Kitabı oku: «Betrayal in the Badlands», sayfa 3

When Tank bounded up, Logan commanded him to sit.

“Isabel.” He reached out a hand to her and she jerked back violently, breath heaving, eyes unfocused.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

He knelt next to her. “It’s okay. It’s Logan. Remember me? Logan Price. I drove you up here.”

Her face was blank, frozen in fear by whatever had caused her scream. He called Tank to his side. “Remember my dog, Tank? He’s been looking for you.”

When Logan released him, Tank trotted up to Isabel and licked her face. She jerked at first and then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, her fingers clinging to his black fur.

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, letting the dog ease Isabel out of her shock. Very slowly he laid his hand on her forearm. “Can you talk now?”

She looked at him for a long time before she blinked, rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes and nodded, all the while keeping one arm around the dog.

“I heard you scream. What happened?”

She tried several times before the words came out. “It was the man, the one who pushed me into the ravine. I came to visit Cassie’s grave and he was here, watching me.”

Logan frowned. “How do you know it was the same man?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “That awful song. He sang the same song.”

He kept his voice soft and gentle. “Did he touch you? Hurt you?”

She started to tremble. “No. He just watched me. Watched me run and fall and get up and run again. He just watched me. And…”

“And what?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Logan, he knew my name.”

He squeezed her forearm, wishing he could force the fear out of her. “Stay here. I’m going to check around.”

She looked panicked, so he added quickly, “Tank will stay with you. No one will touch you when he’s on duty.” He ordered the dog to stay and moved away.

He did a quick perimeter check and worked his way inward in ever-diminishing circles until he rejoined Isabel. “No trace of anyone.”

She was calmer now, but her voice still held an edge of panic. “He was here. I saw him. Leaning right against that tree. I’m not making it up.”

Logan reached out a hand to her and, after a moment of indecision, she took it.

“We’re going to go back to the police station, and this time, I’m staying with you.”

FOUR

Isabel hardly registered the walk as Logan took her by the arm and guided her back to the police station. She expected to see the leering face of the crazy man from the cemetery behind each tree and bush. All of her nerves were alive with residual fear. When she recoiled at the snap of a branch, Logan kept her moving forward. He was outwardly calm, but she could tell he was monitoring the surroundings as they made their way to the station.

The only thing that kept her moving was the pressure of his strong hand holding hers and an occasional nudge from Tank’s wet nose. Some distant part of her mind questioned Logan’s concern. He was a stranger, looking to finish work on her sister’s ranch. She didn’t know a thing about him, really.

Except that he’d climbed down a cliff to get her.

And shown up at the sound of her scream.

She tried to see some sign of his feelings on his face, but there was only a look of concentration there, a man doing his job.

What was Logan’s job, anyway? The Triggs indicated he was military, but he’d had time to do construction work for Cassie and come to her aid twice. Was he home on leave?

In a few minutes she found herself sitting in Officer Bentley’s office again, facing his disbelieving stare. If Logan hadn’t been standing next to her, she would have run for the door.

The officer looked at Logan before he gestured for Isabel to talk.

“I went to the cemetery and…” Fear closed over her again, her throat thick with tears. It was the same terrible fear she’d tried to put behind her since she’d sent her ex-husband to jail. She’d kept it tamped down, rolled into a dark corner of her heart, but it was back again, a jagged emotion that cut through her insides.

Logan finished the story as best he could.

Officer Bentley made more notes. “Did you see the guy, Logan?”

“No.”

He turned back to Isabel. “Could you identify the man if you saw his picture?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He led her to a sparse room with an older model computer.

“Probably got a faster way to do this back in L.A.” He asked Isabel for a basic description of the man—race, age range—and pulled up a series of pictures on the screen. “Start here and keep going until you find a match or run out of pictures.”

She thought there was a hint of derision in his voice as she took her place at the computer. Logan sat down next to her.

Bentley switched on a fan, which turned feebly in the stuffy air. “I’m going to check out the cemetery. I’ll be back shortly.”

The door swung closed behind him with a sharp bang.

Isabel looked at Logan. “He thinks I’m making this all up.”

Logan sighed. “Maybe, but he’s a good enough cop to check things out anyway.”

“Do you think that, too? That I’m making it up?”

His green eyes bored into hers. “I believe you were honestly terrified in that cemetery. I also think that’s not an unfamiliar feeling to you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “So you wonder if I might have dreamed up this guy because I’ve been in bad situations before?”

“You didn’t imagine the footprint next to the ravine. I saw those myself.”

She tried to read the feeling under his words. Skeptical, yes, but not dismissive. And for some unknown reason, he was doing his best to help her out. She couldn’t figure out a logical motive, so she applied herself to scrutinizing each picture. An hour later, she’d only made it through a couple hundred mug shots.

“This is taking forever.” She looked around and found a notepad by the phone, along with the stub of a pencil. She sketched quickly until she got the essence of the man who had terrorized her. Long, thin face, pale skin, gray-blue eyes, long, reddish hair and the faintest hint of a goatee on his chin, a felt hat pulled down over the forehead.

Logan watched over her shoulder as she drew, his hard shoulder touching hers. Pulse quickening, she handed the sketch to him.

He whistled. “You are one talented artist.”

She felt her face warm again. “A hobby of mine, since I was a child. That’s the guy.”

He sat down again. “He looks like some kind of soldier from the past.”

A shock went through her and she gasped. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“The song. He was singing a song about a wounded drummer and the flag. It made me think of an old soldier of some sort.”

Logan looked closer at her sketch. “This man isn’t old enough to have fought in anything but maybe Desert Storm and Iraq. Let me make a copy of this and we’ll leave one with Bentley. With your permission, I’d like to send this along to a friend of mine. He may be able to help us ID the guy.”

She nodded and turned back to the pictures as the song played in her mind.

Logan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove back to Cassie’s ranch. Bentley hadn’t returned to the station before they’d left, but another cop had been there to take the sketch. No one in the database matched Isabel’s description of the man. “I’m sure the guy’s gone, but maybe you should consider staying in a hotel in town. Just for a few days.”

Isabel shot him a frightened look, then raised her chin, brushing the long strands of black hair out of her face. Her voice was soft but determined. “Thank you, but I’m going to stay at my sister’s ranch.”

He eyed the worn patch on the knee of her jeans. “If it’s a matter of cost, I could…”

She cut him off. “No. Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

He’d offended her. Even though his offer was meant to be helpful and it was the most logical solution, she was annoyed. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. Talking just made things worse, started arguments, raised the level of conflict. Things were so much easier in pararescue. You went in. You saved people and hopefully didn’t get killed in the process. Not one of his saves had ever objected to his methods. He sighed.

You’re not a pararescueman anymore, Logan. You’re a regular guy who doesn’t understand women. Welcome to the club.

They drove by a group of workmen erecting a section of raised bleachers on the sidewalk.

Isabel watched the progress as they passed, stroking Tank’s head where he’d shoved it through the small cab window into the front seat. “What’s going on?”

He was relieved to have the silence broken. “Getting ready for the Moonlight Ride. It’s a big event to fund the horse rescue efforts in and around this town. They start with a parade and end with a night ride through the Badlands. Your sister…” He knew as soon as he said it, it was another stupid topic. Bring up the girl’s dead sister? Great, Logan. “Lots of locals help out with the festivities.”

Isabel peeked around Tank’s head. “Was Cassie going to be a part of the event?”

He sighed. “Yes. She was working with some of her horses, getting them in shape to take participants on the ride. She was passionate about her rescue work, but you know that already, I’m sure.”

Isabel ducked her head and stared at her hands. “Yes.”

He tried to keep the conversation going. “John was helping her acclimate the horses to the saddle. They’d ride together at night sometimes.”

Isabel’s head jerked up. “Was he with her when she died?”

“No. She took a horse out on her own. Seemed to be heading for the Badlands when she was thrown. John found her when he came to the ranch the next day before sunup and discovered Cassie and Big Blue were gone.” He shifted. “Listen, I’m sorry to bring up your sister. I know it’s painful for you.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I want to know everything about my sister’s life.”

And her death? Logan had thought the circumstances of Cassie’s last night were strange, but he had dismissed it, until Isabel had come into town. The two encounters with the singing stranger almost convinced him something might be suspicious after all about Cassie’s death. But maybe the strange events had more to do with Isabel’s past than the present. He looked at her profile, the dark hair like a shadow against her porcelain skin, the delicate almond shape of her eyes that spoke of an Asian ancestor. He wondered if anything would ever erase the fear that he’d seen on her face in the cemetery, the way she’d pulled from his touch as if his fingers burned her skin. Who had hurt this woman? And why did the thought of it make him grind his teeth?

He shook off the feeling and rolled down the window, letting the blast of air barrel into the truck with enough noise to make conversation impossible as they began the climb up the mountain road.

The ranch was bathed in afternoon sunlight when they arrived, a palette of amber and bronze. To Logan’s mind it was the perfect place, quiet, away from tourists and traffic, with the spectacular Badlands jutting into the sky behind, as if they could stand guard somehow. He wished they could. The twist of uncertainty remained in his gut as they got out of the truck, Tank jumping down to join them.

The horses nickered softly in the corral. Isabel stopped at the fence to stroke the silky coat of the nearest one. Her hands were tiny and delicate against the wide muzzle of the horse. She laid her head against the animal’s for a moment. Logan had the strangest notion that he’d seen her before, long ago.

The mixture of loss and frustration on her face made him take a step forward. Should he try to comfort her? Ignore her pain?

She took a deep breath and pulled away from the horse.

To give himself something to do, he grabbed the brown bag from the truck and handed it to her. “What’s this?”

He was surprised to feel his face flush. Blushing? He hadn’t blushed since grade school. “Some supplies. In case you run low.”

She reached in and extracted a package of Oreos. Her laugh was soft and silvery. “Thank you. I think I’ll carry them around in my pockets, like my sister used to do.”

He chuckled. “Better not. You’ll have a herd of horses following you everywhere.”

She looked thoughtful. “Thank you, Logan. For everything. It was a lot for you to do for a stranger, and I appreciate it.”

Her words sounded as though they’d been pulled out, one by one, painfully presented. “Don’t mention it. You’ve got my number in case you need anything, right?”

He could see her gathering herself, subtly straightening up to tell him she wasn’t going to need help. They were interrupted by the arrival of Sheila Trigg in a silver truck. She got out and fetched a container from the backseat.

“Hello, all. John couldn’t be bothered to bring over a casserole, so I did. What’s this I hear about some lunatic bothering you at the cemetery?”

Logan saw the look of surprise on Isabel’s face. “Nothing stays secret very long here.”

Sheila moved with them toward the welcome cool of the house. “We’ve never had anything like this happen in our town before, that I’m aware of. Are you sure you didn’t bring this trouble from L.A.?” She laughed as she slid the food into the fridge, but Logan didn’t miss the momentary look of horror that crossed Isabel’s face before she composed herself again.

Whatever trouble she’d had in L.A. was certainly no joking matter.

Sheila turned to them again. “Listen, I know you’re probably tired and overwhelmed but I wanted to let you know that John will continue to help you with the horses for as long as you need him. Also, I wanted to offer to help you plan a memorial service for your sister. It’s hard not knowing anyone in town and, let me tell you, there isn’t a soul here I don’t know. I’d be happy to help you with the planning.”

Isabel’s voice caught as she answered. “That would be very kind.”

Logan wondered if she was concerned about how to pay for a service. He’d not missed the worn clothing and her beat-up suitcase, too small to hold much of anything.

Sheila continued. “And everyone will understand if you back out of Moonlight Ride.”

“Back out?”

“Well, your sister committed to taking a group out on her horses that night and helping with the meet and greet. Don’t worry, though. We can round up more horses from somewhere, I’m sure.”

Isabel was about to answer when there was a knock at the door. Logan answered it.

Officer Bentley tipped his hat and smiled at Sheila. “Afternoon.” He turned a look on Isabel. “Nothing out of the ordinary at the cemetery. Came to photograph the footprints. Can you show me where they are exactly?”

Sheila joined the party as they headed into the hot afternoon. She kept up a lively conversation. Logan was used to her irrepressible personality and was happy to let her fill the strained silence.

Isabel walked next to him, shoulders tense and a worried frown on her pale face. She scanned the trees every so often, eyes wide. He hoped she wasn’t heading into another blood sugar plunge. He should have stopped to get sandwiches in town, or a soda at least. In this heat…

There you go again, Logan. She’s not your responsibility. Just get this done and go home.

Sheila chattered on. “Your sister had big plans for this place. She wanted to clear the ravine and restore the creek that ran through here, make it a real sanctuary for the horses. I admired her ideas, but I’m sure glad I wasn’t having to foot the bill or the back work to get it done.” She laughed and wiped the sweat under her fringe of blond bangs.

They approached the ravine and he felt the cooler air rushing up at him. Bentley readied his camera as they pointed out the spot where she’d gone over the side. They formed a semicircle and peered closely at the ground.

Logan went down on his hands and knees. The moisture left by the previous night’s storm had disappeared, leaving the ground hard and dry. The footprint would be nicely preserved.

Officer Bentley was silent for a moment. “Sure this is the spot?”

Logan ignored the irritation that flared inside him. “Yes. I’m still pretty good at pinpointing locations.”

Bentley grunted. “No offense meant. I’m just not seeing any footprints here.”

Logan straightened and shot a look at Isabel. “I’m not either. Someone has wiped them away.”

FIVE

Even an hour later, Isabel could still feel the earth shifting beneath her feet, as if the ground was being washed away, worn into precarious gulleys like the massive twisted hoodoos of the Badlands themselves. The prints, the only things that might convince Officer Bentley she wasn’t crazy, were gone. If Logan hadn’t confirmed that he’d seen them, she would have begun to doubt her own sanity. And the look he gave her as he left to scout the property with Bentley, half worried, half incredulous, made her even more confused.

Should she think of Logan as an ally? But why should he be? They’d only spoken once on the phone before she’d arrived. Suppose he was part of the conspiracy, if there was one? In cahoots with whoever had pushed her and rubbed out their footprints?

Then why would he bother climbing down to rescue you? And above all, where do I know him from?

Sheila Trigg interrupted the tumble of thoughts by handing her a plate with a ham sandwich and some potato chips, followed by a glass of iced tea. She sat down next to Isabel at the table and patted her hand.

“Oh, honey, you look just wiped out. Eat something, at least.”

Isabel tried to choke down a few bites of sandwich under Sheila’s watchful eye. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’ll help in any way we can. You know that, right?”

Isabel sighed. She’d never even met her neighbors in her apartment building, never wanted to, but there was a strange comfort in having people looking out for her in this place where everything seemed new and dangerous. “You’ve been a big help already. And John has, too. As soon as I figure out how Cassie left things, I’ll see that he gets paid.”

Sheila waved a hand. “Oh, John would work for nothing if he could be near those horses.” She smiled wryly and lowered her voice. “And truth be told, I think he had a bit of a crush on your big sister.”

Isabel swallowed. “Really? Were they…dating?”

Sheila laughed. “No. John was never much with people and he’s been gun-shy since his last girlfriend moved away without leaving a forwarding address. If I know my son, he probably never worked up the courage to so much as buy her a cup of coffee. Just as well, since he’s going to start a law practice at the end of the summer.”

Isabel didn’t comment, but she wondered if her sister had had any attraction for the stolid John Trigg. She ate a few more chips. “Can you tell me more about the Moonlight Ride?”

Sheila raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the details. We figured you were going to pack up the ranch and sell it as soon as you could.”

Isabel looked down at her plate. It had been her plan since the moment she’d pawned her gold chain to scrape up the money to fly to South Dakota. Settle Cassie’s estate, somehow carve out enough money to give her a proper memorial service, and leave South Dakota behind. Permanently.

It’s still the plan, Isabel. You don’t belong here. You never did. “I just wondered about it. Logan said Cassie was involved.”

“It’s an event sponsored by Range Rustlers. They’re a rescue group for unwanted horses. Your sister got several of her horses from them. They’re hoping to raise enough to buy some pastureland to keep the severe cases until the animals can be tamed enough to find homes. Talk to Bentley if you want to know more. That’s his hobby when he’s not the long arm of the law.”

She thought about her sister’s passion for horses, born of early visits to their uncle’s South Dakota farm. Cassie’d been fascinated, entranced, and from that moment she’d saved every dime to buy herself a horse.

Isabel remembered the day she’d found Cassie sobbing because she’d used her hard-earned savings to bail their father out of jail after his arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct. Anger kindled to life inside her, followed by the cold lick of shame. Her father had hurt them, but how had Isabel’s abandonment injured her sister?

Sheila started and looked down at the cell phone clipped to her belt. “A message from Carl. I’ve got to go to town and help him with the Ladies Guild meeting. If I don’t show up to rescue him, he’ll never get out of there.”

Isabel followed Sheila to the door. The woman wrapped her in a hug. “I meant what I said. If you need anything, you just shout.”

Isabel thanked her again. As Sheila drove away, Isabel scanned the trees for Logan and Officer Bentley. There was still no sign of them. She closed the door and locked it for good measure.

The house was cool, the spruce branches overhead sheltering it from the sun. Isabel wandered through the kitchen and the small bedroom, soaking in the details of her sister’s life. A bookshelf crammed with books, mostly about the care of horses. Pictures of Cassie with Blue Boy and one that made her breath catch. It was a family photo, old and starting to fade. Cassie stood next to her father, dwarfed by his tall form, and Isabel smiled from the circle of her mother’s arms. She’d forgotten that there was a time when they were a normal family, before her father’s business failed, before the alcoholism took over, before her mother’s lupus began to siphon her life away. Her eyes blurred. She replaced the photo.

When her body began to tremble she took a few of Logan’s cookies and sat on the worn rocking chair to watch out the window for the two men’s return. A scrap of white crammed between the cushion and the chair arm caught her eye. She pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Dear Isabel,

I was really thrilled to get your last letter. My mind began to imagine all kinds of things, how you would come to visit me here and we’d be sisters again. We have a lot to talk about, don’t you think? I was furious at you for a very long time. That’s why I didn’t answer your letters for a while. I thought you had taken the easy way out, running away and leaving me to deal with Dad. From the bits and pieces in your letters, I understand that your choice cost you more than I could ever imagine. I know Dad hurt you badly and, if it matters, I think he was sorry for that. At the end, he asked about you sometimes. Remember what Mom used to read from Matthew? Pray for those who hurt you. I was amazed that she could do that in the face of how he treated her, but she did forgive him, Is. That’s what I tried to remember when he was at his lowest. Mom forgave him and prayed for him right up to the day she died.

What’s that saying? It’s water under the bridge now. I have an amazing life here with my horses. I had a developer approach me about selling. They want to build a resort here for backcountry types. I’ve even had an offer much closer to home, but I’ve got other plans. I’m going to have the ravine cleared out and hopefully it will revert to a natural running creek again. Logan is doing it for me. He reminds me of Blue Boy, so proud and trying to learn a whole new life, after his wife and everything. You’ve met him before, you know. I’ll explain later. With his help, I’m going to make this a preserve where people can come and learn about horses and take trail rides into the Badlands. I’m looking into having trailer hookups so folks can “camp and ride.” What do you think? A pie-in-the-sky dream? Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember when we decided to open our own circus? A three-ring circus run by two little kids. Ha! Maybe I’ve finally gotten old enough to run after the dreams before they run away from me.

It’s getting dark now. I’ve never been afraid of the dark before, but lately…well, John just laughs and says there’s nothing in the dark that can hurt you any worse than the daytime. Still, I find myself keeping the light on at night, as if there’s something out there waiting to get me. Funny, because you were always the one that had to have a light on in the dark! I guess I’ve talked long enough. I want you to make plans to come see me. We’ve wasted too much time already. I’ve got to go find a stamp or this will never get to you.

Love,

Cassie

Isabel pressed her cheek to the paper, her breath burning in her lungs. The precious words. They could have been sisters again. Real sisters. The notion eased her agony for a moment. Cassie had moved beyond the anger and the blame. It was a sweet breeze of comfort against the storm of grief and regret that billowed through her. Why hadn’t she made those plans? If she’d come earlier, maybe Cassie would never have gone off on that ride.

If she could have followed her mother’s advice and forgiven her father…

Her tears dropped onto the paper clutched in her hands.

It seemed as though the flimsy scrap held the weight of her sister’s dreams and her own sorrow and shame. The burden was too much. She shot to her feet.

She had to get away, settle things in South Dakota and leave, before she lost herself to the same grief she’d felt at her mother’s death. That grief had started it all, the plunge into anger and recklessness that had dropped her at Rawley’s feet, kept her in self-imposed exile for all those years. She shivered, tucking the paper securely in her backpack, mind whirling.

John would take the horses, she was sure. From all accounts he loved them. Perhaps the Triggs would even be interested in buying the property. At the very least, she knew Sheila would help her find a real estate agent and do what she could. Logan, too.

The thought of him stopped her.

Proud and trying to learn a new life.

What had happened to his old one?

And when had she met him before?

Logan stood in the shade of a twisted spruce where Tank sprawled on his side. The dog was tired from chasing every unfortunate bird that chose to land among the shrubs. Bentley continued his methodical search of the soil at the edge of the ravine, but Logan knew that was a waste of time. There weren’t any prints. He knew it, Bentley knew it. The search was more to assuage Isabel and Sheila. The rain might have blurred the footprints into nothingness, but something in his gut told him it wasn’t so.

He pulled out his satellite phone and called his law enforcement contact Bill Cloudman, filling him in quickly. “I’m going to fax you the sketch Isabel drew.”

“What makes you think I can shed any light here?”

“Because you know this part of the state inside and out.” There was a long silence. Logan knew Cloudman was trying desperately to forget his time as a Tribal Ranger and the death of his young partner. He didn’t want to add to the pain, but Bill was the only person he could think of to ask for help.

“I’ll take a look at the sketch and poke around a little. Not much to go on. No prints, just the girl’s story. You sure she’s telling the truth?”

“No, but my gut says there’s something to it.”

“Trust your gut, Logan. It’ll keep you alive.”

Isabel, too, he thought as he disconnected. Picturing her dark-eyed intensity brought him back to his youth, growing up in the shadow of the Badlands where life could be as harsh and unforgiving as the land itself. The sizzle of memory rippled through him, a horse stuck in the mud, eyes rolling in terror, imprisoned by the iron grip of the earth, fear shuddering through every muscle and sinew. He wondered why the desperation of that moment stayed with him all these years.

The sound of an engine pulled him from his thoughts.

Bentley looked up too, frowning as Carl Trigg got out the passenger side of a sedan. Logan didn’t recognize the driver as he exited, a well-dressed man who looked exceedingly out of place on the wide stretch of graveled driveway. He was further surprised to see the man open the rear door and help Sheila out. Why had she returned so quickly?

Bentley hooked his thumbs on his gun belt, watching the trio make their way to the house. Sheila waved and gave them a “come here” gesture. Bentley muttered something under his breath and walked toward the house.

Logan puzzled as the group was ushered into the house by a startled-looking Isabel. Well-dressed guy had to be a lawyer, probably here to help Isabel dispose of the property. She would sell to the first person to make an offer, no doubt. He’d make the same choice himself. Maybe the Triggs would snatch up the property and let John run things. Just as well. Isabel didn’t belong here, she’d said so herself.

He pitched a rock and sent it bouncing off the rough bark of a twisted pine. Tank looked at him as if to say, “I’m tired. If you want that fetched, do it yourself.” There wasn’t anything to be gained by sticking around. He had the description to fax and plenty of reasons to start drumming up some construction business.

A plane sliced through the blue sky above the property and the longing ignited, intense as it had ever been. The need to belong again, to have a reason to get up in the morning, the team that he would live and die for.

Maybe the pararescue instructor position would pan out.

Not maybe. When. It wouldn’t be the same, but he’d still be a part of a unit, a man with a purpose.

Nothing to do about that but wait until his application was considered and his ankle fully rehabbed.

The other alternative crept into his mind. He could go back home to his family’s business, a sprawling complex of quarries just begging for a son to take the reins. But spending his days ordering payroll sheets and poring over equipment manifests was a fate to be avoided at all costs. He shook the thought away and forced his feet into motion.