes flashed, their lips curled back from their fangs, and drool dripped from the corners of their jowls. They moved forward slowly, heads low, separating to flank her.

She directed the .357 toward the one to her right, willing her shaking hands to steady themselves. As her finger tightened on the trigger, something burst from the trees, howling and snarling. The dogs turned, but gave no ground.

A huge creature, thickly muscled, face covered with a dense dark brown hair, leaped on the first pit bull. A thick, gnarled hand clutched the dog’s throat and lifted it into the air. The other hand twisted its head. A sharp crack truncated the dog’s yelp. The creature tossed the limp animal over the side of the embankment.

The other pit bull hurled itself at the creature, but was met with clubbing blow to the head. It fell in a flaccid heap.

The creature turned to Sam. It was huge and wore filthy, ragged jeans and a shredded green and brown flannel shirt, which fought to contain massive shoulders and a heavily muscled chest, it too matted with dark hair.

Its voice, coarse, raspy, came at her. “Run.”

Sam stood, but couldn’t move. The creature before her was a man, yet not. “But … ” she began.

“”Run,” he repeated with more urgency. “They’re coming.”

She heard the sound of the men, thrashing through the trees.

Sam moved past the beast. Its musty smell burned her nose. “It was you, back there, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And at the lab?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you?”

“No time now. You must run. Finish what you’ve started.” He pointed to her left, down the mountain. “I’ll delay them, but you must get to the State Patrol.”

“How did you know … ?”

“Run,” he growled.

She did.

Burt stood near the base of the escarpment and looked down at Murph, who knelt by the corpse of one of his dogs.

“She killed Thor,” Murph said, with a mixture of sadness and disbelief. He rolled the limp animal over, its head lolling to one side.

“Where’s the other one?” Wade asked.

Murph stood and slipped two fingers in his mouth. He emitted a series of three sharp whistles. Silence. Again, Murph signaled his dog and again no response.

“There,” Burt said, pointing up.

From the ledge, a large bearded man in a ragged flannel shirt looked down at them. Wade fired, but the man ducked. Then, they heard him rustling in the brush, moving away, back up the slope.

“Eloy,” Burt said. “Move to the east. Cut him off.”

Eloy circled the escarpment in the direction Burt indicated, while Burt, Wade, and Murph took up the pursuit, charging straight up the slope. Hollis went to retrieve the horses.

As Burt topped the rocky ledge, he saw the other dog. The left side of its face was crushed and covered with blood. Murph stepped up behind him.

“Good God,” Murph said. “What the hell did she do?”

“It wasn’t her,” Burt said. “It was him.” He nodded up the hill in the direction the man had gone. “Let’s go.”

They raced up the hillside, searching for the fleeing man, but found nothing. Soon, they stepped out into the open air, above the tree line. Hollis came toward them, leading the horses.

Murph took his horse’s reins. “I’m going to go get my dogs. They should have a proper burial.”

“I’ll help you,” Eloy said.

They mounted up and slipped down into the trees.

“What’s going on?” Hollis asked.

Burt told him what had happened. “It was him. No doubt.”

“Who?” Wade asked.

Burt frowned at him. “You know very well who.”

“I thought he was dead?” Wade said.

“Apparently not,” Burt said.

“You saw him?” Hollis asked.

“I saw enough. He’s even bigger. More grotesque.”

“Jesus,” Hollis said, his eyes scanning in every direction. “Where did he go?”

“Don’t know.” Burt lifted his hat and forked his fingers through his hair.

Wade looked back down the slope. “We might be able to catch Sam before she gets to her vehicle.”

“Too late,” Burt said. “She’s down by now.”

“But she’s going to call in the State Patrol,” Wade said. “If she does, we’re dead.”

“Maybe not,” Burt said.

The two men looked at him.

Burt eyed Wade. “You head back down and call Captain Baker. Harold’s a reasonable guy most of the time. Tell him that Sam Cody got a little excited but that you have everything under control. That might satisfy him. Especially since the CBI doesn’t much give a rat shit what goes on out here.”

“That might work,” Wade said. “At least it might slow them down a bit.”

“And, if the rest of us can find him and Billy,” Burt said. “Make them disappear. It’ll be her word against ours. And she’ll have no proof of anything.”

“What about the journals?” Hollis said.

“We’ll worry about them later. Right now we have to find him.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Wade said. “Framing Billy’s one thing. Hunting and killing two men is another thing altogether.”

“Isn’t it a little late to worry about that?” Burt asked.

Wade sighed. “I just don’t like it.”

“But you like the money don’t you?” Burt said. He hated Wade. Always had. He simply tolerated him because he was the Chief of Police and thus a useful commodity.

“Burt, sometimes you can be a real shit,” Wade said.

Burt smiled thinly. “Only when I have to be.”

“Well, I hope those pockets of yours hold a couple of well placed people over in Denver. We might need them.”

“Will the Governor’s mansion do?” Burt said.

Wade shook his head. “You continually amaze me.”

Burt looked toward the north where thick clouds hung beyond the mountains. Though still too far away to hear thunder, flashes of lightning could be seen flickering in the cracks between the towering thunderheads. “We better get going and find these boys before that storm gets here.”

Billy ran. As far and as fast as he could. He ed several mines before climbing up and into one of the many unnamed holes that had been dynamited into the mountain. He settled in the shadows a hundred feet from the entrance.

He realized he had nothing. No jacket, no sleeping bag, no food. No medical supplies. He had dropped everything, when they started shooting.

And he still had not found the man he searched for. The one person who could clear him. Or kill him.

Or kill him? That thought hadn’t crossed his mind. If he were dead, the real killer could simply walk away. No one would look for him. Case closed.

He examined his shoulder, which had begun oozing blood again. Only a little, but enough to soak through his bandage and his shirt. A chill swept through him, followed by a wave of nausea.

What was he going to do? Without food or medical supplies or dry clothing, he couldn’t remain here in the cold and damp for long. A fire was out of the question. He might as well wave a red flag. If Burt or the mysterious killer didn’t finish him off, his wound and the elements would. He wrapped his arms around himself, searching for warmth.

He heard the approach of scraping of footsteps. A thick, hulking shadow moved into the mouth of the mine followed by a stinging odor.

The massive form spoke. “Hello, Billy.”

CHAPTER 47

Billy pulled the wool blanket tightly around his shoulders. His shivering abated somewhat. Morgan Russell, or at least the creature he had become, had led Billy through a maze of interconnecting ageways to his “home,” a cold, damp alcove off the main shaft of the Glenross Mine some 300 hundred feet from its entrance. It appeared as though the miners had begun chasing an ore seam but ran against a wall of impenetrable hard rock and abandoned the effort, leaving this 50-foot square side channel.

The gas lantern Morgan had placed in the center of the floor cast a meager light, giving a tomb-like aura to the cavern. Water moistened the walls and dampened the air. A sleeping bag lay on a tarp in one corner, a two-burner gas stove in the other.

Morgan gave him a bottle of water to drink. He had no real food to offer. Only a chunk of cooked, dry horsemeat, which Billy declined.

While Morgan removed the dirty bandage from Billy’s wound, cleaned dried blood from his shoulder, and layered on fresh gauze, Billy studied him. He was not the Morgan Billy ed. Not even close. His head was broad and square as was his chest. His eyes sank beneath thick brows that rode low on a bulbous forehead. His hair and beard were ropey with dirt and grime. The fingers that worked at his shoulder looked like fat sausages tipped with curled yellow nails. The odor that surrounded him stung Billy’s nose.

“What happened to you?” Billy asked.

“Long story.” He applied another strip of tape to secure the clean gauze in place. “That should do it,” Morgan said. “Glad I kept these bandages around.”

“Where’d you get them?” Billy asked.

“Mark’s Pharmacy. The other stuff’s from Varney’s.”

“You kill Lloyd?” Billy looked into Morgan’s eyes, which reflected the lantern light from their deep recesses.

“It was an accident. He had a gun.”

“Burt’s men?”

“Self defense.” Morgan stood and paced. “And pay back.”

“For what?”

“Another long story.”

“I got the time,” Billy said.

Morgan sat down, facing Billy across the lantern. The light accentuated the lumps, bumps, and concavities of his face. To Billy, he appeared as he imagined a distant cave dwelling ancestor might have looked.

“Burt ed me a couple of months after I left. After Edgar Locke’s stroke. Wanted to reopen the lab. Get into some of the genetic stuff Edgar and I had tossed around. I declined at first, but after I ran into some problems at Hopkins, I signed on. After the animal experiments went so well, I made a very stupid mistake.” He turned his palms up and shrugged.

“You did this to yourself?”

Morgan told him of his self-injection of the genetic material and the dramatic changes that followed and of Burt’s anger and fear that their work would be discovered. “So, Burt, Ted Smyth, and Walt Packer gave me a quarter mile head start and hunted me down.”

“Hunted?”

“Burt makes everything a sport, a competition. Even my life.”

Billy listened to Morgan’s story. The chase, the gunshot, the fall from the waterfall. The first three horrific nights spent curled in the floor of a frozen mine. No dry clothes, no covers, no fire, no food. The survival-driven break-ins of Mark’s Pharmacy and Varneys. The scrounging for food from trash cans.

“What now?” Billy asked.

“I’m dying.”

Billy started to say something but Morgan waved him away.

“It’s true. And there is nothing that can be done about it.” He pushed his hair back with both hands. “But, before I go, Burt’s going to pay. He won’t walk away from this one.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Sam charged into the kitchen where Alyss and Shelby folded laundry on the table. Alyss looked up, a shocked expression on her face.

Alyss started to say something but Sam raised a hand. “Just a minute.”

Sam picked up the wall phone near the sink and called the Montrose CBI office again. Officer McBride, still condescending, still arrogant, still telling her to calm down, said he’d have his chief call her tomorrow. She jammed the phone back in its cradle. When she turned, Alyss stood staring at her.

“What’s going on?” Alyss asked.

Sam began locking the doors and pulling the curtains closed. “Burt Eagan has lost his mind and he just might show up here with Wade and try to arrest me.”

“What?”

“And there is someone else up there.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, but he saved my life. And he’s the one that broke me out of the lab the other night. Billy’s looking for him right now.”

“Whoa,” Alyss said. “Slow down. I want to know … ”

“In a minute. I have another call to make.”

Sam called Information in Denver and got the number for the CBI Crime Lab. After going through an operator and a lab tech, she reached Dr. Susan Chow, the forensic pathologist on call for the weekend.

“Yes. I reviewed the hair fibers Chief Wade sent,” Dr. Chow said. “I faxed him a report. Who did you say you were?”

“Deputy Sam Cody. I’m helping Chief Wade with this investigation.” Alyss stared at her open-mouthed, but Sam wagged a finger at her to silence her.

“How can I help you?” Dr. Chow asked.

“Your report indicated the match was near perfect. Is that indeed the case?”

“Absolutely. No question.”

Sam could feel her own shoulders slump. She had hoped against hope that the report was wrong. But now, she had heard it from the source.

Yet, hair analysis isn’t as accurate as either fingerprinting or DNA testing. These results were merely suggestive, maybe coincidental. In fact, they must be. There was absolutely no way Billy killed Lloyd Varney and no way his hair could end up in Lloyd’s fist.

She started to thank Dr. Chow and hang up, but hesitated. “When will the DNA analysis be completed?”

“What DNA? We didn’t receive a request for DNA matching.”

“Blood? Hair follicles?”

“No blood was submitted and neither hair sample had follicles.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. In fact, it appeared that both hair samples were cut in the same manner.”

Sam felt a chill crackle up her spine. “What do you mean?”

“In both the crime scene and the suspect samples, the ends of the hairs showed they had been sheered by a sharp instrument. Probably scissors or a knife. The

angles and the cleanliness of the cuts were identical.”

Fucking Wade.

Dr. Chow continued. “As I said, no DNA samples were submitted and no testing was requested.”

Sam shook her head, thanked Dr. Chow for her help, and hung up the phone

“Now will you tell me what happened up there?” Alyss said.

Sam, Alyss, and Shelby sat at the table and Sam told them what had happened. Shelby retrieved a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some cotton balls from the bathroom cabinet and Alyss cleaned the scratches and scrapes that covered Sam’s hands and arms as Sam talked.

“And this ape man killed two pit bulls?” Alyss asked.

“Without breaking a sweat,” Sam said.

“He sounds inhuman.”

“He’s no creature or monster or anything like that,” Sam shook her head for

emphasis. “He’s a man. Big and scary, but a man.”

“He’s the one I saw, isn’t he?” Shelby asked.

“Probably.”

“Maybe he’s prehistoric,” Shelby said. “Somebody who’s lived in a cave for a thousand years?”

They laughed.

“I don’t think he was quite that old,” Sam said. She flexed her hands. “He had the same kindness in his eyes that I see in Billy’s.”

“Here we go again,” Alyss said. “You never could let a stray dog go by without feeding it.”

“It’s my mother’s fault.” Sam looked at Alyss. “But that’s not the best part.” She recounted her conversation with Dr. Chow.

“What does that mean?”

“The hair I found in Lloyd’s hand hadn’t been cut. It had been pulled out. Should

have had follicles attached. Wade sent Billy’s hair as both the crime scene and the suspect samples.” Sam ran her fingers through her own dirty, sweat-matted hair. A twig fell out on the table. She picked it up an examined it. “And the blood he took from Billy was just for show. Without hair follicles, there’s no crime scene DNA for comparison.”

“Chief Wade tampered with the evidence?”

“He completed the frame.”

Alyss’ expression turned serious. “You don’t really think they’ll come here, do you?”

“Burt and Wade and that geek Eloy might do anything. They’re pretty desperate right now. I would guess they’re more concerned with finding Billy. And this other guy. Me, they can discredit. I don’t have any hard evidence. But Billy might be able to bring their house of cards down on their heads.”

“Unless their frame is perfect,” Alyss said.

“No frame is perfect.” Sam sighed and looked toward the back window. “I hope Billy’s okay.”

“Billy’s tough,” Alyss said. “That’s what everybody says. And he knows these hills.”

“But he’s wounded. And he’s alone.”

“So, what do we do now?” Alyss asked.

“Wait.” Sam exhaled heavily. “If Captain Baker doesn’t call back tonight, I’ll call him tomorrow morning and see if I can get some outside help in here.”

Alyss stood. “I’ll throw something together for dinner. Hungry?”

“Starved,” Sam and Shelby said in unison.

Sam pulled her .357 from its holster and reloaded it. “I think I’ll take a hot shower.” She laid the gun on the table. “Use this if you have to.”

“No way,” Alyss said. “If the bad guys show up. I’ll drag you out of the shower.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Sam said. She headed toward her room.

CHAPTER 48

While Shelby opted to take a roast beef sandwich to her room and watch TV, Sam and Alyss sat at the kitchen table eating left over pot roast and potatoes. Sam’s .357 lay near her hand. Her spare weapon, the Barretta .25, rested in front of Alyss. Thunder interrupted their conversation more than once.

Sam had turned off every light in the house. Outside, the front porch light and the rear security floods backlit the curtains, while in the kitchen, a snowmanshaped Christmas candle, its head mostly melted, squatted on the table. The combination, punctuated by the occasional lightning flash, gave the room an eerie glow.

“I feel like we’re at a séance,” Alyss said.

“Yeah.” Sam offered a wry smile and waved her hand toward the candle. “Maybe Frosty The Snowman here, can conger up the cavalry.”

“I wish.”

Sam laughed. “Some guest I am, huh? Barricaded in the house, guns on the table.”

Alyss raised her wine glass. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She stood, walked to the sink, and began washing their dishes.

Rain began drumming against the roof.

Sam’s thoughts turned to Billy. Out in the storm or huddled in a mine freezing. Or worse. At least the storm may have driven Burt and his clowns back home. If Billy could only ride out the night, maybe the State Patrol would finally come to the rescue tomorrow.

Sam heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by the shattering of glass in the sink. In one motion, she swiped up her Smith and Wesson from the table and spun from her chair, dropping to one knee. She followed the line of Alyss’ shocked gaze and raised her weapon with both hands, arms extended, finger resting lightly on the trigger. The gun site centered on the shadow that pressed against the curtains of the rear Dutch door.

Sam instinctively moved to her left, away from the candlelight and motioned for Alyss to drop to the floor. Alyss crawled to where the Barretta lay and picked it up. Sam could see Alyss’ hands shaking and whispered, “Take a deep breath. Stay calm.”

Her own heart banged against her chest.

Sam eased forward, staying low, until she knelt beside the door. She carefully lifted the corner of the curtain and peered upward, toward the shadow. She jumped to her feet, spun the lock, and yanked the door open.

“Billy!”

Billy’s massive body filled the doorway, hair, beard, clothes dripping rainwater. His soaked shirt clung to his thick chest like a second skin. A dark smear, which Sam recognized as blood, stained the left shoulder area. Exhaustion tugged at his face; a puffy blackness swayed beneath his eyes.

Sam pulled him inside and then scanned the darkness behind the house, half expecting to see someone pursuing him. She closed the door and locked it.

“Is anybody behind you?” she asked.

“Nope.” He looked at Alyss. “Sorry to bust in on you like this.”

“That’s okay,” Alyss said.

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” Sam said.

Billy managed a weak smile. “It’s been a while since I heard a woman say that.”

Sam shook her head. “At least your sense of humor is intact.”

Alyss retrieved some towels from the closet while Billy stripped off his shirt and pants. A blood-and-rain-soaked bandage clung helplessly to his shoulder. Sam pulled it off.

“Jesus, you’re bleeding.”

“Not much,” Billy said, a shiver racking his body.

Sam touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “You have a fever.”

“Not bad.”

“The hell it isn’t. I’d bet that wound’s infected.”

“I’ll live,” Billy said. Another shiver danced through him.

“Come on.” Sam said. “You need a hot shower. Then, I’ll take a look at it.”

She led Billy through her room and into the bath. She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature to a steamy hot. “You stand under there and warm up. I’ll see if I can find something for you to put on.”

Alyss found a tattered XXL sweat shirt one of the carpenters who had worked on the house had left and hadn’t yet returned to pick up. She had no pants that would even come close to fitting.

After his shower, Billy wrapped a towel around his waist and sat in a chair at the kitchen table.

Sam cleaned the dried blood Billy’s wound and then held pressure over it with a stack of gauze until the fresh oozing stopped. Billy winced more than once and Sam offered him a sympathetic smile. She covered the wound with clean gauze, which she taped into place.

Alyss put the pot roast, potatoes, and cornbread in front of Billy and heated a pot of water for tea and coffee.

Shelby came in, a look of shock on her face when she saw a half naked Billy sitting at the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

“Your mom invited me to dinner,” Billy said. “My tux is in the cleaners.”

Sam and Alyss laughed; Shelby stood there, a confused look on her face.

“Billy came here for help,” Alyss said.

“Where are your clothes?” Shelby asked.

“There.” Billy nodded toward the wet pile in the corner. He tugged the sweatshirt over his head, grimacing as he wormed his left arm through the sleeve.

Shelby sat down across from Billy, eying him. “So, what happened to you?”

Billy tore off a piece of cornbread, shoved it in his mouth, and talked around it. “Had a little problem with our police chief and his buddies.”

“Did you kill Mr. Varney?” Shelby asked.

“Shelby!” Alyss said.

“It’s okay,” Billy said. “I suspect most people think I did. But no, I didn’t.”

Alyss gathered up Billy’s clothes and carried them into the pantry, where she kept the washer and dryer.

Billy cut off a slab of beef and layered it inside a piece of split cornbread and took a bite.

“Hmm. This is the best thing I’ve had to eat all day. In fact, it’s about the only thing.”

“I’m going to call the doctor,” Sam said.

Billy looked up from his plate. “No.”

“Why not? Do you think she’ll tell Wade you’re here?””

“No. Beth Hartsman’s okay. I just don’t want to drag her into this. When are the state boys coming?”

“Not until tomorrow,” Sam said. “Said they were understaffed.”

“It’s usually that way,” Billy said, biting off another hunk of the cornbread and beef. “Whatever happens out here in the backwoods is a pretty low priority.”

“What’s that got to do with you seeing a doctor?”

“Wade may figure I just might do that. Maybe not. Regardless, it’s better to let him and Burt think I’m up there running around someplace. My only hope of getting through this in one piece is if the State Patrol gets involved. Especially since I now know the truth of what happened.”

Billy devoured the last of his cornbread and beef sandwich. He washed the bite down with a gulp of coffee.

“So,” Sam said. “What is the truth?”

“Thanks to you, I slipped away from Burt and Wade. Haven’t seen them boys since. I’d suspect this storm ran them on home, but you can bet they’ll be back at it at first light. By the way, Morgan said he’s sorry he scared you.”

“Morgan?” Sam said.

“Big, ugly. Scared the hell out of me.”

“That was Morgan? Edgar Locke said he was kind of scrawny.”

“He was. Last time Edgar or any of us saw him anyway.” Billy forked another slice of beef on to his plate, cut off a bite, and shoved it into his mouth. “He told me about the dogs.”

“He saved my butt,” Sam said.

“He took me to where he’s been holed up. In one of the mines. Been there for over two months. Ever since Burt tried to kill him.”

Sam raised a palm to him. “Okay. Slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

Billy drained his coffee cup and accepted the refill Alyss offered. “, I told you somebody else was up there? Seen his tracks and all? It was Morgan. Seems he came back a year or so ago to do some fancy research for Burt and Hollis.”

Sam shook her head, “That’s exactly what Edgar suspected.”

“Well, Morgan got stupid and injected himself. What you saw up there is the result.”

“Good God,” Sam said.

“It gets nastier,” Billy continued. “After Burt saw what Morgan had done, he panicked. Afraid Morgan’s transformation would expose the whole deal.”

“The illegal research?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Something to do with genetic engineering, hormones. Morgan didn’t really have the time to explain it all. Anyway, Burt got Walt Packer and Ted Smyth and they let Morgan loose in the mountains and hunted him down.”

So, Niki was telling the truth.

Sam then flashed on her conversation about hunting with Burt and Hollis. And on Niki’s reference to “The Most Dangerous Game.” Out of the mouth of babes, she thought again.

Billy told them of Morgan’s survival efforts, the break-ins, and the killings of

Lloyd Varney and Burt’s men.

“He the one that torched Burt’s stables?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Anger. Frustration. To piss Burt off. Show him he wasn’t safe. Even at Casa Grande.”

“And he’s been living up there for two months?” Sam asked.

“Yep. Getting well. Planning his revenge against Burt.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Sam said. “Not that I blame him. What’s he going to do?”

“Wouldn’t say. He heard you tell Burt and Wade that you were going to bring in the CBI. That’s one of the reasons he killed the dogs and let you go. He wants us to bring them to the Glenross Mine tomorrow morning.”

“Why?”

“Said everything would be clear after that.”

“Why didn’t he come here with you?”

“Said he’s got things to do. To prepare.” Billy looked at Sam, then Alyss, Shelby, back to Sam. “He’s dying.”

“Then he needs to come in. See a doctor.”

“Too late for that. Nobody can save him. Said it was his fault. He just doesn’t want Burt getting away with what he’s done.”

“Do you think he wants to kill Burt?”

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t blame him, though.”

Sam nodded. “Me, either. And you were right about Wade. He’s trying to frame you.”

“What now?” Billy asked.

Sam told him of her conversation with Dr. Chow in Denver and of her suspicion that Wade had tampered with the hair samples. “So, the State Crime Lab has a conclusive match between you and the supposed crime scene sample.”

“Jesus.” He shook his head. “I must it, I didn’t think Forrest Wade was smart enough to even think of something like that much less pull it off.” He released a long sigh. “Morgan better have a foolproof plan or I’m toast.”

CHAPTER 49

Queenie’s shrill yelps yanked Edgar Locke from sleep. Martha rolled toward him as he flipped on the bedside lamp.

“What’s she barking at?” she asked.

“Probably a raccoon.” He swung his legs out of bed and put on his slippers. “Queenie,” he yelled, “knock it off.”

The dog continued yapping, now accompanied by the tapping-scraping of paws against the back door.

Edgar walked to the kitchen, his hand automatically reaching for the light switch. But, as his fingers brushed against the toggle, he hesitated. Queenie’s barks seemed shriller than usual, as if chiming a warning, as if telling him the darkness was his ally.

He shuffled across the kitchen’s uneven wooden floor, each creak causing a skip in his pulse. He reached the window above the sink and peered out. The rain had stopped, the sky had begun to clear, and the moon cast dappled light through the trees. He scanned the small backyard and the forest beyond, searching the ground for a waddling raccoon. He moved to the window in the small adjacent dining nook, which afforded him a wider field of vision.

At first, he saw nothing, then … there … something moving through the trees. Not a raccoon, but something big and upright like a huge man, walking toward him.

He ducked low, moved over to the kitchen drawers near the sink, eased the top one open, and grabbed a large butcher’s knife. Cautiously, he peered over the counter.

The form had moved closer. Now, only 15 feet away, near the back porch. He could make out no details, only a bulky silhouette.

Queenie continued her incessant yelping.

The man bent down and placed something on the porch. When he straightened, he looked directly Edgar. Edgar took in a sharp breath and stepped back, away from the window.

The man said something, but Edgar couldn’t hear him through the window. He pointed down, and then turned and retreated toward the trees.

Edgar moved back to the sink, unlatched the window, and pushed it open. “Hey,” he shouted. “What are you doing?”

The shadow, now fifty feet away in the edge of the trees, stopped and turned, but said nothing.

“Who are you?” Edgar asked. He heard raspy breathing and a pungent odor wafted toward him. His heart shifted into a higher gear. He waved the knife before him. “I’m armed and I’m going to call the police.”

“Dr. Locke.” The voice was deep, harsh, resonant. No one he recognized.

“Who are you?” Edgar said. He flipped on the porch light, but the man remained in the shadows, still only a vague form.

“Morgan.”

“Morgan? What … ” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His mind raced. The person before him couldn’t be Morgan. Morgan was tall, but slight of build. His voice was soft, almost musical, not the voice that came at him from the shadows.

“Read the journals,” Morgan said.

“What?”

“The journals. I left them there. On the porch. They’ll explain everything.”

“You sound different.”

“I am different.”

Martha came up behind Edgar, giving him a start. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Morgan.”

“Hello, Martha,” Morgan said.

“Well, come in,” she said. “It’s cold out there.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Martha said. “I’ll make some … ”

“No. You can’t see me.”

“Morgan,” Edgar said. “What on Earth is going on?”

“Read the journals. Then, you’ll know. I have something else to attend to and I don’t have much time.”

“What are you talking about?” Edgar said.

“I’m dying. But, before I do, I have a debt to collect.”

“Morgan, you’re not making sense.”

“You’ll understand. Soon.” With that, he turned and headed into the forest.

Martha called to him. “Do you need anything? Some food?”

He stopped.

“I have some ham,” she said. “And some fresh bread I just baked today.”

He hesitated as if undecided about the offer. “I’ve had little to eat the past two days. Only what I could kill. Since Mr. Varney died, I’ve been afraid to scavenge in town.”

“Scavenge?” Martha said.

Morgan stepped from the shadows and approached them.

Martha gasped and clutched Edgar’s arm. Edgar took an involuntary step backwards, wavering slightly on his one good leg.

The person framed in the window before him did not in any way resemble Morgan. Or anyone else. A stout, square body strained against ragged, dirtcrusted jeans and erupted through the seams of the flannel shirt he wore. Two meaty hands with thick fingers hung by his sides. They, like his partially exposed chest, displayed a thick mat of dark hair.

But the thing that dismayed him most was Morgan’s face. Before, he had possessed angular, even delicate features. Now, a wild mane of dark hair cascaded off his shoulders and framed a block-like head that squatted on a triangular neck. A broad, shovel-like jaw hid behind an equally unruly beard. Heavy ridges, capped with thick brows, rode over his eyes, which sank into the shadows as if seeking shelter.

Edgar’s good hand involuntarily covered his mouth. “Dear God. What happened to you?”

Morgan picked up the journals and extended them toward Edgar. “These are all you need.”

Martha went to the refrigerator and began packing food into a plastic grocery bag.

“The rabbits and mice,” Edgar said. “They were yours?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Morgan, how could you?”

Morgan sighed heavily. “I’ve asked myself that a thousand times.”

“Please. Come in,” Edgar said.

“No. I’m too filthy.”

“Then, I’m coming out. We have to talk.” Edgar grabbed his coat that hung from a rack near the door, slipped it on, and stepped onto the porch.

“You reopened the lab for Burt, didn’t you?” Edgar asked.

Morgan nodded.

“Why?”

“Hopkins wouldn’t allow me to pursue the genetic investigations you and I talked of so often.”

“But Burt let you.”

“Yes. And it was exactly as we predicted. The injection of promoter genes worked just as you thought it would. Even better,”

“I know. I saw the bones.” Edgar told him of how the MacCorkell twins had dug them up.

Morgan shook his head and gazed up at the sky. “So, Burt tried to bury the evidence.

‘It would seem so.”

“Does Burt know that the bones were found?” Morgan asked.

“Yes.”

Morgan pushed his hair back from his face. “He tried to kill me.”

“Burt?”

“Yes. When he saw what I had done, he panicked.”

Martha stepped out on the porch and handed Morgan a bag bulging with ham and bread and a chunk of cheese.

“Thank you, Martha.”

“Please stay,” she said. “Let us help you.”

“I can’t be helped. And I have to go. I don’t have much time.” He looked at Edgar. “Protect those journals. They are the only record of the truth. If anything happens to me, don’t let the guilty ones get away.”

“You’re going after Burt, aren’t you? To kill him?”

“Only if I have to.”

Edgar shook his head. “You can’t just kill him. I won’t let that happen.”

“Trust me. I want him alive more than anyone does. Read the journals. It’s all there.” He stood and walked into the trees.

CHAPTER 50

It was nearly midnight when the phone rang and ten after when Sam and Billy entered Edgar Locke’s den. Sam had insisted Billy stay in bed, but he would have none of that. Martha brought them cups of warm tea and sat next to her husband, who rested in his reading chair. Sam and Billy sat on a sofa facing them.

Edgar appeared tired. More than that, he looked like a man bent over by the weight of the world. His stroke-frozen left hand seemed to clutch his blue terry cloth bathrobe to his chest as if he were chilled. The good side of his face drooped as much as the stroke damaged side.

“Morgan was here,” Edgar began.

“Did you see him?” Billy asked.

“Yes.” He sighed heavily.

“We have, too,” Billy said, glancing at Sam.

“He left these,” Edgar said, indicating three thick, bound books on the coffee table between them.

“The missing journals?” Sam said.

Edgar nodded. “After my stroke, the lab was closed. According to these journals, for only six months. Then, Burt learned of what Morgan was doing at Johns Hopkins, brought him here, and retooled the lab to do animal experiments. Genetic and hormonal research. Quite illegal. As I suspected, the rabbit and mouse skeletons we saw were part of that work.”

“And Morgan?” Sam said.

Edgar picked up one of the journals, opened it to a page he had marked with a folded piece of paper, and ed it to Sam. She held it as she and Billy read.

Saturday, February 2

The animal experiments have gone well. In fact, all were successful. No unexplained deaths, no complications. Both species exhibited the expected response. Muscle and bone strength, agility, reaction time, and stamina improved dramatically. Muscle to fat ratio declined and maze transit time fell by 23%.

The ing data are in the Protocol Journal.

Now, it is time to take the project to another level. I am so confident in the technique and results that I feel the time for a human subject test has arrived.

Today, I will inject 4 CCs of the material into myself. I believe this will be safe and effective. In the event this endeavor proves lethal, you have my permission to perform a post-mortem exam or to dispose of my remains as you see fit.

Morgan Russell

It was exactly as he had told Billy, but somehow seeing it in Morgan’s own hand struck Sam with an overwhelming sense of sadness. “So it’s true. He did it to himself.”

Edgar nodded.

“He told me he was dying,” Billy said.

“He is,” Edgar said.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Do either of you know anything about gene therapy? How it works?”

Sam looked at Billy who shrugged. “No.”

“Don’t feel bad. Neither do most doctors and scientists. They will, since it offers

exciting promise, but few understand it at present. I’ll keep this as basic as I can.”

“That’ll help,” Sam said.

“Theologians aside, life is merely a series of chemical reactions. No more, no less. Elegant, complex, for sure, but still a series of reactions. Within the nuclei of our cells lie long strands of DNA, which make up our genes. These genes are basically inert. By themselves they can do little. They are, in fact, a series of instructions, which direct the cell to produce certain enzymes and proteins. These enzymes and proteins in turn cause or enhance the chemical reactions on which all aspects of life are based. They digest our food and convert it into usable nutrients. They make our muscles move, our hearts beat, our brains think, and our eyes and ears function as they do. If one alters the gene … the DNA … then one alters the instructions and thus the character of the resulting proteins and enzymes, which will then alter the chemical reactions. Do you follow me so far?”

Sam nodded. She ed some of this from high school biology.

“Genetic defects can lead to diseases. Say someone has the defect that produces Sickle Cell Anemia. If we could insert a DNA strand that altered this instruction in a manner that would allow the cell to produce normal hemoglobin, rather than the sickle variety, the disease would be cured. See?”

“Like a typewriter key that stamped the wrong letter?” Sam asked.

“Exactly. Correcting the mistake would allow for the production of an un-

garbled message rather than one with typos.”

“I see,” Sam said.

“The trick with gene therapy is creating the right DNA instruction.”

“Apparently Morgan miscalculated,” Sam said.

Edgar rubbed his eyes. “Yes, I’m afraid so. The genetic material Morgan produced and injected into the animals and ultimately into himself, altered all the cells of his body. It caused the pituitary and the other hormone-producing glands of the body to manufacture altered hormones in vast quantities. It also changed the way his cells responded to these new hormones. The result is what you saw.”

“What was Morgan’s research supposed to cure?” Billy asked.

“Aging,” Edgar said.

Sam gave him a quizzical look.

“Life is a degenerative process. Everything wears out. When you reach our age, you’ll understand that all too well.” He smiled and patted Martha’s hand. “The hypothesis that Morgan was chasing is that aging diminishes our ability to produce hormones and reduces the body’s response to those hormones. Sort of a double whammy. This leads to the muscle wasting, arthritis, bone loss, and

weakness of the heart and lungs that eventually catches up with all of us. If he could reverse or slow this decline, he could, if not prolong life, improve its quality in our later years. A noble undertaking, to say the least.”

“But?” Sam said, anticipating his next word.

Edgar sighed. “But Morgan jumped way ahead of himself. He didn’t take small steps to his ends. Steps that would have unmasked problems, flaws in the process, flaws in the hypothesis. Research must move slowly and methodically. It must be tested and counter tested. Reviewed and criticized. Improved and altered each step of the way. And, it must be double blinded to be reliable.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“In most research, you have a treatment, or experimental, group which you compare to a control, or placebo, group. The differences found between these groups at the end of the experiment should answer the question you asked in the first place. For example, you might ask if penicillin cures pneumonia. You give the treatment group penicillin, but not the control group. If the penicillin group does better, gets well faster, dies less often, then you have answered your original question. Penicillin works.”

“I see,” Billy said.

“Double blinded means that neither the subject nor the researcher know to which group any of the test subjects belong. This eliminates what we call ‘observer bias.’ Let’s say, I wanted to test the effect of alcohol on your ability to toss a coin in the air and catch it. You and Billy are test subjects. I would give each of you a

bottle of liquid to drink. One would be spiked with alcohol, but both would be altered in some fashion to taste and smell the same. Neither I, nor you, would know which of you got the alcohol. You would simply toss the coins and I would record the number of times each of you missed catching it. That would eliminate bias in both the subjects and the observer. We would be doubly blind.” He turned his right palm up as would a magician who had just completed a trick.

“Clever,” Sam said.

“I didn’t invent it,” Edgar said. “All good research is conducted that way.”

“But Morgan didn’t?”

“No. He didn’t even have a control group, much less a blinded protocol. He simply injected a handful of rabbits and mice and waited to see what would happen. What data he did obtain are useless.”

“What I don’t understand,” Billy said. “Is what’s in this for Burt?”

Edgar released a long sigh. “Any idea what a product like this … one that slows the ravages of aging … would be worth on the market?”

“Millions?” Sam said.

“Billions,” Edgar said.

Billy shook his head. “Greed has always been Burt’s God.”

Edgar nodded. “According to Morgan’s notes, the plan was to perfect this treatment, out here, away from the FDA and other regulatory groups, then take it back to their company in Houston and reproduce it.”

“Their company?” Sam asked. “I thought Burt and Hollis sold their business.”

“Only part of it. They still own the controlling interest.”

Sam shook her head. “And out here, in the middle of nowhere, they could cut all the corners they wanted.”

Edgar nodded. “This type of research could take decades if done under proper scrutiny. They could cut years off the process by discovering what works and what doesn’t without having to go through the paper work and approvals and surveillance of the FDA. According to Morgan, they had plans to quadruple the size of the lab. Expand the research.”

Billy shook his head. “That son of a bitch.” He looked at Sam. “This is what I told you the other day. All this time, he wanted me to believe that he needed my land for the water. What he really wanted was privacy.”

“Privacy?” Martha said.

Billy nodded. “As you know, Burt and Hollis own the deepest two thirds of the valley. Except for my land. And they knew if they tried to expand their operations, I’d know and raise hell. But, if I sold out, or even better went to prison, no one would know. The operation would be miles from town, hidden deep in their private empire.”

“And Morgan? There’s no way to treat this?” Sam asked. “Take some medications or something?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Edgar said. “You see, the insertion of the new DNA segment is usually accomplished using a virus that attaches itself to the cell and then injects the DNA material inside. Once the altered DNA is introduced into the cell’s nucleus, the changes are permanent.”

“So, Morgan’s changes are permanent?” Sam asked. “Nothing can be done?”

Edgar looked at Martha, who took his hand in hers. “A neurosurgeon might be able to remove the pituitary and halt the overproduction of hormones,” he said. “That’s how we treat patients who develop certain pituitary tumors in the real world. Whether that works in this situation or not is anyone’s guess.”

“But it’s possible?” Sam asked. “At least theoretically?”

“Yes.”

“Would Morgan then return to normal?” Billy asked.

“No. What’s done, is done. He could only hope to prevent the process from worsening.”

The implications of that statement settled over them. No one spoke for several minutes, all eyes cast downward.

Edgar motioned to the journals. “Look at the third volume. Morgan’s last entry.”

Sam picked up the heavy book and opened it. As she thumbed through the pages she noticed that the writing deteriorated with each page. She looked up at Edgar.

“Yes,” he said. “As the changes in Morgan progressed, his fine motor skills, as manifested by his handwriting, seemed to decline. Week by week.”

Sam continued turning pages. The letters broadened, thickened, the words taking up two lines, then three. Where earlier the script had been smooth, even elegant, by the time she reached the final entry it appeared as if it had been written by a first grader. She felt tears press against the back of her eyes as she read the final page.

Sunday, June 17

Dr. Locke

By now, I am sure that you have reviewed all the logbooks and you have a firm grasp of my research to this point. You are also aware of my error in judgment and the effects of this error on me. Use these data as you see fit.

I must set the record straight.

This is my fault. I made the decision to inject myself on my own without any outside influence. It was not my finest moment. The blame falls completely at my feet.

I know you would ask me why I would take such a bold step. I could say it was intellectual curiosity or even a misguided devotion to knowledge. I could say it was an overzealous attempt to help mankind. But none of these are true. The real reasons are crass and pedestrian.

Vanity and greed are my only excuses.

You know I have always been frail. Prone to injuries and illnesses and athletic endeavors were always beyond my capabilities. When I saw the dramatic increase in strength, agility, and intellect, indeed in every aspect of physical and mental well being, in the mice and rabbits, I was seduced by the idea that I too could become something I was not.

Instead, the genetic material that worked so well in the test animals, spun completely out of control in humans, in me, and created the monstrosity that I have become. Was it an error in the genetic segment I used? A flaw in the

technique? Something in humans that exaggerates the response? I do not know the answers to these questions.

The greed was supplied by Burt. Our original timetable called for four years of study. Burt offered me $1,000,000 for each year I could shorten this timeline. As the first year drew to a close, the prospect of $3,000,000 proved increasingly more difficult to resist.

When Burton Eagan discovered what I had done, when he saw the dramatic changes that took place in my being, he tried to kill me out of fear that this project would be exposed. You know the legal ramifications of such discovery.

I killed Lloyd Varney. It was an accident, but he died at my hand nonetheless. I killed Walt Packer and Ted Smyth in self-defense. I burned Burt Eagan’s stables to harass and terrify him. To let him know that his judgment would come and that he could not hide from the truth even in his own fortress.

I have now set in motion a plan that will bring Burton Eagan to justice. I will pay for my own sins, but he will likewise pay for his.

These journals provide the truth of what has happened. Please keep them safe, for if something happens to me, they are the only evidence against Burt.

Please do not interfere. Trust my judgment in this, even if my previous decisions have been flawed. The end is near and truth and justice will prevail with God’s help.

I love you and Martha. Please forgive me for not living up to your expectations.

Morgan Russell

Sam closed the book.

“What happens now?” Martha asked.

“I called the CBI Field Office in Montrose,” Sam said. “Hopefully, they’re sending down a couple of State Patrol officers first thing tomorrow.”

“Morgan told me to bring them up to the Glenross Mine,” Billy said. “Said everything would be clear then.”

Sam stood. “I guess we wait until morning and see if the cavalry arrives.

CHAPTER 51

Morgan squatted against a spruce trunk and shoved the last of the ham Martha had given him into his mouth. He wiped his hands on his shirt. Before him stretched Burt Eagan’s rambling house. Though the interior appeared dark, three floodlights hung beneath the eaves of the pitched roof and illuminated the entire rear yard except for the shadows cast by the two large trees near the patio.

He knew the layout of the house, having been there many times for parties and dinners, usually with Dr. Locke. But those visits ended nearly two years ago. Since his return, he had been invited only once and that was to sign his contract, an agreement, which required him to live at the lab, no one, and stay out of sight.

And even though he had been a prisoner in a concrete box, he had lived up to every word of the agreement. As had Burt. Every reagent, animal, or piece of equipment Morgan requested, magically appeared, no questions asked. Burt kept the refrigerator stocked, never forgetting plenty of Morgan’s favorite beer, and always provided clean clothes and sheets, books, and the latest movies on DVD. And his agreed-on salary appeared in his Denver bank on the first of every month. And most importantly, Burt had given him the freedom to pursue his research in any manner he wanted. All Burt expected was results.

Yes, Burt had honored every clause of their agreement. Right up until he gave him a 400-yard head start, and then hunted him down.

Burt’s suite was on the second floor as was the suite of rooms Hollis used whenever he visited. But Conner’s room occupied a first floor, rear corner. And taking Conner was the only way he could hold leverage over Burt and make him

confront the truth. The trick would be getting Conner from his room without causing a commotion or alerting Burt or Hollis.

Perhaps a few pebbles against the window would bring Conner out or at least to the window to investigate, and he could surprise him. Smashing the window and grabbing him didn’t seem a good idea. Conner wasn’t a child, but a strong young man and would likely put up one hell of a fight.

But, regardless of how, even it required such drastic action, he had to take Conner now. He had only a few hours left to complete his trap for Burt.

He pulled a piece of brown paper from his pocket and unfolded it. The two words he had written only an hour earlier were smeared but legible.

Glenross Mine.

He would leave it in Conner’s room, beneath the window, where Burt would find it. He folded the paper and shoved it back into his pocket.

Keeping low, he scurried from the trees and hid behind the pool cabana. Then, using the shadows provided by the trees near the patio, he moved around the deck to the rear corner of the house, near the window to Conner’s room. Allowing his adrenaline-stoked breathing to calm, he knelt, listening. Assured that he had not been detected, he stood and peered around the window frame into the room. He could see nothing in the darkness, but noticed that the window was cracked open three or four inches, most likely to capture the cool night breezes. It was about time something went his way.

He slipped his fingers into the gap and began to inch the window upward. Then, whispered voices. The quiet closing of a door. A soft giggle. He ducked.

A light came on and spilled through the window to the ground before him. He backed around the corner.

He heard the window scrape, and then soft voices again. Now he could make out what the voices were saying.

“Be quiet.” It was Conner’s voice.

Another giggle. A girl’s giggle.

He pressed his back against the sidewall of the house. Shadows flickered in the light that bathed the ground. Then, a soft thud.

“Come on.” It was Kelly. She was outside. Around the corner, not ten feet from him.

“Let me get the light,” Conner said.

“Do you have the stuff?” Kelly asked. “And the tequila?”

“Yeah. Now, be quiet before you wake someone.”

The soft illumination that fell through the window suddenly died. Another thud. They were both outside now.

Morgan held his breath and readied himself, expecting them to turn the corner toward him.

“Phew,” Kelly said. “What’s that smell?”

“Probably Carlos’ compost pile. He uses it to fertilize the flowers.”

“Smells like a skunk died in it.”

“Come on,” Conner said. “Let’s get going.”

The sound of their footsteps retreated across the patio. He waited until they faded, and then peered around the corner. Kelly climbed behind the wheel of Conner’s red pick-up truck, while Conner pushed it from the rear, propelling it down the sloping drive, lights off, engine silent. As it picked up speed, Conner jumped inside, behind the wheel, Kelly sliding over to give him room.

Morgan ran around the pool deck, along the backside of the cabana, and slipped

into the trees. He watched as the truck rolled silently down the slope, toward the road. As it reached the end of the drive, the engine turned over, the headlights came on, and the vehicle swung onto the paved road.

Perfect.

He knew exactly where they were going. Where they always went to drink and smoke marijuana. Where no one could see them. And no one would see him.

He turned and loped into the forest.

CHAPTER 52

Shelby had dozed off and on, but never really slept. She was too excited. The storm that raged by earlier had concerned her. Had it continued, it would have blown the whole deal. But it rumbled on eastward, leaving behind a few scattered clouds, which she could see through her bedroom window as they drifted across the full moon.

An hour and a half ago, she had heard Sam and Billy leave and as far as she could tell, they had not yet returned. Her mother had gone to bed shortly after they left. Since then, the house had been silent.

Having dressed an hour earlier, she tied her boot laces, slipped on her jacket, and eased open the window. Swinging one leg and then the other over the sill, she slid to the ground. After assuring herself that the only lights on in the house were the usual living room lamp and the upstairs bathroom night-light, she headed down the winding quarter mile drive toward the road. The storm-washed night air smelled fresh and the stars seemed brighter than usual, especially when a cloud softened the moonlight.

As she walked, she could see most of the valley. Few lights, no activity, and a thick blanket of silence. An owl flew overhead, its wings whispering rhythmically, its huge eyes visible as it obviously searched the fields for mice or rabbits.

She saw a car in the distance, coming up the road. Good they’re early, she thought. When the vehicle reached the drive, it slowed and turned toward her.

They were supposed to wait at the end of the drive, not come up toward the house. The headlamps grew brighter as they approached. She glanced over her shoulder, fearing she would see lights flickering on all over the house.

She quickened her pace. Stupid, she thought. They were going to wake her mother.

Suddenly, she stopped. That wasn’t Conner’s truck. She recognized the square headlights. Sam’s Jeep.

“Damn it,” she said aloud.

She ducked low and scrambled off the road into the knee-high grass. Dropping on her stomach, she flattened herself against the ground. The water from the rain-soaked foliage seeped through the front of her jeans and shirt.

The headlights swept across the grass above her, then back the other way, as the Jeep wound its way up the drive. The crunching of the tires on the gravel grew louder. Lying only ten feet from the drive, she held her breath, fearing they had seen her and would stop. The Jeep continued past her and toward the house. She remained still until she heard the car doors close, then she rose up just enough to see Sam and Billy climb the front steps and go inside.

She stood. The night breeze drove a chill through her soaked jeans and shirt. She brushed off what surface water she could and hurried down the drive toward the main road, arriving just as Conner pulled the truck to the shoulder. She jumped inside.

“You’re soaking wet,” Kelly said, moving to the center to give her room.

“You would be too if you’d been crawling around in the weeds,” Shelby said. She told them what had happened.

“Do you think they saw you?”

“No way. They would’ve stopped.”

“Here,” Conner said. He handed her the bottle of tequila. “This’ll warm you right up.” He eased the truck into a U-turn and headed back into the depths of the valley.

Shelby grabbed the bottle, spun off the cap, and took a slug. She swallowed and exhaled loudly. “Yes. That helps.” She took another shot, then ed it to Kelly. “You guys have any trouble getting out?”

“No,” Kelly said. “Piece of cake.”

“No thanks to you,” Conner teased her. “You made enough racket to wake the dead.”

She elbowed his ribs. “But I didn’t. We’re out and no one on Earth knows.” She

took a pull from the bottle and handed it to Conner. “Let’s fire up one of those ts.”

Conner pulled one from his shirt pocket and gave it to Kelly. She lit it, took a drag, and handed it to Shelby. They ed it around until it was too small to handle. Shelby stubbed it on the bottom of her shoe and tossed it out the window.

“That feels better,” Shelby said.

Conner wheeled off the road onto a dirt track, which soon played out, leaving them bouncing and gyrating over the uneven terrain of the valley floor. The girls giggled, screamed, and hung on as Conner spun the wheel one way and then the other, the truck airborne more than once. Ten minutes later, they reached the lake. Conner skidded the truck to a stop and they piled out.

A silver slash of moonlight reflected off the water, gently rippled by the soft breeze. The pearlescent glow of the snow-capped peaks hovered above the valley.

“This is so beautiful,” Shelby said as she helped Kelly spread a blanket on the ground. They sat in a circle, lit another t, and ed it and the tequila around, talking, laughing, getting pleasantly stoned.

Shelby lay back and stared up at the sky. “I’ve never seen so many stars. In LA, you can see about a dozen. If the smog isn’t too bad.”

Kelly lay back beside her and giggled. “Billions and billions as Carl Sagan would say.”

They all laughed, and then fell into an easy silence.

Shelby decided Conner and Kelly were way cool. Maybe living here wouldn’t be so bad. If she had her car, that is.

Conner broke the silence. “Where are you going to college next year, Shelby?”

“Probably UCLA.”

“Studying what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe English. Or writing.”

“You should come back east. Princeton.”

“I don’t have the grades for Princeton.”

“Too bad. You’d love it.”

Shelby propped up on one elbow and looked at Conner. “You must be pretty smart.”

“I make good grades, if that’s what you mean. But I have a swimming scholarship.”

“So, that’s the ticket,” Shelby said.

“It helps.” He stood. “I’m going to get another t from the truck.”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s what we need. I’m completely mangled as it is.”

“Me, too,” Kelly said. “But what the hell. We can always get more wasted.”

Shelby lay back again and laced her hands behind her head. She felt completely relaxed. She heard Conner open and then close the truck door. Then, a thump and a groan. She and Kelly sat up at the same time.

Conner lay on the ground by the truck. A massive creature with long wild hair stood over him.

Both girls screamed.

“Shut up,” he growled. He stepped toward them. “Hello, Kelly,” he said, his voice coarse and raspy.

Kelly took in a sharp breath. “How do you know who I am?”

“Don’t you recognize me?”

Shelby looked at Kelly, whose eyes were wide with fear.

Kelly shook her head.

“I’m Morgan.”

“No,” she said. “You couldn’t be.”

“But I am.” He looked at Shelby. “And, who are you?”

She couldn’t speak. Her heart hammered against her chest. The odor that surrounded the creature was overpowering and seemed to thicken the air, making it difficult to breathe. She looked around, searching for some escape. She was in the middle of an open field. No trees, no place to hide, only the lake. The thought that maybe the man couldn’t swim crossed her mind, but she rejected it. She wasn’t the best swimmer in the world either.

“I said, who are you?” He took another step toward them.

“Shelby. Shelby Cameron.”

The moonlight brightened as a cloud slid from its face. Shelby saw the man’s blue eyes and his smile peeked through his beard.

“You’re the swimmer,” he said.

“What?”

“I saw you swimming in Aspen Creek a few days ago.”

Oh God, Shelby thought. He had watched her. Swimming naked. Getting stoned.

“You’re new here,” he said.

Shelby swallowed her heart back into her chest. “Visiting. My mom’s Alyss Cameron. She owns an inn here.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Sam Cody. She your mom’s friend?”

How did this guy know that? “Yes.”

“Billy? Is he still at your house?”

Shelby didn’t know what to say. She stared at him afraid to say anything.

“It’s okay. I sent him there.”

Shelby couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but it appeared as if he smiled from behind his thick beard.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Just do as I say and everything will work out.” He looked at Kelly. “You’ll go with Conner and me. In the truck.” He turned to Shelby. “You go home. Tell Sam and Billy I’ll be at the Glenross Mine as planned.”

“But … ” Shelby began.

“Get going. You have a two mile hike ahead of you.” He grabbed Kelly by the arm and led her toward the truck.

Kelly tried to pull away. “Please, let me go,” she sobbed. She dropped to her knees, but Morgan yanked her back to her feet.

“Don’t hurt her,” Shelby said.

He pulled Kelly to him. “She’s not the one I want.”

“Then, leave her here with me. Please.”

“Look, Conner’s too big for me to carry very far. After she drives us over near Crystal Falls, I’ll let her go,” Morgan said.

“What about Conner?” Shelby asked.

“He goes with me.”

As the truck moved away, a thick cloud slid across the moon, leaving Shelby in a deepening darkness. Panic rose in her chest, squeezing air from her lungs. The marijuana and her own fear dried her mouth and her tongue felt as if it had swelled and lodged in her throat.

She spun around, looking for something, anything familiar. Where was she? Which way was home?

Get a grip, Shelby. Think.

Retrace the route Conner had driven. Back to the main road and follow it toward town. But Conner hadn’t really followed a road or trail or anything, but rather had zigzagged all over the place getting here. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? She again spun around, looking at the ghostly peaks that surrounded her. Which one did her mother’s inn back up against? They all looked the same.

She dropped to her knees. Tears sprang into her eyes. She couldn’t do this. She was cold and lost. And what if a bear or a wolf or a mountain lion found her. She sobbed into her hands.

Then, she ed what Burt had said the day they rode horses near here. Look for the notch in the peaks. That’s west, toward town. Toward home.

She jumped to her feet and again scanned the peaks. The notch, clearly visible.

Shelby ran.

She ran until her legs ached and her lungs burned. She ran until her stomach knotted and acid climbed into her chest. She ran until she had to stop and vomit, bile and tequila scorching her throat. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she dropped to all fours. She retched until nothing else came up. Until she was sure her stomach would burst. Finally, the violent convulsions subsided.

She struggled to her feet and ran again.

Kelly could barely see through her tears. Morgan had tied Conner hands, tossed him in the back of the truck, and then sat beside her as he directed her to drive across the meadow.

“There,” he said, pointing toward the forest that climbed up the slope. “Stop near that stand of aspens.”

Kelly did as he said.

He jumped from the truck and hoisted the unconscious Conner over one shoulder. He walked around to the driver’s side window. “Here.” He shoved the note he had scribbled through the window at her.

She took it. “What’s this?”

“Give it to Burt. Tell him I have Conner and if he wants to see him again to come to the Glenross Mine. Alone. Unarmed. Understand?”

Kelly sniffed back tears and nodded.

She watched as Morgan turned and lumbered into the trees, Conner draped limply over his shoulder.

CHAPTER 53

The sound of someone bursting through the front door yanked Sam from a fitful sleep. Momentarily disoriented, she sat up in bed and scanned the room.

“Mom. Mom.” Shelby’s voice came through the door followed by the pounding of footsteps racing up the stairs.

Sam grabbed her .357 from the bedside table as she rolled out of bed. She yanked open the door to her room just as Billy stepped out into the hallway.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam said.

She looked up as Alyss and Shelby came down the stairs. Alyss appeared as confused as Sam felt.

Shelby’s eyes were wide and glazed, her skin pale and frosted with sweat, her black hair, shiny with moisture, molded itself to her head like a swimmer’s cap. Only one Big Bird hair clip remained.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“It’s Conner,” Shelby said. “That Morgan person took him.”

“What?” Sam asked.

“He took him.”

Alyss looked her daughter up and down, from her muddied boots to her pale and drawn face, and seemed to notice Shelby’s disheveled look for the first time. “What are you talking about? Where have you been?”

Stumbling over the words that tumbled rapid fire from her mouth, Shelby told them of her sneaking out and meeting with Conner and Kelly. Of them going up to the lake. Of Morgan knocking Conner unconscious.

“What about Kelly?” Sam asked.

“He said he would let her go after she drove them to Crystal Falls.”

Billy looked at Sam. “The Glenross Mine is near there.”

“That’s it,” Sam said. “He’s taken Conner as a bargaining chip. And Kelly will tell Burt and her dad and they’ll go after him. And if we bring the State Patrol guys, Morgan will have everybody in one place.”

“Clever,” Billy said.

“Maybe, too clever,” Sam said. “You can bet Burt’ll try to put an end to this before the state boys can get here.”

“But, if Morgan has Conner, how can he?” Billy said.

“One thing I’ve learned is that Mister Eagan is very resourceful.”

“Let’s get some clothes on and get going,” Billy said. “Morgan’s going to need us.”

Sam retreated to her room, stripped off her nightshirt, and tugged on her jeans and a sweatshirt. She returned to the kitchen, where Alyss and Shelby sat at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry,” Shelby said.

Alyss shook her head. “We’ll talk about it later.” She looked at Sam. “What can I do?”

“Keep the spare gun I gave you close at hand and lock up. Nobody but me, Billy, or the CBI people gets through the door. Okay?”

Alyss nodded. “But I don’t know if I can actually fire a gun.”

“It’s point and shoot,” Sam said. “Like a camera.”

“But … ”

“But nothing.” Sam laid her hand on Alyss’ arm. “We have to leave. You have to protect yourself. And Shelby. You can do it.”

Billy entered, dressed in his freshly washed clothes. “Let’s go.”

“Let me call the State Patrol first,” Sam said. “Bring them up to date. With a kidnapping, maybe they’ll take things a little more seriously.”

Sam called the CBI Field Office in Montrose. She refused to speak with the duty officer and demanded that the dispatcher put her through to Captain Harold Baker. After assuring the operator that she was indeed a law officer and convincing her that the captain was expecting her call, the dispatcher connected her to Captain Baker’s home. His voice was thick with sleep when he answered.

After Sam told him who she was and what was happening, he said, “Chief Wade called me yesterday. Said all this was nothing and that he’d handle it. Are you working with him?”

“Not exactly. In fact, he’s part of the problem.” Sam briefly explained Wade’s involvement in the situation.

“Look, I’ve known Forrest Wade for twenty years. He’s not the most enthusiastic cop I know, but he’s not a criminal like you suggest either.”

“From what I see,” Sam said, “No one around here is very enthusiastic about law enforcement.”

“Now, you listen here missy … ”

“It’s Deputy, Captain. Deputy Samantha Cody.

“Well, you just listen up and … ”

“No, you listen. I don’t have time to sit here and argue with you about the merits of Forrest Wade or your chauvinistic attitudes. Now, there are going to be some bodies around here to deal with unless you get your ass out of bed and get down here. Clear?”

She heard him grunt as if sitting up in bed. “Goddamn it,” he growled. “Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

“I thought I was talking to an officer of the law. You know … protect and serve … all that stuff. Captain, I don’t want to piss you off or insult you or anything.

But, if that’s the only way I can get your attention, then that’s the way it’ll have to be.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay. I’m awake now. Give it to me again.”

Sam spun out of the drive onto Gold Creek Road and gunned the engine. The Jeep surged forward, gravel banging against the undercarriage and wheel wells. Billy grabbed the dash with one hand and the handle above the enger’s window with the other and held on. A broken layer of clouds smudged the full moon, muting its glow, darkening the valley.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Which way?”

“The fastest way is to cut across Burt’s property. Up here about a half mile,” he said. “Just past where Gold Creek cuts under the road.”

“Guess we might as well add tresing to our sheet.”

Following Billy’s directions, Sam jerked the Jeep off the road and pointed it toward Crystal Falls, which, in the cloud dampened moonlight, appeared like a pale white ribbon draped over the dark slopes. The Jeep bucked over the uneven terrain. She aimed at one of the “No Tresing” signs that demarcated Burt’s property and accelerated. The Jeep’s nose easily snapped the barbed wire strands.

Billy pointed to their left as they neared the trees. Burt’s Range Rover and Wade’s Jeep sat side by side.

Sam parked near the other vehicles and jumped out. “Where to?”

“This way,” Billy said, striding into the trees. He pushed aside a spruce branch and disappeared. Sam hurried after him.

The forest, beautiful, serene, and filled with wonderful sounds and smells during daylight, morphs into a place of disorienting terror after the sun retreats beneath the horizon, it. Gone are the scents of the flowers as if they had died away, leaving behind a dense pungency. Gone are the rich colors, leaving only the monochrome of night. Gone are the birds, the buzzing insects, and the graceful butterflies, replaced by a woolen silence that paradoxically magnifies every sudden sound. The snap of a twig or the tumble of a stone can jerk the pulse into a higher gear.

Sam’s heart thumped loudly against her chest and her senses amped up to full alert as she struggled to keep up with Billy. She was amazed at the agility and speed with which he moved. She expected a man of his size to lumber through the forest pushing aside trees like King Kong. Yet, Billy seemed to dance through the foliage, making little noise and no missteps.

Suddenly, he stopped. “We’re close,” he whispered. “A hundred yards at most. Real slow and quiet.”

Sam followed Billy up the slope, moving more slowly, taking care with each step and each branch she brushed against. Soon, she could hear voices, which became more distinct as they drew closer. Billy grabbed her arm and pulled her down to a knee behind a mulberry shrub. She pushed aside a branch, revealing Burt, Wade, Hollis, and Eloy standing before the mouth of the Glenross Mine.

“Just let Conner go and we’ll leave,” Burt said.

“I don’t see that happening.” Morgan’s voice came from the mine.

“If you hurt him, you’ll pay dearly.”

“I’ve already paid dearly,” Morgan said. “And now, so will you.”

“What do you want?” Burt asked.

“You.”

“And then what?”

“All in due time.”

“You don’t have much time,” Burt said. “Don’t make me come and get my son.”

“You won’t,” Morgan said.

“Why won’t I?”

“Because I’ll kill him. I’m already dead so it won’t change things for me. I just

don’t want you walking away clean.”

“After everything I did for you?”

“You mean such as hunting me like an animal?”

Sam pushed through the shrub and stepped into the clearing behind Burt and the others. The men turned and looked at her.

“Well, look who’s ing the party,” Burt said.

Billy stepped up beside Sam.

“Both of you. How perfect.”

“We’ll see if you still feel the same way when the CBI officers get here.”

“They ain’t coming,” Wade said. “I had a little chat with them. Assured them they weren’t needed.”

“Captain Baker seemed to see things my way after I brought him up to date.”

Wade glanced at Burt.

“So,” Sam said. “Perhaps you should listen to what Morgan has to say.”

Burt shook his head, a grim smile on his face. “What do you care about that mutant in there?” He jerked his head toward the mine.

“He’s not a mutant. He’s a man and he’s sick.”

“And he did it to himself,” Burt said.

“I know.”

“And he killed two of my men.”

Sam glared at him. “Yes, he did. In self-defense and you know that. And he killed Lloyd Varney. An accident but he did it nonetheless. And he’ll stand before the judge for it. But not here. Not like this.”

Burt laughed and glanced at Wade, then Eloy. “And I suppose you’re going to stop us?”

“Any way I can.”

“I don’t see that you have many options. There are four of us.”

Sam pulled her Smith & Wesson, leveling it at Burt. “But I’ll get you.” She noticed that Wade had pulled his weapon.

Burt’s smile evaporated. “You wouldn’t give yourself up for me. Or for Morgan.”

“Like you said, I don’t have many options. Besides, I figure without you these other clowns will come to their senses. After all, who benefits the most here?”

“What are you talking about?” Burt asked.

“If Morgan and Billy and I disappear, you get to sidestep a shit load of charges and you’ll likely get Billy’s land to boot. What do they get?”

Burt’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “And just what do you want?”

Sam stepped toward him, her gun never wavering from his chest. “To talk with Morgan. See if I can resolve this without anyone getting killed.”

“If he hurts Conner, I’ll kill him.”

“That’s what I’m trying to prevent.”

“What about the CBI?” Wade asked.

“That’s between you, Burt, and them. And Morgan. But I would suspect cooperation would be better than digging yourself a deeper hole by killing someone.”

Wade glanced at Burt, and then back to her. “I don’t see any harm in you talking with him. Maybe he’ll give this up.”

“Maybe,” Sam said. She motioned to Billy. “Let’s go.”

“He stays here,” Burt said.

Sam looked at him. “I don’t think so. He goes with me.”

They walked past Burt to the mine entrance. Sam peered inside, but saw only an impenetrable blackness.

“Morgan,” Sam shouted. “It’s me, Sam. Billy and I are coming in.”

“Okay.” Morgan’s voice, deep and gravely, rumbled from the mine. “Walk straight ahead. Stay along the right side. Near the wall.”

Sam stepped into the mine; Billy followed. The air was cool and thick with the musty scent of damp rock. Her boots scraped against the gritty floor and she heard the plink of dripping water somewhere in the darkness ahead. She jumped when a drop fell against her cheek.

Billy touched her shoulder. “There,” he said.

She squinted and then saw a dim glow, interrupting the darkness along the right wall a hundred feet ahead. “Morgan?” Sam said.

“You’re doing fine,” Morgan said. “Keep coming.”

She saw a shadow move within the faint patch of light, and then Morgan stepped out in front of them.

“In here,” he said and directed them into the side shaft where he had lived for two months. A gas lantern sat in the middle of the floor and cast a feeble light. Conner lay on the tarp in one corner, his hands tied behind his back.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I will be,” Conner said. “If you can get me out of here.”

Sam turned to Morgan. His square jaw, thick brows, and unruly black beard, contrasted with his deeply blue, sad eyes. His foul breath burned her nose.

“Are the State Patrol guys coming?” Morgan asked.

“Should be here in half an hour. More or less.”

Sam noticed two pairs of boots lying near the wall. Both had tears down the sides where the leather had ripped loose from the soles. One had windows cut through the toe box. She nodded toward them. “Those the boots you took from Varney’s?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said. “I kept outgrowing them. The process … this process … ” He spread his hands open. “It’s accelerating. In the past few weeks, the changes have been more dramatic than the previous three months combined.”

Sam took his hand. The skin over his palms and fingers was thick and calloused. The hair wiry and stiff. “We’re here to help,” she said.

“What’s your plan?” Billy asked.

“I want to trade Conner for Burt.”

Sam released Morgan’s hand. “You can’t harm Burt. I won’t be a part of that.”

“I’m not going to do anything to him. God knows I’d love to, but all I want is to force him to tell the truth.”

“And you’ll turn yourself over to the CBI?” Sam asked.

“Yes. I’ll take my punishment, whatever a jury decides that might be. But I won’t let Burt walk free. No way.”

Sam looked into Morgan’s eyes. “We have a problem here.”

“What’s that?” Morgan asked.

“It’s like this, you believe you’re dying. Why would you fear a judge and jury? Why wouldn’t you kill Burt?”

“I don’t want his life. I want his freedom. I want him to live in a box the rest of his life. Like here.” He waved his arm. “Like the lab I was confined to for over a year.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. I’ll see if he’ll swap places with Conner.”

“Tell him he’d better. I will kill Conner if I have to. As you said, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“Dr. Locke said you could be helped with a surgical procedure,” Billy said.

Morgan smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “No, I can’t.”

“But … ”

“They can remove my pituitary, maybe stop the process, but this is how I’ll be.” He opened his arms and shrugged. “I can’t live like this. I’m a freak.”

“But you’ll be alive,” Sam said.

“Sam, there are things worse than death.”

Burt paced back and forth, his gaze focused on the mouth of the mine. He had to get Conner out of there. Once his son was safe, he would think of some way to end this. Some way to win. He always did and this situation would be no different.

“What the hell are they doing in there?” he said.

“Relax,” Wade said. “Maybe they’re talking him into giving up. He doesn’t really have much choice.”

Burt whirled on him. “Really? I don’t see it that way. All he has to do is stall until the State Patrol officers arrive. What happens then?”

Wade stared at him, but said nothing.

Burt stepped close to Wade and spoke softly. “We have to end this before they get here.”

“Maybe we should just give it up,” Wade said.

Burt’s jaw tightened and he spoke between clenched teeth. “If Morgan lives, we’re fucked. Big time fucked.” He looked at Eloy, and then Hollis. “All of us.” He turned toward the mine as Sam stepped out.

“Here’s the deal, Burt,” she said. “Morgan wants to trade Conner for you.”

Thank you, Morgan, he thought. For solving the first part of my problem. “He’ll kill me,” Burt said.

“No, he won’t. Not that I’d blame him if he did.”

“Why do you say that? He’s the killer.”

“Burt, give it up. I know the whole story. The secret research. Your little hunting party.” She looked at Wade. “And the evidence you faked.”

Burt glared at her and jerked his head toward the mine. “And you believe him? Can’t you see his brain is fried from what he did to himself.”

“A judge and jury can decide that. Right now, I’m trying to save your son.”

“And me? Let Morgan do what he wants to me, I suppose?”

“I doubt he wants to kill his ‘Get Out of Jail’ card.”

Burt dropped his gaze to his feet and arranged his face into a look that he hoped portrayed deep thought. Had he played it up enough? Had he convinced her that

he was afraid of Morgan? That he didn’t really want to go into the mine? He looked back up at Sam. “Okay.”

She walked to the mouth of the mine and shouted. “We’re coming in.”

Burt turned his back to her and spoke softly to Hollis. “When Conner comes out, take him out of here. Get down to the truck and go home.” He nodded toward Wade and Eloy. “We’ll take care of everything up here.”

“What about the state boys?” Hollis whispered.

Burt offered a grim smile. “Maybe there won’t be anyone for them to talk to. And no bodies to find.” He turned and walked toward Sam. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 54

Sam stood at the entrance to the mine, motioned for Burt to turn around, and then patted him down. “No funny business. Okay?”

He nodded. “I just want Conner out of there.”

She stepped aside and waved her hand. “After you.”

Burt stepped past her; she fell in behind. They moved deeper into the pitch-black mine until she said, “Just ahead. Turn right where you see the light.”

They entered the side shaft where Morgan stood behind Conner, one hand on the back of the boy’s neck. Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Sam moved to his side.

Morgan let go of Conner and gave him a gentle shove toward his father. Burt and Conner embraced.

“Thank God, you’re all right,” Burt said.

“I am now.”

Burt released his embrace. “Now get out of here.” He nudged Conner toward the exit.

“What about you?” Conner asked, rubbing his wrists.

“I’ll be okay. Hollis is outside. He’ll take you home.”

Conner shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay.”

Burt cradled his son’s face in his hands. “You go home. I’ll be there soon.”

“But … ”

“But nothing. Get going. It’ll be fine.”

Conner took several steps, hesitated, turned and looked back at his father. He started to say something, but fell silent.

“Go ahead,” Burt said.

Conner nodded, stepped into the main shaft, and turned toward the entrance.

Morgan moved closer to Burt, his massive fists clenched at his side. Sam tensed, half expecting Morgan to attack, but he stopped, glaring at Burt from ten feet away. The gas lantern sat on the floor between them. Its dim glow emphasized the hostility etched on each man’s face. Sam could see the pulsating tension in Morgan’s jaw and could almost feel his anger, expanding with each heave of his chest.

“Still making promises you can’t keep, I see,” Morgan said.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything will be okay?” Morgan laughed. “I don’t think so. You can’t buy your way out of this one, Burt.”

Burt looked up at Morgan. “Now what?”

“None of your Goddamn business. This is one show you aren’t running. I am.”

Burt looked from Morgan to Billy to Sam. “Isn’t this cozy? The three coconspirators here in one place.”

“Co-conspirators?” Sam said. “I think you and Hollis and Wade would fit that description. Maybe Eloy, too.”

“Who do you think the State Patrol will believe?” Burt said.

“I guess we’ll find out soon.”

“We will indeed.”

Sam looked at Burt. “Why, Burt? Is the money worth all this?”

“What money?”

Sam glared at him. “I told you, I know everything, so don’t play games.”

Burt shrugged. “A couple of billion dollars is a fairly strong motivator, don’t you think?”

Sam shook her head. “You’re amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, Burt. It’s your greed and complete lack of morals that’s amazing.”

“But I usually win.”

“Maybe not this time.”

Burt shrugged. “Or, maybe I already have.”

Suddenly, Burt reached down and grasped the lantern’s wire handle and hurled it against Morgan’s chest. Its glass chimney shattered and liquid fuel spewed over Morgan’s clothes, beard, and face. An explosion of fire enveloped the huge man.

Morgan screamed and swatted at the flames, spinning as the fire embraced him. Billy snatched up the tarp that lay in the corner and hurled it over Morgan. Sam caught one edge of the canvas and wrapped it around Morgan’s thick chest. The flames leapt from beneath the tarp, blistering his face, He coughed and wheezed with each breath as the fire attacked his lungs.

“Get down,” Sam shouted, dragging Morgan to the floor.

Billy grabbed the sleeping bag and ed in Sam’s efforts to extinguish the flames. Acrid smoke filled the room.

The flames diminished, then died, plunging the room into darkness. With the last flicker of light, Sam saw Burt move toward the exit. Don’t let him get away, she thought. If he did, they had no leverage. They would be trapped.

She tried to lock on the sound of his footsteps and lunged forward as would a linebacker after a runner. Her arms closed on nothingness and she slammed into

the rocky floor. She heard Burt scurrying away, toward the mine’s exit.

Sam crawled across the floor, sweeping her hand before her. “Where’s that flashlight I saw?” She collided with a wall, and then worked her way along it. She could hear Morgan moaning and Billy attempting to comfort him. Her hand bumped against the flashlight. She grabbed it, turned it on, and moved to where Morgan lay.

His beard and hair were reduced to dark, smoldering stubble. The flesh of his face, neck, and chest was red and raw. Large charred patches of skin hung from his jaws and arms. His breathing was wet, raspy and his tongue protruded between blackened lips. He spoke in a whisper. “Get out…now.”

“Not without you,” Sam said.

Morgan coughed, deep, wet. “I’m not…going to…make it,” he said, his voice weak, each breath a rattling wheeze. “The fire…my lungs.” His words came out like coarse sighs. He raised an arm and pointed toward the main mine shaft. “That way. Deeper…into…mine. Three… lefts. Then…straight. Old Watkin’s… Mine.”

“Come on,” Billy said, tugging at Morgan.

“Leave me,” Morgan said.

“But…” Sam began.

“No,” Morgan gasped. “Go…now. If you…don’t…make it…all was…for… nothing.”

They heard footsteps approaching. Sam pulled her gun, pointed it out toward the main shaft, and fired twice. “That’ll give them something to think about.”

An object flew past her head and landed at Billy’s feet. The footsteps retreated toward the mine’s entrance. They looked down, stunned, momentarily frozen. Dynamite. The fuse hissed and spit as its fire crept toward the stick. Billy snatched it up and yanked the fuse out.

“Run,” Morgan said. “You…won’t get…another chance.”

Billy took the flashlight from her hand. “Follow me.”

They stepped from the alcove and looked toward the entrance. Two silhouettes stood in the mouth of the mine. A match flared.

Sam turned and ran, following Billy into the black depths. The beam from the flashlight Billy held danced wildly ahead of them. The uneven floor caused her to trip and stumble, but fear pushed her forward.

The explosion hit her without warning. A blast of hot air and rock and dust propelled her off her feet. The sound was deafening and her ears screamed a high-pitched whine in protest. Momentarily airborne, she slammed to the hard

rock floor with such force that air erupted from her lungs. Her gun flew from her hand. Billy landed near her. Hard. The flashlight shattered, dropping them once again into complete darkness. Chunks of rock fell from the walls and roof and slammed into the floor around them.

Buried alive. We’re going to die right here under tons of rock.

But no more rocks fell.

She struggled to her feet, hacking and coughing. “Billy?” she gasped. “You okay?” Her own voice sounded distant, tinny.

“Yeah. Get going.”

Sam could see nothing. Not Billy, not the floor, not even the wall she flattened her hand against. It was like being blindfolded in a dark room.

“Follow the wall,” Billy said. “Left side. Go. Go.”

His chest pressed against her, urging her forward.

She trailed her hand along the wall and stumbled ahead, her feet tripping over the rocks that now littered the floor. The dust and grit filled air tore at her lungs. The ringing in her ears intensified and a sharp pain lanced into her left ear. She coughed and sputtered, but kept moving.

Suddenly the hand she dragged along the wall floated free. The first turn. She stopped. Billy collided into her from behind, nearly knocking her down. He grabbed her and held her upright, then shoved her into the new tunnel.

Another explosion, this one less intense, since they were farther away and around a corner. Still, Sam felt a cloud of grit pepper her. Her lungs spasmed. She bent over coughing and wheezing.

Billy grabbed her arm. “Keep moving. We’ll suffocate if we don’t.”

Billy led. Sam followed, again keeping her hand in with the left wall. They found the second left, then the third, and finally stepped out of the Old Watkin’s Mine into the air. Dawn was beginning to press from the east.

Sam dropped to her knees coughing, expelling strings of watery sputum, blackened and gritty. Her left ear throbbed and she touched it. The entire area was wet. She examined her fingers and even in the dim morning light she knew it was blood.

Billy squatted beside her. “You alright?”

“Been better.”

He looked at the blood on the side of her face. ‘That doesn’t look good.”

“I’ll live.” She stood, spit a wad of dark sputum on the ground, and wiped blood from the side of her face with her shirtsleeve.

Billy looked around. “Let’s go. We have to stop Burt and Wade before they get to the state boys and twist this all around.”

“I think it’s a little late for him to do that.”

Billy stepped toward her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Listen to me. Burt will lay all this at our feet. And without Morgan, we have no proof.”

“The journals,” Sam said.

“You can bet they’ll disappear. Edgar and Martha, too.”

Sam looked into his eyes, letting his words sink in. For the billions Burt expected to make out of this, what were two more lives? The black grit that covered Billy’s face proved that Burt would do whatever was necessary.

“You’re right,” Sam said. “But I lost my gun and they’re armed.”

“We still have one advantage. Burt thinks we’re dead and buried.”

“You thinking an ambush?”

“Unless you can come up with a better plan.”

Sam nodded.”Okay. Which way?”

Billy started down the slope.

CHAPTER 55

Sam squatted behind a rock. Twenty feet away, Billy plastered his back against the trunk of a large spruce, its sagging branches hiding even his massive body. Billy had selected this spot, saying they would likely come down the narrow trail that lay between them to get to their vehicles. The morning sun lightened the forest mist minute by minute.

Hurry up, Sam said to herself as her eyes scanned the trees and her one functioning ear searched for the sounds of their approach. Without weapons, the dim light and the element of surprise were their only allies.

She heard them. Scraping footsteps, snapping twigs, and the brushing of branches against clothing, drifted through the trees. Then, she saw their shadows, moving toward them. Eloy led; Burt and Wade followed several hundred feet behind him.

She caught Billy’s gaze. He crouched behind the tree trunk, legs coiled beneath him, ready to pounce.

Eloy hummed some unrecognizable tune as he moved along the trail. He held his rifle across his chest, using the stock to push aside the tree branches that drooped across his path. As soon as he moved between them, Sam stepped from behind the rock and into his path. His eyes sprang wide and an involuntary cry escaped his throat. She swiped the startled look from his face with a crisp left hook that caught him flush in the jaw. Eloy staggered and his rifle discharged, its roar reverberating among the trees and rocks, the bullet snapping through branches above them.

Sam took a quick step forward, planted her feet, and popped a left hook into Eloy’s midsection. He stiffened and the gun dropped from his hands. Billy slammed a fist into the side of Eloy’s head. Eloy’s eyes seemed to straighten for a brief moment before he spun and fell face down.

Sam knelt behind the rock and looked up the slope toward Burt and Wade.

“Eloy?” Wade shouted.

“What the hell is he doing?” Burt said.

“Eloy?” Wade shouted again.

Silence.

“I don’t like this,” Burt said.

“You think it could be them?” Wade asked.

“Don’t see how they could’ve survived that blast.”

“There,” Wade said, pointing.

“What?”

“Behind those rocks. I saw someone move.”

“Could you tell who it was?”

“Strawberry blonde ponytail.”

“You’re kidding,” Burt said.

Damn it. Keep your head down, Samantha.

Billy threw her a frown.

“I only caught a glimpse,” Wade said. “But that’s what it looked like to me.”

“Did you see anyone else? Billy? Morgan?”

“No.”

“Who’s there?” Burt shouted. “Sam? Is that you?”

Billy raised a finger to his lips. Sam nodded back.

The bullet sparked off the rock, peppering her face with fragments. She dropped to the ground, flattening herself into the pine needles. Two more shots struck a tree above her, showering bark. She covered her head and waited for the next volley. None came.

She heard movement. Carefully shifting to a position where she could peer around the rock, she saw Burt slipping to her left in an obvious attempt to flank them. Wade came down the slope, following the trail toward where she lay.

Eloy’s rifle lay near her feet. She hooked it with one boot and dragged it toward her. Grabbing its barrel, she pulled it to her chest and slowly, quietly levered a shell into the chamber. The spent cartridge popped out and fell to the ground.

Rising to a squat, she brought the rifle to her shoulder and pointed the muzzle toward Burt’s silhouette as he moved through the shadows. His movements were difficult to track as he appeared and disappeared through the trees. He made a wide circle, giving them plenty of room, no doubt attempting to get behind them. Her palms felt sticky as her finger curled around the trigger.

She smiled inside, thinking of something her boss Charlie Walker had told her years ago. Charlie had been a cop in Houston as a young man and he swore that in Texas a justifiable homicide defense was “he needed killing.” Well, if anyone

needed killing it was Burt.

She followed his movement more by sound than sight, unable to get a clear shot. She lowered the rifle and sank more deeply behind the rock as Wade came down the trail toward them.

Billy bent down and picked up a baseball sized stone, and then pointed up the slope toward Wade.

Sam scanned the area to her left for signs of Burt, and, seeing no one, focused her attention on Wade.

Wade continued to close the distance between them, his gun leading the way. When he saw Eloy stretched out face down in the middle of the trail, he stopped. His gun waved one way and then the other. He moved toward Eloy.

Sam stood, the rifle pointing in his direction. “Looking for me?”

Wade swung his gun toward her. “Put it down,” he said.

“You going to arrest me or shoot me?”

“That depends on you, I guess.”

“Okay. You win.” She dropped the rifle at his feet.

“Over here,” Wade yelled. “I got her.” He looked at her. She smiled. “What so funny?”

“This,” Billy said from behind him. As Wade turned, Billy slammed the rock into the side of his head. Wade crumpled like a marionette with severed strings.

“Good work,” Sam said.

In the shadows behind Billy a muzzle flashed simultaneously with the report of the gunshot. Billy grabbed his neck and dropped to the ground. Sam ducked behind the tree trunk.

Billy pulled his hand away. Blood covered his palm and the side of his neck.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I think so.”

Another flash-boom. The bullet cut through the tree branches. Sam saw Burt moving toward them only 150 feet away. He fired again, splintering the bark of the tree. Billy rolled behind the spruce’s trunk.

Sam looked around the rock. Eloy’s rifle was wedged beneath Wade’s limp body and Wade’s pistol nowhere in sight.

Burt fired again. This time his shot thudded into the tree several feet above her head.

Where the hell is Wade’s gun?

Burt charged toward her, his pistol extended in front of him. Two more shots whizzed past her.

Click.

Sam leaped to her feet and burst through the drooping branches toward Burt. Shock him, overwhelm him, she told herself.

Burt squeezed the trigger again. Click. He threw his empty weapon at her, but missed. It clattered against a rock somewhere behind her.

“End of the line Burt,” she said.

He pulled a thick bladed hunting knife from his belt and held it before him. “Come ahead. See what I have for you?”

She circled him, fists set near her chest. Make him angry, she thought. Make him irrationally angry. “I don’t think so, Burt. You don’t have your thugs with you. And you don’t have the balls to do it yourself.”

“But I have the knife.”

“You going to talk?” Sam said. “Or are we going to do the dance?”

He shifted the knife to his left hand and moved toward her.

She circled clockwise, keeping the knife away from her and him in her sights. He lunged at her, aiming the knife at her belly. Sam easily sidestepped his thrust and popped a straight right hand into the side of his head. He swiped the knife across her left forearm. Sharp pain, and then a stream of blood erupted down her arm.

Burt stepped back, switched the blade to his other hand. He waved the knife toward her. “Want some more?”

Be cool. Make him angry. Make him attack.

“Don’t you wish you had a gun, Burt? Aren’t cross-hairs from a half mile more your speed?”

He flashed the blade at her. “This’ll do.”

Sam laughed at him. “I don’t think that’s a big enough ordinance advantage for you. Even against a woman half your size.”

Burt grimaced and lunged at her. She slid to her left, chopped the blade from his hand, and then slammed her fist into his throat.

His breath escaped in a wheeze and his knees buckled. He clutched her arm with his right hand, holding himself upright.

Sam yanked her arm free, stepped back, and released a short, sharp left hook that caught him squarely on the chin. He stiffened for a brief moment, swayed. She followed with a lightning quick left-right-left combination. He staggered and then crumpled to the ground.

“Freeze.” The voice came from behind her. She turned to see three uniforms, guns drawn. A fourth appeared. He wore a Captain’s shield on his jacket.

“You Captain Baker?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He looked at the blood that oozed down her forearm and dripped from her fingers. “You okay?”

Sam clamped a hand over her wound. “Yeah.”

“You must be Deputy Cody?”

She nodded.

“Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Glad to,” Billy said as he came from behind the tree, one bloody hand cupped against his neck.

CHAPTER 56

After Sam and Billy explained what had happened, Captain Baker called Edgar Locke, who corroborated their story and assured him that Sam and Billy were the good guys. He then took Burt and Wade into custody and followed Sam and Billy to Gold Creek Hospital.

Sam sat on the treatment table in the emergency department. Dr. Beth Hartsman confirmed Sam’s suspicion that she had a ruptured eardrum and then applied eight sutures to the laceration on her left forearm. The nurse gave Sam an injection of antibiotics while Beth scribbled a prescription for more.

“Take these three times a day for the next ten days. Don’t worry, everything’ll heal nicely,” Beth said. “But I want to see you in my office in a couple of days to make sure it’s going as expected.”

The door to the exam room opened and Alyss and Shelby walked in. Nathan followed. Sam jumped off the table and they embraced.

“You look wonderful,” she said.

He pushed her back and examined her. Her clothes and face and arms still showed remnants of black soot. “I wish I could say the same,” he said with a grin. “But you’ve looked better.”

“On that note,” Beth said, “I’m out of here. Sam, I’ll see you in a couple of days.” She smiled at Nathan as she left the room.

Sam looked at Nathan. “You missed all the fun.”

“So I’ve heard.” He shook his head.

“How did your story work out?” Sam asked.

“A bust. No Big Foot.”

“That’s because he’s here. Was here,” Sam said.

“What?” Nathan asked.

“I’ll tell you about it later. First, I have to see how Billy’s doing.”

Sam pulled Nathan down the hall, Alyss and Shelby close behind. She pushed open the door to Billy’s room. He sat in his bed, eating chocolate ice cream from a small plastic bowl. He had obviously bathed and had a clean bandage on his shoulder and the side of his neck. An IV bag hung from a pole at the head of his bed.

Billy looked up and smiled. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Billy, I want you to meet someone. This is Nathan Klimek. Nathan, this is the world famous Billy Bear Wingo.”

They shook hands.

Billy looked at Sam. “So, what’s the story?”

“Burt and Eloy are on the way to Montrose, courtesy of the state. They’ll stop by and pick up Hollis on the way. Wade’ll be shipped off as soon as Dr. Hartsman says he can travel. You did a number on his head.”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. What about Morgan?”

“Baker is going to send an excavation crew down to dig out his body.”

“Good. He deserves a proper burial,” Billy said.

Nathan looked from Billy to Sam. “Who’s Morgan?”

“The real Big Foot,” Sam said.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

D. P. Lyle is the Macavity and Benjamin Franklin Silver Award winning and Edgar, Agatha, Anthony, Scribe, and USA Best Book Award nominated author of both non-fiction and fiction (the Dub Walker and Samantha Cody thriller series and the Royal Pains media tie-in series). Along with Jan Burke, he is the co-host of Crime and Science Radio. He has served as story consultant to many novelists and screenwriters of shows such as Law & Order, CSI: Miami, Diagnosis Murder, Monk, Judging Amy, Peacemakers, Cold Case, House, Medium, Women’s Murder Club, 1-800-Missing, The Glades, and Pretty Little Liars.

Website: dplylemd.com

Blog: writersforensicsblog.wordpress.com

FB Page: facebook.com/DPLyle

Crime and Science Radio: dplylemd.com/DPLyleMD/Crime_%26_Science_Radio.html