The Trophy Hunter

J.M.Zambrano

Published by J.M.Zambrano, Smashwords Edition

Trophy Hunter

Copyright 2010 Jean Marie Zambrano

Cover Design by Julie Ortolon

Cover Photo Copyright 2009 George Mayer at Big Stock.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Chain O’Lakes State Park

Spring Grove, Illinois

The chill November wind carried dampness from the lake beneath the flaps of Diana’s khaki hunting cap. Her ears ached from the intrusion. She and Daddy had been trudging through the early morning cold for what seemed like hours. Her teeth chattered. He was far ahead of her now. Good. He couldn’t chew her out for making noise.

Where was the sun? That pale piece of cold light must’ve dropped into the lake and drowned. Why did Mother let him take me? Her other self, the wise-beyond-her-years one, already knew the answer. He took what he wanted.

She trudged onward through the damp, scruffy brush, wishing for a brother to take her place. Knowing at age eleven that this was unlikely. Her best friend had an older sister who’d clued them in to the facts of life the year before. She knew where babies came from and that parents who slept in separate rooms weren’t likely to get any. Babies, that is. She knew what her dad got. But now that she was older, he was more careful about what he did in front of her.

Ahead of her, Daddy abruptly held up a large hand that signaled her to halt in her tracks. The rifle weighted heavily in its case, slung across her shoulders. Then he beckoned impatiently. She could imagine a frown lurking beneath the bill on his cap. She doubted that he had a clue about the revulsion that crouched in the corner of her heart. But she didn’t have the guts to tell him outright. Some fragment of wanting to please him still remained with her.

I so don’t want to be here. Why can’t he just see that?

When she reached his side, propelled by reluctant feet, he snatched the rifle case from her shoulders, dislodging her cap in the process. No apology followed. She hadn’t expected one. His look bespoke total disgust.

Slow, awkward. She read his mind. Of course. I hate this. You think I won’t put it off as long as I can?

Now that she’d grown so tall, similar adjectives got appended to her at school. She towered over all the girls in her sixth grade class. Forget the boys. They were dorks. But it would be nice to have a dad who thought she was cool as a girl. It would have been …

“Open the breech,” he whispered, shoving the rifle at her.

Even through gloves, the barrel’s cold metal increased her shivering. “No, Daddy. I don’t want to.” She summoned the courage to push the weapon back at him.

“Open the goddamn breech and load your weapon.” He spit the words at her, still whispering, but she pushed the gun away, would have no part of it.

Then she saw why he whispered. A small herd of white-tailed does had entered a clearing some yards ahead of them. One larger doe paused and sniffed the air. As she felt the wind on her face, Diana suspected that the animals were unaware of their intrusion.

Daddy put aside his own rifle and started loading hers. One cartridge. One shot. One kill. His mantra. A drowning sensation enveloped her, more than could be blamed on the mist from the lake that froze in droplets on bare twigs and evergreens.

Oh, please, no.

He forced the weapon back into her shaking hands. She took it this time, not to please him, but to keep the deer alive for one more moment.

“Get your goddamn finger out of the trigger guard,” he hissed.

She quickly obeyed. It had been a slip. If he hadn’t shoved it at her so rudely, she’d have remembered.

“That one.” He moved his eyes in the direction of the unsuspecting herd. She knew he meant the biggest of the lot. The one she’d tagged in her mind as the wise old doe.

Stall for time. She sighted through the scope, deliberately spotting a tree to the left of the big doe. The deer were maybe fifty yards away. Easy to miss and scatter them to safety. So she jerked off a shot, still aiming for the tree. Crack! Pain stabbed her right shoulder. The rifle kick would leave a bruise, even through the padding. The pain was nothing. Her heart did joyous flip-flops as she watched the does’ little white tails bobbing as they leapt to safety beyond the clearing.

Daddy was fuming like a freight train. She wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. He sure didn’t need to whisper now, did he?

“Squeeze, goddamn it! You don’t jerk. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Cap in hand, she hung her head, letting her long hair hide her smile at his expense. Still holding the rifle, she had the fleeting urge to turn it on him and squeeze. Bye-bye, Daddy.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he admonished, misreading her scrunched-up face. “There’ll be other chances.” His tone softened. How could he not know her at all?

Much to her relief, he seemed to accept her miss as unintended. Or was that only wishful thinking on her part? Maybe if she could convince him that she was unteachable, he’d give up on her. At one point, he put a hand on her should and said in an almost fatherly tone, “Your problem is that you failed to identify your target. Before you go near the trigger, you must unequivocally identify your target.”

Two whole sentences and no cussing.

“Yes, Daddy.”

The rest of the day ahead of them weighed heavily on Diana. The strap from the rifle case rubbed against her bruised shoulder. How many times could she miss a shot before he got wise? And what if he did? He couldn’t make her shoot something warm and living, could he?

Chapter 1

Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Colorado

Twenty-five Years Later

An October dawn cut a swath of vermilion across the eastern horizon. Reflected off the western peaks, it gave the valley an eerie glow.

The Hunter watched a shivering sun inch upward, stingy with its warmth. He glassed the surrounding area, sweeping 180 degrees to the west where roiling clouds oozed between the peaks. The prospect of another storm pleased him. The elements were his allies.

From his rocky aerie he could see her approach the cabin in the tan pickup. He watched her park and get out. Through the scope on his .17 HMR he caught her neck in the crosshairs. The bullet would leave one small hole in the V where her collarbones met, with only a minimal exit wound.

He chuckled softly at her stupid attempt to hide the vehicle under a few branches. She thought she could hide from him. He salivated in anticipation of the look in her eye when she realized her mistake.

* * * * *

Outside the cabin, Brandi Rogart’s hands bled through insulated gloves from the effort of tearing boards off the window. In her haste to get started, she’d come ill prepared. What had begun as a half-hour drive had turned into an overnight watch, then a two-hour drive into the mountains. The cabin door, padlocked from the outside, stubbornly resisted her attacks with the tools from her truck. She simply didn’t have the strength. But the little window in back that she reached by standing on a discarded sawhorse finally yielded to her.

Panic rose in her throat like vomit as she peered back through the pines brown from beetle kill. She had no idea when he would return. Maybe he’d already found the truck where she’d left it covered with pine boughs in a little clearing off the road.

Another thought sent the hairs up on the nape of her neck where they weren’t caught up in her long, dusky braid. What if he knew she’d followed him? Planned it even?

She brushed off the fear along with the rest of the icky, webby things that festooned the window; then hoisted herself up onto the sill. As she dropped to the floor inside, her eyes searched the semidarkness for her daughter, Lori.

“Why are you here?” asked a female voice unlike her child’s.

Lori materialized as Brandi’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom. But the voice seemed to come out of a stranger. The girl’s blond hair─matted─probably filthy from the look of the surroundings─was tied back with a thin strip of leather.

“We’re getting out of here. Hurry, sweetie. He may be back soon.” The place reeked of stale urine. It was worse than an animal’s cage. Brandi looked at the front door, the only door, and remembered the padlock on the outside. They’d have to leave by the window.

“I won’t leave him.”

Brandi shook her head to clear out Lori’s words. He must’ve brainwashed her. Or drugged her. She looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw that the child was gone. Rage at the man filled her. She wished she’d brought a gun even though she’d always hated firearms.

Like trapped birds, her eyes crashed around the miserable room, looking for some kind of amenities. How could even a drugged person consider staying here? No toilet, no sink. No visible plumbing of any description. A couple of plastic buckets. A five gallon jug of bottled water sat atop a dispenser. No electricity. A propane heater did a passable job of taking the chill out of the room. She’s not in her right mind.

“How did you find us anyway?” Lori asked in an annoyed voice.

It had been the phone call Brandi had overheard. She’d picked up the extension, thinking it might be news of her daughter. It had been, but not from the authorities. “How is she?” he’d asked. “Sweet,” was the response. Brandi had choked on her anger as she’d carefully replaced the instrument. Then she knew where to look, who to follow.

And it hadn’t been a total surprise. Brandi had seen how he’d looked at Lori on the rare occasions when the families had gotten together. When her dad and husband had come back without her daughter, she knew the story didn’t make sense. A hunter’s daughter knew better than to wander off into the woods alone.

“Did his wife find out and call you?” asked Lori.

“No.” Brandi focused on planning their escape. They’d have to stand on something to get out the window. She assessed the furniture. A bed─she didn’t want to think about what went on there. A desk and chair. An ancient armoire. A vinyl-covered table and two sort-of matching chairs. All scarred flea market rejects. But they could stand on the table to reach the window.

“Help me carry the table over there.” Brandi indicated the window.

“No.”

“Sweetie, it’s okay now. I’m here to take you home.” She reached out, hating the repugnance she felt toward her daughter’s unwashed body that reeked of the man’s scent.

The girl─she could hardly think of her as Lori─shrank away from her touch. “He loves me. Leave us alone.”

“You’re thirteen years old. You know I can’t do that.” Brandi weighed her choices. There was no way she could drag Lori through the window against her will. She tried reason. “He’s got you locked up. If he loved you, would he do that?”

“You’ve got it wrong. He’s got you locked out.”

“You know he’s married.”

“He’s gonna divorce her.”

“He’s way too old for you.”

“You should talk.”

Brandi ground her anger down to a fine powder. Held back the slap that was itching her palm. But the sights and smells were dulling her edge. He could return at any minute. If he came through the woods from behind the cabin, he’d see the broken window. She had no choice but to leave and come back with the sheriff.

Scratch that. With her luck, he’d be another hunting buddy. Paranoia crippled her reasoning powers. Maybe they were all in on it.

Okay, she’d drive to where her cell got reception, and then call the feds. Now that she had proof, they’d have to listen to her. Brandi struggled to move the table by herself, climbed up and looked back at her daughter. “I won’t be long.”

Lori’s voice drifted toward her as Brandi lowered herself to the ground outside. “We won’t be here.”

Where would he move her? Not to his house.

Brandi looked up as she felt moisture on her face and saw that the puny sun had drowned in a mass of angry clouds. Panic seized her chest like a too-tight bra. She tripped on a dislodged hunk of granite as she hurried toward her truck. She regained her balance and lengthened her stride, breathing hard, the cold air searing her lungs. Without help she might lose her daughter forever. A stony ridge cut up the skyline to her left. Maybe if she climbed it she could get cell reception.

* * * * *

He watched her struggle through the cabin window, glassed her as she climbed the talus ridge and tried to use her cell phone. He could have dropped her then, as she stood outlined against a sky now turned iron-gray, but he let her get almost to the truck before deliberately cracking a branch. When she jumped and turned in his direction, the rush was exquisite. But it was her eyes meeting his, knowing what was coming just before he squeezed off one shot─ah, that was ecstasy.

Chapter 2

Denver, December, Present Day

Diana Martin lay in a hospital bed at Presbyterian/St. Luke’s, mortally wounded in spirit. Dr. Hovac, her ob/gyn, sat in a chair beside her bed, his voice droning on, unwelcome, half-heard.

“Diana, are you listening to me?”

The slight increase in volume and urgency pulled her back to him. She nodded.

“I can release you tomorrow. Will there be someone at home?”

She was aware that Dr. Hovac knew that she and Greg had separated. What could be more obvious than his absence at this time? Diana nodded again to appease the doctor. It was a lie. There would be nobody at home.

“Is there anything you want to ask me? Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Diana shook her head. What was left to discuss? She’d come out from under the anesthesia with an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. Then through the haze of disconnected thought, the memory of labor pains not due for another three months, he’d said it all. No baby now─or ever. Of course the doctor had not been that blunt. He’d explained about the emergency hysterectomy to save her life.

“I think you would benefit from counseling, involvement in a support group,” the doctor continued. “I’ll be glad to give you some names.”

Three days ago she’d have recognized intended comfort. Now, his words just made the bad dream real.

“Diana, I am so sorry.”

His eyes looked unusually shiny. Or was she seeing him through her own tears? A shudder passed through her body as she realized her anger at Greg had spilled over. “I’ll do better tomorrow.” She squeezed out what she thought was a weak smile. The best she could do for now.

* * * * *

Tomorrow came, but the empty feeling was worse than the pain. Diana, dressed in loose designer sweats, stared at cream-colored walls as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Beside her lay a down jacket that her new secretary, Tamara, had delivered the night before. When her paperwork arrived, she signed without reading it, something that she always warned clients never to do.

A nurse wheeled her to the hospital entrance where a cab waited for her. Raising her five-nine body out of the wheelchair, and then bending again to get into the cab, hurt like hell. But that was pain she had a prescription for. She reminded herself to call the pharmacy as soon as she got home.

As the cab eased out into Denver traffic, Diana opened the window slightly, glad it wasn’t snowing. The cool December air hit her face and tangled her shoulder length auburn hair. Christmas decorations made downtown Denver just too cheery for words. She closed her eyes and rolled the window back up, welcoming the increased speed that told her they’d gotten onto the interstate. As the cab accelerated, Diana felt memories of her life sweeping by, a kaleidoscope in which patterns of the past had been irretrievably lost.

* * * * *

The house Diana had shared with Greg was in the affluent Denver suburb of Cherry Hills, within walking distance of a small, man-made lake. They’d bought the two-story brick contemporary as newlyweds, just after it had been built. Seven years ago. It now felt like seven hundred. Who was that stranger she’d been sleeping with? Why hadn’t she seen the warning signs?

Diana had caught Greg with his pants down. Literally. Being serviced by her secretary in the office suite she and Greg shared. She had fired Cathy, who was about ten years her junior, on the spot. “Your work sucks,” she’d told the bug-eyed little bitch. Then she’d grabbed a putter out of Greg’s golf bag and whacked him in the ass with it. Later, as she was scratching his name off the door with a razor blade, she wished she’d chosen one of the bigger clubs.

He hadn’t come home that night. Or the next. Diana had not been surprised. Avoidance was Greg’s usual means of coping. He’d been a promising litigator when they’d met, but his inability to face a client when he lost a case soon drove him to the less demanding areas of real estate law and estate planning.

When Greg finally surfaced, he made no effort at conversation until he’d carried the last suitcase through the door. “You won’t last a year without me.”

Diana had actually laughed. He referred to their law practice to which he had contributed little for the past year. A couple of wills. A few real estate contracts. Maybe she exaggerated. There were probably several of each. But it had been Diana’s family practice that had sustained them. She handled custody matters and divorce settlements, helped place battered women in safe houses and nipped at the heels of district attorneys to urge prosecution of abusers. She might be considered a bitch by some, but she was good at what she did, able to take on cases that Greg wouldn’t touch because they were too emotional. She had then taken time to remind herself of her successes, since she was about to become single and was hugely pregnant.

After Greg had left, Diana ran through a number of sarcastic jabs she could have thrown at him. Like, “Who’s handling your divorce?” He hadn’t the stomach to handle anyone else’s, so how could he handle his own? Unexpectedly, Diana had begun to cry. Hormones. Couldn’t be she still cared for him after what he did.

During the night, pain grabbed her in the abdomen, and then subsided. False labor, she told herself. When it became repetitive, at shorter intervals, she thought, My God, this could be the real thing. As she struggled to get out of bed and saw the blood on the sheets, Diana panicked and dialed nine-one-one.

* * * * *

Funny how one week can change your whole life, thought Diana as the cab pulled up to her house. She felt a jolt of the nearest thing to joy as she recognized the car parked in her driveway. She wasn’t going to walk into an empty house after all. Jess was there.

Jessica Edwards, Diana’s former college roommate and friend of fifteen years, didn’t deal with emotion much better than Greg did, but here she was. The door of her red Camaro opened and Jessie exited, stretching her long limbs with feline panache. Sleek, black and elegant, she walked with an athletic grace to the cab and jerked the door open while the driver was still ambling around to the passenger side.

“Sorry I didn’t do the hospital scene. You know me and hospitals.”

“No sweat. You didn’t miss anything.” At least she was here. For that Diana was grateful, but she never would have asked. Jess, among other peculiarities, had a thing about sick people. She waited until they got well─or didn’t─then rejoiced with the ones who did over their good health. But this wasn’t exactly sickness. More like disaster.

Diana paid the cabbie, then handed Jess her overnight case. “Here, make yourself useful.”

“I have been.” Jess grabbed the case and took Diana’s elbow as the two walked slowly toward the front door. “Who do you think has been feeding Tigger? Good thing you gave me a key last year when you and asshole went on vacation.”

“Right. Thanks. What about his litter box? It must be really ripe.”

Jess took her key out and opened the door. “Greg can clean his own damn box.”

“I meant the other alley cat,” Diana said as they proceeded from the entry hall into the living room. The small amount of physical exertion left her feeling as if she’d climbed a mountain.

“Tigger’s box?” Jess asked, raising an eyebrow.

Diana nodded as she collapsed onto the tapestry-upholstered sofa. She sighed as the balm of familiar surroundings eased the harshness of her new reality.

“I threw it out and got him a new one,” Jess continued, “just like I did when you went on vacation. You said ‘change the box.’ I changed the box. You never even noticed.”

“You just scoop it. Change the liner if it’s too bad. You don’t have to throw the whole box away.” Diana came closer to a laugh than at anytime during the past week.

“You mean you just scoop it. No way am I going to pick through cat shit.” Jess waved a manicured hand in disgust. “Here he comes now.”

Tigger, a yellow tabby, ambled into the room and plopped his considerable bulk onto Diana’s lap. She winced in pain as she moved him to a less sensitive area.

Jess went outside to her car and returned with takeout. Chinese. A poor choice, thought Diana as the aroma hit her nostrils. Greg had proposed in their favorite Chinese restaurant. She hadn’t thought about it in years. Until the scent triggered the unwelcome memory.

“I’m not super-hungry right now. Maybe I’ll just have some herbal tea.” Diana got up and walked slowly toward the kitchen.

Jess followed her. “But you love Chinese.”

The kitchen, done in delft blue and white, was light and airy, raising Diana’s spirits. Plants hung from the vaulted ceiling.

“Oh, I watered the plants,” Jess added, following Diana’s gaze.

“I see,” replied Diana, as she pressed a finger into soggy soil in one of the pots and removed a yellowed leaf.

Jess boiled water, one of her few domestic accomplishments. She steeped a tea bag for Diana before making herself a mug of strong, black instant coffee.

“You look spacey.” Jess frowned at Diana. “Better go lie down.”

“I’ve done enough of that this past week.” Diana settled carefully into an oak arm chair and wrapped her hands around the teacup.

“Four days,” Jess corrected. “Cut yourself some slack.”

Jess paced restlessly, stopping to gulp some of her coffee, appearing to burn her lips in the process.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine, but that’s okay. You will soon.” Jess shot Diana a morale-booster smile. “When you’re up to it, I’ve got a new client for you.” Jess was already inching toward the door, draining the coffee mug and placing it on the countertop as she passed. “No rush. Anytime within the next twenty-four hours.” She paused and gave Diana another grin. “Just kidding.”

Diana followed her slowly. “No, I need the work. Not just the money. The distraction. I’ll call Tamara and have her start booking appointments in the morning.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. You’re not that desperate.”

“Right. I lost track. I’ll have the weekend to get up-to-speed.”

Jess pinned her with a glance. “Girl, you just had one hell of an incision. What do you want to do, mess it up? You’re supposed to be resting. Where are your post-op instructions?”

Diana shooed her toward the door. “Monday. Have your client call me Monday.”

“He’s an abrasive old fart. You may not want him.” Jess fidgeted in the doorway. “Hey, I feel bad about leaving now, but I’ve got to meet with a guy in Lodo. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

“Just go. You’re making me nervous.” Diana laughed; then was sorry as the effort pulled on her stitches. “Oh, would you mind picking up my prescription?”

“Not a problem.”

Diana got the paper from her purse and handed it to Jess. The women embraced briefly. Then Jess bounced down the steps toward her flame-red vintage sports car. Diana called after her, “How do you manage surveillance in that thing?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Jess replied. “It’s so conspicuous that nobody’s ever guess. Who’d have the balls to tail somebody in this?”

“When’re you going to get a grown-up car?” Diana tossed at her.

“Neverrr! See you by dinner time, if not before.” Jess peeled out like a teenager in heat.

Diana shook her head, bemoaning the fact that Jess had dropped out of law school to become a private investigator─a job with absolutely no security. “Thirty-five years old, going on twelve,” she mumbled as she closed the front door.

Inside, as she assessed the present value of her own security, the silence of the house weighed down upon her. Career, marriage, and then starting a family after determining both were stable. She’d made all the sensible, adult decisions, and what had they gotten her? As she brushed something from her eye, Diana hoped Jess’s meeting wouldn’t last too long.

A small pile of mail awaited Diana on the dining room table. She thumbed through it, noting there was nothing addressed to Greg among the pieces. Did that mean he’d already put in a change of address? It didn’t seem like it would have taken effect so quickly. Or, more disturbing, had he been back in the house?

Diana remembered the disabled security system─victim of Greg’s frustration. A total klutz when it came to anything mechanical, Greg had accidentally set it off so many times that he’d finally jerked it out of the wall. In due time she’d get it fixed. For now, she’d just change the locks.

In the kitchen, Diana looked for locksmiths in the Yellow Pages. A thin wail drifted toward her from somewhere upstairs. Instinct kicked in, driving her up the stairs faster than she should have gone, brought her to the door of the nursery. She was in the room before she realized the irrationality of her haste. Tigger rubbed his face along one leg of the green and white crib as he wailed another greeting at her. Multicolored butterflies danced from the ceiling for the baby who would never see them.

Beside the crib, a rocking chair waited, its back draped with a crocheted afghan covered with zoo animal appliqués. As dizziness overtook her, Diana carefully lowered herself into the rocking chair. Wrapping the afghan around herself, she closed her eyes and rocked.

* * * * *

“I’m back.” Jess’s voice crashed through Diana’s consciousness. Her eyes felt pinched where tears had dried. For a moment she was disoriented in the dark room. Her hands felt the afghan and she remembered. It had been daylight when she’d dozed off.

“Diana?”

Light streamed up the stairs from the first floor. She could hear Jess’s footsteps on the tile stairway, accelerating as panic seeped into her voice. “Diana, are you okay?”

“I’m in here.” Diana got up slowly, the pain a reminder of what sleep had blotted out. She stumbled to the doorway.

As she eased out into the hallway, Jess grabbed her arm. “To your room and no backtalk,” she ordered.

“No,” replied Diana as she reached back and closed the nursery door as if that act could shut out the emotional chaos. For a moment it did. “I think I could actually eat something. Is there any of that Chinese left?’

“Left?” Jess frowned at her. “Girl, unless you’ve been pigging out while I was gone or had company, it’s all still there. Cold, but microwaveable.”

In the kitchen, they filled plates from soggy cartons and took turns zapping them.

“So, tell me about your client,” invited Diana.

Jess swallowed a bite of egg roll before replying. “Just delivering some pictures I took on a surveillance. Some jerk who wants to trade his old wife in on a new…oops.”

“You don’t have to coddle me. Anyway, I meant the guy you’re referring. The old fart?”

“Oh, right. But I don’t want to influence you. Meet him and draw your own conclusions.”

Diana suppressed a giggle, wincing at the effort. “Like old fart doesn’t create an image. What else should I know about him?”

“He’s an all man.” Jess had a twinkle in her eye.

“Okay. I’ll bite. All what? All man?”

“All, as in O-I-L. Oklahoma crude.”

Chapter 3

Diana wore a deep red business suit on her first day back in the office. A Wednesday─not the Monday she’d planned. She was strong, but not that strong. Jess had indeed persuaded her to cut herself some slack. Even so, it had been only eight days since her surgery, and she’d not yet been back to Dr. Hovac for her follow-up exam.

Red, her favorite color, inspired confidence. Conveyed confidence. At least that was what she told herself. Still on pain medication, she’d taken a cab to work. When Dr. Hovac had released her from the hospital, he’d instructed her to come back in ten days for an evaluation relative to being cleared to drive her car. She knew he had never imagined that she’d go back to work this soon. She smiled at the thought that she would fool everyone, Greg included, and sail through these rough waters without a backward glance.

Aghh. But the pain kept grabbing her when she moved. She had to cut the painkiller dosage in half in order to have half a functioning brain. Thank goodness she’d hired Tamara before this thing happened.

This thing. She didn’t want to name what had happened that in her eyes turned her into a neuter, anymore than she wanted to name the baby who had never taken a breath. If she let herself go there, she’d shatter completely. Right now, she was maimed but functional. She’d settle for that.

Diana looked around and for the first time noticed a small array of flowers and plants. She’d instructed Tamara to give minimal information to clients whose appointments had to be changed and no information to her parents, who were out of state. She’d have to deal with their questions eventually. The buzzer on her desk phone sounded. Diana picked it up and heard Tamara’s crisp voice announce, “Mr. Flannigan is here.”

Jess’s referral. “Please show him in, Tamara.”

He moved through the doorway slowly, like a bear coming out of hibernation. A large man whose jeans and plaid flannel shirt hung loosely on him. He looked tired. Dark circles underscored his faded blue eyes. His thatch of straw-colored hair laced with gray looked in need of a barber. Diana gauged his age to be early sixties and imagined that his still-considerable bulk must have decreased since buying the clothes he wore.

She stood and reached across the desk to shake his hand, and then felt the vise of his huge paw nearly crush her fingers. “Please have a seat, Mr. Flannigan,” she said as she sank carefully back into the soft leather of her chair.

He nodded without smiling as his eyes took in the room with its expensive amenities. Diana could see him pause as he scanned the walls that were covered with original wildlife paintings. A Remington bronze topped the credenza behind her desk. She watched the man’s hooded eyes hover there for several seconds before he took a seat in the client chair opposite her.

“Jess tells me you have a custody problem concerning your grandchildren,” Diana began, to break the awkward silence, glad he hadn’t mentioned the array of flowers.

He seemed to snap back from wherever he’d gone. “Uh-huh. The wife and I have the kids now, but we’d like to make it legal,” he said in a gravelly drawl. “And permanent,” he added with emphasis on permanent.

Diana made some notes on the legal pad before her and asked, “Where are the parents?”

Flannigan passed a beefy hand across his face, as if he could erase the strong emotions that bled through. “Their mother … my daughter Brandi … she’s been missin’ since the middle of October. We think she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Flannigan─”

“Joe,” he interrupted. “Joe’ll do just fine. You’re Diana. Right?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, giving the hint of a smile, as if being on a first name basis would elicit more help from her. But his mouth under a sandy mustache remained impassive.

“Joe … what makes you think your daughter is dead?”

“She went to look for her girl, Lori. Brandi found her and called nine-one-one, but when the feds came and got Lori, they couldn’t find my daughter. There’d been a snowstorm. They found her truck … and the SOB who kidnapped the girl. But they never found my Brandi.”

Diana shuddered inwardly. The distaste she’d felt for the man at first glance was rapidly changing to empathy in spite of his odd reference to his granddaughter as the girl. “How old are your grandchildren?” she asked.

“Keith is ten and Lori’s thirteen.”

“Your granddaughter’s kidnapper was apprehended? Shouldn’t they be able to get something out of him about your daughter?”

His eyes sought out something on the carpet. “He’s dead. There is some justice.”

“Dead?” she echoed.

For an answer, he shrugged, then “Guess you could say it’s an open case. Homicide.” Flannigan’s lack of eye contact suggested he might have exacted his own justice. She decided to pick Jess’s brain later instead of pressing him further.

Flannigan finally met her glance, his eyes gone shrewd as he channeled the discussion past the dead kidnapper. “The kids are pretty shook up, especially the girl.”

There he goes again. The girl. Is she damaged goods now? Diana’s budding empathy wilted. “Is she getting any counseling?” she asked, aware of the irony. She’d stuffed Dr. Hovac’s suggestion into her mental trash. This was different, a child was involved.

Flannigan shook his head. “Private things are best kept in the home. I’m only tellin’ you ‘cause we need legal help with this mess. He’s not goin’ t’ get the kids.”

“He?” Diana thought she knew. “Is their father in the picture?”

“Damn straight he is, and it isn’t a pretty picture. He’s got no business with these kids.” Joe Flannigan’s ruddy complexion deepened in color. Diana had the feeling that it would be unhealthy to be on the receiving end of this man’s wrath.

“You know, Mr. Flannigan,” began Diana, opting out of first-name basis, “the courts always favor the parents … unless there’s a serious impediment─”

He was up, out of the chair, into her face. “There is, damn it!” His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and indigestion. “He killed her. The rotten, womanizing SOB killed my Brandi.”

Chapter 4

Joe Flannigan sank back in his chair, looking like he was about to have a coronary. “Try to calm yourself, Mr. Flannigan.” Diana got up and filled a glass from a pitcher of water on the credenza, handed it to Flannigan.

He took a sip, and then eyed her sheepishly. “Sorry. It gets to me. Know what I mean?”

Diana nodded. She knew what he meant when it came to rotten, womanizing SOBs.

“I know what you’re goin’ to ask, and no, I can’t prove it, not any of it.” He shook his head slowly, like it was a tremendous weight on his shoulders. “But I know it in my gut.” He paused and took another gulp of water. “October, beginnin’ of elk season, he took the girl huntin’. Him and his buddies. My Brandi didn’t hunt. Had a soft spot in her heart for animals. Strays and wild ones alike.”

He seemed to be fading away again. Diana saw tears welling under faded, sandy lashes. She cleared her throat discreetly to bring him back.

A shudder ran through his body that he shook off like a dog emerging from water before picking up his discourse. “She went down the street, the girl did. For a soda pop or who-knows-what. He let her go by herself. It got dark─”

“Wait a minute,” Diana interrupted, alarms going off in her head. “You were there and you didn’t say anything?” Unbelievable.

“No, no.” He waved away her words. “I was down gassin’ up my truck. Didn’t see her on the street. Didn’t know t’ look. Don’t know where Strickland was when she left, but we sure know where he ended up. Right, Missus?”

“Strickland is the man who took your granddaughter?” The dead guy?

He nodded, again fixing on the carpet. “Her dad didn’t help by suggestin’ she ran off.”

“Runaways are a big problem for law enforcement. Do you realize how many they have to deal with each year?” she asked.

“In some big city, maybe. We weren’t in Denver, Missus Martin. We were in the Sangre de Cristos huntin’ elk, for God’s sake. We came down to Westcliffe for the night. You know how small that town is? Where would she run to?”

Something didn’t sound right. “Considering the low esteem in which you hold your son-in-law, how did you happen to be there?”

He snorted derisively. “Four men and one pretty little gal? You think I’d let that happen? You bet your sweet … ah … you bet I was there, yes Ma’am.”

“Has your granddaughter named Strickland as the one who took her?” Other questions tumbled into Diana’s mind, but she held back, not wanting to push Flannigan over the edge again.

“The girl, she won’t talk about it. It became apparent who took her because of where they found her. Strickland’s cabin.”

“Are you in the habit of going hunting with your son-in-law? Was this something you’d done in the past?”

He was somewhere else again. Somewhere painful from the look in his eyes. “I regret to say … it was somethin’ we did for many years.” He looked up then, and Diana saw tears again. “Had it not been for our acquaintance, Darren Rogart never would o’ met my Brandi and taken her from me.”

Taken her from me? Did he mean by marrying her, or killing her?

“So, your son-in-law wasn’t estranged from the family when either your daughter or your granddaughter went missing?”

Flannigan glared at her. “He’s been estranged from me for a long time.”

“What about the children? How do they feel about their dad?”

Another snort. “He’s got ‘em mesmerized. They think he walks on water.”

Diana’s turn to glare. She tried to neutralize her hostility. “A piece of advice, Joe,” she said, switching back to first name basis to soften her words, “don’t badmouth your son-in-law to his kids. That won’t make you any points in court.”

“They don’t make it easy for a man t’ do the right thing.” Flannigan’s emotions appeared genuine, or he was one damn good actor.

“What does the police report indicate? Is he a person of interest?”

“Your friend Jessie’s got a copy. As I read it, he’s not.”

“Then, what kind of evidence do you have that I could use to convince a court that the children would be better off with you and your wife? Or more importantly, what evidence that they might be harmed by living with their father?”

“Ask Jessie. That’s what I’m payin’ her for. Evidence.” He pounded the desk for emphasis.

“I’ll do that. Then I’d like to visit with your wife and grandchildren.”

“What for?” The hostility again, always boiling just below the surface.

“I need to see if you’re all of the same mind. Frankly, I need to find out how the children feel.”

The eruption Diana had expected didn’t materialize. “I guess that’s reasonable,” was all he said.

“I’ll have my secretary draw up our standard contract.” The words were out before she remembered it wasn’t our. Greg was gone. “I’ll need a retainer that will go into my trust account and be drawn upon as used─”

“Okay, okay. I know the drill.” He pulled a checkbook from his back pocket. “Five thou enough to get you started?” He didn’t bother to ask her billing rate.

Diana nodded, watching him fill in the check and tear it out. She hoped she wouldn’t regret taking on his case. Something felt off. Flannigan handed her his check and lurched out of the chair. Diana followed him as he lumbered to the door.

“Do you have any idea why the authorities don’t consider your son-in-law a person of interest in your daughter’s disappearance? I mean, usually the husband tops the list.”

He turned back toward her with a smirk. “Guess Jessie didn’t tell you yet. He used to be a cop. They guard their own dirty little secrets.”

Chapter 5

“Where’d you get this Flannigan character?” asked Diana. She and Jess sat at a window table in Top of the Rockies, preparing to enjoy a late lunch. Below them Denver’s Christmas lights sparkled on new snow.

“Winston’s AA group,” replied Jess as she zeroed in on a martini.

So much for confidentiality. Diana, still on painkillers, nursed a hot-buttered rum, minus the rum. “He doesn’t seem like your kind of client. Or Winston’s.”

Winston Bell, Jess’s significant other for the past several years, was a law professor at the University of Denver. When Winston pushed for marriage, Jess ran like the devil was after her. Although she knew Winston’s alcohol problem didn’t originate during his relationship with Jess, Diana could well imagine her friend─much as she loved her─driving a man to drink.

“Joe’s just a good ole boy. Grows on you after a while,” Jess smirked, “like warts.”

“So what’ve you found out? He told me to ask you.”

Jess drained her glass and motioned for their waiter before answering. “I took on Joe Flannigan as a favor to Winston, okay? I said I’d do it and I’m keeping my word. But truth is the guy creeps me out.”

“We’re in agreement there,” said Diana. As she watched, Jess’s expression turned from mildly annoyed to outright pissed as she focused on something behind Diana.

“Shit! If ever there was an argument against commitment, there it is.”

Diana turned and saw Greg piloting Cathy toward a table on the opposite side of the dining room. Diana’s former secretary wore a short beige skirt and a sweater that clung like a wet suit.

“Damn,” murmured Jess, “You can see her nipples from here. What do you think? New boob job?”

Embarrassed, Diana turned back toward her own table. But curiosity swiveled her around again. Something shiny glinted on Cathy’s left hand. Diana could only imagine. She was suddenly aware of her own newly naked third finger, left hand.

Jess offered her appraisal. “Cubic zirconium, no doubt.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel good.” Diana turned back toward Jess again, hoping the couple hadn’t noticed her looking at them.

Jess started giggling. “Did you see the silly grin on his face?”

“Like I care.”

Jess’s giggles increased. “He looks like the guy from that E.D. ad. You know the one I mean?”

“No. Definitely no.”

“If there’s any justice in this world, he’ll die of a priapism.”

“A what?”

“An erection lasting over four hours. You must’ve seen them.”

“In his dreams,” muttered Diana.

“I meant the ads.”

Diana doubled over. “Oww. It hurts to laugh.”

Their waiter set down steaming bowls of chowder before them. And Jess’s second martini. He was cute, thought Diana, about twenty-five. She watched Jess shoot him a grin, along with a wicked wink.

“Shame on you,” scolded Diana after he had left. “You made him blush.”

Jess ignored her comment. “Have you told your mom yet?” she asked.

“Did you have to remind me that I haven’t?”

“Well, you wanted to stop laughing. I guess that did the trick.”

“I’m going to call her tonight,” said Diana. “Let’s talk about Flannigan. Any history of abuse there?”

Jess shook her head as she started in on her clam chowder, taking several spoonfuls before replying. “From what I’ve been able to find out, one of the men from the hunting party grabbed Flannigan’s granddaughter off the street in Westcliffe and locked her up in a cabin he owns. Owned. The guy’s dead. Murdered. The feds found him outside the cabin where he was holding her.”

“If first impressions mean anything, I’d give my vote to Joe Flannigan. The nearest he came to a smile was when he told me about the guy being dead.”

“But Brandi, the mother, could’ve done it as well. That would give her a reason to run. As far as I know, the weapon─they think it was a hunting knife─it hasn’t been found.”

Diana frowned. “Flannigan said there were four other men in the group. Okay, there’s the dad, the dead guy, and … who else?”

“Couple more regulars on the annual hunt. But they’re not considered persons of interest.”

“Why not?” asked Diana.

Jess pointed toward the briefcase at her feet. “It’s all in there. Have at it.”

Diana glanced down, and then asked, “Have you met the kids?”

“No. Flannigan asked me to concentrate on their father.” Jess paused to crumble crackers into her chowder.

Diana laid down her spoon, gesturing for Jess to continue. “Hey, I don’t need the dramatic effect here. What’ve you got? Does he have any history of domestic abuse?”

Jess smiled enigmatically. “Darren Rogart doesn’t have so much as a traffic ticket. Doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs. Just lots of good, clean, safe sex.”

“What?!”

“Ha! I knew that’d get your attention. Just kidding. Or guessing.”

“Or wishful thinking? Seriously, you had my attention. The sex part goes along with what Flannigan said. That the guy’s a womanizer.”

“Flannigan’s probably just jealous. The kids want to go back to their dad’s.”

“I thought you hadn’t met them.”

“I haven’t. It’s what Darren told me.”

“Darren?”

Jess shoved aside her empty bowl as the young waiter brought hot sandwiches to the table, then hurried away.

“I had to interview him, didn’t I?” said Jess. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I don’t like the silly grin I’m seeing on your face. Jessie, you’re working for Flannigan.”

“Not any more.” Jess took a bite of Reuben sandwich, then closed her eyes sensually.

“Damn it, Jessie. It’s a good thing you’re not an attorney. You’d get disbarred if you pulled something like this.”

“Only if I got caught.”

“I don’t believe you. No wonder Winston drinks.” She regretted the words the instant they slipped out.

“He doesn’t and you know it. Not for years.”

“Maybe he should.”

“Anyway, it’s a non-issue. I moved out this week.” Jess squelched Diana’s sharp intake of breath and disapproving frown. “Don’t even go there. I’ll talk about it when I’m ready.”

They glared at each other; then ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Diana broke the silence as she remembered something Flannigan had said as he was leaving her office. “This Darren is a cop?”

“Was,” replied Jess without looking up.

“As in quit? Got fired? Come on, help me out here.” Diana snapped her fingers. “Disabled? No, I don’t think so.”

This drew a grin out of Jess. “A misfortune cost him his job,” she replied.

“Like what? You’re really pissing me off, Jessie.”

“Okay, okay. He did some time.”

Diana would have shot up out of the chair had it not been for the pinch of her recent stitches. “You said he didn’t even have a traffic ticket.”

“Well, he doesn’t. This is different. This wasn’t exactly a crime.”

“Somebody must’ve thought it was.”

Jess nodded slowly. “Are you familiar with the Lacey Act?” she asked.

“Not really. It sounds vaguely familiar. But … no.”

“It’s an archaic law that makes it a federal crime to transport game killed out of season across a state line. The man got jail time for shooting a sheep. Tell me that’s not screwed-up logic when you consider all the violent crimes against people that can get a perp probation and a slap on the wrist.”

Diana waited to comment until Jess looked like she’d gotten a tether on her emotions. In a calmer voice Jess concluded, “He was a Denver detective with a spotless record. That bighorn ram cost him his job and his pension. And, Diana, it was a victimless crime.”

“I don’t think the sheep would view it that way,” Diana couldn’t resist commenting. “I do recall the Lacey Act now. It’s supposed to protect wildlife from poachers.”

“Whatever,” said Jess with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Darren’s not in that class. He was set up by Joe Flannigan, I’m convinced of that. Here’s what I’ve got so far from Custer County and the Feebs.” She bent down, took a file from her briefcase, and then handed it to Diana.

Diana took the file, noting its thickness. “Custer County?” she asked.

“That’s where Darren’s daughter was found and his wife disappeared. Sangre de Cristos, near Westcliffe. Where the good ole boys used to hunt every year.”

Diana felt an uneasiness stemming from Jess’s shift in loyalties. “But they were Darren Rogart’s good ole boys, according to Flannigan.”

“I have a big problem with Flannigan’s credibility. I wish I’d never referred him to you.”

“Now you tell me.” Diana flipped through some of the pages in Jess’s file without really reading them. “So, what changed your mind?”

“According to Darren they were Joe’s buds. Maybe he knew all the time where his granddaughter was.”

“What possible motive─”

Jess’s response, in an imitation of Flannigan’s drawl, cut off her question. “Good ole boys often have a hankerin’ for young things. Brandi Flannigan Rogart may have been intimately familiar with this hankerin’ and decided that the buck stopped there. No pun intended.”

Chapter 6

By the time Diana finished lunch with Jess, it was dark outside. Still snowing lightly, but not too cold. She walked the block to her office building, hoping to build up her strength. Small steps, she told herself. You will not let this beat you down.

It was not such a bad thing to have this muddled case Jess had thrust upon her, only to jerk it away by undermining the client. Knowing she was using it as a distraction from her own situation, Diana mentally replayed Jess’s words regarding Flannigan. The possessiveness the man had exhibited toward his daughter when Diana had interviewed him, along with the depersonalization of the granddaughter, could be markers along a path of abuse. She’d get a better read when she met the man’s wife and the grandkids.

Inside her building, riding the elevator to the ninth floor, Diana was only slightly winded from the walk. As she entered her office suite, Tamara greeted her with a fistful of messages.

“Oh, and your mother called three times. Am I still not supposed to tell her anything?” Tamara’s eyes, behind wire-rimmed glasses, chided her gently.

“I know I have to deal with telling her,” Diana replied. Tamara was proving to be a good replacement for Cathy. The voice of reason, without being pushy about it.

“If I could help, I would.” Tamara gave her an earnest smile with no pity in it.

Pity was something Diana couldn’t deal with. And it was bound to come pouring through the phone line as a result of filling her mom in on all that had had happened since last they’d talked. And advice. Advice on how she should have dealt with Greg.

Tamara glanced up at the wall clock. Five o’clock. “You want a ride home?” asked her secretary.

“No thanks,” replied Diana. “I’m going to stay for a while.” She hefted the file she’d received from Jess. “I’ve got some material to go over on the Flannigan case. Were you able to set up an appointment with his wife and grandkids?”

“I’ve entered it on your calendar,” replied Tamara as she put on her hooded winter coat and gathered up her handbag and gloves. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home? You could read the file there.”

Diana smiled and shook her head. “I’m going to stay and bite the bullet. Then when I get home, I can relax.” Bite the bullet meant calling her mother. She didn’t expect Tamara to pick up on that. “Actually, there is something you could do for me, but tomorrow would be fine.”

Tamara nodded, her young face reflecting concern.

The words backed up in Diana’s throat, but she pushed them forward. “Could you … call a charity for a pickup at my home? I have some furniture … I thought maybe a needy family … could … could …. ” Diana felt tears coming.

“Of course. I’ll take care of it.” Tamara gave her arm a little squeeze; then hurried out the door. Diana knew she didn’t have to tell her that it was the nursery furniture.

At her desk, Diana sorted through phone messages, placed to one side the three from her mom. Greg had called. So had a family law attorney they both knew. Hmmm. Could be that Greg had retained him for the divorce? Two clients had called regarding the progress on their respective cases. Diana was glad she had some answers for both of them. Getting up-to-speed. Slowly, but getting there.

She paused as the name of the next caller prickled her brain. Darren Rogart. Why would Joe Flannigan’s son-in-law call her before a custody suit had even been filed? How did he know Flannigan had retained her?

The apparent answer set her temples pulsing. Sometimes Jess could really be a pain in the ass. In this frame of mind, Diana picked up the phone, punched in her mother’s number and braced herself for the bullet.

“Hello.” Neutral tone. Her parents didn’t have caller ID.

“Mom?” said Diana in the tentative voice she hated. The one that always came out then she talked with her mother.

“Thank goodness. We’ve been worried sick. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

This bullet was going to taste like shit. “Mom, I … ”

“Why is your voicemail message changed? Both your home and your office messages are different.”

Greg’s name had been deleted. Where would she start? With the Greg thing or … or ….

“Has something happened to Greg?” Panic cranked her mother’s voice up a notch.

Diana ground her teeth, her anger so hot that she no longer felt any physical pain. “Yes, Mother. Something happened to Greg.” She could hear a little hiss of breath on the other end of the line. “I caught my secretary giving him a blow job, so I kicked his ass out.” There. That should either shut her up or give her a coronary.

“Well … that’s not exactly … ”

“If you tell me that’s not having sex─not the same as fucking her, I’ll hang up.”

“Diana, you know how I feel about strong language.”

“I guess it depends on who’s using it, Mother.”

Several little hisses this time. Then, “But the baby. They say what babies hear from the womb─”

“Mother, stop it. I lost the baby.”

Silence. Then, “What?”

“You’re not hard of hearing. And you’re not going to make me repeat it.” Tears flowed hotly down her cheeks. The feeling of having screwed up again in her mother’s eyes weighed on her heart. So much for dignity and self-assurance.

“No baby?” A long-suffering sigh from her mother’s end of the conversation. Diana was not about to answer. She was not going to say it again. Her worth on this earth had just evaporated.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” The whine of the self-righteous. “Now I can’t get a refund on the plane ticket.” She’d insisted on coming out for the baby’s birth.

Mother, I had surgery. You could come out and take care of me. The need for nurture had crept in, unbidden. She could even have used a few words of pity─not to wallow in─just some comfort.

“Diana,” her mother’s voice took on an accusatory tone, “you didn’t do something to lose the baby?”

Do something? What kind of mind would ask a question like that? What kind of mother?

Diana hung up. Let her think whatever it was her sick brain conjured up.

Through the ringing in her ears, another sound surfaced: the door to her office suite opening and closing. She was sure she’d locked it after Tamara left. Then, a soft knock before her office door opened.

Diana looked up through her tears at the man who stood in the doorway. Handsome seemed a trivial adjective. He wore an open leather jacket over a black western shirt. Her eyes dried as they met his─startling gray-hazel in a tan face. A massive turquoise belt buckle topped tight jeans, pulling her eyes to a place below that made the color rise in her cheeks. She willed her eyes back up toward his face.

Before she could stammer a word, he said, “I called earlier. I’m Darren Rogart.”

Chapter 7

“Calling first doesn’t give you the right to barge into my office.” Anger mounted in Diana, fresh from the phone conversation with her mother, augmented by the audacity of the man.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His eyes left hers and traveled around the room, much as Joe Flannigan’s had on his first visit, taking in the wildlife art on the walls. “When I didn’t hear back from you, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You should have waited, Mr. Rogart. My return call would have informed you that this meeting … this conversation is not appropriate.”

He ignored her words as he proceeded into the room and took a seat across from her. Diana noticed that his dark hair had a generous sprinkling of silver─premature, from the look of his face.

“Are you listening to me, Mr. Rogart? You must leave immediately.” Diana aimed for her ball-busting bitch voice, but what really came out diluted her message.

Rogart looked down, shook his head slightly, and she saw a faint, lopsided smile tweak his lips. “When you’re desperate, you do whatever it takes.” Looking back at her with that same intense glance that she was starting to find disconcerting, he continued, “My children are in danger, and no one is listening to me. I hoped you’d be different.”

“I represent your father-in-law. You’re aware of that. I can’t talk to you. You need to get your own attorney.”

He sighed deeply. Diana watched his shoulders sag; then square up as he arose from the chair. “You’re right,” he said. “I apologize.”

As he retraced his steps, Diana got up and followed him. He turned back toward her and appeared on the verge of saying something. Then his glance fixed on the eagle painting by the door. “I think I know how they feel.” His voice was a husky whisper.

“What do you mean?” she couldn’t resist asking.

“So close to extinction.” The wispy smile made his face appear sadder.

“They’re protected,” countered Diana.

As they proceeded into the dimly lit reception area, she heard a sound escape his lips. Then he turned back toward her, sober-faced, and said, “There are some things laws can’t protect against.”

She remembered Jess’s revelation: this man was a poacher who had done time. “You should know,” she replied recklessly.

The look that crossed his face made her regret the words, especially in such a vulnerable setting─after hours, empty building.

But when he spoke, there was no anger in his voice. It was as if he didn’t connect her words with his past. “My wife was molested as a child. The law couldn’t protect her. Now the same man has my daughter. Somebody’s gotta do something.”

“Mr. Rogart─”

“I know. We can’t have this conversation. Just give it some thought … Diana … before you write me off as some nutcase.” He paused in the doorway; then looked back at the eagle painting and shook his head.

Before she could comment, he was out the door. Out of sight. She heard his boots clicking a measured beat down the hallway.

Diana. In her head she heard his voice speaking her name, stirring something she didn’t want stirred. Diana.

She slammed the door, threw the deadbolt in place, and then walked back to her desk. As she passed the eagle painting, Diana saw Rogart’s eyes in its face.

Chapter 8

After several unproductive minutes, Diana conceded that she couldn’t concentrate on the Flannigan/Rogart file in her office. She’d had it for the night and called a cab. She tucked the file into her briefcase; then exited the office, thinking maybe she’d have better luck at home. At that moment, everything in her life seemed out-of-focus.

As she left the building, Diana saw that the snow had intensified. She was glad when the cab appeared after only minutes. The ride home was of relatively short duration in spite of the weather. Something ominous seemed to follow her as she paid the cab driver; then hurried up the walk to her door as new snowflakes piled upon the earlier accumulation.

Once inside her house, Diana immediately locked the door behind her. Lights that she’d put on a timer were already glowing in the foyer and living room. Diana paused in the dining room, flicked on the wall switch that lit up a crystal chandelier; then dumped the contents of her briefcase─the Flannigan/Rogart file─on the dining table. Her gesture had all the ceremony of dumping the garbage. Bad attitude, Diana, she could almost hear her mother’s comment.

Piss on her. Diana kicked out of her taupe suede boots and walked into the kitchen, flipping the switch for the island light. Her glance crossed the stainless steel refrigerator, but her late lunch with Jess still sat heavily inside her.

From the adjacent laundry room, a faint sound drew her attention. The cat door flapping shut? “Tigger?” She heard a thump as the cat’s feet hit the wood laminate floor. Tigger was no lightweight. “There you are,” she said as the yellow tabby strolled in and proudly dumped a dead starling at her feet. He then rubbed against her leg in a bid for praise or a handout.

“You really didn’t have to wait dinner on my account.” Diana picked up the bird. It was cold to the touch and stiff. “Couldn’t you at least have warmed it up?” Diana shuddered as she deposited it in a plastic bag. It would smell if she put it in the trash canister. Their usual routine was to exchange the bird for a saucer of milk; then Diana would take her “gift” outside to the big Dumpster.

She wavered by the back door. Something in the night, apart from the snow, made her shiver. Then she turned and placed the bird in the kitchen trash, making mental note to take it out in the morning. In the emotional chill of her empty house, Diana doled out Tigger’s milk and cat goodies and stroked his thick fur, brushing off a dusting of snow from his coat.

The need to hear another human voice filled her. She punched in Jess’s cell number on the kitchen phone.

Jess answered on the second ring. “Edwards and Associates.”

That answer mode always amused Diana, since Jess operated her business solo. She gave her stock response: “Edwards is a flake. Give me one of the associates.”

“I see you got home okay,” said Jess. “Have you had a chance to look at the file?”

“I intended to, but I was interrupted.”

Silence. Then, “Oh?”

“Jessie, you’ve got one hell of a nerve sending that man to my office.”

“What man?”

“What man?” she mimicked. “You know what man. How else would Darren Rogart even know I was involved in the case?”

“So, what do you think of him?”

“I’ll reserve judgment for now. He did bring up something that had crossed my mind. Even before you brought it up at lunch.”

“Spit it out already.”

Diana put the phone on speaker, got a mug from the mug tree and set herself up a cup of tea. She placed it in the microwave and hit the minute button.

“Diana?”

“Does Flannigan have any kind of record?”

“A couple of DUIs,” replied Jess. “A speeding ticket and a breach of contract civil suit. He was the plaintiff on the civil suit.”

“No domestic violence or child abuse?” asked Diana, frowning as she removed the mug of tea from the microwave.

“Nothing in that category. And the DUIs are ten years old─before he joined AA,” replied Jess.

“So, you did a comprehensive background check on both Flannigan and Rogart?”

“You apparently haven’t even looked at the material I gave you.” Annoyance crept into Jess’s voice.

“What did I just say? Hello.” Diana set the steaming mug of tea on the granite-topped island. “I was about to when Rogart just walked in.” Diana thought again about the locked office door. Or had Tamara forgotten to throw the lock before she left?

“He does tend to do in one’s powers of concentration.” Jess’s voice had a little lilt in it again, pissing Diana off immensely─disproporionately, in fact.

A growl escaped Diana’s lips─not unlike the voice of Tigger.

“Animal attraction?” asked Jess.

“Damn it, Jessie─”

“Aw, you talked to your mom, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Darren couldn’t do that much damage. Want a ride in the morning? You can dump it all on me then.”

“I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. I’m supposed to be cleared to drive, so I thought I’d drive to the appointment.”

“Brilliant,” said Jess. Diana could imagine her rolling her eyes.

“Probably not,” mumbled Diana through a gulp of warm tea.

“Hey, I gotta go.” Jess’s voice tensed up, volume decreased to a whisper.

Diana recognized her surveillance tone. “Be careful, Jessie.”

“I always am.” Click. She was gone.

The blue and white kitchen was suddenly cold and unwelcoming. Diana shuddered as she absently patted Tigger; then thought of the files that lay on the dining table.

Fatigue washed over her as she walked past her “homework.” Instead of picking up the file, she climbed the stairs. Warm shower─that should help. Then, bed … sleep … attack the beast in the morning, with a fresh mind.

The oversized master bath had his and hers basins. A shower for him. A sunken tub for her, with shelves for bath oils, perfumes and pretty wildlife figurines. Diana’s eyes hovered over an empty bottle of L’Air du Temps that she’d kept because of the pair of white doves on top.

Diana glanced tentatively at her image in the long oval mirror. The angry redness of her scar waited under her clothing although she continued to harbor the hope that some miracle independent of time might erase it. Tired of being revolted by her own image, she entered the shower after removing only her outer clothing. Irrational. So what? I’ve got the right. She pitched her bra and panties over the shower door, turned on the water and let the pulsing warmth wash away the icky feeling.

As the warmth lulled her, Diana began to unwind. Then something she couldn’t identify heightened her senses. Some sound outside the room. Vague, but enough to command her awareness.

Diana turned off the shower and stood listening, trying to identify what had interrupted the moment of relaxation. She remained motionless, dripping water, hearing nothing but the plop-plop of drops and the gurgle of water down the drain. Tendrils of wet hair clung to her neck like fingers.

What had she heard? Slowly, Diana opened the shower door, grabbing a fluffy towel, drying herself as she stepped out into the steamy room. She’d purposely not turned on the ceiling fan, so that the steam would hide her reflection when she exited the shower.

Leaving the shower door open, Diana stepped soundlessly across the turquoise-colored rug, grabbed her favorite dark green velour robe from its wall hook, and wrapped herself in it before slowly turning the handle of the door to the hall.

There it was again. A creak, a tap, as if someone was moving around downstairs. Repairing the security system had seemed a low priority item. Mistake!

Diana inched open the bathroom door and peered out into the hallway. Then she remembered the nearest phone─if she needed one─was in the bedroom, through the other door from the bathroom.

As she quietly closed and locked the bathroom door, she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Diana dove for the door to the master bedroom. The sickening sound of that bedroom door being opened from the hall stopped her, jamming her heart up into her throat.

Gathering courage, she inched open the door to the bedroom. A man in a tan overcoat was opening the closet door on the far side of the room. His back was to her, but instant recognition turned terror into rage─partly pent-up from the day’s events, but mostly built-up from the days that went before.

“What the hell are you doing here, Greg?”

“I have a draft of our property settlement for you to go over,” replied Greg, turning toward her.

No intimacy surfaced in the looks that passed between them. They could have been strangers caught up in an inconvenience, thought Diana.

“You could’ve mailed it,” she snapped.

“I left some things in the closet.”

Diana clutched the green robe more tightly around her, as if its folds could insulate her from this unwanted exchange. “You’ll find the rest of your things in boxes in the garage,” she said, glaring at him. “I’d like the keys, please. Do I really need to change the locks?”

Greg backed toward the door to the hall, looking as if their meeting was just as distasteful to him as it was to her. “I’ll leave them on the table downstairs after I get my boxes,” he said, dripping sarcasm.

Diana noted that he’d also dripped slushy residue from his overshoes all across the off-white carpet.

“For your information,” he continued into her angry silence, “I did ring the doorbell. When you didn’t answer, I was going to use my key, but I didn’t need to. The door was unlocked.” He turned curtly and hurried out of the room.

Liar! Diana’s memory of locking the front door was fresh. Maybe it had been Greg at the office, snooping around, leaving the door unlocked. But then she remembered she’d had that lock changed.

Chapter 9

When he plays the disc, the Hunter expects his reward: a full-body view of the luscious redhead getting out of her shower. Sure, he anticipated some imperfections due to her recent pregnancy. But those would soon be firmed up. She’s a work-out freak. Now his mood goes dark, in contrast with the bright lights of his studio. Damn bitch must’ve forgotten to turn on the ceiling fan.

All he gets on the video screen is a whorl of steam, a glimpse of her killer legs below a green robe. He breathes deeply, trying to imagine her breasts, her thighs gripping him. Next time. She won’t forget the fan.

He shuts her off like a faucet, pulls on latex gloves, and turns to the project awaiting him. A ring-necked pheasant lies on the metal work table under a suspended fluorescent work light. He carefully slits the bird down the center of its breast and removes its innards.

The tools of his trade surround him in the converted double garage. A vat of formalin and a freezer line the north wall, along with a thirty-gallon tumbler for the birds and small animals. Several stainless steel tables containing diverse species of game animals in various stages of processing for display fill out the room’s contents. Sharp knives hang on a rack next to a pile of plastic forms that will soon take the place of skeletal structures under animal hides.

“How long have you been home?” Her petulant voice wrenches his attention away from his work.

As he looks up at the tall blond girl who has entered through a door from the house, he masks his annoyance with an indulgent smile. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” She taps a bare foot impatiently on the cement floor and plays with the sash of her powder blue robe. Her lower lip pouts seductively, as his eyes probe her body like fingers. She looks like a Viking goddess, he observes, until she opens her mouth.

“You need your sleep,” he finally replies, nodding toward her bulging belly. “Both of you.”

Then she smiles, clasping her arms around her advanced pregnancy. “You do want this baby?” she asks softly.

“You know I do.” His tone slides across her reassuringly. Little bitch didn’t tell him until it was too late for an abortion. She hid the kid in that long, lank, slinky body of hers. Didn’t show a bulge until she was six months along. Oh, well. It’s done. Plans just have to wait a while.

At least he now has a use for the kid. Young women love babies. And dogs. How he loves decoys. Dogs, not so much. The kid will do just fine. Hopefully it’ll come soon. And stretch marks won’t mar the girl’s perfect body.

He lays down the dissecting knife and lets his eyes make a visual meal of the girl. From her blue-eyed, fair Nordic face to the tips of her pink-lacquered toenails.

She writhes under his glance. “You know how it makes me feel … when you look at me like that.” Slowly, she opens the blue robe, showing him her nakedness, her bulging breasts and belly, the skin stretched and shiny.

As he places the pheasant on an adjacent shelf, he tethers the girl with his smile. Then his face darkens as he sweeps the table clear of remaining work tools, and removes his surgical gloves. She gasps and draws the robe closed as the dissecting knife clatters to the floor. As if she could ever close herself to him. But it’s a game they play. He indulges her childishness. It’s become a turn-on for him, too. “Don’t start what you don’t aim to finish,” he says. He tosses the used gloves into a trash container and lunges toward her.

“Come and get me,” she teases. But she doesn’t run far. Or fast. And he knows it’s not just her bulk slowing her down.

When he gets her on the table. Makes her moan and call his name. Buries himself in her as the lamp vibrates. Casting wild shadows around the room. Infusing life into dead animal carcasses. Making them seem to move. As he moves inside the girl.

He feels her climax and then grow tense, uncomfortable as he thrusts ever harder. But this isn’t about her. He slows, reveling in his power over her and the life within her, making it last. Until he can no longer stop himself.

* * * * *

Later, when he’s put her to bed and returned to his work, he notices with amusement that the blue robe has ended up across the room on the rack of a bull elk. As he revisits the feel of her under him, the spasmodic movements of their bodies, he’s aware of his own body’s visceral response. When he empties himself again, another thought fills him with anticipation of another sort. Like with the other animals, in order to preserve her beauty, the girl will have to die.

Chapter 10

Seating in the lecture hall at University of Denver School of Law was tiered in a semi-circle around a stage where a tall, muscular black man in a beige turtle-neck and charcoal slacks dominated the podium.

Diana, dressed in a dramatic black-and-white suit, stood near the lower level entrance, scanning the bank of seats for an opening. She was late, and the place was packed to near capacity. As her eyes swept upward, she spied a couple of seats near the top of the hall. Before starting her ascent, she glanced into the eyes of the man at the podium. Winston Bell smiled, giving her a thumbs-up. Diana smiled back, then started up the stairs, continuing until she found a row with an unoccupied space.

As she climbed over ten sets of attorneys’ feet and legs, she thought how good Winston looked. Not handsome in the conventional sense, the man exuded an aura of male vitality. Now that men’s bare heads were in vogue, he’d shaved his few remaining hairs. On him, bald was beautiful. He wore his fifty years with dignity befitting his academic stature, thought Diana. He’d obviously won whatever bout he’d once had with alcohol. She took a seat and carefully swung the hinged desk top over her lap.

Winston seemed well into his portion of the program, delivered in a resonant baritone, his enunciation clipped and flawless. “In the final analysis, when you tread the fine line between human feelings and ethical considerations, you must examine your actions in the cold light of the law as it stands, untempered by any personal code or cause.”

Diana realized with embarrassment that Winston was concluding his address. The delay at Dr. Hovac’s office had been longer than she’d realized.

As Winston continued, Diana saw his eyes fix on a front row seat where one of the attendees had nodded off. “You can pick up your attendance certificates in the foyer.” Amusement dueled with sarcasm as Winston added, “Thank you for your rapt attention.”

Diana hid a smile as she watched one of the dozing man’s neighbors nudge him awake. A soft ripple of laughter erupted around the awakening attorney, who glanced furtively around in the vain hope that no one had noticed his nap.

Polite applause followed as Winston descended the stairs from the lecture stage.

Diana navigated the sea of drably-dressed attorneys as she hurried to catch up with Winston. The thought of being conspicuous in an attractive way gave her morale a boost.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could see the back of his head and the top of his turtleneck towering above the crowd. “Winston,” she called. He turned and stepped aside as the tide flowed out into the foyer where coffee and donuts were waiting.

Diana caught up with him by the decaf urn, too out-of-breath to do anything but succumb to his bear hug. She hugged him back.

“How’s my favorite student?” asked Winston, his grin a flash of even white teeth against brown skin.

Diana indulged in the luxury of a laugh. It felt good. She hardly noticed the stitches. “Thirteen years after the bar and I’m still your student?”

“Of course,” replied Winston. “My favorite student.”

They filled Styrofoam cups with coffee and walked outside into the crisp December air where sunlight spilled an illusion of warmth over the campus.

Diana pointed out a picnic table under an evergreen. They proceeded across a lawn pocked with melting snow patches, then took opposite seats.

Winston shook his head, mock-serious, as he complained, “If there’s anything I hate, it’s trying to stimulate a captive audience.”

“I’d say you had a good ninety percent of us,” replied Diana.

“You don’t count. You were only there five minutes,” he chided gently.

“Sorry,” she said. “Bad planning. When I realized I was two hours short with my CLE for this year, I thought I’d better get my act together. I didn’t plan on spending an extra hour at the doctor’s office.”

Winston put a hand on her arm. “You look great. But how are you really?”

“Jess told you?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t have to. Then she remembered that one of the bouquets of flowers delivered to her office had been from him.

Winston nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

She smiled. “Like handling my divorce?”

“Well, I ….”

“Just kidding,” she quickly added. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

His face went serious, as if he’d read her mind. But he nodded before downing the rest of his coffee.

“What’s with you and Jess?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Just enough for me to be concerned. You two are now my closest ….” Her voice caught in her throat, and she felt tears welling up. Must be hormones again. Or lack thereof.

If Winston noticed her surfacing emotions, he didn’t let on. “She moved back to her place. At first I thought it was the age difference, after ruling out my sobriety.”

They made a show of forced laughter. Diana shuffled her tears out of sight as she replied, “With Jess, her interest seems to wane when anything approaches stability.”

“That’s part of what makes her Jess.” Winston gazed across the expanse of tree-studded lawn where the sun was sending rivulets of water from the snow piles.

When he looked back at her, his expression was all business. “I understand you’ve taken on Joe Flannigan’s cause.”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

“Because he’s an alcoholic?”

“Of course not,” she replied a bit more vehemently than she’d intended. “How well do you know this man?”

Winston paused as he looked in the direction of the building, where attendees were now filing back inside, signaling the end of break time. “I’ve known Joe about four years. You already know where we met. He’s been in the program over ten years.”

Diana finished her coffee, crushed the cup and tossed it into a green metal garbage can. “What do you know about his character?”

They got up and started back toward the building. Winston took her arm, guiding her around slick spots of melting snow. “Joe’s a bit rough around the edges. But if I didn’t believe there was some moral fiber there, I never would’ve referred him.” He paused, as if stumbling over his next thought. “Actually, it may turn out to be one of the worst mistakes of my life,” he continued in a husky voice. “Referring him to Jess, I mean.”

Diana felt Winston’s hand tighten on her arm as they paused in front of the door that led back inside the hall. “That referral led to Jessie’s meeting Darren Rogart.” He paused again before asking, “Did she tell you?”

Diana shook her head. Not exactly.

“Jess is seeing the guy. That’s why we split up.”

“She’s a damn fool.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

Winston shifted uncomfortably, then looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. And you still have another speech to endure.”

He held the door for her, but she couldn’t make herself walk through it. “Winston, I’m so sorry. She’ll come to her senses.”

“It may be too late by that time.”

She shook her head, words failing her.

“Better hurry.” He nodded toward the open door. “I’ll be in touch. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you.” She could tell he was trying to lighten up the tone of things.

“I’m counting on it,” said Diana. She remained in the doorway a couple of seconds longer, watching his retreating form.

Something in the azure sky caught her attention: the flash of wing as a red-tailed hawk cruised overhead. Then another wave of attendee-attorneys swept her up in their midst, and she let herself go with the flow back inside the lecture hall.

Chapter 11

Something about her brief conversation with Winston spurred Diana’s resolve to take a better look at Jess’s file on the Flannigan/Rogart matter.

She drove straight home from the lecture hall, kicked off her shoes and headed for the kitchen for a Tigger hug, exhausted after the long wait for her doctor’s appointment followed by the grueling session of continuing legal education.

God, I hope when I’m fifty I’m not still rushing home to hug a cat! Sorry, Tig.

“Mau.”

Cat fed and cuddled, and a fresh mug of peppermint herbal tea steeping on the kitchen island, Diana retrieved the file from the dining room table.

Three separate but related incidents were documented: the kidnapping and recovery of Lori Rogart, the disappearance of Brandi Rogart, mother of Lori, and the murder of Larry Strickland. Some of the documents were copies of reports from the Custer County Sheriff’s Department. In these, the victim’s names had been redacted out. As Diana read on, she saw that the suspects’ and witnesses’ names had also been redacted in some places but not in others. Most jurisdictions just removed the names of minors and victims of sex crimes. Apparently Custer County wanted to be on the safe side and did a bunch of editing. Without Jess’s notes, the reports would have been virtually meaningless.

Jess had also taken notes when she interviewed the FBI special agent initially assigned to Lori Rogart’s kidnapping. Most of them were hand-written and nearly impossible for anyone but Jess to decipher. Having been her college roommate gave Diana a decided advantage.

An elk hunt the first week in October in the mountains above Westcliffe had included Joseph Flannigan, resident of Greenwood Village, Colorado, whose DOB made him fifty-six.

Hmm, I figured him for older.

Darren Rogart, resident of Franktown, Colorado. Date of birth put him at forty-five.

That’s a surprise. I thought he was much younger─my age.

Rogart’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Lori; George Payne, fifty-three, resident of Sedalia; Shane Cutler, twenty-eight, step-son of Payne, also resident of Sedalia, completed the surviving members of the group. Here Jess had noted that Cutler had been charged ten years earlier with sexual assault on a minor. She further noted that the minor was a fifteen-year-old girl who claimed the sex was consensual.

Then there was Larry Strickland. Jess’s notes dubbed him Frozen Dead Guy found behind the cabin. Jess’s notes went on to muse about Westcliffe initiating a Frozen Dead Guy Day, to compete with Nederland’s. Big difference was Nederland’s dead guy died of natural causes and was frozen by his family to preserve him.

Jessie, you’re too much.

Back to the particulars on Strickland, Diana noted he was forty-seven, had been married to his wife, Penelope, age forty-five, for twenty-two years. The couple had one child, Patricia, age seventeen. Patricia was reported as a runaway one week after Strickland’s death.

Persons of interest in Strickland’s murder, according to Jess, were Brandi Rogart, Darren Rogart, Joseph Flannigan, Penelope Strickland and Patricia Strickland.

Shuddering, Diana skimmed over the Custer County report detailing the fatal wound and probable weapon. She picked up another page of Jess’s notes.

Flannigan, Strickland, and Payne have been doing this annual hunt thing for at least twenty years, Jess wrote. Cutler joined them after Payne married Cutler’s mom. Rogart joined the pack last. Somehow he and Flannigan hooked up, he joined the group, then married Brandi Flannigan. Or maybe it was the other way around. The feeble FEEBs and the Custer County cowboys don’t seem to have a handle on that one, Jess’s notes concluded.

The account of Lori’s disappearance was puzzling. The hunters agreed that they returned to camp at dusk. Camp was a motel in Westcliffe─an accommodation to Lori. Except for Strickland, who lived in Westcliffe and went home for the night.

The other hunters reported that Lori went into town─just two blocks away─for something unknown. When she didn’t return, they all set out in separate directions. When they found no trace of her, Flannigan had called in the sheriff. After a day-long search of the surrounding woods and crags, the feds had been called in. After a week, the search was called off. There was no mention in the material of anyone suggesting that the girl was a runaway.

Flannigan lied. Or did Jess leave that part out? And since these were copies of reports Jess must have given Flannigan, he must have known that his son-in-law was a person of interest. Did he deflect that discussion because his own name was on that list?

Diana glanced back to make sure she hadn’t misread. She double-checked the Custer County reports. These were Flannigan’s buddies, according to the reports. He’d lied about that, too. And tomorrow she had an appointment scheduled at his house.

As Diana bundled up the files for return to Jess, after scanning significant portions into her computer, it occurred to her that an essential element was missing. Where was Jess’s file on Darren Rogart? Hadn’t he been the subject of her retention by Joe Flannigan? She perused the paper work again. Nothing. She made a mental note to ask Jess about that when next they talked.

Chapter 12

A pheasant erupted from the bushes as Diana parked her white BMW in the driveway of the Flannigans’ Greenwood Village residence, located a short drive south of Denver. The house, a rambling ranch with attached garage, was unpretentious. A silver, meticulously-kept Dodge Ram with a retro ram hood ornament sat in the driveway. She noted the vanity license plate: HUNTER 1.

That figures.

Glancing around at the fencing that separated the property from its neighbors, Diana guessed that it probably comprised several acres. The acreage alone would have cost Joe Flannigan a bunch of barrels─all barrels, that is.

As she exited her car and approached the house, Diana noticed a couple of outbuildings, both well-maintained, as was the exterior of the home. What did you expect? Beer cans all over the place?

Joe Flannigan, dressed in jeans that fitted him better, another flannel shirt, and stocking feet, opened the front door before Diana had a chance to ring the bell. She glanced down at her watch, confirming that she was on time.

“Come on in,” he invited, stepping aside for her to enter.

Diana walked into the living room on hardwood flooring covered with occasional Navajo rugs in muted colors. Her forced smile faded at the sight of an imposing maple gun case that contained several rifles. She paused as she took in more of the room. Animal heads crowded the walls, their glassy eyes peering at her.

Joe Flannigan was saying something. Her revulsion at the wall mounts had caused her to tune him out. “What was that … Joe?”

“My wife, she’s in the kitchen, if you’ll come this way.”

As she followed him through the dining room, Diana noticed a picture on an oak side table. An exotically beautiful young woman cradled an infant in the crook of one arm, while the other arm embraced a blond toddler. With her long, straight dark hair and almond eyes, she reminded Diana of a Native American Madonna.

“That’s my Brandi.”

Diana looked away from the picture, into Joe Flannigan’s tired blue eyes. “She’s lovely. Those are your grandchildren?”

“Keith is only a couple of weeks old there. The girl is three.”

“A handsome family,” replied Diana, noting the absence of Darren Rogart from the family photo.

As Diana’s glance moved from the side table to the mantle of a double fireplace that served both living and dining rooms, she saw a wedding picture. The glowing bride could have been the same young woman pictured with the children. But the ruggedly good-looking groom, whose thick head of sandy hair was a bit on the long side, was definitely not Darren Rogart. This must be the Flannigans’ wedding picture. Diana’s eyes widened as she followed the slump-shouldered form of Joe Flannigan into the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon, laced with fresh coffee.

Mrs. Flannigan was preparing coffee in an old-fashioned lacquered metal pot as Diana and Joe entered the wide, sunny country kitchen. She wore an ankle-length denim dress, topped by an embroidered apron with an interesting display of forest animals. Diana wondered if it was her own creation.

“This’s my wife Rena,” said Joe. He didn’t bother saying Diana’s name. She guessed Mrs. Flannigan was well aware of who she was.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Martin. Coffee’s nearly done brewin’” Rena’s Oklahoma accent was similar to Joe’s.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Flannigan.” Diana tried to smile as she did mental math from the stats contained in Jess’s material. The petite, sad-faced woman looked much younger than her forty-seven years. Brandi, her daughter, was thirty when she disappeared. Brandi’s oldest child, thirteen. Teen-age pregnancies and marriages, in whatever order, seemed to run in this family.

As Rena turned back toward the coffee on the stove, Diana noticed her hair in a single long braid down her back, its few strands of silver the only indicators of the woman’s age. So strong was Rena’s resemblance to her daughter, Brandi, that she could have been the high-cheekboned beauty in both of the pictures.

Still standing, Diana eyed the pretty maple chairs with their colorful handmade cushions. She looked around the room, then through the picture window that faced a dormant backyard garden. A birdbath hosted several robins who’d stayed the winter. A couple of blue jays fought over a block of suet hung in a bare-limbed cottonwood.

“Where are the children?” asked Diana, looking back at Rena as she spoke.

Tension filled the room like a fourth presence.

Rena had begun to pour coffee into three mugs. Now she spilled some as she looked toward her husband for an answer to Diana’s question. Diana’s eyes followed Rena’s hands, thinking she spotted a slight tremor.

“They’re in school, of course,” barked Joe Flannigan, reminding Diana of a dog raising its hackles.

Diana stepped back to where she could watch both Flannigans. “But, I thought I made it clear that I needed to interview them.”

“There’s nothin’ to be gained by that worth keepin’ ‘em out o’ school for,” grumbled Flannigan. “You got kids, Missus Martin?”

“No. But that’s not─”

“Didn’t think so.” He snorted and shook his head.

His comment opened the wound again. Diana gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on Mrs. Flannigan. The woman stood as if paralyzed, her eyes riveted on her husband.

Diana turned a grimace into a smile, looking directly at Rena. “When will the children be home?”

Rena shook her head, looked out the window into the backyard. She crossed her arms, and her fingers clawed upward at the long sleeves of her dress. Diana glimpsed what appeared to be a large bruise on the woman’s right arm.

“You’re welcome to see their rooms, so you can tell we provide a good home for ‘em,” offered Joe.

Diana felt her anger heighten as she considered the implications of Rena Flannigan’s reticence, along with the bruise on her arm. “I asked to see the children, Mr. Flannigan. Not their rooms.”

The look that crossed his face made Diana move instinctively away. She watched the same tide of rage she’d observed in her office sweep over him. Only this time, the sound of a phone ringing halted his outburst. He picked up the instrument on the counter top, turning away from both women as he did so.

“Won’t you have some coffee?” Rena’s soft voice pleaded over Joe’s phone conversation, blurring the sound of his words.

“Quiet,” growled Flannigan at his wife. Diana noticed that she didn’t even blink. “I’ll take this in the other room,” he continued, laying down the phone. He gave his wife a malevolent stare as he left the room.

Rena set two mugs of hot coffee on the table, then sat down opposite Diana. “Joe don’t mean no harm,” she began. “He’s hurtin’ somthin’ terrible. Brandi was our one-and-only.”

Was? Rena must think her daughter’s dead, too.

“What about your pain, Mrs. Flannigan?” asked Diana, her eyes traveling to the woman’s right arm. But now it was covered by the sleeve of her dress.

“I sometimes think we women bear ours better’n the men do. I miss my daughter ….” Rena’s voice trailed away. A light seemed to shut off in her beautiful, dark eyes.

“You were close to your daughter?”

Rena nodded. “As close as he’d let us be.”

He? Does she mean her husband or her son-in-law?

Before Diana could articulate the question, Joe Flannigan returned to the room. “The kids are messed up enough as it is,” he said. “No need for you pokin’ a bunch of questions at ‘em.”

“You do realize that if we go to court, the judge will be interviewing them?”

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“Then you’ll be dealing through another attorney,” replied Diana crisply. “I can’t handle your case. My secretary will refund your retainer through the mail.”

Diana moved deliberately toward the door that led back through the dining room.

“Who th’ hell do you think you are?” The breath from his words was hot on her neck.

He was right behind her, following. Be calm, she told herself as she looked back, relieved to see that he hadn’t taken up some kind of weapon. Her last glimpse of Rena was of the woman wiping up spilled coffee from the table, hands shaking like leaves in a whirlwind.

Diana reached the living room without breaking stride. She could still hear Flannigan behind her, breathing heavily, mumbling under his breath. As she turned the door handle, she heard him mutter, “Bitch!” Diana hurried through the door, pulled it shut behind her, then ran the rest of the way to her car. To hell with dignity.

Once inside her car, she immediately locked the doors. She thought of Rena Flannigan, wishing she’d taken the opportunity to at least give the woman her business card during those few moments when Joe had been out of the room.

As she jammed the key into the ignition, a flash of movement from one of the outbuildings caught her eye. She turned in time to see a young girl in blue jeans run toward the house. Small and fair-haired, she skittered like a frightened deer. Diana suppressed a strong urge to get out of the car and go after her.

As she drove away, Diana determined to call Rena at a later date. Maybe if she could catch her when Joe wasn’t around, Rena would be more forthcoming. Maybe then she’d be able to speak with the children.

What for? You just removed yourself from the case.

But something about the sad-faced woman, the beautiful daughter, and the two young children─especially thirteen-year-old Lori whose childhood had just been stolen─had become imbedded in her heart.

Chapter 13

On the day following her Flannigan fracas, Diana joined Jess in the dressing room of the Body Works Gym and Spa, where they were regulars─Diana as a member, and Jess, a part-time aerobics instructor.

Diana felt in the midst of catch twenty-two. By quitting as Flannigan’s lawyer she had no legitimate reason for access to the Rogart children, to assess their welfare. But, if she’d stayed on the case as Flannigan’s legal counsel, she’d be obliged to pursue his best interests. Short of Flannigan’s announcement that he was contemplating a felony, Diana’s lips would be sealed concerning anything she learned from him.

Now, she had every intention of picking Jess’s brain on the subject. But the half dozen women in the dressing room, in various stages of robbing or disrobing made private conversation unlikely.

“Don’t you think you’re rushing things?” asked Jess, eyeing Diana disapprovingly.

“I’m fine,” said Diana as she stripped off her outer clothes and quickly pulled on loose gray sweats and a white tank top before hanging up her blouse and business suit. Though her new, oversized underpants hid the ugly scar, she was aware of the remaining swelling. Her body had become a stranger that she was uncomfortable to be seen with in public.

“That’s a crock of shit,” snapped Jess. “Keep it up and you’ll end up back in the hospital.”

“I’m just going to do some step aerobics and a little stationary bike.” Diana tried to smile, succeeded. “I can feel my muscles turning to flab.”

Jess stretched lazily, like a big cat, then sat down on a bench to put on her black Adidas. “How’re you coming with the Flannigan custody suit?” she asked.

Good. She brought it up.

“I’m not. I quit him,” replied Diana as she laced up her white Nikes, frowning as she tried to formulate questions she could ask without violating her own client confidentiality. After all, she had briefly represented Flannigan. Or had she?

“A tad testy about it, aren’t we?” purred Jess.

Diana looked hard at Jess, thinking she seemed a bit too relaxed. She thought of Winston’s revelation. Maybe the Jess-Rogart connection had cranked up a notch.

“Sounding a bit smug, aren’t we?” mocked Diana. “So, is he really that good?”

“Who?”

“Rogart. Winston says you’re seeing the guy.”

Jess’s expression turned unexpectedly thoughtful. “I’m not really sure what to call it.” She looked quickly at her watch. “Come on. I gotta start the class.”

Out in the gym, Jess presided over a class of about fifteen women. The stereo boomed out her favorite selections─classics resurrected from the eighties. Slow pieces accompanied their warm-up stretches. Diana felt the pull on her abdomen and allowed herself to do incomplete twists and bends.

Then things got serious. The Pointer Sisters’ “Jump For My Love” burst from the speakers, accelerating the pace. As Jess led them in increasingly strenuous movement, Diana found she couldn’t keep up─even if she stepped when the others jumped. In less than fifteen minutes she was retreating to the strains of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive.”

Back in the dressing room, Diana, dripping sweat, hunched over a bench. So much for exercise. Jess had been right. She wasn’t ready. And she really wasn’t ready to get in the shower where others could see the ugly, red, lumpy line that now marred the body she used to think looked pretty damn good.

She must have wallowed in the funk of self-pity longer than she realized─or dozed off─as Jess’s voice roused her. “What’re you doing? Holding that bench down?”

Diana looked up, blinked and replied, “Just letting the sweat dry.”

Jess snorted as she stepped out of her leotard and underwear, grabbing a towel. “That’s what we have showers for.”

Diana eyed Jess’s unmarred athlete’s body enviously. “Some of us don’t have anything left to flaunt.”

“Flaunt?” Jess paused at the shower room door. “You still hung up on your scar? Like anybody in here really cares. We’re all women. Hello!”

This brought an involuntary giggle from Diana. “Is that all women, as in O-I-L?” she shouted at Jess.

“You’re better. I can tell,” yelled Jess over the sound of the water.

Later, as Jess dried off, Diana bagged her work clothes and put on her winter coat over her sweats. Then she took a good look at what Jess was now wearing: skin-tight red lame top with a black leather miniskirt and knee-high leopard boots with four-inch heels.

“Anybody tell you Halloween was back in October?” she asked.

Jess shrugged. “It’s my Colfax outfit.”

“Is business that bad?” Diana laughed aloud, picturing Jess parading around Denver’s red light district.

“I’ve got a lead on a missing girl,” said Jess. “It’s something I’m doing for Dare.”

“Dare? As in Darren Rogart?” Diana raised an eyebrow.

Jess nodded, something uncharacteristically sheepish creeping into her expression. “The daughter of a friend. His time’s kind of tight now that he’s got his kids back.”

Diana dropped her bag of clothing. “You just asked about the custody suit when you already knew it was dead in the water?”

“Keep your voice down, okay?” Jess looked around nervously as the room filled with women for the next class. “He waited for them after school yesterday and just took them. They’re so happy to be back with him.”

Diana frowned, remembering the streak of teen-age girl she’d seen in the Flannigan’s back yard the day before. That girl must have been Lori. She hadn’t been in school. “You’ve met them by now?” asked Diana.

“Not yet. I’m really in no hurry to meet the little darlings.”

Diana rolled her eyes as she picked up her things and followed Jess out of the dressing room, walking slowly across the gym toward the door to the parking lot. Then she remembered something else. “I meant to bring your files back tonight,” she began.

“That’s okay,” interrupted Jess, lengthening her stride. “Whenever.”

“Did you give me the whole thing?” Diana persisted as she hurried to catch up with Jess. “I mean, there was so little on Rogart. I’d think he’d have a separate file.”

Jess flicked a hand dismissively, “You quit Flannigan. Why would you care?”

Diana shrugged. “Just curious.” She plumbed for a better reason. “Concerned about you, now that you two are an item.”

Jess didn’t comment as she pushed open the outside door and held it while Diana exited. Cold air hit them as they crossed the parking lot. How un-Jess, to shut down the conversation, thought Diana. Typically, she’d be the first to brag about a conquest, like a guy might.

“Who’s the girl you’re looking for on Colfax?” Diana tried to jump-start their dialogue.

“Remember the guy who had Darren’s daughter stashed in the cabin?”

“Frozen dead guy?”

“You did read my report.”

“Why would Darren want to do him a favor? I mean, he’s dead.”

“No, it’s for the guy’s widow. See, these red-necks were all Joe’s buds before Darren ever knew them. He feels sorry for the widow. The Strickland girl went missing the same night as Lori.”

“That’s not what the police report says. It says─”

“I know what it says, but that’s when it was reported, not when she went missing. Darren thinks Joe and Larry did some kind of a sick trade.”

Diana cringed at the thought. “Trade his granddaughter for his buddy’s daughter? This just gets worse.”

“Does make you want to puke, doesn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t Darren’s children have told him if there had been a strange girl in their grandparents’ house?” asked Diana.

“Are you nuts? He wouldn’t keep her at the house.”

The women approached their respective vehicles, adjacently parked in the crowded lot.

Diana’s apprehension heightened as she grabbed Jess’s elbow. “I think Darren may not be the person you think he is. I was at the Flannigan house yesterday. As I was leaving, I saw a small, blond girl run through the yard. I think it was Lori, which means Darren didn’t take her from school. He lied to you, Jess.”

Jess shrugged away from her grasp. “Patty Strickland is a blonde. Maybe that’s who you saw.”

Under his wife’s nose? Is that possible? But Diana knew from past cases she’d handled that victims of abuse will put up with the impossible─until something snaps.

“Even if it was Lori,” continued Jess, “that doesn’t mean Darren lied. She could’ve just been running back for some of her stuff.”

Diana withdrew the car keys from her purse. She shivered under her knee-length, down coat. “Are you working with the cops or the Feebs on this?” she asked.

“Patty lived in Westcliffe. The Custer County Sheriff considers her a runaway. As you know, she’s also considered a person of interest in her dad’s murder. They’re dragging their feet ‘cause Strickland wasn’t exactly popular in those parts. That’s why Darren asked for my help.”

“Why would you be looking for her on Colfax if Darren claims Joe has her?”

“We think she got away from him. She left a message on Darren’s cell that got cut off in the middle. He called in a favor from an old police buddy who had it traced to a pay phone on Colfax.”

Diana pressed the release on her key ring and the BMW’s lock clicked. “I sure hope he’s paying you well.”

Jess drew her fake fur coat more tightly around her as she opened the Camaro’s door. “Like ex-cons can really demand high wages. He lost his cop’s pension and everything, Diana. But at least he’s trying.”

“He’s unemployed?”

“He’s working on the problem. Trying to build up a clientele in a trade his father-in-law taught him. Darren considers it more of an art form. Back when they were family, Joe taught Darren taxidermy.”

Chapter 14

A glint of silver caught Diana’s eye in the side view mirror as she turned off Evans onto Colorado Boulevard on her way home from the health club.

Though artificial Christmas trees decked out in red and gold garlands brightened the streets, Diana felt a sense of gloom. Christmas was only five days away. She just wished it was over.

Usually a workout left her spirits as well as her body tingling and uplifted. Too soon, she told herself. The healing process is going to take some time. Dr. Hovac had offered an anti-depressant prescription that she’d declined. Hmm, maybe just to get through Christmas.

When she caught a red light at Iliff, she heard the screech of brakes behind her, and saw it in her rear view. A silver pickup truck like the one she’d seen in Flannigan’s driveway. The Ram ornament almost rammed into her back seat, he was so close. She could make out a bulky man’s form in the driver’s seat, but he was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and the collar of his jacket obscured the bottom half of his face.

Panicking, she told herself that there must be dozens, if not hundreds, of silver Dodge Rams in the Denver area. But how many of them had hood ornaments? As she checked her door and window locks, she felt her heart lurch and flutter. Joe Flannigan would have no reason to follow her. Or would he? Could he possibly blame her for the loss of his grandchildren? She wished Greenwood Village wasn’t so close to Cherry Hills.

The light changed to green, and she drove forward, then made a quick, unscheduled left turn on a yellow light, heading east. She drove for several blocks, hands gripping the steering wheel like vises. Just as she thought she’d lost him─or he was never following her in the first place─she saw movement through the rear view. Was that a glint of silver again? She found herself in a residential area of older homes decorated for the season. And very little traffic. Diana turned left again, heading back in the direction of the health club.

Back on Evans after coming full circle, Diana shakily lowered the driver’s side window and inch and gulped cold night air. The flow of traffic had picked up. She saw no sign of the silver Dodge Ram. But, at the next stop light she removed her cell phone and pepper spray from her handbag, depositing them by her side in the console cup holder, just in case.

The light changed, Diana gulped more cold air, then raised the window as she pulled away from the intersection.

Chapter 15

Jess parked her car in the back lot of a porn shop whose owner she knew. She checked the mag on her little Glock 27, rolled down her right boot and shoved the pistol into her ankle holster. Being left-handed was a drag sometimes. The leopard boot rolled up too snugly over the gun. She needed the next size, except the thrift store didn’t have any others. What the hell, she’d probably never wear them again. Maybe next Halloween.

As she slithered out of the car, she also checked the left boot to make sure her CLIPIT knife was in place.

Dare had said the phone booth was at Colfax and Irving. One block west of Hooker. He’d said it with a straight face, too. Jess had to giggle at the thought of hooking on Hooker Street.

She strolled the three blocks at a leisurely pace, noting the phone booth under Christmas lights. A couple arguing in the driveway of a motel across the street caught her attention briefly. A sister dressed in sweats, with hair the color and consistency of rusty steel wool was not taking any shit off a paunchy white guy who looked old enough to be her dad. The Vacancy sign flashed off and on, its V burned out.

What was it with these old dudes and young chicks? Jess suddenly felt her age and then some. On the street, thirty-five was not only over the hill, it was below ground level. Bargain basement. Damn, the thrift store boots were pinching the hell out of her toes. And the ankle holster had shifted in the too-tight quarters. Now the Glock was digging into her shin bone. Charlie’s Angels this was not. Finishing law school couldn’t have been this bad.

“You a cop?” The girl’s words, bitten off on the cold air, whirled Jess and sent her hand instinctively reaching toward her boot.

Then she saw the wisp of a Latina who could’ve been somebody’s baby sister. She wore dark blue sweat pants, gray fleece jacket, and running shoes that had maybe once been white. Hardly the uniform of the world’s oldest profession.

“Why would you ask that?” Jess smiled, her composure regained in an eye-blink. It rankled her that she hadn’t heard the girl’s approach. Get with it, Jess. Your age is showing.

The girl made a sweeping gesture in Jess’s direction. “We don’ dress like that no more.” She giggled, and then smiled, showing even white teeth in a pretty pixie face. “You threads is what they say … dated.”

Jess faked confusion, remembering Diana’s quip. “Oh, Christmas trees.” She looked around at the street decorations. “Wrong holiday.”

The girl looked at her like she was nuts. “Yeah, like what do you really want? Get yourself laid?”

Jess shrugged. Then she sidled up to the girl, reaching into her pocket as she moved. Nearer the Latina, she caught a faint whiff of pot. “Guess you got me,” Jess said as she removed Patty Strickland’s photo. “Thought I’d have better luck if I dressed the part.” She handed Patty’s picture to the girl. “Looking for my baby sister.”

Under the feeble glow of the street light the girl’s brown fingers reached for the photo; then as her eyes connected with it, one dark brow shot up quizzically. “Ain’t no way you this kid’s sister.”

Jess shrugged. “Would you believe she was adopted? Does it really matter?”

The Latina cocked her head on one side and looked Jess up and down. “You gotta get with the program. You wanna come back to my pad, I lend you some duds?”

Like they’d fit. Jess backed away, suddenly uncomfortable under the girl’s sly glance. “No, thanks.”

As if reading her mind, the girl continued, “No, I ain’t after your puss. An’, yeah, I seen this chick. She been doin’ this corner till Ramon run her off.”

“Ramon Williams?” asked Jess. The familiar face of the greasy haired mulatto pimp jumped to mind. “This his block? Since when?”

“You really knew him, you’d know.” The girl’s voice was turning nasty. Her pretty mouth curled in a snarl. “You so phony. But I seen the chick. This ol’ guy pick her up. Then I don’ see her no more.”

“Old guy? What’d he look like?”

“White.”

“Tall … short … built how?”

The girl shrugged. “Built like a ol’ guy.”

“How old?” Jess delicately removed Patty’s picture from the girl’s fingers just as it seemed ready to drop from her grasp.

“Oh … maybe ‘bout as ol’ as you.”

Jess smiled sweetly, teeth gritted. “And what kind of car was he driving?”

“Wasn’ no car. Was a truck.”

The girl whirled toward a light-colored pickup that Jess had observed on its second pass around the block. “Like that one,” said the Latina. As the truck slowed to a stop, the girl headed toward it. “Let’s go check it out. Might be him. You can show him the pick-cha.”

Jess started after her. “Wait up. Don’t─”

But the passenger side door opened, and the girl hopped in without any preliminaries, motioning for Jess to follow.

Shit. This is so not Kosher.

Jess put the skids on her leopard boots and eyed the dark interior of the truck, past the Latina. A large male form whose eyes were black holes in a face blurred by darkness occupied the driver’s seat. She couldn’t make out his features obscured under a baseball cap. She couldn’t even tell if he had hair. He just looked big and beefy as he now motioned to her.

I don’t think so. Dare was a hunk, but a hunk with a kink? Was this his set-up or some perv’s who’d never even heard of Patty Strickland?

As Jess deliberated, inching her hand down her thigh toward the Glock at her ankle, a dark green Crown Vic slid up to the curb behind the truck. In an eye blink the open passenger door banged shut as Baseball Cap peeled away from the curb, the Latina beside him. Jess reached inside her jacket, whipped out her cell and snapped the rear of the truck, its mud-splattered license plate caught in her cell camera’s auto-flash─she hoped.

“Hey, babe, lookin’ for company?”

Jess took a good look at the Crown Vic’s driver. “Vince?”

“Jessie?”

“How long you been on vice?”

“’bout six months. You really this hard up for business?” Vince Paccione gave her a toothy grin.

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me that. Better call it a night. My feet are killing me. Mind giving me a ride back to my car?”

“What was that about with the Ram?” asked Vince.

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

Inside Vince’s car, Jess checked out what her camera had caught.

“You just have all kinds of goodies,” he said as she took a mini-flashlight out of her right boot. “No wonder your feet hurt. What else you got in there?”

“Not much besides my Glock and a Clipit knife.”

“You need bigger boots.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t believe you’re still driving that fire truck,” said Vince as he pulled up beside her Camaro. “You might as well be driving a black-and-white with the siren on.”

She ignored the comment. “Mind doing me one more favor?” She poked the cell phone toward him. “Check out this license?”

Vince squinted at the picture. “Can you hold the light up? Maybe zoom it?”

She tried. “It looks like HUNTER Z.”

“Looks like dirt on the plate.” Vince got on his radio and called it in. Within seconds he turned to her. “Nada.”

“Try HUNTER 2.”

He returned to Dispatch. She watched his expression brighten. “Bingo.”

“Well?”

“Larry Strickland. Custer County. Ring a bell?”

Dead guy … driving?

Chapter 16

The Hunter pats the girl’s brown hand that now rests on his thigh.

“I’m sorry. I think maybe I overdid it,” she says without any trace of the accent she just used on Jess. “And that other dude driving up didn’t help matters.”

He squeezes the girl’s fingers affectionately. That other dude was a cop, you airhead.

“Maybe if we just circle back, he’ll be gone.”

“We’ll try another time.” She wasn’t going to get in the truck, you numbskull. That surprises him about the black. He had her figured for one who leapt before she looked.

The girl’s hand moves between his legs. “Are we going to your place?”

He gently removes her hand and places it in her lap. “Not tonight.”

“You’re mad. I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time,” he says. You really think there’ll be a next time? Still, it amazes him how strong her need is to please him. No matter how irrational his requests. And it’s not just her. It’s so easy that sometimes it’s boring. Like shooting ducks on a pond─something he’d never stoop to.

“When?” she asks. “’cause I have classes three nights next week.”

“When I’m ready,” he says. He can feel her pouting beside him as he drives.

“You really don’t have to worry about your classes,” he adds with a wink. That gets a smile out of her, puny like she is. Not a collectible like the black who’s just slipped off the hook. There is a firm-bodied specimen. Breasts like a virgin. Never had any kids to drag them down.

“Uh … where are we going?” the girl asks. He’s passed the corner by the college where he usually picks her up and drops her off.

When the bait can’t wait─incinerate.

“What are you laughing at?” she asks.

Chapter 17

After a few more detours without seeing a silver Dodge Ram, Diana headed home. What should have taken twenty minutes took an hour. And felt like two.

Home was going to look so good. From a distance, she could see Christmas lights dancing off the icy surface of the lake.

The low stone wall and matching pillars twined with pine boughs and Christmas lights that marked the entrance to Cherry Hills Farm welcomed her. As she turned into her subdivision, she convinced herself that the entire incident had been the product of her still-weakened state of body and mind. What possible reason would Joe Flannigan have for following her? There were dozens of other attorneys to choose from.

Now, Jess was another story. Flannigan had actually employed her services. If he was going to be pissed at somebody─

Shit!

A silver truck sat in front of her house. The unmistakable bulk of Joe Flannigan lounged against the vehicle. How did he know where she lived? She even had an unlisted home number. When he looked in her direction, Diana saw him take a drag on a cigarette, then discard it on her lawn with an impatient gesture.

As he headed in her direction, she gripped her cell phone. She’d pressed in nine-one-one when sanity reminded her that he man had done nothing, made no threats. Yet.

She put down the phone and picked up her pepper spray as Flannigan approached her car.

“I just wanna talk,” shouted Flannigan through the inch-wide opening in Diana’s car window.

Diana pointed the pepper spray at him in what she hoped was a menacing gesture. In her other hand, she hefted her cell. “Get away from my car, or I’m calling the cops.”

“I know why you turned down my case,” he continued, leaning toward her, ignoring her request. “It was your friend Jess’s doin’s. I know that now. I need to set you straight.”

No, it was your own actions. Diana swallowed the words. Instead she said in a voice so calm she surprised herself, “What you need to do is get away from my car, get in your truck and leave.”

He lurched back, as if her car had become hot to the touch. “I never meant to scare you. But it makes sense now. Winston told me. If you’ll just listen─”

“Leave at once, Mr. Flannigan.”

He threw his arms up, large gloveless hands pawing the air; then he backed away from her car.

“That’s right, Mr. Flannigan. Now, get in your truck and leave.”

“He took the kids. You knew that, right?”

“They’re his kids.”

“And he’s fuckin’ your friend, Jessie. You okay with that?”

“Leave now, Mr. Flannigan.”

He shook his large head and slowly retreated. Just before he got into his truck, he turned back, his words making white puffs on the cold night air. Diana strained to hear and made out the words, “…it’ll be you next.”

* * * * *

Once inside the house, Diana found she couldn’t stop trembling. She turned off the timer-controlled lights in the foyer and peeked out a window to make sure Flannigan hadn’t doubled back. No sign of his truck. She waited in the dark. Headlights from the direction of the subdivision entrance set her heart racing. But the vehicle turned into a neighbor’s driveway.

She checked the deadbolt again before going toward the kitchen. An unexpected touch on her leg nearly loosed a scream from her throat. Tigger!

“Mau.” Tigger rubbed against her leg again. “Mau.” Then the yellow tabby led the way to the kitchen where he waited in front of the fridge.

Diana doled out a saucer of CatMilk, then examined the contents of the refrigerator. Nothing appealed to her. She turned to check on her phone on the island and saw two message lights blinking in synch with her still-racing heart.

She pushed play without first checking the caller ID and felt the blood rise to her face as she heard her mother’s voice.

“Diana, don’t hang up now.” It didn’t sound like a demand as much as a plea. Diana listened, ashamed of her emotions.

“I know how hurt and upset you are,” whined her mother.

I’m sure you do, Mother. The anger seeped back like a poison.

“Daddy and I have talked, and we’ve decided you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. We’re coming for Christmas─”

Oh, no! Her mother’s voice droned on, something about having the tickets already. Got a bereavement break because of the baby. How could she?

“… Daddy and I think you and Greg can work things out─”

Diana pressed delete and quickly hung up the phone. As she sat taking deep breaths, she felt perspiration trickling onto her dried sweat.

After calming herself with a mug of tea, she checked out the other call. Greg. Against her better judgment, she pushed play.

“Your mother called me tonight.” Greg’s voice was strident. “What’s this about a reconciliation? You know that’s not possible. Please do something to keep that woman from calling me. Am I going to need to change my cell number?”

“Arrgh!” She screamed a long, mad-woman scream. Tigger jumped at the sound and raced toward his cat door.

* * * * *

“Jessie?” Diana, wrapped in her green plush robe, purred into the phone. A warm shower had calmed her nerves, and Tigger now snuggled on the bed beside her.

“What’s up?” came Jess’s reply.

“How’d your case go? Any sign of the missing girl?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did find a potential witness … hey, since when do you call about my cases? What’s really on your mind?”

“I was wondering what you’re doing for Christmas. You and Winston usually go out of town … but I guess not this year.”

“Oh, that’s thoughtful of you.” Jess sounded genuinely touched. “I guess I didn’t mention it, but we’re having a kind-of Christmas family reunion in L.A. To celebrate Linc’s new movie.”

Diana knew Linc Edwards, Jess’s older brother, was a Hollywood celebrity. In an industry that had been slow to open the door to African-Americans, Linc’s success as a producer/director was still something of an anomaly.

Take me with you. I can’t stay here. Diana plucked nervously at the sash of her robe.

“What? What?” Jess seemed to catch Diana’s thought waves. Or maybe she just wondered why the gaping silence, punctuated by stifled sniffles.

“I need an out, okay?”

“I love you, too.” Jess’s outrage sounded only half-fake.

“My parents are coming for Christmas. I can’t be here when they arrive.”

“Jesus!”

Diana thought she heard Jess giggle. “Not funny!”

“Well, I guess if you’re that desperate we can fit you in at the Edwards Christmas table. You are telling your folks about your other plans, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?” asked Jess.

“Flannigan was parked in front of my house when I got home. Before that, I think he was following me. But I’m sure I lost him. You didn’t─”

“Tell him where you live? Of course not! What a weird night. My witness got into a truck registered to the missing girl’s dad. Go figure that one.”

“Maybe the girl killed her dad and stole his truck. Or maybe he gave it to her.”

“I don’t think so. It was a man at the wheel, and my client doesn’t answer his cell.”

“What happened to Dare?”

“Go pack your bags. I’ll tell you about it on the plane.”

“How do you know I can get a reservation this late?”

“Linc booked two tickets. I haven’t told him about breaking up with Winston yet.”

Diana frowned. “I can’t use a ticket with somebody else’s name on it.”

“Trust me. Linc can fix it. Call you back with a time.”

Chapter 18

The interlude furnished by the Christmas getaway with Jess had a calming effect on Diana. A Hollywood Christmas was not exactly a high point on her fantasy list, but the experience had been a pleasant surprise.

Linc Edwards lived in Benedict Canyon─low-key by Hollywood standards. Diana found the area woodsy-charming until Jess reminded her that the house in which Charles Manson and his followers had murdered Sharon Tate and friends was just down the road. Although the infamous murders had taken place before Diana was born, she’d seen pictures of Manson and wondered how the short, bushy-haired psycho had amassed an adoring female entourage. Maybe the idea of Joe Flannigan seducing teen-aged girls wasn’t so far fetched after all.

The warmth that Jess’s family exuded surprised her, considering Jess’s tendency to keep people at arm’s length. The parents, a distinguished-looking white-haired dentist and a plump, sweet-faced housewife who bore no resemblance to Jess, were an original couple, still together after forty-some years. And apparently loving it. What was with Jess’s limbo dance with commitment?

Although Linc and his long-time companion, super-model Kendra Blair, weren’t married, they acted more like a couple than Jess and Winston ever had.

The Edwards clan had talked Diana into staying through New Years. Fortunately, she’d been able to enlist Tamara to look in on Tigger, who was still mad about having his cat door closed for a week.

Now, sitting in her office on the Monday following New Years, Diana felt a let-down settle upon her. She’d had the mercy to deflect her parents’ trip to Denver before they’d gotten on the plane in Chicago.

In her haste to put the trip together and head her folks off at the pass, Diana had forgotten to ask Jess about the missing Strickland girl. Now she remembered, recalling also that Jess hadn’t kept her promise about telling her on the plane why Dare was now the client. In fact, Jess hadn’t made one reference to Darren Rogart during the entire holiday. Just as well.

One lonely call light blinked on her answering machine. Diana had avoided pressing play, in no mood for another of her mother’s lectures. She pressed caller ID and was relieved to see Winston’s name. When she played his message, his rich baritone voice warmed her. “Happy New Year, Diana. Just thought I’d touch base. Don’t be a stranger.”

Outside her window the sun’s brightness belied the day’s frigid temperature. Diana basked for a moment in the warmth of Winston’s voice. It was good to have friends. Sometimes friends are all you’ve got.

Stop that! When would the tears stop coming when she least expected them? She shook her head vehemently to dislodge the wave of depression. The doctor had warned her about moods she might experience. She’d opted to start HRT, but with the bio-identical hormones she’d read about. Fortunately, Dr. Hovac wasn’t offended when his patients became proactive in their health care decisions.

Her intercom buzzed, a dull, purring sound. “Darren Rogart on line one.” Tamara’s voice was all business as usual.

Diana frowned at the slight tremble she felt in her hand as she lifted the instrument.

“Diana Martin here.” Cold. Stuffy. Stop that, Diana.

“Diana,” he drew out her name with a familiarity he didn’t own, “it’s Darren.”

A pause.

“I know who you are, Mr. Rogart.” But she didn’t, and this new anger seemed a bit over-the-top, even to her.

If he found her tone offensive, he gave no sign of it. “I called to thank you.”

“For what?”

She heard him sigh. “I have my children back,” he said.

“That has nothing to do with me.” Why did the phone instrument feel unnaturally warm?

“You’re being too modest. I think it does.”

She didn’t answer him. Her throat was dry, and she swallowed repeatedly, alarmed at the sound it made in her own ears. He can’t possibly hear…

“The fact that a reputable attorney turned down his case has done a lot to take the wind out of my father-in-law’s sails.”

Diana heard a smile in Rogart’s voice as he continued, “I thought I’d be spending Christmas alone. Instead I had my kids. You won’t acknowledge it, but that gift was yours, intended or not.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened with your children.” Alarm set in. She hoped Flannigan didn’t hear about Rogart’s misplaced gratitude. Or maybe he already had and that had been what prompted his unwelcome visit to her house just before Christmas.

Diana heard Rogart sigh again. Silence. She didn’t help him out. Instead, she held her breath, hoping he’d hang up.

“Come on, humor me,” he wheedled. Diana exhaled softly under the cover of his voice. “Let me take you to lunch. My way of saying thanks for your unintended gift.”

Lunch? Reality kicked in, bringing her up short. This penniless man without means of support was proposing lunch? McDonald’s? An unexpected giggle rattled her throat.

“Did I actually get a smile out of you?” continued Rogart.

“I’m not smiling, Mr. Rogart.” But she was. If he says “Call me Dare,” I’m hanging up.

“Ever been to the Buckhorn?” he asked.

Diana knew the nineteenth century Denver landmark, established by Buffalo Bill’s sidekick “Shorty Scout” Zietz when the whole town was part of the Wild West. She knew the place to be filled with trophy animal heads and therefore not her idea of a backdrop for a relaxing meal.

“I know it by reputation,” replied Diana. “It’s not a place I frequent.” Stiffy-stuffy again. Damn it!

“Well, I’d like to change that. Give you a glimpse of how the other half lives. We hunters are not a bunch of drooling cavemen.” He paused.

She kept her silence. Why doesn’t he just hang up?

“Gimme a break, Diana. Just one lunch, then I’m out of your life.” Pleading, with a smile in his voice, did hold a certain charm. She pictured his handsome face, then censored the rest of the picture.

“Hey, I know the owners. I’ll bet I can get them to whip up something vegetarian for the occasion.” She had the feeling he was making fun of her. “You afraid you might develop a taste for rare meat?”

Too far. She felt the blood rush to her face.

“Wait, don’t hang up.” It was as if he could see her reaction. “I know your year’s been a bummer, and the new one’s not starting out that good.”

Thanks a bunch, Jessie.

“I just wanted to lighten things up. Don’t look back, look ahead. Do something you’ve never done before. Then write me off as a grateful nut case, who loves his kids to distraction.”

He sounded so happy, as if the gloom she’d observed that night in her office had lifted, and Diana was envious of his ability to do that when his own year must have been pretty crappy, too.

“You don’t have to take me to an expensive restaurant. I realize your situation is … strained right now.”

“No, I do. I made three sales over the holidays. Collected on a big moose head this morning. It’ll be my pleasure.”

She had to wonder at his smoothness, his assumption that Jess had filled her in on his taxidermy practice. Then another thought impinged, changing the picture.

“Will Jess be joining us?”

“Who?” asked Rogart, after a short silence.

“Jess Edwards,” she replied, enunciating clearly.

“Oh, your detective friend,” he replied in a puzzled voice. “Why would she be joining us?”

Ooh-kay. “I thought,” she ventured, “you two were … friends.” Now, there’s a euphemism.

“Jess is certainly friendly. I’ll give her that. I’d forgotten you two were close.”

How could he forget something like that? “Best friends. That’s not a problem?”

“Why would it be? How’s noon today? Is that too short notice?” He sounded boyish in his eagerness.

Diana felt a twinge in her heart. Melt-down.

Chapter 19

A relic out of Denver’s past, the Buckhorn Exchange sat at the corner of Tenth Avenue and Osage, a brown, rectangular two-story wedge of a building built in 1893. Just south of Colfax and west of the Convention Center, the Buckhorn exuded the flavor of its colorful past, spilling its aura out across the surrounding area. Diana felt it as she parked her car in the rapidly filling lot. Glancing around her, she wondered which vehicle was Rogart’s, or if he’d even arrived yet.

She wore a black blazer over a soft cashmere turtleneck and gray wool slacks with matching leather boots. The slacks rode easily on her slender hips these days, the swelling from her surgery reduced to a memory.

The mid-day sun played hide and seek among billowy white clouds, but so far the sky was friendly.

She locked her car and walked briskly to the entrance of the weathered building, noting the long, narrow windows that lined the second story. She’d heard that the new owners had added a roof garden, but doubted that it would be open before spring arrived.

The heavy wooden door took her concentrated effort to open. She was encouraged by the fact that there was almost no pull from the area of her surgery. Inside, the odor of roasting meat hit her olfactory senses full-on. It took a moment longer for her eyes to become accustomed to the somber interior. Booths upholstered in dark brown leather ran down one side of the main floor.

“One for lunch, Ma’am?” The bearded maitre d’ wore black jeans, cowboy boots, and a fringed western shirt.

“I’m meeting someone.” She took a better look around her. Game heads crowded the walls, their glassy eyes taking on a knowing gaze in the dim light. Pheasants, grouse and all manner of game bird seemed ready to rise up from the oak-paneled bar.

Diana took a step backward and felt a hand on her elbow. She turned slightly in the close quarters as the restaurant began to fill with the lunch crowd.

“Diana.”

As Rogart’s eyes hit hers, she felt as if she’d been skewered. Even in the dim light. The image of a butterfly impaled on a pin flashed briefly across her consciousness, only to be swallowed up in the sensory potpourri around her.

“We have a reservation upstairs,” she heard Rogart tell the host.

Then she allowed him to pilot her up a staircase to the second floor. Quick, backward glances at his thighs moving under tight jeans sent Diana’s pulse racing. He smelled of leather and musk. At the top of the stairs, a magnificent white oak bar dominated the room. The booths were oak, upholstered in blood-red leather. The effect was numbing. A full-bodied wolf mount looked so alive that she found herself wanting to reach out and pat it. Not a healthy idea.

A pretty hostess in western attire led them to a table by one of the long, narrow windows. Diana watched a smile of familiarity light the woman’s face as she greeted Rogart. As he held out Diana’s chair, she wished she could see his face. Diana was certain that she caught a wink from the hostess. Had Rogart initiated or returned the gesture?

When they had settled into their chairs, Diana let her eyes wander up from the menu, toward Rogart. Again, it was like being in somebody’s high-beams.

“Would you care for something to drink?” he invited. “A glass of wine?”

She suddenly longed for a glass of white wine. Zinfandel, maybe. “You?” she asked, not wanting to look like a lush.

Rogart shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Uh, I see. I’ll have some herbal tea.”

His lips curved up in a crooked smile that was quite charming, but she found herself squirming again under his intense hazel gaze. “I’m not an alcoholic, Diana. I just don’t enjoy the effects of alcohol.” Somehow, his eyes didn’t match his smile.

She watched his expression soften as he continued. “Alcohol played a part in the abuse of my wife. I don’t fault people for enjoying a drink, but it just doesn’t have a place in my life.” As he spoke, he spread his hands before him on the table, a gesture that called her attention to his long, strong-looking fingers. He wore a wide turquoise and silver band on the third finger of his left hand. She wondered if it was a wedding ring.

As she turned her attention back to the menu, Diana was distracted by the candle light that danced across the table. She tried to focus on a food choice. Perhaps chicken salad. She wasn’t a vegetarian in the strict sense of the word.

When her attention bounced back to Rogart, she found him grinning broadly. But not at her. A lovely Asian waitress had presented herself to take their orders. The girl’s reflection, mirrored in the window glass behind Rogart, revealed an open flirtation in progress.

“I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad,” Diana interrupted, amusement creeping into her voice. If you don’t mind, Miss Hottie.

The waitress moved into view, glanced briefly in Diana’s direction, then jotted something on her order pad─hopefully, Diana’s order. Then the girl moved closer to Rogart. “I recommend the elk medallions,” said the waitress, but she pronounced it “airk medarions.”

Diana took a sip of water, suppressed an embarrassed giggle as Rogart responded, “I’ll try the airk medarions.” The absence of expression on his face would have shamed a poker champion.

When the young woman had left, Diana stared Rogart down. “You realize how rude that was,” she chided, “how politically incorrect?”

“I doubt her mind was on politics,” he countered.

Diana felt a wicked smile coming on. “You weren’t exactly fending her off, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’m not made of stone.”

Diana nearly choked on her water. “I won’t touch that one.”

They both laughed heartily.

Diana was warmed by the transformation in Rogart’s face. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before,” she said spontaneously.

“It’s been awhile,” he replied.

She watched his face regain composure, the sharpness she found disturbing settling back into his eyes. “I doubt that,” she blurted, then was relieved when he ignored her double entendre.

As they waited for their lunches to arrive, she asked, “How did your children happen to be living with their grandparents in the first place?”

He looked back at her, his glance unwavering, long enough for her to regret asking the question. “As you can imagine,” he finally said, “things were pretty strained between my in-laws and myself, following my … incarceration.”

She nodded. He knew that she knew about it. No need to probe that wound.

“While I was … away, Brandi and the kids stayed with her folks, not at our place.”

Diana tried not to frown. But it seemed incongruous that Brandi Rogart would run back to her abuser. Then she recalled more than a few instances in her crusade against domestic violence when her own clients had done just that.

“I’m sure it was Joe’s idea,” continued Rogart. “Brandi wouldn’t have had the strength to oppose him once he’d laid down the law.” He lowered his head and shook it slightly. “I felt so helpless. I couldn’t protect her.” She wished she could see his eyes.

“But you got out of prison. And you continued to socialize with your in-laws.”

“Is this an interrogation?” he asked, his eyes hardening as he looked up at her.

Diana felt herself blush. It must have sounded like that to him. “Sorry, but it just seems like you would have wanted to get your family as far away as possible. Moved to another state even.”

He shook his head and looked down at the table again. “I did, but I had no financial means to do it. Joe even holds the mortgage on my house. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t foreclosed now that Brandi’s gone.”

Gone? As she realized that he had deflected her original question regarding the children, the waitress brought their food. Diana watched the open flirtation continue, noting that Rogart was not entirely passive during this non-verbal exchange.

When the girl left, Rogart smiled at Diana. “I know I’m behaving like an adolescent. It’s sort of sweet to have somebody find you attractive … when the truth is you’re at the bottom of your game.”

Oh, yes. Know that feeling. Diana smiled back, then took a bite of her chicken Caesar.

When they finished, the waitress placed the bill in front of Rogart. Diana wondered if this was where he would discover that he’d left his wallet at home. Instead, he fished out a battered credit card and placed it on the bill, then snapped shut the brown leather folder.

As if reading her thoughts, he smiled and said, “I never quite relax until they bring it back for me to sign. Then I exhale and think, whew, there’s still some credit left.”

They both laughed. And the waitress did indeed return for Rogart’s autograph. Diana wondered what kind of tip he wrote in. He seemed to take an inordinate time with his signature. Did he write in his phone number?

Rogart appeared in no hurry to leave the table. Diana watched him signal a busboy to refill their water glasses. “You in a hurry to get back to the office?” he asked.

“Not really. I don’t have any appointments this afternoon.”

He nodded. “Good. There’s something I’d like to run by you.”

Okay. So this isn’t a free lunch. Diana matched his gaze, feeling a nibble of disappointment.

“My financial situation can’t go on like this.”

“You’re probably right.”

“The fact is there’s a ready solution. My wife has a discretionary trust that was set up for her by her grandmother, Joe’s mom. Problem is Joe’s the trustee. He’d never willingly part with a nickel because he wants me to fail in supporting the kids, so he’ll have a reason to take them.”

“Do you know the terms of the trust? Can it be used to support your children?”

Rogart reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a manila envelope. “Better yet, I have the trust paper right here.”

Diana blinked. “Trusts are not generally of public record. Their privacy is what makes them attractive. How’d you get a copy?”

“I found it in a drawer at home after Brandi disappeared. If I’m reading it correctly, it can be used to support our kids. But what do I know? Could you at least take a look at it?”

* * * * *

What harm could it do? In the parking lot Diana transferred the manila envelope under her arm while she got out her car keys. After she pressed the lock release, Rogart opened the door for her and held it while she got in.

As she rolled down the car window, Rogart leaned against the door. “Thank you, Diana. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“No guarantees. I’ll just take a look and get back to you.”

To the west, behind Rogart, the sun had paled and was nearly obscured by clouds that had taken on a darker hue. Lunch had lasted much longer than Diana had anticipated.

Then, as she put the key in the ignition, she felt him move and turned to see him leaning toward her through the open window. Paralysis set in as she felt his warm lips cover hers. Sensations she thought were gone for good ran through her body like electric charges. Yet she couldn’t kiss him back. Though she felt the urgency of his tongue pushing on her teeth, she kept them rigidly clamped shut, in spite of what the rest of her body wanted.

She blinked as the clouds shifted and a glint of silver in the row of parked vehicles behind Rogart stole her attention. Diana wrenched free, broke off the kiss with a gasp.

As the sound escaped her lips, Rogart whirled to see what had so alarmed her.

“Flannigan’s truck,” she managed to squeeze out. “He’s following me again.”

Rogart turned and strode purposefully toward the silver pickup. Diana could see the hood ornament glinting in the sun’s last rays. Then darkening clouds shifted again, dimming the picture.

After what seemed like minutes, but she knew were only seconds, Rogart came back with the news. “The truck’s empty. It sure looks like Joe’s.”

She couldn’t stop trembling. She wondered how much of the reaction was fear of Joe Flannigan and how much was fallout from Rogart’s unexpected kiss. “I think I may need to get a restraining order if this keeps up.”

She watched him glance up and down the street. “It’s me he’s following.” He looked hard into her eyes. “Looking for something he can use against me. I’m sorry. I just used poor judgment.”

The kiss, she thought. His SOB son-in-law kissing his former attorney? If Flannigan saw it, he’d go ballistic. “We both did,” she said. It won’t happen again.

“A restraining order wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said. “Lock your doors and windows.”

Diana fumbled with the locks and the ignition key. When she backed out of the parking space and jerkily drove toward the street, Rogart was nowhere in sight.

Chapter 20

He knows that the Asian started her shift at the Buckhorn at noon that day. The Hunter didn’t expect such a lengthy wait. Once the wicked, sleety rain begins to fall, he takes up a position under the metal awning that shelters the Dumpsters at the rear of the restaurant.

Though restaurants had been fertile stalking grounds long before he learned the process, it still astounds him how the volume of slop from the kitchen to the alley can exceed the output of edibles through the dining room.

The sound of a door sends him slithering back in the shadows. Sometimes it’s a worker taking a smoke break. More often it’s just more disgusting shit from the Buckhorn’s asshole. He likes things clean. Like they are when he finishes with them.

He knows which car is hers. The little blue Miata. A glance at his watch in the flash of someone’s headlights tells him it’s 8:30.

As if on cue, he hears the rapid click of her high heels on the wet stone walkway. She’s come out the front entrance and is walking around to the back, staying close to the building to keep dry. The irony. Didn’t she know he wants her wet?

Click-clack, click clack. She’ll soon be within touching distance. He holds his breath while he watches her take out her car keys ahead of time. She keeps them on a long, red cord, so they’ll be easy to find in her little jam-packed handbag. He’s learned a lot about her in a short time.

Her legs are long for an Asian’s and muscular, the muscles smooth as silk, not lumpy like an athlete’s. He doesn’t have to feel them to know this. She works hard at keeping her perfect, golden size four body. He pictures her naked, those long legs wrapped around him. But he knows that’s one pleasure he’ll have to forego for the ultimate pleasure─the gift that keeps on giving, beyond a lifetime.

Her hair, under the black fur hat, is long and shiny. And clean. He knows her habits and her habitat. She always turns on the fan when she showers, unlike the redhead who is beginning to annoy him. Maybe he’ll change the position of that camera. Or at least change the position of the receptor to where he can retrieve it from the outside. He’ll do it tonight, he decides. With the Asian in the truck. He shivers in anticipation.

Click-clack. Don’t step on a crack. To calm his racing pulse, he thinks of practical things. Like the redhead, this one lives alone, too. No current boyfriend to stir up things when she doesn’t come home tonight.

She stops in front of the driver’s side of her little car. Clack. He hears the lock release and smiles as he replays his other knowledge. Tomorrow there’ll be no anxious boss checking up on her. It’s her day off.

He smiles as he turns words around in his head. He’ll do her before he does her, but he doubts he’ll get much response. Those killer legs will be limp and passive. Some things are best imagined.

Crunch. The door handle. Metal on metal. Soundlessly, the Hunter steps out of the shadows. Rain turns to slushy snow as she steps back at the sight of him, brushing snow drips from her eyes to clear her vision.

He’s pulled the baseball cap low over his face so he’s sure that what she sees is mostly smiling mouth. He tries to make the smile reassuring as his large hand curls around the dissecting knife─the same one he used on Larry. Wrong place, wrong time. Too bad, Larry. At this moment, its job is only to intimidate, not to mar his perfect Asian specimen. And the smile is to keep her from screaming until the chloroform-soaked rag can quiet her. Hopefully, the knife is just an extra prop. This one, he knows is not a fighter.

She peers at him through the wet, stinking darkness of the alley, her expression more curious than afraid. “Do I know you?” she asks.

Chapter 21

Restless dreams wrapped their tendrils around Diana’s psyche, making an enemy of sleep. Rogart’s eyes hovered above her bed, unattached to any body. Then he occupied her bed, fully clothed. The turquoise belt buckle he wore cut into her flesh as he tried to embrace her.

She turned away to come face-to-face with Jess on the other side of a huge bed that suddenly morphed into a restaurant booth. Jessie, I didn’t mean it. Nothing happened. It was just lunch.

Slowly Diana drifted back into her own bed, alone. A cleansing shower of relief sloshed over her. For a moment she considered phoning Jess. Then a glance at the illumined clock dial told her this was not the hour. She’d call Jess in the morning and find out what was really going on with her and Rogart.

She drifted off again, but the dreams didn’t give her any peace. That half-waking state, where the insane seemed everyday normal, kept tangling her in its folds, denying her any genuine rest. She slogged through a marshland behind a faceless man. No, no. Wait! But she didn’t know for what.

As she twisted in damp sheets, horned heads of game animals burgeoned from her bedroom walls. One head didn’t seem to belong with the rest. An ibex hovered over her, its face melting, then coalescing into the face of a beautiful Asian woman. Something familiar about the face pierced Diana’s dream veil. Then a loud crash splintered the vision.

Diana sat up in bed, breathing rapidly. Had the sound been real or part of her dream? She sat motionless, holding her breath, goose bumps stealing down her bare arms. Hearing nothing further, she got out of bed and slowly edged into the bathroom, wrapping her green robe around her like a security blanket.

“Mau.” Tigger looked up at her, his tail twitching vigorously. “Mau.” He looked down at the bathroom floor where the empty L’Air du Temps bottle lay shattered on the tiles.

Chapter 22

It was no big deal. It wasn’t a date.

What about the kiss?

A friendly kiss? No big deal.

A friendly kiss doesn’t have a tongue in it.

In the safety of daylight, Diana argued unsuccessfully with herself. Ultimately, she knew she’d have to make the call.

“How’s your schedule today, Jessie?” she asked, bypassing the usual Edwards-is-a-flake joke.

“Not too crowded. My nights are busier than my days,” replied Jess. “What’s up?”

“I’d rather not say on the phone. Can you meet me for lunch at the Chinook?”

“Sure,” replied Jess without hesitation. “Now you’ve got me all curious. About 11:30? Beat the lunch crowd rush?”

* * * * *

Now they sat on bar stools at a round glass-top table in the Chinook’s lounge. Jess, hungry as usual, devoured the menu with her eyes. “How’s the steak tartare?” she asked the young waiter.

The youth rolled his eyes dramatically. “It should be outlawed,” he replied in a whisper. “Don’t you know what lurks in rare meat? Exactly. You don’t . That’s my point.”

Diana couldn’t tell if he was kidding or serious.

“Shame on you,” scolded Jess, picking it up as a joke. “I’ll tell Manuel.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll personally vouch for the linguine with marinara sauce,” replied the waiter. “It, too, is one of his favorite creations.”

Jess ordered the steak tartare anyway, with a side of onion rings. Diana opted for the linguine, giving the flustered waiter a smile as she did so.

“A vegetarian if I ever saw one,” muttered Jess when the waiter had left. “They’re everywhere these days.” She shot Diana a fake frown.

Diana laughed half-heartedly.

“So what’s the big secret?” asked Jess.

Better just get it out and over with. “I had lunch with Darren Rogart yesterday.”

“Damn! He hasn’t called me in over two weeks.” Jess looked thoughtful, but not angry. “Not since I left him the message about finding a witness who’d seen Patty. That was before Christmas. He never called back.”

“Did you tell him you were going out of town?”

“Why should I? He never even asked about my Christmas plans.”

“My point is maybe he called. Some people don’t like to leave messages.”

“Darren is not the shy type. He’d leave a message,” said Jess. “I’ve left at least three for him.”

“Hey, you never did tell me what you found out about the dead guy’s truck.”

“What’s to tell? If Darren wasn’t interested enough to call me back, why should I waste my time? One thing for sure, I’m not playing Colfax whore again anytime soon.”

Lunch arrived and Jess dove into her steak tartare with gusto─or a vengeance. Diana wasn’t sure which.

“I thought you two had something going. So did Winston,” Diana probed.

Jess shrugged and took another bite. Diana waited, barely touching her own food, noting Jess wasn’t looking at her as she swallowed before finally replying, “Ever get the feeling you’re being used? Something just doesn’t feel right?”

The picture of Rogart in the restaurant, pulling out his wife’s trust instrument, flashed in Diana’s mind. She suppressed a knee-jerk remark and instead asked, “Like what? I thought you two … did you actually …?”

Still not looking at Diana, Jess nodded slowly. “We did. Actually.”

“And?”

“It was great. At least I thought so. Maybe he was faking it.” Humor crept back into Jess’s eyes. “Diana, he’s got the biggest─”

“Jessie, stop!”

“Biceps. What did you think I was going to say?”

The women laughed, but Diana still felt something was out of kilter with her friend as she watched the sparkle fade from Jess’s expression.

“So tell me about this lunch,” Jess continued, looking up at Diana with flat eyes.

Diana’s turn to look away as she picked at her linguine that smelled wonderful, but suddenly didn’t appeal to her. “As it turned out, he wanted me to check out his wife’s trust, to see if he could squeeze any money out of it. So, you see, I do know about that used feeling.”

Jess’s eyes widened, the expression flowing back. “You didn’t agree to that?”

“Umm ….”

Jess slammed down her fork. “Diana, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you chewed my ass out for? Read my lips. Conflict of interest. You suddenly develop a double standard or what?”

“Don’t vent at me. I haven’t done anything with his damn trust.”

“But you took it with you, didn’t you? You’re going to do something with it.”

“Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that maybe your boyfriend has a wandering eye.” Diana felt anger merge with her guilt.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and fucking him does not make a relationship.” Jess’s angry eyes and quivering lower lip were out of synch with her words. “I wasn’t looking for long-term. I just got out of one of those, remember?”

Diana’s waning appetite vanished completely as she watched her friend’s discomfort. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve gone to lunch with him.”

“No biggie,” replied Jess coldly, glancing at her watch. “Hey, I gotta go.” She slammed down a twenty dollar bill as she slid off the bar stool. “This should cover my half.”

Chapter 23

In the weeks that followed Diana’s lunch with Jess and the ensuing quarrel, Diana had been swamped with work. Besides her billable hours, she chaired the upcoming annual benefit for the local battered women’s shelter, an event that had always given her immense satisfaction. Seeing women take control of their own destinies was even bigger than taking down enemies in court and garnering hefty fees.

None of it was enough to dim the hurt she felt at the estrangement from her best friend. Each time the phone rang, at home or the office, her eyes darted to the caller I.D., hoping it was Jess.

Several times she picked up the phone and started to call Jess. Each time she stopped, afraid to face the verbal slap she thought might be coming from Jess. One more rejection was more than she wanted to face.

She even analyzed just what it was about Jess that she missed, in an effort to minimize the emptiness she felt. The words that jumped to mind were skewed to reflect Jess’s faults: Caustic, brazen, foul-mouthed on occasion, takes unnecessary risks, immature, can’t seem to finish what she takes on, especially when distracted by an attractive man. What’s to miss?

Oh, yeah. Loyal, quick-witted, witty, forthright to the point of tactlessness. Who’d miss that?

I would. Life without Jess is like … deviled eggs without a dash of vinegar.

* * * * *

Winston and Diana warmed up on a racquetball court at the Body Works. She’d arranged the evening match with a two-fold purpose. First, Winston might help her heal her wounded friendship with Jess. Although Winston and Jess had broken up, it wasn’t the first time. Diana doubted that the former couple had severed all ties.

Thwack! They played in silence, except for the sound of the ball striking the back wall. Still warming up, Diana felt outclassed after her weeks away from strenuous activity.

The equally pressing problem of Rogart’s wife’s trust was eroding Diana’s powers of concentration both on the racquetball court and in the office. The papers sat untouched on her credenza, where she’d put them after returning from the fateful lunch. The tongue-in-cheek lunch. Jess would like that one. Hmm, maybe not. She missed the ball.

Winston eyed her with a raised eyebrow. “You okay?” he asked.

“Just a little rusty.”

Rogart had called twice, but she’d instructed Tamara to say she was out of the office. Bottom line was Jess was right. It would be a conflict of interest for her to represent him. Then he’d sent flowers with a note: I hope Joe hasn’t scared you away from me. Darren.

No love, no kisses. Thank goodness. Also, no reference to the work she’d half agreed to do for him. And best of all─no further sightings of Joe Flannigan or his truck.

Thwack! She missed again.

“Diana, what’s wrong with you? You’re somewhere else.” Winston stopped playing and walked over to her, hefting the ball, his racquet tucked under one arm.

Now or never. “Winston, I’ve got a problem.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.” His voice was friendly, but seemed to have an edge to it. “Do you want to stay in here or─”

“Yes, I do.”

Diana couldn’t help but notice how fit and trim he looked in navy shorts and white t-shirt. He hadn’t even broken a sweat during their several volleys. She felt a trickle of perspiration run down her cheek. “I have a conflict of interest thing I want to run by you.”

“Rogart and Flannigan?” Winston’s brows knit together as his tone grew angry.

“Jess told you?”

“What do you think?”

“You two … are back together?”

“Not in this lifetime. I love Jessie, but I can’t live on her roller coaster. Doesn’t mean we can’t get together to help somebody we both care about.” He put a warm brown hand on Diana’s arm.

She turned away so he couldn’t see the tears that were welling in her eyes. Damn. She never used to be such a crybaby. When were those hormones going to get adjusted? She swallowed a couple of times before she could be sure of her voice. “I returned Flannigan’s retainer. I didn’t do any real work for him.”

“You listened to his story. You entered into a contract with him, went to his home and interviewed his wife.”

“But at that point, I decided I couldn’t represent him.”

“Fine. You can do that since you weren’t immersed in a court trial. But you can’t turn around and represent the man that Joe was going against. Diana, that’s basic stuff. Not hard to figure out.”

To her shame, the clarity of his words brought forth a torrent of tears. Embarrassment like none she’d ever known cut her down to worm-level. She’d never cried in front of her mentor. Never even came close. How could a divorce and a … surgery turn her into a total incompetent?

Winston wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. “We all make mistakes. What counts is catching them before any shit happens.”

She blinked at him, unable to speak.

“You’ve done that. Move on.”

She knew her tears were probably making Winston as uncomfortable as they were making her. Then she looked out the glass at the front of the court and saw a couple waiting, wondering no doubt why they didn’t leave if they weren’t playing.

Winston followed her glance. “Shall we continue this conversation in the juice shop?”

She nodded and followed him out the door, head down as she passed the people waiting for the court. They threaded through the maze of body-builders and exercise equipment to the juice shop, where Diana ordered a Chai tea, and Winston, a pineapple smoothie. Then they retreated to a quiet corner to wait for their drinks.

“I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot lately. But, Diana, you’ve got to learn to recognize patterns,” began Winston.

“Patterns?”

“Greg and Rogart. Womanizers. Con-men. And, as you ladies say, hunks.”

Diana’s flow of tears ceased abruptly. “They’re nothing alike. You don’t even know Darren Rogart and you hardly knew Greg.”

“You don’t need to get that close to the leopard to see his spots.”

“That was low, Winston. Greg deserves what you just said. But I don’t know about Darren Rogart. I’d like to think he’s a decent human being who’s made some bad choices.”

Their drinks arrived and Winston took a long draw on his straw before answering. “I hope you’re right.”

She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes for a second, trying to look inside herself for answers. “I think it’s the attention. And the fact that he’s good-looking doesn’t hurt.”

Winston chuckled. “So, you admit it?”

“And he already has children.” She surprised herself with the words. Looking up, she caught a puzzled look on Winston’s face.

“Maybe Jess didn’t tell you. I lost more than the baby. I can’t have children.” She could hear the self-loathing in her own voice.

“I know that.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I have no children. Does that make me less of a man?”

“Yours is by choice.”

“You don’t know that. Besides, it’s irrelevant.”

She looked into her glass of tea, as if an answer could be hiding there. Diana, did you do something? She wondered if she hadn’t attacked Greg on that fateful day, and then gone running around the office like a madwoman … if … if … maybe …. No. She pulled herself away from the thought, focused on Winston. “I know what you’re saying makes perfect sense, but there’s this huge gap between what I know and what I feel.”

He still held on to her hand. “Time will bridge the gap.” Then he let go and took another drink of smoothie. Diana watched a twinkle creep into his eyes. “Would you say the fair measure of a man is his penis?” he asked.

Diana laughed. Talk about mood swings. “I don’t know, Winston. Maybe.”

Now he scowled at her. “Seriously, Diana, for you, an educated, successful woman, to equate yourself with your reproductive attributes─”

She cut him off. “Easy for you to say.”

Winston’s eyes narrowed as his grin crept back. “How would you know?”

“You know what a blabber-mouth Jess is. By the way, do you think she’ll ever speak to me again?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. Why don’t you call her?”

* * * * *

On her way home from the club, Diana stopped off to make a couple of purchases at the grocery store. When she got home, a message from Jess was on her machine. He must’ve called her on his cell as soon as we left.

Jessie’s voice was a welcome sound. “My sources tell me you’ve been messin’ with another of my men. I challenge you to meet me at Body Works tomorrow night. May the best woman win!”

Chapter 24

Stars jutted from a black onyx sky above Diana as she exited her car in the nearly empty Body Works parking lot. The snow had moved eastward, scooping up the cloud cover and leaving a lung-searing cold in its wake. Too cold for all but the stout of heart.

She instantly spotted Jess’s car as she walked briskly toward the entrance. A slip on the icy sidewalk toned down her pace as she observed Jess and Winston through the glass, waiting for her by the front door.

“You’re both here. Now I know I’m in trouble,” said Diana as she flung open the door.

“Do you want to do weights or treadmill or bike?” asked Jess as the three signed in.

“What about aerobics? Don’t you teach tonight?” Diana wanted to know.

“Not tonight,” said Jess. “We’re all yours. Or you’re ours. Let’s see how it goes.”

“Do we talk first?” asked Diana as the three entered the gym, Winston keeping a cool distance behind the women.

“No problem finding three machines together tonight,” said Winston as he looked around the gym. It was 8:00 p.m. on a Tuesday night. In better weather they’d have to wait for even one machine.

“I think we can manage that,” said Jess. “Lots of choices.” She looked hard at Diana.

“Let’s go change and hit the treadmills,” suggested Diana.

“See you ladies in a couple minutes.” Winston headed for the men’s locker room.

Inside the women’s locker room, Diana looked expectantly at Jess. “Are you going to tell me why Winston’s here?”

“Do you mind? Shall we send him home?” Jess’s voice had a sarcastic edge to it.

Wonder if they both came in the Camaro.

They set to the business of changing into workout attire. Diana noted Jess’s outfit─a low-cut crimson and black leotard with black tights. “Pretty sexy. Is that for Winston?”

“It’s sure as hell not for you.”

Diana guessed she’d been right. Jess was probably reluctant to let him go. “So, are you going to tell me why he’s here? Of course I’m always glad to see him. But in your message, you referred him as one of your men. Are you back together?”

Jess laced up her Adidas with a vengeance. Diana thought she’d break the laces. “No. I was making a joke. Okay? We are both worried about you. We care about you. Winston cares about you. That’s why he’s here.”

“And I care about him.” As the words left her lips, Diana quickly added, “And you, too. Jessie, I’ve been miserable these last few weeks. I screwed up by even thinking I could represent Rogart.”

Jess, who rarely touched other females, put an arm around Diana’s shoulders. “No. I screwed up by involving you in this mess,” she said softly as they walked toward the door to the gym.

“What took you so long?” asked Winston as they walked toward the treadmills.

Diana saw him eye Jess up and down. The spark lives, and she knows it.

As Diana chose a machine, Jess and Winston positioned themselves on either side of her. Then they all set their speeds and timers.

Diana began, as they trod their black rubber trails, “You will both be pleased to know that I’ve told Darren Rogart that I can’t be his lawyer.” There. And she wasn’t even breathing hard. She’d reserve the part about Darren’s inviting himself to dinner until after the fact. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a tale worth telling.

“How did he take it?” asked Jess.

“Like a man,” Diana smirked.

She heard a disgusted snort from Winston.

“No, seriously, Winston. It wasn’t as hard as I thought.” Oh, jeez, that didn’t come out right. “I mean, he took it well, didn’t argue the point.”

She glanced from side to side at her friends. Eye-rolls from both. “We heard you the first time,” said Jess. “Point is my night as a Colfax whore may have exposed a whole new side to Darren Rogart.”

Diana missed her stride and nearly tripped.

“No sweat. Winston knows the whole, sordid story. You’re the one who doesn’t.”

“You were supposed to tell me about it on the plane to L.A. Something about a witness who saw the missing girl. And a dead guy’s truck.”

“I was putting it all together, hoping Darren would fill in the blanks,” said Jess, her stride never wavering. “That didn’t happen, so here goes. I’m not on the street five minutes when some Hispanic chick comes up to lecture me about my clothes.”

“You looked vintage Halloween.”

“Shut up and listen.” Jess punched the console to increase her speed. “I showed her Patty’s picture and almost immediately she claimed to have seen her with a man. Like in a bad movie, the man just happens to drive by and the chick tries to get me to follow her into his truck.” Jess shook her head, but kept on trekking. “Bad scene. In a rare flash of insight, I see myself on a morgue slab. The cops cruise by─well, one cop─and the dude in the Silver Ram takes off─”

“Silver Ram?” Diana stopped treading. Her feet flew out from her as the treadmill continued. Winston reached over, shut off the machine and then helped her up. She clung to him a moment, trying to gather her equilibrium, before turning to Jess. “Joe Flannigan’s been stalking me in a silver Ram. Was the license HUNTER 1?”

“No. HUNTER 2, as in the numeral two,” said Jess as she shut off her treadmill. “And that’s what really takes it beyond strange─”

“No. HUNTER 1,” Diana interrupted. “I saw it in his driveway the day I went to his house.”

“Well, it may not have been a two on that license, but it sure as hell wasn’t a numeral one.”

“Ladies,” said Winston, “there are obviously two trucks.”

“Yeah, there are,” said Jess. “And mine’s registered to a dead man. No doubt about who died. I saw his morgue shot. His face wasn’t disfigured or anything. The wife identified him.” A frown then creased Jess’s brow. “If it wasn’t for the difference in the license numbers, it could’ve been Flannigan behind the wheel. Whoever he was, he was a big, bulky son-of-a-bitch.”

“Don’t you see? If Joe had tracked down the girl, that corroborates Darren’s story,” said Diana.

“But it wasn’t Joe’s truck,” said Jess. “It was Strickland’s. And the chick said she saw Patty in the truck. Why would he come back if he had her?”

“She got away again?”

“Not likely. You’re the lawyer. You know what Joe’d be facing if she talked. He’d probably finish her off.”

Winston moved beside her, and Diana saw anger in his body language. “Joe Flannigan is not capable of something like that.”

Jess threw her hands up in frustration. “We don’t know that.” She grabbed Diana and shook her. “Just cool it with Rogart until we can come up with some hard facts.”

“I second that,” said Winston. “I’ll ask Joe about the trucks. Funny thing, he hasn’t been to a meeting in weeks.” From the look on his face, Diana surmised he might be having second thoughts about his endorsement of the man. “Don’t put yourself in a compromising position with Rogart until we know more,” said Winston in an ominously quiet voice.

“Compromising? As in don’t sleep with him?” Diana rubbed her arm where Jess had grabbed her. “I hadn’t exactly planned on that anyway.”

“Have you been seeing him?” asked Jess.

Again with the strident tone. “No. I told him on the phone about not taking his case.”

“You’re sweating,” observed Jess. “I don’t think it’s from this puny workout.”

“My HRT must need adjusting,” blurted Diana. She glanced self-consciously at Winston. His brows were knit together in that puzzled look of his that sometimes made her want to laugh This wasn’t one of those times.

“Girl talk,” said Jess to Winston.

“Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat before adding, “I think we’re done here.”

“Let’s at least finish our workout,” said Jess. “You don’t get off so easy.” She patted Winston’s mid-section, which looked pretty flat to Diana. “Putting on a few pounds?”

“Not me,” he replied. “But let’s work off some of this frustration. Back to the treadmills, ladies.”

It made no sense that Flannigan would brazenly drive Larry Strickland’s truck, thought Diana. Or even keep it in his driveway. If he’d bought the truck, wouldn’t he have changed the registration by now? But she was sure about the license plate on the one she saw. Jess must be mistaken.

“Did your truck have a ram hood ornament?” asked Diana.

“Sure did.”

Another coincidence? I don’t think so.

They trod in silence for the balance of the hour.

“Anybody want to grab a bite?” asked Jess when all three had worked up a respectable sweat.

“I think I’ll pass, if I can have a rain check,” said Diana.

Winston took her arm, more gently than Jess had. “We care about you. Be careful.”

His touch was warm and strong. She still felt it after he’d let go. Better get that H.R.T. adjustment soon. “I care about you guys, too.” She was about to blubber again, but stopped it.

After they showered, changed and went their separate ways, Diana remembered. She hadn’t really looked at the license plate when Flannigan was in front of her house. She’d just remembered it from his house, because it was so appropriate. HUNTER 1.

And the truck in the Buckhorn parking lot? She’d never even seen that plate.

Chapter 25

Diana’s mood soured as she drove home from the gym. On reflection, her friends attempting to take charge of her decisions left her feeling defensive. She convinced herself that in all probability it had been Joe Flannigan’s truck at the Buckhorn and probably on Colfax, too.

Back on that night in December, he’d also have had time to drive down Colfax and scare Jess after she’d shaken him off her tail. He probably hadn’t followed her for as long as she’d thought. She knew for a fact that he’d been in front of her house. Probably on his way home by then. Damn. She wished Cherry Hills and Greenwood Village weren’t so close together.

Of course Winston was going to take Joe’s part. And Jess had every reason to malign Darren’s character ….

As she approached the entrance to Cherry Hills Farm, Diana waited while a Yellow Cab that was exiting the subdivision turned left in front of her. Not an event of consequence. Until she reached her house.

Oh, jeez, no. Tell me this is not happening.

On her porch stood a tall woman in a full-length fur coat─the real thing, not the faux stuff.

Diana turned into the driveway, then hit the garage door opener. As she pulled into the garage, the woman waved to her. She parked the car, tempted to just go directly into the house from the garage. But that would only delay the inevitable.

Stepping outside, she closed the garage door with her remote, and then braced herself against more than the cold.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Will you please stop dawdling and open the front door.” A command, not a request.

I’ll dawdle all I damn please. “If you’d let me know you were coming, you wouldn’t be out here freezing your ass off.”

Diana opened the front door. Eleanor Martin swept by her grandly. “If I’d let you know I was coming, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“You’re probably right,” said Diana, closing the door behind them.

In the light of the foyer, Diana watched her mother shed the awful set of dead-animal skins that she so highly prized. Let her hang it up herself. She knows where the closet is.

When her mother returned from this task, Diana noticed her pale mauve cashmere pantsuit, perfect platinum hair─even after hours on the plane and more time in a taxi. Her mother’s skin was incredibly taut and youthful for a woman of fifty-eight. New facelift?

“You look tired, Diana.”

Diana headed for the living room, then saw that her mother was on her way to the kitchen. “Have you eaten, Mother? They do still feed the first class on a plane, don’t they?”

“Not like they used to,” replied Eleanor as she examined the contents of Diana’s refrigerator. “No yogurt?”

“I’ll make you some tea.” Diana sighed. Sustained anger was too heavy a load to carry indefinitely.

Eleanor sat down on a stool at the island and removed leather gloves that matched her suit. “Greg’s living with that tart, you know.”

“I know. They’re married.”

“So fast?”

“That’s how things happen here when you’re not fighting over property or─”

“Why so fast? Were they racing the stork?”

“The stork?” Diana looked at her mother’s long legs and slender nose. A suppressed giggle escaped her.

“I’m glad you can laugh about it. Daddy and I have been worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Diana handed her mother a cup of hot tea from the microwave, then put in a cup for herself. “You want some reheated manicotti?”

“Is it vegetarian?”

Vegetarian and you wear a fur coat? “It has a cheese filling. Is that okay?”

Eleanor nodded as she looked down at her perfectly manicured hands. “Daddy and I have been reading up on postpartum psychosis, dear.”

Diana dropped the refrigerator dish. Manicotti flew like missiles and splattered on the kitchen tiles. As she cleaned up the mess, Diana eyed her mother who seemed unruffled after the bombshell she’d just set off. And the cashmere pantsuit still appeared spotless. Why couldn’t I have aimed?

“So, you think I’m nuts, Ma?”

“You never call me ‘Ma.’”

“I just did.”

“It’s the violence, Diana. The tart told me about it. She answered Greg’s phone and told me all about it.”

“It?”

“You attacked Greg with a golf club. Do you remember doing that, or is it repressed?”

“I revel in the memory. One of my fondest.”

Eleanor got up off the stool and moved toward her. Diana moved back out of reach.

“You need help, Diana. You’ve never had a propensity toward violence. You were a gentle child.”

“No I wasn’t. I was an angry child. You just never noticed.”

“What were you angry about? Daddy and I─”

“─are full of crap. Pretending you had a marriage all those years when all you had was a financial arrangement.”

She watched the color drain from her mother’s face. Eleanor sagged back down on the kitchen stool. Somehow she looked much smaller than she had a minute ago. Diana had a momentary flash of guilt. No. This time she’s going to face it.

“I did what you never had the guts to do, Mother.”

Eleanor looked away. Seemed to be studying the blue and white tile pattern. “How long have you known?” she asked in a remarkably detached voice.

“I was about four when I saw the babysitter Lewinski-ing Daddy in the guest bathroom. I didn’t even know what I was seeing, but it sure looked weird.”

Eleanor’s mouth drooped, but no sound escaped her. Remorse crowded in, dampening Diana’s anger. It felt like squashing an injured bird, not that she’d ever experienced that. Her words felt cruel, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“When I was older and realized what I had seen, I started looking for the signs while you turned away and pretended he wasn’t cheating on you. How could you do that? Is money so important to you that you’d sell your soul?”

Eleanor sat silently, perfectly manicured fingers covering her perfect mouth, pressing hard to keep the secrets in.

“Cry or something, Mom.” Mom. Diana rarely called her that. Too endearing. Maybe she needed some endearing. “Please, Mom, say something.” Tears filled Diana’s eyes.

The hands came down to rest, then one picked up the mug of tea. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “You’ve never been afraid of anything.”

“Me fearless? I’ve been afraid to talk about this all of my life.”

“Why would you want to talk about it?”

Are you really my mother? How can we be so different?

“Because I wanted to show you that you don’t have to live a lie. There are alternatives.”

“Yes, I suppose there are alternatives.” Eleanor’s posture straightened as she looked at Diana, the old superior glint back in her eye. “I could have divorced your father and ended up alone. Like you.”

Diana dumped the manicotti and broken dish in the trash, slamming the lid down hard. “You know what, Mother?” she asked as tears pushed against the backs of her eyes, “I’d a damn sight rather be alone than to live like you do. I’ll bet he doesn’t even bother to hide it. Or maybe he does. Is that why you don’t have caller I.D.? In case one of them calls him?”

Eleanor didn’t blink. Whatever reaction Diana had hoped for wasn’t materializing. What did I think? We’d yell at each other, then cry and hug? And be mother and daughter at last?

The wisp of a frown creased Eleanor’s brow, as if her Botox needed a boost. “Do you think it was that apparent … to other people?”

You are pathetic.

As if reading her mind, Eleanor continued, “You needn’t feel sorry for me. I have a friend now, you know. His name is Kenneth. He’s a bit younger ….”

My mother has a boy-toy?

Eleanor looked expectantly at her.

It’s a bit late for girl talk. Like twenty years. “I’ll go make up the guest room, Mother.”

Chapter 26

Diana watched nervously from an upstairs window. Though it was still only February, a Chinook wind had eaten up all the snow and seduced the trees and shrubs into sending out early buds. The late afternoon sun still warmed crocus and daffodil blooms that lined the front walk. She counted herself blessed that her mother was safely on a plane back to Chicago.

As a tan pickup truck pulled into her driveway, she straightened the collar on her green silk blouse, then glanced briefly at her full-length image in the bedroom mirror.

When she looked back outside, Darren Rogart was ushering his two children toward her front door. Lori looked small and vulnerable as she clung to her father’s hand. Keith, on the other hand, looked like any active ten-year-old as he bounced off the front walk toward a squirrel on the fence.

Why take the daughter hunting and leave the son at home? The question was shuttled aside by the sound of the doorbell. She hurried toward the stairs. Slow down. You’re acting like a schoolgirl.

When she’d called Rogart to tell him about not being able to help him with the trust matter, he’d said it was no big deal. She’d offered to mail the instrument back to him, but he said he wanted to pick it up and introduce the kids. This is a big deal. Maybe. It had been big enough to keep from Jess and Winston.

As she opened the door, Diana was struck by Lori’s beauty. The girl had the same almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones that Diana had observed in Rena Flannigan and in the photograph of Brandi. But Lori had blond hair and gray-hazel eyes under dark lashes. The ethnic blending was awesome.

Rogart stood behind his daughter, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “Diana, I’d like you to meet Lori,” he said.

As Diana reached out instinctively, Lori winced, avoiding her touch. The girl’s eyes were downcast as she mumbled a greeting. But when she did look up at Diana, her eyes were more insolent than shy.

“Keith, get over here,” Rogart called good-naturedly to his son. Keith gave up on the squirrel and hurried over to the doorway. A handsome little boy, he too had Rogart’s piercing hazel eyes.

Diana watched as Lori looked beyond her into the house, as guarded curiosity hardening her eyes. Diana moved aside, realizing she’d been staring at the girl. “Come in,” she invited, trying to make amends with a welcoming smile.

Rogart stepped in front of Lori and gave Diana a chaste hug and a peck on the cheek.

What, no tongue? Bite yours, Diana.

“Come on, kids,” he beckoned. They slowly trailed him into the house, looking around awkwardly.

“Sorry we’re late,” said Rogart.

Diana smiled. “But you’re not. Late, that is.” She led the way into the living room, then turned toward the children. “Lori and Keith, I’ve heard so much about you. I hope you like lasagna.”

The children both smiled half-heartedly as they nodded politely.

“How about a soda pop?” Diana offered.

“Okay,” said Lori as she took a seat on the sofa beside her father. She sat too close. Diana blinked as she assessed the girl’s posture. It was not that of a shy, traumatized youngster. More like a woman asserting her territory, her expression a beat away from hostility.

Diana turned toward Keith so she wouldn’t be staring at Lori again. After giving the living room a once-over, she watched him head toward the patio door at the rear of the room. “Do you have any pets?” he asked.

“Yes, a cat,” replied Diana. “He sometimes hides when he doesn’t know you.”

“Is he hiding now?”

“Maybe. Why don’t you look around? He’s a big, yellow tabby.” Diana smiled inwardly. At least the boy seemed to be warming up.

Keith slid open the patio door, stuck his head outside, then called back, “What’s his name?”

“Tigger.”

As if on cue, Tigger ambled into the room from the kitchen and promptly jumped into Rogart’s lap. Diana felt relief as she saw Lori’s expression soften as she reached out to pet the cat.

“He must smell Dad’s animals,” said Keith, now back in the room and stroking Tigger’s back vigorously.

“Keith!” admonished Lori, a frown creasing her pretty face.

Keith giggled. Thoroughly confused, Diana watched amusement steal across Rogart’s face, too.

“Dad’s animals are dead,” explained Keith.

“You are so gross, Keith.” Lori rolled her eyes. “Just before dinner.”

Rogart put an arm around his son’s shoulders. “I don’t know about that, son. They look pretty lifelike to me.” He winked at Diana.

Both kids laughed aloud. “Now I get it,” said Diana. “The taxidermied animals.”

Now all three Rogarts cracked up. “Taxidermied animals,” echoed Keith. “That’s not what you call them. They’re mounts.”

More giggles all around. This time Diana joined them, then excused herself to get the promised soft drinks.

When she returned and passed out pops to the Rogarts, Darren asked, “Need any help in the kitchen?”

“I never refuse help.”

He turned to his daughter. “Lori, hon, go help Diana.”

He shouldn’t push us together, she thought. It’s too soon. Doesn’t he know that? Can’t he tell from her body language that she doesn’t want to be here?

In the kitchen, Diana handed napkins and silver to Lori. “Since it’s still so warm, I thought we’d eat on the patio. Sound okay?”

Lori shrugged, her expression gone sullen. Definitely not childlike. “Whatever,” she said as she pushed open the kitchen door to the patio and left with the table settings.

Through the open door, Diana heard Lori’s voice again. “Trisha would’ve liked to come with us.” The girl’s words came through distinctly. Deliberately so?

Diana turned from the oven with a dish of steaming lasagna. Outside on the patio she saw that Rogart had joined his daughter through the door from the living room. Diana couldn’t hear his reply, but Lori’s came through clear enough. “I don’t understand why not.”

As she placed the lasagna on a cat-shaped trivet, Diana strained to hear the conversation. When she removed a fresh, green salad from the fridge, she heard Rogart say, “Hon, now’s just not the right time.”

Who is Trisha?

“How’d you like Dad to stuff you?” Keith’s voice behind her whirled Diana as the boy carried Tigger into the room.

“Keith, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Diana couldn’t hold back the words.

“Why not? Lots of people have their pets stuffed when they die,” said Keith.

She didn’t know why the child’s words bothered her so. “But Tigger is a young cat. Besides, I wouldn’t want a stuffed dead pet around.” Here she managed a smile, so it wouldn’t seem so much like a lecture. “I’d rather remember my pets alive.”

Keith seemed unfazed. “When Dad gets through with ‘em, you couldn’t tell the difference.”

Glad to change the subject, Diana enlisted Keith’s help in bringing the food to the patio table. The lasagna went over big. Even Lori ate a generous portion.

Throughout the meal, the question nibbled at Diana’s brain: Who is Trisha?

When they’d finished seconds, and Rogart had consumed thirds, Keith started up from the table. Rogart stopped him with a look. “Oops, may I be excused?”

Another stern look from his dad prodded the child to continue, “Thank you for dinner, Diana. May I please be executed?”

This kid has a morbid sense of humor.

“I mean … excused.” Keith giggled at the effect his pun was having. Both his dad and sister were suppressing smiles.

Diana hid her mouth with her hand to conceal the fact that she wasn’t seeing any humor here. Maybe it was the thought of her Tigger stuffed and on the mantle.

“Can I go down to that lake where we drove in?” asked Keith. “I wanna check it out.”

“Sure,” said Diana, “if your dad says it’s okay.”

“Go ahead, son.”

“Watch out for skunks,” added Diana.

As a charged-up Keith headed out the patio gate, Rogart nudged his daughter. “Why don’t you go with him?”

“Dad,” Lori whined, “do I have to?”

“Somebody’s got to keep him out of trouble. Unless you want to stay here and help Diana clean up … and I’ll go with Keith.”

Lori was on her feet. “No. It’s okay. I’ll go.”

Diana pretended to study the floral design on her empty plate. She looked up seconds later to see Rogart standing at the patio wall, watching his children disappear among the trees in the fading light.

“They’re beautiful kids,” she said. “I can see how you must’ve missed them.” Then she thought how stupid her words were. The children’s physical attractiveness would have no bearing on the degree of their father’s love. But Rogart didn’t seem to find anything wrong with her comment as he beamed with fatherly pride.

In the kitchen, as Rogart helped her clean up, Diana juggled the question again.

But he leaned close, knocking that question right out of her head. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?” With a flick of his wrist, he snared her across the shoulders with a dish towel and pulled her toward him.

Somehow it didn’t feel right. “Oregano,” she tossed back, ducking under the dish towel and escaping to the fridge with the butter dish.

“Who’s Trisha?” she asked as she turned back in his direction.

He looked at her for a moment, as if he hadn’t understood the question. Then he rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You heard Lori and me.”

“I heard Lori.”

“I’m not sure how to go about this.”

“Go about what?”

“Trisha is Patty Strickland. She’s come to me for help.”

“The girl Jess’s been looking for? Have you told her the girl’s not missing? Have you notified the authorities that she’s turned up?” She knew that she was sounding like a lawyer, not a … whatever it was she was to him. She didn’t even know what it was she wanted to be to him.

He sat down at the kitchen island and put his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up, he said, “I know I have to do both of those things. Trisha doesn’t know it, but I have called her mother. She doesn’t want her daughter back. Can you imagine?”

“No I can’t.” Diana bristled. “Does she think her daughter’s damaged goods or some such crap?”

“That might be it,” he replied. “Trisha’s pregnant. She won’t talk about who the father is. She won’t talk about any of it. End of story.”

“But it’s not. Charges should be filed. That mother should be prosecuted for neglect.” Raw emotion caused her to rattle on.

Rogart got up and put a hand on her arm. “She’s seventeen, pretty much considered an adult. I haven’t decided what to do. If I push her about accusing Joe, there’s no telling what she’ll do. She might even run off again. She looks like she’s due to deliver pretty soon, but she doesn’t even seem to know when. I’m sure she hasn’t seen a doctor. Don’t look at me like that. I’m working on that, too.”

She suddenly felt ashamed of judging Rogart as she considered the new responsibilities he was taking on. He already had a missing wife and two kids to raise. But, as quickly, the nibbling suspicion was back. How did he find Trisha? How did Trisha know where to find him?

Before she could ask, he put his arms around her. “What color are your eyes?”

What color are my eyes? The bizarre segue did in her budding desire.

“Sometimes they look light brown,” he continued. “Then they look gold. Like right now. Gold with green flecks.”

She pulled back, but found his arms immovable. “How did we get from a girl in trouble to … my eyes?” Panic crept up on her like Tig on a bird.

“I just wanted … one normal evening … in the company of a beautiful woman.” He sighed. “I wanted to think I might have a chance with you, in spite of my problems.”

Oh, yes, he sure knows all the buttons. But the other voice, the one that made her feel like warm jelly, squelched caution. He was just too damn close.

His kiss was gentle at first, then more invasive. As before, in the Buckhorn parking lot, something compelled her to blink. This time it was the sound of the patio door sliding open. Looking over Rogart’s shoulder, Diana saw Lori standing in the doorway. The look on the girl’s face reminded Diana of something. Oh, yes. It was how her own expression felt the day she’d caught Greg and Cathy.

Diana tensed and pulled back slightly. Don’t jump as if you’ve been caught doing something … wrong.

Rogart turned in the direction of her glance. “Lori, hon, where’s Keith?”

“At the lake. I came back to use the bathroom.”

“It’s upstairs on the right.” Rogart smiled at his daughter, appearing impervious to the poison darts flying from her eyes.

Lori headed for the stairs, her eyes averting Diana’s.

How did he know?

He turned toward Diana. “I had to find it earlier, while you were getting dinner on. I didn’t want to bother you.” He paused at her deer-in-the-headlights expression. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Diana shook her head. “Of course not. It’s just that the guest bath is on the left … and there’s a powder room by the front door.”

“Oh,” said Rogart. “I thought that was a closet.”

They both turned toward the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

Rogart sighed. “She’s not used to seeing me close to someone. Like that.”

You think?

He put an arm around her again and tried to draw her to him. But now the attraction had been extinguished for Diana by a pair of angry thirteen-year-old eyes. She pulled away before he got a good grip.

“We shouldn’t upset her,” whispered Diana, as if Lori could hear.

“She’ll get used to it,” he replied.

Get used to what? “You daughter has some major problems you need to address before you even think of─”

“Dad, I just saw a giant raccoon.” Keith’s voice cut short Daina’s words as he clattered through the patio door, tracking mud across the pristine kitchen floor.

“Keith,” admonished Rogart, “you forgot to wipe your feet, Son.”

“It’s okay,” said Diana. “Not a problem.”

“But he was awesome, Dad. Do we have a gun with us?”

Over my dead body. “There’s no hunting allowed here, Keith,” said Diana.

Lori came back into the room looking as if she’d been crying. She quickly took Rogart’s hand, positioning herself between him and Diana. “Dad, can we go now?”

Rogart hugged his daughter, then gave Diana a smile and a shrug. “Guess I’d better get these two home. Everything was great, Diana.”

“I’m so glad you came.” Diana felt herself blushing. Great word choice, Diana.

“Keith, you need to use the bathroom before we start out?” asked Rogart.

Keith shook his head. “Uh-uh. I went at the lake.”

Oh, jeez. Diana pasted on a smile.

“By the lake, not in the lake,” Keith explained.

“Well, I do need to make a pit stop,” said Rogart. Detaching himself from Lori’s grasp, he headed toward the stairs.

Keith, looking wired from visions of a raccoon hunt, bolted out the patio door. “Bye, Diana.”

Lori stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up in the direction her dad had taken. Diana felt a let-down, as any chance she might have of reaching the girl slipped away. She was now the enemy in Lori’s eyes.

“Lori, maybe next time you’d like to bring Trisha along,” she ventured.

Lori’s eyes widened. “Uh, I don’t think so.”

“Thanks again for everything,” said Rogart.

Diana hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. “Oh, wait. I’ll get the trust instrument for you.”

“Next time.”

Next time?

Rogart didn’t kiss her goodbye. How could he with his daughter clinging to him again?

Do I really want a next time?

Then Rogart and Lori went outside to retrieve Keith. From the living room window, Diana watched them pile into the truck. As he held the door for the kids, Diana saw Rogart look in her direction, then kiss his daughter on the top of her head. She wondered what it was about this simple, tender act that made her skin crawl.

Curled up in a wing chair, Diana rehashed the evening. She’d half expected Rogart to bring up some new legal problem, but he hadn’t asked her for a thing. Could it be he was really interested? Wasn’t it to be expected, after all, for a molested teen to cling to the only parent she had left? But, wasn’t it insensitive of Rogart to introduce his children to a new woman when his wife might still be alive?

But she’s been missing for months. How long is he supposed to wait?

Wait? Ha! Don’t forget Jess … and how many others?

Her feelings were all over the place as she climbed the stairs and entered the master bathroom. She stopped at the sight of an open tube of her lipstick smashed on the countertop. As she looked up, the word slapped her in the face. There on the bathroom mirror over one of the dual sinks someone had written in lipstick: BITCH.

Chapter 27

Diana had been in bed about an hour when the phone rang. “Hello.”

“Lori didn’t mean it.” Rogart’s voice was low, apologetic. “I waited till they were in bed to call you. I can imagine what you must think.”

“I think you used poor judgment to kiss me when there was even a chance your daughter might witness it.” She marveled at her ability to be rational when he wasn’t in the room with her.

“I know,” he said. “She hasn’t given up on her mom coming back.”

“But you have?”

She could hear him sigh. “I looked for her. How do you think Joe ended up with my kids? I was out combing those woods for their mother. When Lori turned up, I didn’t know it till the next day. They took her and Keith to their grandparents’.”

Her memory flashed back to their lunch at the Buckhorn, when she’d asked this question and he’d diverted the conversation. Leave it alone, for now. Instead, she asked, “Are you getting any counseling for Lori?”

“Counseling?”

“She was raped. You can’t just pretend it never happened. Her mother is missing. You’re all that’s left of her world. Lori needs professional help.”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his tone had a detached quality. “She doesn’t look on it as rape. She thinks she loved him. And he loved her.”

Diana felt the flush of anger rising up her neck to her cheeks. Love? “I hope you’ve set her straight and explained that love is not like that. I’ve read the police reports.”

His reply was calm, not exactly sarcastic, but Diana could imagine his eyes cold as he said, “You think it would be helpful for Lori to think of herself as a victim?”

“I think it would be helpful if someone explained to her that a married man old enough to be her grandfather locking her up in a shack and having sex with her is not love.” She expected Rogart to hang up at this point. He couldn’t help but hear the fury in her voice, could he?

“You are so good at putting things into perspective. I was hoping, when the time is right, you could talk to Lori. Woman to woman.”

She’s not a woman. She’s a child. “You think? Considering that she holds me in such high esteem?”

“I don’t mean any time soon. We’ll have to take things slow.”

“What things are you talking about? I’ve explained to you that I can’t be your attorney.”

He cut her off. “Our relationship has nothing to do with your giving me legal advice.”

“We don’t have a relationship.” She enunciated the words slowly, with as much conviction as she could muster.

“But we will, Diana. Goodnight for now. Sleep well.”

“Wait─”

But he’d hung up. Her mind was screaming. Why didn’t he clean off the mirror? Why would he want me to see it? Didn’t he know how it would make me feel?

Chapter 28

Diana couldn’t shake the creepy feeling the evening had dumped on her. Rogart’s explanation of the writing on the mirror─blaming it on Lori─didn’t feel right. Lori was probably disturbed and confused. But would she be brazen enough to go through my personal belongings and leave a message like that?

Finally she decided that waiting until morning to clean off the mirror was not an option.

After she removed the offensive writing with glass cleaner, she still felt wide awake. She wanted to call Jess and run it all past her. A pregnant Patty Strickland turning up at Darren Rogart’s was a biggie. Why hadn’t he let Jess know? For all he knew, Jess was still out there looking for the girl.

Diana picked up the phone in spite of the hour, then replaced it. I’ll have to tell her about his being here for dinner. She’ll have my ass on a platter.

You’ll have to call her eventually.

In the morning.

But Diana felt beyond wired. Her mind raced around the Rogart maze with no out in sight. How could he let his daughter go on thinking rape was an expression of love? He almost seemed to condone what happened to Lori. What kind of father could think like that?

She remembered Joe Flannigan’s outrage when he spoke of the assault on his granddaughter. Was that really all for show?

Why didn’t Rogart express any of the usual sentiments she expected from the parent of a rape victim? He’d been quick enough to condemn his father-in-law as a child-molester. Something about Darren Rogart didn’t track.

But the feel of his lips, the smell of him … the look. Oh, what delight it would be to flaunt him in front of Greg. See, you asshole, somebody does want me.

She shook her head to clear the childish vision. You are pathetic!

Maybe a warm shower. That usually does it.

Tig rubbed around her bare feet as if he wondered what she was doing up at midnight.

“I am a whole person,” she said to her naked reflection in the clean bathroom mirror.

She turned on the hot water, flipped the ceiling fan switch, then stepped into a steaming shower. She scrubbed as if she were washing Rogart off her skin, out of her heart. It felt like the right thing to do.

After drying her hair and putting on fresh PJs, Diana slid into her plush robe and looked for Tigger. He didn’t come to her call. She could hear his mau coming from downstairs.

Without turning on the lights, she followed Tigger’s voice to the kitchen. Then a noise against the side of the house sent her scurrying to a kitchen window. Nothing but the black night against a white vinyl fence illumined by her security light. Activated by a motion sensor. She’d closed the cat door for the night. Had the cat somehow gotten it open? “Tigger?”

“Mau.” The yellow tabby came strolling in from the laundry room. “Mau.”

“Was that you banging on your cat door?” asked Diana. “Wanting out?”

“Mau.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” But he wasn’t out, and banging on the cat door wouldn’t set off the motion sensor. She clutched the green velour robe around her, suddenly chilled. As Tigger rubbed against her leg, Diana reached down and picked him up, holding him close as she walked into the dark living room.

Outside in the street she saw the rear end of a silver truck as it pulled away from the curb in front of her house.

Flannigan? She dropped Tigger and hurried back into the kitchen. Jess’s number was on speed dial. She pushed it.

Jess answered on the third ring. “Diana?” A pause as the significance of the hour flushed sleep from her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Flannigan was here again,” said Diana. “I think he tried to break in.”

“Call the cops. They’re just over on Quincy. They’ll get there before I can.”

“He’s gone now. What could I tell them? My sensor light went on, and then I saw the back end of a silver truck?”

“Are you sure it was Flannigan? Remember, there are two HUNTER trucks.”

“Do we know that for a fact?”

“We do. I checked out HUNTER 1 and it’s registered to Joe Flannigan. HUNTER 2 still comes up Larry Strickland.”

“There’s something else, Jessie.” Diana’s voice shrank to a whisper.

“Spit it out already.”

“Darren Rogart was here this evening. With his kids.”

A disgusted snort from Jess. “Jesus, Diana. DIdn’t you listen to a thing we said the other night? Winston will be so pissed.”

“Okay, okay. I was supposed to return his trust document.”

“Did you feed him … and the kids?”

“Yes, but─”

“Is he still there? Is that why you’re whispering?”

“He had his kids with him. Of course he’s not still here.” Diana growled.

“Just asking.”

“Jess, Patty Strickland’s at Darren’s. He claims she found him. And she’s pregnant. Due any day.”

“So he doesn’t need me anymore. God forbid he should call and let me know.” Jess paused. “No way was she whoring on Colfax in that condition. Having me go there was a setup for sure.”

“I’d bet on Flannigan,” said Diana. The words jumped from her mouth, the negative thoughts on Rogart cancelled out by the sight of the silver Ram. “He could’ve had somebody leave that message for Darren. The sick bastard probably blames us for his losing the grandkids.” Part of her was screaming, You’re defending Rogart again. He’s still got his hooks in you.

“How would he even know Darren had hired me to look for Patty?”

“Flannigan probably talks to Keith and Lori. Darren can’t watch over them every minute. One of them may have let something slip.”

“You’re pretty quick on the draw to defend him,” said Jess, a cynical note creeping into her voice. “What makes you think Darren’s kids know he hired me? Why would he tell them?”

“He probably wouldn’t, but they could’ve heard him on the phone with you. They’re not stupid. Lori seems quite fond of Patty. The kids know her as ‘Trisha.’ I’m not defending Darren. I think he’s got some problems. But Flannigan’s the real sicko.”

“Psycho?” asked Jess.

“I don’t know.” Diana thought again of Rogart’s odd response to Lori’s rape─the love connection. “My gut feeling is that neither Rogart nor Flannigan is fit to parent a child.”

“Woo,” said Jess. “That must’ve been some dinner. He feed you raw meat?”

“In his dreams. I’d like to turn it all over to Children’s Services, but I don’t have anything other than questionable comments.” Diana paused to think. “What I’d really like is to interview Rena Flannigan when her husband’s not there to intimidate her. What do you think?”

“I think you have an overactive imagination,” said Jess, her tone going slack.

“Wh … at?” The sound of Jess hanging up on her jolted Diana into a twilight zone.

Sleep out of the question, she went downstairs and put on a pot of coffee.

Twenty minutes later Diana’s doorbell rang. She looked through the peephole in the front door. Jess looked back at her.

As Diana opened the door, Jess put an index finger to her lips, then drew Diana out onto the front porch in the 1:00 a.m. chill. “I think your house may be bugged,” whispered Jess. “Let me take a look before you say anything more. We already know there’s more at stake here than simple child neglect.”

“Child neglect is never simple.”

“Just shut up, will you? Let me take a look around.”

“What would even make you think that?” Diana whispered.

“Process of elimination. You haven’t been robbed. Or attacked─yet.”

“Thanks, Jess. I really needed to hear that.”

“If Flannigan heard you say something that compromised your professional integrity, he’d have something to use against you to get even.”

“Even if he did, he couldn’t use it in court.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “Get in the house. Quietly, please. I’m gonna check for bugs, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Diana watched Jess return to her car and grab a couple of small, black cases. Bug detectors? The idea seemed implausible, even for Joe Flannigan. She patiently followed Jess back inside the house.

Jess took a small device out of one of the cases and began walking slowly from room to room. Diana followed close behind. “What’s that?”

“What do you think?” Jess snapped at her. “Go sit somewhere. You’d make a flea nervous.”

Diana ignored her and continued to follow, eyeing the little black box for some sign of life. None appeared.

After the full tour, Jess stopped and turned to her. “The good news is I can’t find any bugs.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“If somebody hooked up a lineman’s telephone to your line from the outside, then removed it when he was done, there’d be no way to ever know for sure.”

“Oh, great.” Diana remembered the time Greg had walked in on her shortly after they’d separated, claiming the front door had been unlocked. Could he have been messing around, trying to spy on her? No immediate purpose came to mind. Why hadn’t she gotten the security system repaired?

A cold chill filtered through her warm robe. “I’ve had the feeling─several times in the last few months─that somebody had been in my house. I’ve discounted it, just chalked it up to fallout from the shitload that landed on me last November.”

Jess returned the bug detector to its black case and regarded Diana soberly. “You’re entitled. Are you still having those … feelings?”

“The last one was after I woke up from a nightmare. I thought I heard a crash of something breaking. I thought it was in the dream until I went in the bathroom and found my L’Air du Temps bottle broken. Tig was looking kind of guilty, so I assumed … but that bottle’s been on the tub shelf since we moved in. Tigger never bothered any of my stuff before.”

Jess frowned. “That was the last time you noticed anything … not as you left it?”

“Except for tonight. Something set off that motion sensor. And I heard banging on the side of the house.” Diana paused as she watched Jess take a similar-sized black device out of the other case she’d brought from her car. “What’s that?”

“That’s my VCD-42,” replied Jess, heading for the stairs.

“I thought you said there were no bugs in the house.” Diana followed Jess up the stairs at a rapid clip.

Jess topped at the hall door to the master bath. “This where you kept the perfume bottle?”

Diana nodded and watched Jess push into the room, then sweep the VCD-42 back and forth as she moved. To Diana’s horror, the device began to flicker. Then as Jess held it higher, toward the ceiling, it emitted a steady, bright orange glow.

“VCD,” whispered Diana, hating the logic that was coming at her like a Mack truck. “Video camera detector.”

Jess stood on the commode, then reached up to the ceiling and detached a small object no larger than a button. She held it out in the palm of her hand for Diana to see.

Diana eyed the thing warily, as if it might bite.

“Jesus!”

“I’m going outside for a minute. There has to be a monitor somewhere fairly close.”

As Jess left the room, Diana huddled on the commode, trying to compose her thoughts. The idea that someone had recorded her image in the bathroom made her want to vomit.

There was no way that she could imagine Joe Flannigan doing something like that, much less Darren Rogart. Not by the remotest stretch. Did she have a disgruntled client somewhere? More likely, the ex-spouse of a client whom she had represented successfully. Or a batterer whom she’d had locked up while she’d whisked his wife to safety.

But, why? Why take pictures of me? The vision of her surgical scar, now dimmed in comparison to what it had been, constricted her throat like a snake. She gagged, and then swallowed several times to clear the sensation.

Jess returned to find her still hunkered down, trying to figure out a motive. “Can we move to another room, if you don’t mind?”

In the kitchen, the first stray wisps of dawn filtered through the opaque honeycomb blinds. “There’s nothing around or under the house. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t something there. It just means that the peeper was careful,” said Jess. “Could be the monitor was in his vehicle. That limits his range to maybe a couple of miles.”

“Could the range be longer than that?” asked Diana, alarm in her voice.

“Maybe three. Why? What’re you thinking?”

“That Greenwood Village is practically next door. Joe Flannigan could be sitting in his living room, watching me in the bathroom. But that makes no sense. It also seems out of character.” Diana paused at the realization. “Flannigan hates my guts. I doubt that my naked body and toilet habits would interest him.”

Jess seemed to consider this. “Revenge can take some pretty circuitous routes,” she mused.

“Like what?”

“Posting you on the internet to embarrass you … on the john or whatever.”

“Jessie, that’s sick!”

“We agreed that Flannigan’s a sicko. But I don’t think it was him either. You sure about the truck you saw being a Ram?”

Diana sat on a kitchen stool and cupped her head in her hands. “As sure as I can be about anything right now,” was her muffled reply.

“Then I need to find that HUNTER 2 Ram,” said Jess. “And you need to file a police report.”

Diana picked up the phone and pressed in the non-emergency number for the Cherry Hills Police Department.

“They’re on their way,” she said after the brief conversation.

Jess rolled her eyes upward, as if she was recalling something. “Didn’t you and Greg have a security system installed when you moved in?”

Diana gritted her teeth. “Don’t ask.”

“I know you did. Why wasn’t it working?”

Diana screamed at her, “Because Greg is an idiot when it comes to anything mechanical. He broke it.”

Jess seemed to consider this. Then Diana watched the sly twitch at the corners of her friend’s mouth. “Well, there are some mechanics he sure had a handle on,” Jess began.

“Like where to shove his prick? Ha! I beat you this time,” gloated Diana.

“Just get the damn system fixed.”

Chapter 29

Back in his old studio, the Hunter curses as he plays the video disc he retrieved from the recorder in the crawl space under the redhead’s house. She had finally turned on her ceiling fan, dispersing the clouds of steam. But his disappointment is so intense that he smashes the little piece of plastic. She’s no collector’s item. Damaged goods. Flawed beyond belief. He only knew about the miscarriage, hadn’t a clue that she’d had surgery.

But her friendship with the black─and that one he wants─could prove troublesome. They tell each other everything. Almost everything. This hadn’t seemed a problem before. Now, if he wants the black, he’ll have to make sure the redhead is out of the picture. In her line of work, the bitch has probably made lots of enemies. Should she suddenly disappear, his will not be the first door they knock on. If they knock on his door at all.

Anger is never his friend. It holds the potential of making him careless. To feed his need, he relives the processing steps he performs at his new studio. He can almost feel the touch of the cold stainless steel table on which he beds each in her turn. The picture evoked sends tingles through his fingers─then, elsewhere.

The redhead fades from the center of his focus. What’s one bad apple? There will be many perfect ones, each unique in ethnicity and physical attributes that he finds aesthetically pleasing. He realizes that many who know him would be surprised that he has aesthetic tastes. This amuses him.

When he discovered the process, he’d been wise enough to practice first. Throw-aways he’d plucked from dark bars and seedy street corners. Though these were women nobody looked for, he’d carefully burned his mistakes. Another attribute of his new studio: the crematorium.

The process had felt strange the first time it mattered, with someone he knew so well. And his meticulous plans had nearly been thwarted.

As he was collecting her after the one fatal shot, Larry had appeared unexpectedly. The Hunter had quickly eliminated that problem. Realizing the serendipity of the event, he’d left Larry behind the shack and put the body of his beloved in Larry’s truck where he removed her little gloves and placed her dainty fingers around the truck’s steering wheel. Then, wearing gloves of course, he drove the silver Ram a short distance and hid it where it would surely be found, before removing her body and carrying it back to his own vehicle. In his ecstatic state, he’d found her virtually weightless.

In the privacy of his new studio, he’d washed her gently, as one might a sick child, feeling a stealthy relief. No more worries over losing her.

As her body stiffened, he’d commenced a tender massage to loosen the effects of rigor, knowing there’d be no uttered protest no matter what he chose to do to her. And as her body relaxed, his had stiffened. A part of it, that is. He’d made his choices. Again and again. While she lay silent beneath him, he groaned with pleasure.

Then he hooked up the plastic tubes and watched them darken as her blood spilled through into the drain below. A deep calm blanketed him as his hands kneaded her still form.

He replaced her leisurely departing blood and body fluids with a mixture of formalin, alcohol and thymol. This first successful procedure had taken four days to complete. The next phase, molten paraffin immersion, had taken considerably longer.

As he’d labored to make her conversion a perfect work, he concluded that the small bullet hole at the base of her throat was a flaw he wouldn’t repeat on his next project.

A wise decision. When he’d last checked on the Asian project in her paraffin dip, he marveled at her unblemished beauty.

Almost done.

Then he remembers the black’s proclivity for rare meat and smiles at the irony. Soon she’ll be well-done.

Chapter 30

Diana’s news about Rogart’s having the missing Strickland girl gave Jess the excuse she needed to pay another visit to Westcliffe. A visit to the widow Strickland on the pretext of bringing news of Patty might get her a line on what happened to Larry’s HUNTER 2 truck.

In the uncharted waters of deep thought, she drove I-25 south, with its usual weekday morning traffic.

Jess tried to mentally dissect what she knew. Make some use out of this fucking boring drive. The camera that she’d jerked by the roots out of Diana’s ceiling was generic. The Cherry Hills cops weren’t too happy with her handling the evidence, but what the hell. When they said they’d do their best─whatever that meant─she’d warned Diana not to hold her breath.

She hadn’t shared this with Diana, but installing surveillance stuff was more up an ex-cop’s alley than an all man’s. Diana could have figured this out for herself if she wasn’t so hung up on Darren. But Jess had to admit, Flannigan made sense. He was angry enough about losing his grandkids to go after both of the women he held responsible. The bulky, faceless man behind the wheel on Colfax couldn’t have been Darren unless he was wearing Santa Claus padding. But the license number on the Colfax truck was wrong for Flannigan. Jess had saved the picture on her cell and looked at it a dozen times.

What was missing was a motive for the bathroom surveillance of Diana. And neither Joe nor Darren had any that was apparent.

For the first time since they’d met in college, Jess was worried about her friend. Diana used to be the rational one, the perfect one who always had her shit together. But since the baby thing and the Greg thing, Diana just hadn’t gotten back in gear. It was like something had sucked all the good sense out of her. Why in God’s name should Diana be cooking candlelight dinners for the likes of Darren Rogart and simpering about his innocence in this unholy, fucking mess? Jess shuddered, the Camaro strayed left, barely missing a semi in the next lane. She quickly corrected. Gotta straighten up. Her shit’s rubbing off on me.

Finally the junction of I-25 and Colorado 96 loomed in front of her. As Jess headed west out of Pueblo, into the mountains, the traffic was sparse and the weather was with her. Her little Glock rode comfortably in the ankle holster inside one of her smart-but-sensible black leather boots that fit. The Halloween boots had gone the way of the trash.

How the hell did Darren get her to play the fool like that? She knew damn well how and it was really making her want to get him big-time. Was part of it jealousy over his attention to Diana? Jess shivered at her own vulnerability.

But no matter how she twisted the picture, it still came back Darren and Death behind the wheel of HUNTER 2 on Colfax. No good reason. Just a flash of intuition that had one-eightied her away from that truck. Sometimes you just had to go with your gut.

Westcliffe lay between the Sangre de Cristos and the Wet Mountains, in the Wet Valley. It all looks pretty damn dry to me, thought Jess. In a town with a population under four hundred, Larry Strickland’s home wouldn’t be hard to find. Good chance to try out her new GPS unit.

Just to sow some seeds of good P/R, she stopped off at the sheriff’s station to exchange pleasantries. She parked in the one and only guest slot and entered the weathered wood-sided building, noting the light-skinned brother behind the front desk. She’d met him before on her original visit.

“Hey, Jessie,” he greeted her.

Must’ve made quite an impression. Guess the fact that we’re the only black faces for miles has something to do with it. Jess smiled, straining to read the name on the kid’s badge.

“Hey, umm, Trent. How’s it going?”

“Troy,” he corrected.

Goddamned if I’m going to get glasses. Contacts, maybe … She glanced at his surname. Flick? Plick? Flack? Then, decided to keep things on a first name basis. “Anything new on the Strickland case?”

“You still working for Joe Flannigan?” The Plick’s tone was guarded, not nearly as chummy as his initial greeting.

“Why do you ask?” Jess smiled broadly.

“Flannigan’s a person of interest. Which means, much as I’d like to,” here the kid batted long, almost girlish lashes at her, “can’t share.”

“Didn’t stop you my last pass through here. My recollection is that Flannigan was a person of interest then, along with a few others.” Jess’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “And for the record, I don’t work for Flannigan, so you can share all you like.” She raised an eyebrow invitingly.

“What’s your interest in the case?”

“A family friend hired me to look into Patty Strickland’s disappearance. Can’t be a coincidence. What do you think?”

“The Feds are on Strickland ‘cause it overlaps the Rogart girl kidnapping. They fill us in on what they want us to know … when they want something from our end. And for the record, they’ve eliminated some names from the list, including Patty Strickland. Flannigan and his daughter now top it.”

“No shit? How about Darren Rogart? Did he make the short list?”

“He’s been dropped. That’s about all I can tell you.”

Jess shrugged to deflect any red flags. Too much interest in Rogart could lead to unwanted questions from Troy and perhaps shut down their communication. She’d have to pursue other means of finding out why Rogart was dropped as a suspect. “So, I don’t recall seeing anything in the report about a vehicle for Strickland. How’d he get to the cabin?”

Troy the Plick shuffled some papers on the counter.

“Look, Troy, I know Strickland drove a Dodge Ram. What happened to it? What possible harm could it do to tell me?”

“It went back to the widow after the Feds finished with it.”

“Finished with it?”

“Collecting the evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“You know. Like fingerprints, DNA, the usual. Jessie, you playin’ me?”

“Course I’m not playin’ you, Troy. How come there was no sheet on the truck in the stuff I got the first go?”

The kid looked hard at her. “Shouldn’t be too hard to figure. DNA results takes time.”

And the fact that you’re so reluctant to give me anything says a bunch. “Were there any conclusive matches found? Besides the obvious─family and maybe hunting buddies? Joe Flannigan might be expected to have left DNA in Strickland’s truck. They’d been hunting together. What’s so─”

“Brandi Rogart’s is a tad harder to explain.” Troy whispered the words, after looking around to make sure they were still alone.

“Whoa, Troy my man, you shittin’ me?” Jess lapsed into dialect and put a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “You mean, like somebody sliced Strickland, threw Brandi in the truck and made off with her?”

“No.” Troy frowned. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” He looked around again, nervously. Jess could hear muffled voices coming from another part of the building.

“So, spell.”

“Nobody made off with Mrs. Rogart. Her prints were on the steering wheel. Her DNA all over the place.”

Jess did a mental double-take. “Only hers?” Her brow puckered.

Troy’s eyes rolled back in his head, as if searching for something. “I guess,” he finally said. Then he leveled his glance at Jess. “You know, it was the Feds who done the examination, not us. Like I said, they keep their cards pretty close to the vest, if you know what I mean.”

“I do, Bro, I do.” Jess nodded as if she understood. But she didn’t. It made no sense that Brandi Rogart’s would be the only DNA in Strickland’s truck. “Strickland’s must’ve been in his own truck. You gotta give me that.”

Troy nodded, but not very convincingly. “I guess. Maybe they felt they didn’t have to state the obvious.”

“Why would Brandi Rogart wipe the truck clean, but leave her own tracks?” Then she remembered something else. “Hey, there was one mother of a snowstorm that day. How come she didn’t have gloves on?”

“You got me there.” Troy dug into a drawer in back of the counter. “Here’s Benson’s card. He’s still head Fed on the case. Give him a call.”

Jess took the card. “I just may do that.”

She wasn’t about to share her news about Patty Strickland. After all, it was still only hearsay. Only doubtful Darren’s word that the girl was with him.

As she was about to head out, Jess heard Troy clear his throat meaningfully. “I shared with you, Jessie. What you got for me?”

She smiled as she fished into her coat pocket. The one where she kept her special needs business cards. The ones that still had Winston’s number designated “home” and a cell number that she’d changed a couple years back. Jess handed one to Troy. Then she winked.

In her car, Jess found directions to the Strickland residence using her GPS. As she pulled out of the parking lot, her thoughts drifted to Rogart. Why wasn’t he still a person of interest? Her impression of Special Agent Benson, whom she’d met on her first visit to Westcliffe, was that he was a tight-ass who wouldn’t give her the time of day. Maybe she’d mine Troy a bit more, if she thought of some way to slip in the question. As it was, she’d neatly avoided revealing any relationship with Darren Rogart. Already she was planning on how to unburn the Troy bridge. Hey, Troy, I gave you one of my old cards by mistake.

As Jess drove, she recalled the first time Darren had come on to her. Just showed up at her office shortly after Joe had hired her. Just showed up … like he did with Diana.

Their first date had been dinner at The Fort, a restaurant notable for its old west theme. With Diana, it was the Buckhorn.

They’d headed for a motel before dessert was served. But hadn’t gotten any farther than the camper on his truck bed.

But when Darren had looked into her eyes and murmured “Kendra Blair pales before you,” Jess had laughed out loud. “She sure does,” Jess had fired back. Kendra Blair, the black super model, had a white mother. Everybody knew this, but Darren never did seem to get the joke.

It was only after their lovemaking─delayed by Jess’s laughter─and her return home did Jess find it odd. The coincidence of Darren’s bringing up Kendra, who was Linc’s long-time companion, practically her sister-in-law, disturbed Jess. What was Darren doing? Checking up on her while she checked him out? What the hell. She’d vowed then to use his body and not worry about what went on in his head.

But then he’d dropped her like last night’s trash. She didn’t want to believe it. Was that the real reason her mind kept putting him in that HUNTER 2 truck?

The thought that she could really waste time thinking about him in that context so jarred her that she was upon the turn-off to the Strickland residence before she realized it.

Chapter 31

After meeting with the security company and waiting while the technicians completed the repair work on her alarm system, Diana arrived at her office at ten-thirty instead of her usual eight-thirty a.m. The relief that a functioning security system was in place made the hours lost from work worth while.

Her first order of business was to have Tamara run off a list of all her cases within the last five years. As she scanned the list, the names of a number of disgruntled people popped out at her. Not dissatisfied clients. Diana’s clients were generally pleased, sometimes overjoyed with the results of her representation. It was the folks on the other side, the sore losers, that might form a pool of prospects sick enough to put a camera in her bathroom.

One in particular, Jurgen Warner, seemed a likely candidate. Jurgen had posted nude pictures of his six-year-old daughter on the internet. In spite of this, a Denver judge had granted him unsupervised visits with the child. Diana, representing his ex-wife, had succeeded in getting the matter heard by a different judge who reversed the order. Pressure from Diana had gotten the D.A. to reopen the criminal case against Warner and he’d ended up serving a term in Canyon City for molesting his girlfriend’s four-year-old child.

Maybe he was out by now. Diana logged onto the internet, to see if Warner appeared on the sex offender list. She was interrupted by a buzz from Tamara. “Marge Lane on line one, Diana.”

Marge was an Assistant D.A. whom Diana had worked with on a number of cases. Not Warner, however. “Hello, Marge. What can I do for you?”

A smoker’s cough preceded Marge Lane’s request. Diana wanted to say something about that, but succeeded in keeping her opinion to herself. Marge was a good ally, but not a close enough friend that she could counsel her on her health habits.

“I’m looking for a guardian ad litem. Are you interested?”

“That depends. I might be. What’s the story?”

“You heard about Duane Clifford’s plane going down a couple months back?”

“Sure. Who hasn’t?” Diana recalled the Clifford matter. A wealthy corporate executive had died when wind shear tossed his private plane into a remote section of the Rockies, crushing the aircraft and its occupants like discarded soft drink cans. He’d left children by three wives. And wife number three appeared to be little more than a child herself.

“Some of the adult children seem to think they’ve been slighted in his will. Our office has come into some information that they’re offering the widow an incentive that may not be in her children’s best interest. The presiding judge asked me if I could recommend somebody to represent these youngsters. I thought of you. Is this something you’d consider?”

“I seem to remember the widow was a child bride herself. Now, with two pre-schoolers. Babies, actually.”

“Actually, three babies, including the mother. But she has her own counsel. The minor children need someone.”

“Let me take a look at the file. Can you send it over as an email attachment?”

“Within the hour. Thanks, Diana.”

“Glad to do it.”

After finishing up with Marge, Diana returned to her search of the sex offenders list. She did discover that Warner had been released from Canyon City. But he was listed as residing in Durango─not a handy drive to Denver.

Back to the client list, she found a number of others who might be mad enough and sick enough to have done the deed. But she felt herself ruling out Joe Flannigan. It didn’t seem to fit his style. Blowing up her house, maybe, but now she wasn’t even sure that she’d seen a silver truck that night. Her brain might have just filled in what she was programmed to see, not what was actually there.

And as for Darren Rogart having any involvement in the invasion of her privacy, she could imagine no possible motive. In fact, as she mentally replayed her last conversation with him, her self-righteous condemnation of his views on his daughter’s ordeal─well, now her lecture sounded up-tight and prudish in retrospect. Even the lipstick writing on her bathroom mirror seemed to shrink in importance. Lori was emotionally wounded and insecure.

On a whim, she picked up the phone and pressed in Darren’s number. At the sound of the fourth ring she realized she had no idea what she was going to say to him. When his answering machine picked up her call, she was relieved and hung up without leaving a message.

Chapter 32

The approach to the Strickland house was up a winding dirt road only wide enough for one vehicle. Jess swerved to miss a pair of magpies feasting on a rodent carcass at the side of the road. The only green in sight came from pine trees. In this mountain town, spring would be at least a month behind Denver in arriving.

Jess checked her weapon before making the final turn that brought her up to the summit of the small hill on which the brown, one-story house sat. Its weathered cedar siding shouted neglect. Window boxes contained the dried remains of last year’s flowers that the wind and snow hadn’t managed to carry off. The vent of a wood stove sprouted from the roof, maybe the only heating. Maybe not. Jess spied a dirty white propane cylinder off to the south side of the building. But no sign of a vehicle of any description.

As she pulled the Camaro up by wooden front steps, Jess saw a curtain move in the front window. When she got out of the car, she noted that the house was built about three feet off the ground. Probably no basement. Not in these rocks. Brown lattice stretched between the house and its granite base.

Jess zipped up her leather jacket against the chill of the mountain air as she climbed the steps. There was no doorbell. She knocked briskly, glancing at the curtain that had moved. A dingy off-white, it now hung motionless. She knocked again.

Like the house, the woman who answered the door was weathered. A tall blonde, her ice-blue eyes darted from under white-blond brows and lashes. Though she wore no makeup and the Colorado sun had obviously done a number on her complexion, Jess guessed she’d once been beautiful.

The pale eyes now looked Jess up and down like they’d never seen a black person before. “Whatever it is you got, go peddle it somewheres else.” Penelope Strickland spoke the words with authority backed by an old Winchester that she held easily by the barrel.

Jess backed up a step before offering up her best people-pleaser smile. “I’m not selling anything, Mrs. Strickland. I’m Jess Edwards. I have some news about your daughter.”

Penelope slowly lowered the rifle to the floor. “Patty?”

“You have more than one daughter?” asked Jess.

Penelope shook her head. “Just Patty.” No trace of affection spilled through her tone.

Jess looked past the woman, into the room. A bighorn sheep mount looked back at her from the opposite wall. As her gaze drifted back to the rifle in the woman’s hand, she asked, “Is that thing loaded, Mrs. Strickland?”

“Damn straight it is. But I’m probably not goin’ t’ shoot you. Let’s see some I.D.”

Probably? “I’m not with the police. I’m a private investigator working for Darren Rogart.”

It seemed to take the woman a moment to process that information. “Oh, well … a driver’s license oughta do it.”

Jess removed hers and flashed it at Penelope.

“Jessica Edwards,” the woman mumbled as she squinted at the document.

Wow, it even reads. Jess was getting bad vibes, but physical danger from the woman wasn’t one of them.

“So tell me what’s new with Patty. I didn’t know it was you that found her.” The woman’s voice sounded annoyed more than anything. She moved aside so Jess could enter. Then she leaned the rifle against a gun case.

Puzzled at her unexpected attitude, Jess stepped inside and shot a quick glance across the rest of the room. From another wall elk and deer heads gave her the glassy eye.

Blondie’s eyes narrowed as she continued before Jess could come up with an answer. “If she sent you to ask if she could come home, I already told Darren no way.”

Aren’t you a real gem of a mother?

“Didn’t Darren fill you in?” asked Jess, looking farther into the room. She could see dirty dishes on a countertop through an open doorway behind the woman.

“Dare didn’t tell me you’d be showing up.”

Dare? Oh, why should this surprise me? “Your daughter’s pregnant.”

The woman’s shoulders sagged as she settled into a vinyl-covered chair. “I know. That’s why she can’t come back.”

You are a real piece of work. Even I have more motherly instincts … scratch that …. “Don’t you want to know how your daughter is? Where she is? Aren’t you interested in your grandchild?”

Blondie shook her head slowly, like it was too heavy for her slender neck. Jess watched the sinews in it tighten and release.

“I’ve got enough on my mind with Larry dead. Patty brought this on herself.”

Jess winced, then listened as Larry Strickland’s widow railed on. “She made a choice to get herself knocked up. Now she’s turned eighteen, she can damn well sleep in the bed she’s made. I can’t take care of her, much less a kid. Larry didn’t leave no insurance. I’ve got what you see around you. And the propane bill’s due.”

“But, aren’t you excited about becoming a grandma?” Jess pasted on a big, phony smile, stubbornly trying to get a human reaction out of Penelope.

“’bout as excited as I’d be over a case of the crabs.” Penelope showed a glint of tooth at the corner of her sneer.

Jess shivered mentally, aware of another discovery. Absence of maternal instinct didn’t look so pretty on somebody else.

As if as an afterthought Penelope added, “Dare didn’t tell me when she’s due.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

Jess watched Penelope’s expression grow shrewd. Her denim eyes narrowed as she asked, “Didn’t you say you were working for Dare? One’d think you’d know … all he knows about Patty. Or Trisha as she calls herself now.”

“Your daughter was prostituting herself down in Denver. Didn’t Dare tell you?”

Penelope shook her head.

“I guess he didn’t want to scare you.”

“But you don’t mind.” Penelope removed a cigarette from a pack on the scarred table beside her. She lit it, took a drag and looked at Jess. “That don’t sound like Patty. And it don’t seem like she’d get many takers in her condition.”

“Yeah. I understand the baby’s due soon,” said Jess.

Blondie took another nervous drag on the cigarette, exhaled smoke through her nose.

Something about the woman’s lack of comment made Jess wonder if she knew more than she was letting on. “Who’s the father?” asked Jess on a hunch.

Penelope’s pale, dry complexion reddened suddenly as she stood up from the chair. “Larry’s dead. Can’t defend himself.” The words gurgled from her throat.

“I didn’t say─”

“You didn’t have to. I know what they’re sayin’ in town.” The woman’s eyes glinted maniacally. Nose to nose, she and Jess were almost the same height. “I’ve heard the whispers. After she found her daughter, they think Brandi Rogart killed Larry because of what she thought he done, an’ her old man is hiding her. Larry’s never gonna get justice.”

Old man could mean husband or father. Just for the hell of it, Jess turned the question around to get Penelope’s reaction. “You think Darren is hiding his wife?”

Penelope’s outrage was palpable. “Course not! Dare would never do that. Old man Flannigan’s who I mean.”

“You seem to think your husband’s the victim here.”

“He’s dead ain’t he?”

“But how do you explain a thirteen-year-old stashed in his cabin?”

“They all had keys to the goddamn cabin. You think a one of ‘em would admit it? Blame it on the dead man.”

“Did you tell the sheriff about the keys?” asked Jess.

“You bet I did. A lotta good it done.”

Nothing in the reports. “Did Darren tell the cops about the keys?” Jess strove to keep her tone even.

Penelope frowned. “I’m sure he must’ve.” She tilted her head back, as if trying to remember, and exhaled a plume of smoke into the stale air. “They’ve all had keys for years. Used our cabin for when the weather got bad and they didn’t want to come back to town.”

“That’s why the chain,” Jess thought aloud.

“Huh?”

“The chain on the door was to keep out the men with keys. Except for the one who took the Rogart kid.” Maybe the woman was right. Maybe Larry was a victim.

Penelope stubbed out her cigarette in a metal ashtray. “They’re never kids. Not from the time they sprout tits and start wigglin’ their asses.”

“Excuse me?”

“This’s a real small house, Ms. Edwards. She didn’t even bother to cover herself when goin’ from bed to bath.”

Who’s she talking about? Not Lori Rogart. “Who’s the father of Patty’s child, Mrs. Strickland?”

“Get out of here.” Penelope seized the barrel of the Winchester with her left hand and hefted the stock up to her shoulder with her right.

She thinks it’s her husband. Jess backed away. “Before you do anything dumb, listen up. I just left the sheriff’s station. The deputy on duty knows where I was headed. So you may want to put that gun down.”

Penelope lowered the gun, but still kept a loose grip on it.

Jess edged toward the door, but she wasn’t quite through. She hadn’t even broached the truck thing. But the paternity angle was bugging her unexpectedly. “So you don’t think the father is Joe Flannigan?”

“That old goat?” Penelope’s lips curled back in what might have preceded a laugh, but none followed.

“You don’t share the theory about Joe and Larry exchanging Lori and Patty for sexual purposes?”

Now Penelope did manage a dry laugh. “That’s a new one.” She shook her head, further puzzling Jess.

“You never discussed such a theory with Darren?” Jess continued, softening her tone.

“There wasn’t no exchange. I should tell this nice man his precious daughter’s a little hussy? He’d never─” She cut off the comment abruptly.

Jess watched a blush creep up the woman’s neck again. He’d never pay you any more attention, would he? This was never about finding Patty. She smiled sweetly as she asked, “You and Darren…” She trailed off, giving Penelope the chance to frame the rest of the question.

A new blush. “He’s been so helpful. Nobody in this town gives a rat’s ass. He’s the only one who cares.”

He always is. “I know what you mean.” Jess couldn’t resist. Penelope’s eyes bugged for a second, then receded beneath the hooded brows.

Jess had one more question, the one she’d come about in the first place. “How’d Larry and Joe end up with matching trucks?”

“Huh?”

“You know. Hunter one and Hunter two.”

“Oh, the Rams.” Penelope shook her head.

Duh.

“They all had ‘em. Larry, Joe and George. The three of ‘em drew ram tags back in 1991. Then, they all got theirs.” She nodded at the ram mount on the wall. “Larry was so proud. Then they all went out and bought new Dodge Rams and vanity plates. They weren’t satisfied till they went and got their hood ornaments on eBay.” She smiled as if remembering better days.

Jess moved toward the door. “Anything you want me to tell your daughter if I see her?”

Penelope shook her head, pursed her lips and said, “Tell Dare I appreciate what he’s tryin’ t’ do, but like I said, she’s made her bed.”

“But you can’t blame him for trying. He’s a real sweetie,” Jess baited.

Blush and nod. “That’s Dare.”

Her brain must be on dial-up.

As she started down the steps, Jess looked again for a silver Dodge Ram … or a garage, even. Perhaps someone else was already filling Larry’s slot. And driving his truck.

Penelope followed her as far as the top step, puffing on a new cigarette.

“What happened to your husband’s truck?”

“Sold it. Like I said, Larry didn’t leave much. Dare’s gonna pick me up somethin’ cheap I can get around in. He’s a sweetie, all right.”

Jess grinned back at her from the bottom of the stairs. “You fill out a change of registration for the truck?”

“How could I? Didn’t own the truck. Larry did. I got me a check. Truck’s gone. So shoot me.”

Don’t tempt me.

“Do you remember the name on the check?”

“I remember it cleared the bank. Don’t care whose name was on it.”

Why did I even ask.

“You wanna know who really took the Rogart girl?” Penelope’s voice rasped down at Jess’s retreating back.

Jess turned back slowly, not really expecting anything insightful.

“Last July. We all got together at Darren’s for the fourth. She was only twelve then, but that little Lori sure knew how to flirt. His wife didn’t like it one little bit.”

“Whose wife?”

“Shane Cutler’s. He’s George’s stepson. You go talk to Shane about Lori Rogart.”

Chapter 33

Jess made her second stop of the day at the Custer County Sheriff’s Station, armed with a new set of questions. First, she had answers ready.

“Hey, Troy, I gave you one of my old cards by mistake.”

Troy wasn’t smiling this time. “Yeah, I know.”

“You know?” Jess fingered the business card in her hand. The one with the correct set of phone numbers on it.

“When I tried to call you and got somebody else on the cell number.”

“Why would you try to call me? I’d just left.” Jess felt a frown coming on. She relaxed into what she hoped was a pleasant smile.

“I remembered something, so I dug into the file for you,” Troy said coldly. “I was still going to give it to you─until I dialed the other number and got the old guy. His voice mail, not him.” Troy turned his back on her and pretended to bury himself in paper work.

“Oh, damn!” Jess plopped herself in the forehead with the heel of her palm. “You got my dad!”

“What?” Troy wheeled, his expression softening.

“Yeah. After I got my own apartment, I had new cards printed. Here.” She handed him one, relieved that he took it. How’s that for unburning a bridge? The series of lies that flowed so glibly from her mouth rattled something deep inside, but she quickly covered that voice with more inane chatter. “When I pulled out a card at my next stop, I discovered my mistake. The new cards were still in the console of my car.”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s okay if I call you?” He looked like a star-struck teenager.

Jess felt a sly smile creeping onto her face. The prospect of being taken for someone Troy’s age was a love-pat for her tottering ego.

Troy was writing something on a yellow sticky note, looking at the note as he continued, “You seem … ah … a tad mature to be just going out on your own. But I guess you must have your … reasons.”

Goddamn little pissant! Get somebody your own age.

Troy handed her the yellow sticky note on which he’d printed a name.

Jess threw a splint on her fractured pride and eyed the name. “Arlette Cruz-Ramos?”

“Shh ….” Troy glanced around as the sound of chairs scraping in an adjacent room announced that they might soon have company.

A door at the rear of the room opened, and a portly, middle-aged deputy in a tan uniform like Troy’s emerged. “Late lunch,” he announced to Troy as he ambled by. Jess saw him snap an ogle just before he exited through the front door.

Only when they’d heard the clatter of receding footsteps and the hum of a vehicle starting did Troy explain. “You wanted to know why Darren Rogart had been dropped from the short list.”

Was I really that transparent? The idea alarmed Jess. She remembered only a quick reference to Rogart. “So, who is this person?”

“Rogart’s alibi.”

Jess flashed an indulgent smile at Troy and asked what she’d come to ask: “Did the Rogart girl ever confirm that she was raped by Larry Strickland?”

“Why do you ask?” Troy was guarded in tone again.

What the hell. A little truth won’t hurt. “Because the widow says she thinks it was somebody else. At least she implies that it was another member of the hunting party.”

Troy gave a little disgusted snort. “Well, she’s his widow. What do you expect?”

“Troy, you’re evading,” purred Jess. “Did little Lori ‘fess up she was really having a lovers’ tryst in that cabin?”

“You know I can’t answer that.” Troy smiled, but something in his expression showed Jess she’d gone too far. “Sex crimes and minors are off limits. You know that.”

Jess looked back at the note in her hand. “This name? Should it be ringing any bells?”

“If I were you, I’d Google it first chance I got.”

* * * * *

After leaving Troy with a wink and a nod, Jess retraced her route, headed east on Highway 96, then north on Interstate 25 to Colorado Springs where she stopped for a late lunch at a Chile’s. She ordered the biggest, artery-clogging hamburger they had, with everything on it. “Rare,” she told the waitress. “No, make that raw,” she corrected.

The waitress frowned. “We have to cook ‘em till they’re not red. It’s a regulation.”

Oh, just bring the goddamn burger already. Jess smiled through gritted teeth. “Whatever.”

Later, as she ate her well-done hamburger, she revisited the sheriff’s report she’d scanned into her laptop. Why had they so quickly discounted Shane Cutler’s prior? Oh, right. The girl said it was consensual. But he’d been convicted of statutory rape.

As she finished the hamburger, Jess considered Googling the name Troy had given her. But daylight hours were fleeting. She was more focused on Shane Cutler. She could check out Arlette-With-the-Double-Name later.

The drive to Sedalia, where Cutler lived, took her back up I-25 North, then northwest on Highway 85. It seemed to take longer than the trip south had taken. If she didn’t make better time, she’d be caught in the evening rush. The sun had already begun its descent behind the frosted purple mountains that marked the horizon to her left.

A Chinook wind had swept the area dry, but now the cold was creeping back. Still a California girl at heart, Jess longed for the warmth of spring.

After consulting her trusty GPS, she was able to scope out the Cutler residence without much lost time. Sedalia was smaller than Westcliffe, the outskirts stippled with mini-horse ranches. It was definitely not a one-horse town. First pass through told her that equines might even outnumber people. And the demographics gleaned from her mapping service told her that she was going to stand out like a proverbial sore thumb─the town was even whiter than Westcliffe.

The Cutler home was a cute little yellow-and-white two-story, attached garage-with-room-over. It was on a corner. Jess drove around the block once and saw a swing set in the chain link-fenced back yard.

When she parked and got out of the car, she was still thinking up her spiel on the fly. Better stick to as much truth as you can make up. Chuckling to herself, Jess laid on the doorbell.

The girl who answered─a strawberry blonde with freckles─looked about twelve. A toddler that could have been boy or girl clung to her legs, while advanced pregnancy ballooned out under a flowered smock. Her pale feet, in Crocs, looked swollen.

“Mrs. Cutler?” Jess took a stab at the obvious.

“Yeah,” replied the woman-child in a girlish voice.

“You have shoes on,” blurted Jess.

“What?”

“Nothing. Scratch that. I’m Jess Edwards. Darren Rogart’s a friend of mine. He’s asked me to look into the Patty Strickland thing. Thought it might be a good idea to chat with your husband about some corroborating information.”

Woman-child looked confused. “What Patty Strickland thing?”

“Her disappearance.”

“Ow!” Jess watched in amazement as the toddler took a bite out of Mama’s leg. “Barclay, that’s not nice!” Mama-Woman-Child detached the kid and set him/her on a wooden animal toy that looked like a cross between a giraffe and a hippo.

Must be a boy child … but not necessarily.

“Trisha─that’s what she goes by now─hasn’t disappeared. She’s at Darren’s.”

“Now she is. But she was missing.”

“Huh?”

Two for two. If this is the result of child-bearing, let Diana count herself blessed.

“Could I talk with your husband?”

“He’s down at This Geek For Hire,” she said. “His store, only computer place in town.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Cutler.”

“Don’t you want the address?”

“I’ll find it.”

This Geek For Hire? The GPS took her to it. Seven minutes. How far could it be in a town of two hundred?

As Jess pulled into the small parking lot, she saw a man hanging a “Closed” sign behind the front door glass. Young, he moved like he thought the crown jewels reposed in his drawers.

“Wait up,” called Jess. She got out of the car and walked briskly toward Shane Cutler. It couldn’t be anybody else. White-blond hair, tan skinned, hard-bodied, his sly blue eyes met hers as she approached the building.

A macho geek? Looks like an oxymoron to me.

“Hi, Jess,” he drawled. “My wife just called.”

Of course she did.

He didn’t look upset as the lower lids of his eyes crinkled in a half-assed smile that held a certain reptilian charm.

To get eye-to-eye with Cutler, Jess had to look down a couple of inches. But still, it was a damn sight more believable that he was a thirteen-year-old’s dream man, as compared to the likes of an old geezer like Larry Strickland. It gave Jess the shivers just to think about that scenario.

“I’m just finishing up some loose ends for Darren,” began Jess. “Isn’t it great that Patty’s been found?”

“If you say so.” Cutler’s benign grin was replaced by an insolent smirk.

He knows I’m lying. What the hell. I’m here. “You one of the elite with keys to Larry’s cabin?”

“I see you’ve been talkin’ to the grievin’ widow. You really buy into her story ‘bout the keys?”

“Why would she lie about it?”

Shane locked the shop door behind him, then shrugged. “Get the heat off herself. She’s had the hots for Darren for years. Much easier if her old man bought it. Truth is, Darren does a lot better than her.” He looked hard at Jess. “Usually.”

Jess had the feeling that more calls than the one from Shane’s wife had been made to him within the past hour or so. She stepped back a few paces, looked Shane up and down. T-shirt, tight jeans. He wasn’t even shivering. A concealed weapon was unlikely, unless it was the bulge behind his fly.

“I understand your wife’s not a Lori Rogart fan. How do you and Lori get along?” Way to get killed, Jess.

But she had the Glock and Shane only had…what he had. She doubted it was that impressive.

A blink turned his blue eyes to ice. “We run your kind off the streets at sundown, bitch.”

Jess shrugged off the slur. “Since Larry’s dead, what difference does it make? Can’t hurt anyone to let him take the fall, can it?” She knew her words hadn’t distracted him when she felt his anger accelerate even before his stance shifted.

“Stay away from my wife.” His wrist snaked out and snared her right arm. With her left, she chopped him in the neck and dropped him to his knees, then twisted his arm behind him until he yelped in pain.

“Don’t mess with me, Cutler.” She flung him away from her like a hamburger wrapper.

“I’ll get your black ass for this.” His words surged up out of his pain, but he didn’t follow as Jess turned her back on him and strode toward her car. She purposely projected disdain in each unhurried step, but her ears were keenly tuned to pick up any sign of movement behind her.

As she drove away from the building, Jess saw it parked on a side street. A silver Dodge Ram. She slowed down and zapped the license plate with her cell camera. HUNTER 3.

Chapter 34

“What’d that black bitch want with a picture of George’s truck?” Shane’s voice over the phone sounds worried. “I only borrowed it since mine’s in the shop.”

“Beats me,” the Hunter replies, assuming his good-ole-boy façade, suppressing the urge to reach through the phone and strangle the stupid redneck for disparaging his perfect African specimen. “I’d say don’t sweat it. George’s truck, George’s problem.” He lounges casually, darkly clad against a white gazebo in the park across from the black’s condo, hoping for a quick peek at her. Inside, he’s tightly strung. He wants her, but he knows tonight’s not the night.

“Easy for you to say,” continues Shane. “She’s not nosin’ around your place. She asked me how Lori and I got along. Man, I don’t need a second statutory rape charge. You said we were cool about Lori.”

“We are. No worries there,” replies the Hunter. Only half his attention is on the phone call. The other half is wondering where the black is. It’s been dark over an hour. She should be home by now. He doubts that she’s gone to the gym after the day she’s put in.

“What if your phone is bugged?” Shane asks.

“Is there a problem with yours?” the Hunter counters with his own question. In the background he can hear the voices of Shane’s wife and kid. Quarrelsome and whiny. If they were his, he’d strangle the bitch, incinerate her and feed that ugly kid to the coyotes.

“No,” says Shane abruptly. At least he shows the sense not to elaborate on his certainty. If a techy like Shane was unaware of bugs on his own turf, well that would make him worse than useless.

The Hunter has no worries about this particular call being traced. He’s using one of those disposable cells with no registration requirements. “Did you get the stuff I need from George?” he asks. He’s almost out of Ketamine. It works so much better than a bullet. George keeps a supply on hand at his veterinary clinic. But it’s much better if Shane gets it for him from his stepfather, however he can. If the Hunter loses this connection, he can always get what he needs on line, but this way he won’t leave a trail when he’s finished with Shane.

“Uh-huh.”

A vagueness in Shane’s voice bothers the Hunter. “Did you steal it or did he give it to you?”

“What do you think? How many neighbors with barking dogs can a guy have? George was cool with one. He did ask why I didn’t just shoot it.” The background voices are silent now.

“What did you say to that?” he asks, turning away from the street to avoid the headlights of an approaching car.

“I told him it was keeping Missy and Barclay awake and the neighbor wouldn’t cooperate. Since the mutt wasn’t on my property, I couldn’t shoot it. I had to be creative. He seemed to like that.”

“What did you tell him this time?” The car passes without slowing down. Not her.

“I got to thinkin’ if he ever did an inventory, he’d see there was a whole lot more gone than needed for one dog. Even a big one. So I fixed that problem.”

“Good for you. How’d you do that?” He pulls the baseball cap lower as a couple of bicyclers roll past.

“Let’s just say George had a burglary at his clinic the other night.”

“Did he report it?”

Shane laughs. “Turned out good for George, too. You know he’s got other off-the-books customers. Paying ones. Let’s just say the burglary solves his accountability problems.” He laughs again. “Yeah, he made a report.”

The Hunter hadn’t known about George’s sideline. “Since you’re able to laugh about it, I take it there’s no chance of it coming back to bite you.”

“You think I’m stupid, or what?”

The Hunter leaves that one dangling. Shane doesn’t push him. In the background he hears Missy Cutler. “Honey, dinner.”

“In a minute,” Shane yells back.

After they arrange for delivery of the Ketamine, the Hunter closes the cell phone, feeling a twinge of annoyance. He derives no pleasure from killing males. Shane’s an apt pupil up to a point, but he’s approaching the end of his cycle of usefulness. He thinks the Hunter is using the Ketamine as a date-rape drug. He’s even eager to go with the Hunter on one of his excursions.

But Shane is basically stupid in his interpretation of relationships. He’s still totally unaware of anything unusual in their arrangement concerning Lori. He has no clue that his and the Hunter’s feelings in this regard should be at odds.

Shane’s only concern is that he not be arrested and that his wife be kept ignorant of the affair. The Hunter laughs aloud at this latter thought. It won’t be much of a stretch to keep Missy Cutler ignorant.

In electronic matters, Shane has proved extremely useful. All the nights spent at Shane’s computer shop, mining his knowledge, picking his brain, have enabled the Hunter to set up his own web site. Best part: Shane hasn’t a clue about what a good teacher he’s been.

Chapter 35

Diana jumped involuntarily at the sound of the doorbell. She looked out a side window and saw Jess illumined by the porch light. Her friend looked positively haggard in the lamp’s yellow rays. As Diana threw open the door, Jess held up a hand, leaving Diana’s greeting hanging in midair. “Don’t ask,” said Jess. “It’s been a long day. I need to fill you in, but you need to feed me.”

“I got the security system fixed,” said Diana as the two walked toward the kitchen.

Jess brightened. “Oh, shall we test it?”

“It works just fine. The company tested it.”

“We should make sure,” said Jess, doing an about face and heading back toward the front door.

Diana grabbed her friend’s arm. “Trust me. It’s fine.”

In the kitchen, Jess sniffed the air expectantly. “I haven’t eaten since that overcooked hamburger I grabbed in Colorado Springs. What’ve you got?”

“No meat. You knew that coming in.” Diana turned and opened the stainless steel fridge. “I’ve already eaten and you wouldn’t have liked it anyway. Let’s see … I could make you an omelet.”

Jess peered over her shoulder. “What’ve you got to put in it?” Without waiting for an answer, Jess reached around her and started selecting items: a wedge of cheddar cheese, a bottle of capers, a carton of ricotta.

“Anything else?” asked Diana sarcastically as Jess deposited the items on the countertop.

A she settled onto a bar stool, Jess replied, “Nope, just cook it. Oh, and the eggs. Forgot the eggs.”

Diana rolled her eyes and removed an egg carton, placing it beside the other items as she dipped into a cupboard for utensils. Then she began assembling the omelet. “Okay, Sherlock, let’s have it.”

“For starters, there are three silver Rams with hunter vanity plates,” began Jess, “and to end the day, I’m pretty sure I interviewed the guy who raped Lori Rogart.” Into Diana’s surprised expression, she added, “Better believe he was no ghost.”

“Not Larry Strickland?” Diana poured a dash of olive oil into a skillet, then lit the fire under it. Somehow, she was not surprised.

“Shane Cutler, the youngest member of the hunting group. Youngest male member. The widow Strickland put me onto him. And, know what? I believe her.”

As she whipped up the eggs and poured them into the hot skillet, Rogart’s conversation about Lori jumped into Diana’s mind, this time with a completely different connotation. “What’s he like?” she asked, adding the other ingredients to Jess’s dinner.

“He’s an asshole!”

“Understood. But what’s he like?”

“Like a redneck asshole. Don’t you have any pepperoni?”

“How about some tofu turkey?”

Jess made a face, then continued, “The guy’s a techy type. Runs a computer store. Could have a connection to the equipment in your house. Maybe all the buds are in on it. Maybe the feud between Rogart and Flannigan is bogus.”

Diana pondered that one. If true, Flannigan deserved an acting award. She wasn’t sure what Rogart deserved.

“Hey,” reminded Jess, “don’t burn my omelet.”

*****

Later, Jess and Diana sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, nursing snifters of cognac before a crackling fire. With Jess fed and conversation about diverse possibilities with the hunting buddies exhausted, Diana’s thoughts returned to Jess’s background check on Rogart─information that she’d failed to include in the initial package she’d turned over to Diana.

“Are you sure there’s nothing in Rogart’s past that might shed some light on this?” she asked.

Jess shook her head slowly. “Mind if I crash here? I am beat.”

“No problem,” replied Diana. “Just think back a bit. You had a pretty complete sheet on Flannigan. Family background, the usual stuff.”

Jess nodded sleepily. Diana wouldn’t let her off the hook. “Where did Rogart come from? Does he have relatives? Was Brandi his first wife? Do you know any of that?”

Jess paused to consider the questions, took a sip of her cognac. “Upstate New York,” she began. “Family moved to Colorado when he was pretty young. Grew up around Castle Rock. No record of any other marriages.”

“Siblings?” asked Diana.

Jess took another drag on the cognac. “Brothers. Two, older as I recall. And a sister. Younger.”

Something in her tone brought Diana fully awake. “Did you interview any of these people?”

Jess looked into the cognac snifter. “I located the two brothers. Nasty bastards. Said they didn’t keep in touch with their little brother. They were weirdos. Not at all like Darren came across…at first.”

“What about the sister?” Diana asked.

Placing the empty snifter on the hearth, Jess shook her head. “Pathetic. She was an obese cow. When I mentioned Darren, she slammed the door in my face.”

Diana sat upright. “Didn’t you find that reaction worth mentioning?”

“Not at the time.” In the firelight, Diana saw concern creeping into Jess’s expression. “I just thought how hard it must be, to look like that…and have a brother who looked like Darren.”

“Are you aware,” Diana began softly, “that one of the defenses abused women use is the destruction of their own bodies? Sometimes it’s done with food.”

Jess slowly unfurled her six feet, stretched and shook her head. “Diana, he has certificates of commendation for bravery. He’s the cop they sent in to interview rape victims because of his sensitivity. I should analyze his sister? Gimme a break.”

Diana arose also, and the two proceeded into the kitchen where they rinsed their glasses and set them aside. Rogart questions still popped up in Diana’s head like carnival targets. “Did you interview any of Rogart’s fellow officers?” she asked.

“Yeah, in fact I did. To a man, they spoke highly of him.”

“Ah,” replied Diana, pointing finger at Jess gotcha-style. “What about the women he worked with? Did they corroborate his sensitivity?”

Jess muffled a giggle.

“Okay, what? Did I say something funny?” Diana started the dishwasher. A harrumph of gushing water drowned out Jess’s response.

Jess tried again. “I said, when I mentioned his name, they just smiled.”

“That does it. You know where the guest room is. And the linen closet. Get your own sheets.”

As she climbed the stairs, she could hear Jess laughing softly a few steps behind her.

Chapter 36

Diana parked the rented car about a quarter of a mile from the Flannigan residence. She chose a small park where trees were leafing out in the lengthening March days, and patches of green grass were expanding against brown backgrounds.

Hers was the only vehicle in the gravel parking area. The chains to the kiddy swings hung motionless. The park was empty except for a pair of black squirrels playing tag in the Scotch pines. Kids were in school at this hour, and it was still too cold for most young mothers to take their little ones out to play.

She wore sunglasses and had tucked her auburn hair under a baseball cap. Two can play at this game, Mr. Flannigan.

Darren Rogart hadn’t called since the night they’d had dinner at her house. Part of her thought this was just as well. Especially so since Jess’s discovery that he also seemed to be on intimate terms with the Widow Strickland.

In the light of day, she was unwilling to embrace Jess’s theory that all the hunting buds were in on something nefarious. A part of her—one Diana wished she could eradicate—still held on to the irrational hope that Rogart was the victim of circumstance and his father-in-law’s wrath. The fact that he had a fat sister didn’t mean he’d abused her, did it?

What couldn’t be denied was the probability that Shane Cutler, not Larry Strickland, had seduced Lori Rogart. If Rogart had known about the seduction, that meant he’d lied about the “sick” trade-off between Flannigan and Strickland. It would explain why Rogart was unwilling to call what happened to Lori “rape.” If these things were true, he was an unfit father, just as Flannigan had said. An alley cat, like Greg. She made herself look at the mounting body of evidence.

And she thought of her parents. In spite of everything she knew, she was repeating her mother’s mistake. Winston was right. The only difference between Darren and Greg was the packaging.

But she couldn’t shake the thought of the children involved. Especially Lori. Who else had known about Shane Cutler’s role in Lori’s…what should she call it, if not rape? Not Joe Flannigan. She was convinced he was incapable of faking the outrage he’d shown. But that didn’t make him any better than his son-in-law—still an abuser and a stalker, who had maybe killed the wrong man, Strickland, for the wrong reasons. Or at least helped his daughter hide from justice after she killed Strickland. Diana had to catch Rena Flannigan alone. Rena and the Rogart children needed protection.

According to their plan, Jess would be scoping out the Rogart residence in Franktown about now. She hoped that between them, they could come up with some evidence that could be taken to the authorities with the reasonable expectation that the appropriate agency would follow through to ensure the welfare of Rena and the children.

Movement in the Flannigan driveway caught Diana’s attention as a woman’s small figure picked up what appeared to be a newspaper, then returned to the house. Kind of late for the morning paper, she thought.

The silver Ram wasn’t in the driveway as it had been on her previous visit. Did that only mean it was in the garage? She had no way of knowing.

Diana waited, trying to decide whether or not to approach the house. She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty. She pulled out her cell and pressed in Jess’s number.

“Anything?” asked Jess.

“His truck’s not here,” said Diana. “What about you?”

“I’m on a hill above the house. So far, no signs of life. Guess the kids are in school.”

“No Trisha?”

“No Trisha, no Darren. Tan truck in the driveway. They must sleep very late.” Jess ended with a wicked chuckle.

“I’ll keep you posted. You do the same.” Diana pulled the rented Honda Civic out of the park and headed toward the Flannigan residence. Even if Joe was there, what could he do besides yell at her?

When Rena Flannigan answered the door, Diana hardly recognized her—wouldn’t have if not for her beautiful dark eyes. Rena looked bloated. Like she’d put on weight. A blue scarf covered her head. No long braid peeked out below it.

“Mrs. Flannigan, remember me? I’m--”

“I remember you, Mrs., Martin.”

“Could we speak? Privately?”

Rena stood blocking the entrance. “Go ahead.” Rena’s expression told her nothing. Tired was the only message she was getting. Diana looked nervously behind herself, then into the room.

“He’s not likely to be back anytime soon,” said Rena, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Diana blinked, not knowing how to respond at first. “May I come inside?”

Rena opened the door wider, then stood aside, her only invitation a curt jerk of her head. Diana entered the house with trepidation. She belatedly thought of her car parked outside for Flannigan to see. Though he wouldn’t know it was her car, until he let himself in the house—maybe through a back door…

I’ll never make a good detective.

“What is it you want?” She didn’t invite Diana to sit down. Or offer her coffee.

They stood just inside the front door, in the entry hall. Diana could see the trophy heads in the living room. More of them than she remembered. Though the house smelled clean and fresh, she felt overpowered by the animal heads, imagined the odor of dead carcasses.

“I wanted to talk to you about your grandchildren. And your husband,” Diana finally began.

“Thanks to you, we hardly ever see Lori and Keith,” said Rena. “You want t’ know about Joe? His heart is so broke over it all that he goes off for hours…sometimes days…into the mountains to grieve for our daughter. And the grandkids we can’t even visit.” Tears welled in Rena’s eyes. Her lower lip began to quiver.

She’s ill. Stress can do that.

“I never meant to add to your pain. Darren Rogart just took the kids. I didn’t help him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Rena shook her head. “That’s not what I’m thinkin’.” Fatigue seemed to overtake her as she walked unsteadily into the living room and sat down on a leather sofa.

Diana followed her and took a seat opposite, facing the front window. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your daughter may still be alive. And that your husband knows it.”

Rena shook her head vehemently. “That makes no sense.”

“Is it possible that a mistake was made about who assaulted Lori?”

“Mistake?” Rena rose up from the sofa, then sank back down. “No mistake! My daughter knew who had Lori. She heard him on the phone with Darren.”

“But your husband told me it was Larry Strickland. My friend Jess has reason to believe it was someone else.”

Rena’s mouth dropped open. She looked confused as she slowly replied, “Not Larry? But…when she dropped off Keith…”

“Did your daughter tell you she heard Larry on the phone with Darren?”

Rena shook her head, her expression wild and searching. “I just assumed…because they found Lori in his cabin…”

“What did Brandi tell you?”

“She brought Keith over about nine o’clock at night. Told me about hearin’ Darren on the phone and knowin’ who had Lori. She wanted Joe t’ go with her, but he was at AA.” Tears coursed down Rena’s puffy cheeks. “We tried his cell, but he didn’t pick up. I wanted t’ call the police, but she wouldn’t have it. See, they never did take her serious. She said she had to find Lori with the guy before they’d believe her. They got so many runaway girls, and who knows what Darren told his cop buddies.”

Diana got up and went to Rena, put a hand on her arm. What she was about to say seemed cruel, but Diana couldn’t think of any way to avoid it. “There’s talk in Westcliffe that your husband may be helping your daughter hide out.”

A flood of absolute disbelief crossed Rena’s face. “No. I’d know if that was goin’ on. Joe’s no good at hidin’ anythin’. It’d be all over that big Irish face o’ his. No.” Rena buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“You love your husband. In spite of--”

Rena’s face screwed up in a frown as her fists pushed away the tears. “In spite o’ what?”

“I saw the bruises, Rena. I heard him yell at you.”

“What’s a little yellin’? I can yell too, if I’ve a mind to.” The dark eyes flashed, cutting Diana down. “You wanna know about the bruises? I got leukemia.” Rena jerked off the scarf. Diana stared at her bald head. “See what chemo does, Mrs. Martin? The bruises didn’t come from Joe. It’s the leukemia done it. He never laid a hand on me or Brandi.”

Chapter 37

How could I have gotten it so wrong?

“It wasn’t just the bruises and Joe’s yelling,” said Diana. “You acted…scared…nervous. Rena, you even spilled the coffee, you were so upset.”

“How could you know? The doctor’s office called just a minute before you got here. They had my test results. Joe didn’t know. I thought it might finish him off.”

Diana lowered her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m still alive. Beats the alternative.” Rena managed a feeble smile. “Hair’ll grow back.” She put the scarf back on. “I can brew some coffee if you like.”

“I don’t want to trouble you…any more than I already have.”

Rena got up. “No trouble. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Diana got up tentatively, then glanced again through the front window.

“He really won’t be back anytime soon. I often wish it wa’n’t so, but it is. Now that the weather’s warmin’ up, I imagine he’ll be gone for days at a stretch.”

In the kitchen, Rena put water and coffee in the enamel-covered coffee maker, and then set it on the stove to brew. She turned and fixed Diana in her dark gaze. “Darren Rogart is evil, Mrs. Martin. He catches women like a spider does flies.”

Diana shuddered inwardly. Another voice. The same refrain. Not proof.

“How did Darren get involved with your daughter?” asked Diana. She pushed out the words, trying to wrap her brain around a line of questioning that would rid her of that sticky feeling—the feeling she got when she ran into a spider web.

Rena took a seat across from her and folded her hands. “Joe blames himself for that, too.” She paused to reach up and smooth out the scarf on her head. “When Brandi was fifteen, her bicycle got stole in Denver. She called her daddy in tears. Joe took off for the mall where she was and called the Denver cops. Guess who they sent?”

Diana filled in the obvious. “A handsome young officer named Darren Rogart.”

“Only he wasn’t as young as he looked. Darren was thirty-one and Brandi, only fifteen. He wormed his way into our family like he does whenever he wants somethin’. Like he did with Joe’s huntin’ pals. Pretty soon they were Darren’s and Joe was just some old fogy to ‘em. Anyhow, before we knew it, our little girl was pregnant. But Darren said he wanted t’ do the right thing. How’d we know it would’ve been better if she’d just had the baby? I’d’a raised Lori. You know how many times we wished we’d just gone and bought her a new bike, never made that call?”

“Don’t blame yourself. He seems to be…a professional charmer.”

“More like a male whore,” said Rena as she got up to check on the coffee. “Hasn’t had a real job since he got out o’ jail.”

Her frankness surprised Diana. Before she could comment, Rena continued, “She was gonna divorce him for sure this time. That much she told me the night she went after Lori. She told him before she left, but she didn’t tell him what set it off—didn’t want no chance of him tellin’…if it wasn’t Larry, who then?”

“I probably shouldn’t be dropping names. Especially since it’s just a rumor,” Diana backpedaled. “You said ‘this time,’ like she’d been on the verge of divorce before.”

Rena took two colorful mugs from a rack on the countertop and poured coffee into them, then carried them to the table.

When the women were again eye-to-eye, Rena nodded. “Many times. In fact, it was when he got sent away for poachin’ that we first heard about you.”

“What do you mean?”

Rena smiled slowly. “Through your law professor. Winston Bell.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Did you know Joe was Winston’s sponsor in AA?” asked Rena.

Diana shook her head. If asked, she’d have guessed it was the other way around. Something in her expression put a frown on Rena’s face.

“You think you got my Joe pegged as some dumb hick.”

Diana shook her head vehemently. “No, I--”

“Joe’s got a degree in chemical engineering from Oklahoma State. He didn’t just sit on his butt and watch them oil royalties pour in.”

“That’s not what I thought,” Diana lied.

Rena cocked her head, and with a look that said she knew better, continued, “Winston got in some trouble with drink after his wife died. It hit him real hard. Then he joined the program, Joe became his sponsor and they got real close.”

“I thought these things were supposed to be confidential,” interrupted Diana. She hadn’t known about Winston’s wife, hadn’t known he’d ever been married.

Another sideways glance from Rena. “They are. Like my granddaughter’s rape. Trouble is they don’t stay that way. Anyhow, Joe opened up to Winston when Darren went to jail and lost his job. When Brandi started talkin’ about divorce, we jumped on it like a hen on a June bug. Joe thought maybe Winston could recommend somebody and he sure did—you. That man thinks most highly of you, Diana. That’s why it was so hurtful when you turned us down on the custody suit.”

Diana lowered her head and cupped the coffee mug in her hands. “I had no idea. Winston never said anything.”

“It was a couple years back. Maybe he forgot.”

“I don’t think so.”

Diana felt the vibration of her cell, took it out of her pocket and opened it. “Hey,” she said to Jess.

“Something’s going on down here,” said Jess in a low voice. “Keith just came home and he didn’t key in. School bus dropped him off and somebody opened the door for him. I’m in the back yard now.”

“You better get out of there,” said Diana. “You’re trespassing. That wasn’t part of the plan. Want to make Rogart’s day?”

“I’m gonna make his day one he’ll never forget. Hey…”

“What? Jessie, what?”

“I hear a kid crying,” whispered Jess.

“Keith?”

“Nuh-uh. A little one. Like as in…baby.”

Chapter 38

Jess listened for a few moments to the wails of a newborn. Then she quietly backtracked up the hill to the stand of ponderosa pines where she’d parked her car. For the first time, she actually regretted driving around that red beacon of a Camaro. As she put the car in gear and steered down the incline, a plan was stewing in her brain. She’d script it on the fly.

With the hill as a sound barrier, Jess started her engine and drove slowly around to the front of the Rogart house. She hesitated only a second before pulling into the driveway. As she parked, she reached down and checked the Glock in her ankle holster. Then she quickly rehearsed her line: Hey Darren, Diana told me about Pregnant Patty being safe with you. I just wanted to congratulate you and give you my bill for time and expenses. What? You need a payment plan? No problem.

The house was a gray ranch with an attached oversized garage—newer and more impressive than she’d expected. Damn dandy digs, Darren. How’d you manage that?

The tan Ford pickup that she’d come to associate with Darren sat parked in front of the garage. Jess’s urge to peek through a garage window was foiled. Literally. Goddamn aluminum foil over the window. Can’t see a fucking thing.

The house was quiet as Jess knocked on the front door, then leaned on the bell. Finally, Keith opened the door a crack.

“What d’ you want?” he asked.

“You must be Keith. I’m Jess, a friend of your dad. Is he home?”

Keith opened the door the width of the security chain and frowned at her. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I’m not allowed to open the door when I don’t know you.”

“I take it your dad is not at home.” Jess smiled at the boy. “Can you tell me when he’ll be back?”

Suddenly a teenage girl appeared behind Keith, then pulled the boy behind her. “Dad’s not home, Miss Edwards,” she said.

“You must be Lori.” Jess brightened her smile and extended a hand through the narrow opening, hoping Lori wouldn’t decide to slam the door on her wrist. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Lori looked at Jess’s hand, but didn’t take her up on a shake. “I know you work for my dad. I’ve seen you before.” Lori folded her arms and took a half-step back. “But he didn’t say anything about you coming by today.”

“He wasn’t expecting me. I just got some new information for him. I really need to talk with him.”

Lori took hold of the door knob, letting the chain go slack. She seemed to be weighing the legitimacy of Jess’s visit. Then an idea lit up her face. “Why don’t you just leave the information? I’ll give it to him.”

“I could come back.” Jess half-turned, pretending to weigh some heavy news. “It’s just that time is important in this…matter.”

As Jess turned back toward the door, she saw Keith tugging on his sister’s arm. “Maybe she found Trisha,” he said.

Found Trisha? I thought she was here. Scratch that. If she was here, she’d be at the door finding out who I was, not leaving it to the kids.

“Trisha’s with Dad,” said Lori between clenched teeth. “You just forgot. Or you’re making up stories again.”

“I am not.” Keith pulled angrily away from his sister. “And I didn’t forget.”

Jess looked expectantly at Lori, but the girl’s eyes were unyielding. “If you have something for Dad, you can leave it with me,” she said.

“It’s in the car,” said Jess. “I’ll go get it.”

What the fuck do I have in the car? She’ll obviously read whatever I leave.

Jess had just started down the steps when the baby tuned up again and sounded off like a couple of battling alley cats.

“Trisha had her baby?” asked Jess, wheeling back toward the door. “Boy or girl?” she asked, as if ready to share the joyful news.

“Girl,” said Keith before Lori could yank him away from the door. Then she slammed it abruptly in Jess’s face. No amount of hammering could get her to open it again.

Chapter 39

The longer days of March stretch fingers of light through the Ponderosa pines that grow on either side of the road. Once he leaves the highway, the Hunter’s silver truck glides along the well-maintained dirt road.

“Are we almost there?” Trisha whines, spoiling his reverie.

“Almost,” he replies, the soul of patience. Bitch couldn’t wait to get away from her kid.

He tries to concentrate on her positive qualities. The elasticity of youth has quickly put Trisha’s body back in shape after childbirth. Sooner than he’d expected. He won’t have to endure much more yapping from her pretty mouth.

“I’m getting hungry,” she says.

He darts a smile in her direction. “So am I.”

“I meant for food.” She nudges him in the ribs. Sometimes she’s not completely clueless. But her areas of expertise are limited. “You’re sure there’s a good restaurant there?”

“The best,” he lies.

“It better not be no fast-food crap.” She squirms in the seat like a two-year-old.

He knows by now that the rocks and trees bore her. She grew up in the mountains, and only the promise of an A-rated fancy restaurant tempted her to accompany him. If she knew anything about this area, she wouldn’t have been so easily fooled.

“I’ve gotta pee,” she complains after a while. “Bad.”

Worse than an infant. He grinds his teeth as he pulls over to the side of the road, then reaches across her and opens the passenger door. “Go ahead.”

She looks at him incredulously. “In the bushes?”

“Sorry.” He shrugs at her and smiles, hoping she doesn’t squat in poison ivy. He wonders how long a reaction might take to develop. Probably nothing to worry about. Her shelf life is about up.

“It’s not funny,” she pouts. “Stop laughing at me.”

As she stalks away into the trees, he opens the duffle bag on the floor and removes a syringe and vial of George’s Ketamine. A special treat for Trisha. He thumps the syringe, ridding it of air bubbles.

He’s smiling as she returns. “Whew. That’s better,” she says as she gets into the truck. “What’s that?” She eyes the syringe, not a trace of suspicion in her blue eyes.

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Special K.”

“But, a shot?” She draws back, doesn’t like needles.

“Much quicker. You’re gonna love it.”

This puts a smile on her face. She even rolls up her sleeve for him. It’s only a matter of seconds before she slumps against him, unconscious. He moves her to the seat behind him in the king cab. The ensuing quiet is delicious.

He savors the remaining minutes of the drive as enthusiasm for his current project fills him with an adrenalin rush and fades his disappointment in the blemished redhead.

Knowing that the black and the redhead are out there asking a bunch of questions only heightens his excitement. They’re like beautiful birds trailing his breadcrumbs. After all, the best part of the hunt is the stalking, the maneuvering of the prey.

Too bad about the redhead─a waste. Not entirely. She’ll bring the black straight to him. Then, when she’s served her purpose: Burn, baby, burn. The runty Latina is just a little piece of ash now. He chuckles at his own humor. Too bad there is no one to appreciate it. Yet.

But soon he looks forward to sharing the fruits of his project, which he’s convinced surpasses his mentor’s major coup. He shoots a backward glance at Trisha’s motionless form as he recalls that it took Dr. Ara a year to finish Evita’s preservation. Too bad the doctor was so obsessed with her persona that he never realized what he had in the process. A shame the man’s been dead these many years and will never see his unknown pupil’s work.

Well, maybe not. Unless something’s been lost in translation, he doubts that he and his unsuspecting mentor are of a mind. The irony makes him smile as a vision pops into his head: Ara thrashing in his grave. Is it horror or jealously that moves him? The Hunter laughs aloud. It doesn’t really matter; he doesn’t believe in an afterlife.

Smugness overtakes him as he imagines his studio full of glass cases containing examples of his special art form. Soon the current crop will be ready to share with an elite group. Thanks to Shane, his untraceable website is already sending out feelers.

By the time he reaches the lodge, only a hazy glow tops the mountains to the west. Soon darkness will enfold him and his workshop like a familiar blanket.

As he lifts Trisha’s limp body from the truck and walks toward the front door, he feels a welcoming presence.

I’m home, Brandi.

Chapter 40

“The kids are not going to let me inside the house,” said Jess to Diana. “At least, Lori won’t. I think I had a chance with Keith.”

They sat over coffee in a Starbucks in Littleton, where they’d agreed to meet on the evening of their respective discoveries at the Flannigan and Rogart residences. “You’re sure Darren wasn’t really there and just didn’t want to face you?” suggested Diana. “You said his truck was there.”

“The one we know about.” Jess took a drink, licked cappuccino from her lips, then glanced up at Diana. “I know you’ve been pulling for Darren to be the good guy. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way.”

“Look, after what Rena Flannigan told me, I’m ready for anything. She had no idea Cutler was involved with Lori.”

“Hey, you didn’t─”

“Name names? Of course not. But I got a totally different picture of Rena this time. She seemed totally credible.”

“So Rena gets Joe off the hook, and we’re left with Cutler and Darren. Maybe they’re the unholy twosome and no tradeoff was involved,” mused jess.

“Rena obviously believes in her husband, but what if her trust is misplaced?”

Jess rolled her eyes. “You just don’t give up, do you? You think I didn’t want Dare to be Mr. Right, too? Cutler’s a factor in this thing, all right, but his thing is young chicks. Read my lips, Diana. We are not young chicks, in case you haven’t looked lately.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Diana growled. “And just as I was feeling a little better about this old bod. Hey, thirty-five is not old. What about the old buds? Thirty-five would be young to them.”

“Ah, the old fart factor. I really don’t think they’re involved in this. Whatever this may be…” Jess trailed off, as if in deep thought.

“What is it?” asked Diana.

“What if videos of women─porno flicks─was what this is all about? He’d want a product for every perverse taste, wouldn’t he?”

“He, meaning?” Diana beckoned a response from Jess. “Are you conceding that Shane Cutler may be working alone? He seduces Lori. Films their activities in the cabin. Larry Strickland comes along. Shane kills Larry and lets him take the blame for Lori’s rape.”

“But Brandi Rogart’s prints are in Larry’s truck. That lends credibility to Custer County’s theory that she’s still alive and may be Larry’s killer.”

“I forgot. But that doesn’t rule out Shane’s making sex flicks.”

Jess nodded. “That much tracks. But that’s as far as it goes. You’ve never even met him. You and I don’t factor into an equation in which Shane Cutler is the sole player.”

Diana applauded. “Wow. You sound just like a real detective.”

“Okay, be a smart-ass. But if it wasn’t for one thing, I’d guess Darren is HUNTER 2 and he and Shane are a team.”

“What’s that one thing?” asked Diana, struggling through muddy emotions, trying to detach from Rogart completely. Yes, she’d only think of him as Rogart, not Darren. Depersonalize and conquer.

“Blondie said whoever bought Larry’s truck paid for it by check. And the check cleared. That rules out Darling Dare. He doesn’t even have a checking account.”

“How do you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Maybe Penelope Strickland flat-out lied to you,” suggested Diana.

“I don’t credit her with that much smarts.”

“So, back to Trisha. Why would she leave her baby? Do we call children’s services? Scratch that. We have no reason to think the baby’s in danger. We haven’t even seen a baby.” Diana’s frustration wrinkled her brow, deepened the faint lines between her eyes as she plumbed for a solution.

“You want to see a baby?” Jess’s face lit up with a solution. “You go to the house. The kids know you. I’ll bet they’ll let you in.”

Diana hesitated. “I have another idea,” she said. “We need to get a welfare check on the Rogart kids. But I’d just as soon not have my name connected to it. We’d never get another peek at them if it got back to him.”

Jess nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right.”

Diana’s face brightened suddenly. “I know somebody who might help us out. A woman in the D.A.’s office. I’ve worked with her on a few cases. And last week I took on a guardian ad litem thing for some poor little rich kids at her request. I think she’d lean on Douglas County if I can convince her there’s a real situation here.”

“What if Darren snows them like he did us? Note, I said us. I was just as much the fool as you, Diana.”

“Thanks, I needed that. You always know how to cheer me up.”

“Do I hear a growl coming on?”

“No, it’s okay. If Plan A fizzles, we’ll go to Plan B.”

Chapter 41

It was completely starless dark when Diana reached Rogart’s home in Franktown. Jess’s instructions had been easy to follow, and Jess would not be far behind her. She hoped. The skinny curve of a crescent moon teetered among clouds, barely distinguishable in the moody March sky.

Now that she was actually approaching the house, Diana had giant misgivings. The original plan─the sensible one─had been executed the evening before. She’d called Marge in the D.A.’s office and requested a welfare check on some children in Franktown. The Rogart children and an unidentified infant. When Diana hadn’t received news of the outcome by the following afternoon, her patience had frayed. She wondered if the welfare check had even been performed, but didn’t want to call Marge. Giving her request such high priority might elicit too many questions from Marge.

Now that she’d set Plan B in motion, she doubted the wisdom of not giving Douglas County a bit more time to get the job done.

The shadowy form of a nocturnal animal skittered across the road as Diana turned into Rogart’s driveway. The tan truck she’d seen him drive to her house sat where Jess said it had been when she’d been there.

The front of the house was dark. Maybe they’re watching TV. Diana glanced at the dashboard clock just before she shut off the ignition. Eight-thirty. As she opened the car door, the sound seemed inordinately loud to her ears. What did it matter? She was about to go up and ring the doorbell. Still, she felt like a sneak. As much as she wanted to safeguard these children, this mode of operation was foreign to her. Discomfort from it chafed her like a hair shirt as she eased out and quietly closed the car door.

She waited a moment longer, watching for any sign of life from the residence. The nearest neighboring house was all but hidden in trees across the road. This observation increased her anxiety. The area wasn’t set out in city blocks, but small parcels of several acres each. How could he afford a spread like this? The house and those she passed on the way were definitely upscale. Then she remembered Rogart had told her that Joe held the mortgage. Maybe Joe had wanted the best for his Brandi.

Nervously, she glanced up at the rocky, pine-crested hill behind the house where she expected Jess to be. Hopefully, she’d kept pace, although Diana hadn’t seen the red Camaro in her rear view for some time. She watched a moment longer for approaching headlights, then surmised that Jess would have turned hers off as she positioned herself.

Her cell vibrated. As she unfolded it, she could make out Marge Lane’s name and number. “Hey, Marge, how’s it going?”

“Just got a call from Douglas County,” said Marge in her low, husky smoker’s voice.

“What did they find out? Was the baby all right?”

“Yeah, they said so. No sign of child neglect. The dad wasn’t home, but they said the daughter seemed a perfectly capable babysitter for her baby sister.”

“She passed the baby off as her sister?”

“Nope. Didn’t pass off anything. Showed the deputy a birth certificate.”

He’s the father? The sting of betrayal sent a rush of blood to her cheeks. Why should I care how many lies he tells?

“Diana, are you there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The birth certificate lists Patricia Strickland as the mother and Darren Rogart as the father. The house was clean. Food in the fridge. The girl said her dad would be home soon. Everything looked A-okay.”

“How’d she explain where the baby’s mom was?”

“Said she and their dad went to the mountains. Diana, what’s your connection with these people?”

“I’m not free to say right now. I promise I’ll fill you in when I’m sure of my facts. I owe you, Marge.”

“Don’t mention it. Just keep up the good work you’re doing for the Clifford kids.”

“My pleasure. I’ll take as many of those as you can send me.”

As Diana folded the phone and stuffed it into her pocket she hesitated. If she’d just waited a while longer there would have been no need for this unannounced visit. But she was here and someone inside the house may have seen her. It would look too weird to turn around and leave now. With a nervous shiver, she climbed the gray slate steps to the front door, sorting through the discrepancies in Darren’s stories, wondering how much of the truth Keith and Lori knew. Her sensible self told her that men often opt out of admitting paternity, not into it.

She felt the quiet of the March evening like a presence as she hesitated at the front door. At eight-forty Lori and Keith would still be up. Doing homework, perhaps. Would Lori be embarrassed to see her after the lipstick incident? More to the point, did Lori even know about the incident? Was it a sick way for Darren to express his displeasure at her refusal to give him legal advice?

Diana touched the inside pocket of her winter coat. Her prop, the Brandi Flannigan trust instrument, lay tucked inside─her lame excuse for being there.

Summoning all her courage, Diana rang the doorbell. As the melodic sound of chimes hit her ear, a completely irrational thought hit her brain: Maybe he’s a vampire. That’s why he’s out roaming around at night, leaving his children alone.

As the door swung open, Diana felt her heart plummet. She forced a smile onto her face and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt.

“Diana, what a pleasant surprise,” said Rogart.

Chapter 42

Diana had expected one of the kids to answer the door. Now, she didn’t know why. Darren was bound to be home some of the time. She glued the forced smile in place, then toned it down a bit. Not too friendly.

“Hi, Darren. I was hoping I’d catch you at home.”

He grinned broadly. “Come in. I love surprises.”

Oh, what big teeth you have, Grandma. She slapped the words right out of her mind. Jesus!

Diana wavered at the threshold. Darren cupped a warm hand under her elbow and steered her through the door. She could feel the heat from him through her winter coat. Or was the heat her own?

The interior of the house reminded her of Joe Flannigan’s, but the Rogart home was newer. Then her eyes locked on the near-life-sized painting of Rogart on the back wall of the entry hall. She tried not to stare, but…forget it. The hunk hunkered over his kill in a mountain meadow. His hands held up the head of a huge bighorn ram. The scene of the crime that sent him to jail? Was this the ram? And more to the point, how could he be so brazen as to display it in his home?

“It’s great, isn’t it?” said Rogart. “Although I think it may flatter me.”

Not very much in love with yourself. “Uh-huh,” replied Diana. “You commissioned it?”

Rogart laughed and shook his head. “I’d never be able to afford something like that. It was a gift.”

Diana read the artist’s signature in the lower left hand corner of the portrait: A. Cruz-Ramos. She nodded and smiled, thinking A. Cruz-Ramos had to be a woman.

As she walked into a living room that was more trophy-logged than Flannigan’s, she asked, “Where are Keith and Lori? I’d like to say hello to them.” Her left hand fumbled with the trust papers in her coat pocket.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Rogart stepped forward and proceeded to help her out of her coat. She didn’t correct his assumption, but followed him back to the entry hall where he hung it in a closet.

Diana peered into a large dining room. An eagle mount watched her from atop a red oak gun case. So much for preserving the endangered. Another observation struck her like a bullet: Felons are not permitted to own firearms. The glass front on the case revealed an assortment of long guns and pistols. Her mouth opened in protest, but she quickly clamped it shut. Don’t go there.

“Where are the kids?” she asked again.

“At a sleepover,” said Rogart.

“A thirteen-year-old and a ten-year-old at the same sleepover?” she blurted. “On a school night?”

Rogart laughed. “Not hardly. Different sleepovers.”

He’s ignoring the school night part. A tide of discomfort rose in her throat. Her cell phone was in the outer pocket of her coat. The coat now hung in Rogart’s closet. How could I have explained hanging on to it? Just in case I needed to call nine-one-one?

“Can I make you a drink?” he asked.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” she spit back, too quickly.

“I don’t drink alcohol, Diana,” he corrected. “I’ve got a slew of natural concoctions from the health food store.”

“There’s a health food store in Franktown?” Again, too quick. Too nervous. Damn!

“What is it, Diana? I feel like I’m being interrogated.” He didn’t wait for the answer she didn’t have. “I stock up when I go to Denver.”

Diana lowered her eyes. “Sorry, Darren. It’s been a hard day at the office. I just ran across your trust instrument and realized that I hadn’t mailed it back to you. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced. It’s in my coat pocket.”

She thought she caught a slight narrowing of his eyes as he asked, “I thought you said you’d taken it home.”

“I discovered I was mistaken. It was at the office, so you see─”

Whatever she wanted him to see was loudly preempted by an infant’s wails.

Darren Rogart smiled broadly. “That’s why you’re here. I’ll go get her.”

Diana stood open-mouthed for a second, then followed Rogart down a hall that branched off the dining room. She glanced quickly into the rooms she passed that had open doors. Some didn’t. She could only wonder what lay behind them. The hallway was decorated with hunting scenes and a couple of small animal mounts.

The baby’s wails notched up in volume, and Rogart lengthened his stride, pausing briefly to switch on a hall light. Then he opened one of the closed doors. “Come on, Diana.” He beckoned to her, his face reflecting a pride and happiness she hadn’t seen there before. The emotions were incongruous with his situation as she knew it.

He’s beaming like a new father. If he really is the father, I’d think that would be the last thing he’d be doing.

Diana, still a few paces behind Rogart, heard the baby’s cries subside and turn to gurgling coos. As she peeked into the nursery, the first thing that struck her was the hunting theme repeated. Even in the baby’s room. The stuffed animals that topped table and chest of drawers were real animals. Stuffed. Mounts. A raccoon, a skunk, a baby possum. The furniture was new-looking. Of varnished pine. There was no hint that it was a girl’s room.

“May I present my daughter, Fawn.” It wasn’t intoned like a question. As he held the tiny girl toward her, she felt her knees go weak.

One touch and you’re a goner. Every rational ounce of brainpower told her that the situation was unreal─fraught with physical and emotional peril. But instinct was stronger than intellect. She held out her arms and cradled the tiny squirming baby girl in them. The precious rosebud of a mouth opened and closed, making sucking noises. As she bent closer, a tiny hand flailed out and brushed her face, sending a rush of blood to her cheek.

“I think she’s hungry,” Diana told Rogart. She stepped out into the hallway. “Where’s her mother?” She asked the question that had brought her here. But her instincts were in full flight from the place. She wanted desperately to just take the child and run.

Rogart looked back at her, that eagle’s gaze of his still giving her goose bumps in spite of what she knew─or suspected. Then he smiled enigmatically and replied, “She’s sleeping.”

“Her baby was crying. No mother could sleep through that.”

Rogart lowered his head, then steered Diana toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can give Fawn her formula. Trisha wasn’t interested in breast-feeding. Afraid it might ruin her body. How’s that for selfishness?” He shook his head. “Hers is a different generation from ours.”

The kitchen was as tailored and immaculate as the rest of the house, so far. It held none of the small, warm touches she’d observed at Flannigans’. It was as if no woman had ever lived there. She would’ve loved to have gotten a peek at Lori’s room.

Rogart took a bottle of formula from the fridge, put it in a saucepan on the stove to warm. Diana watched his movements. He seemed entirely engrossed in being a dad.

“I hope your friends at the sheriff’s department gave my parenting a thumbs-up.” He said the words with a smile on his lips that did not match the expression in his eyes.

Diana did her best not to hyperventilate. Why did it surprise her that he knew? How could she have overlooked his law enforcement connections?

“I got worried when Jess told me about stopping by and finding a new baby in the house, but no adults.”

“You could have called me. I’d have set you straight.” His voice was neutral as he tested the baby’s milk for temperature.

“You could have called Jess and told her that you’d found Trisha,” countered Diana. “Then she wouldn’t have needed to go to your house.”

“I was sure you’d tell her,” he said. Then, instead of showing anger, he beamed broadly. “I know you think I’m a bad father. You’re just doing…what you do. I’m glad to have the chance to prove you wrong.” He held out the bottle of formula to Diana. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Hand him the baby and get the hell out of here. It’s what Jess would’ve done. Instead she held the infant closer and accepted the bottle from Rogart. Then she eased herself into a kitchen chair. Fawn gurgled a couple of times, then settled onto the nipple, her tiny mouth like a suction cup. She was indeed a beautiful baby─unwrinkled, pink-skinned. Plump little arms. The warm, sweet smell of baby powder enveloped Diana like a drug. She reminded herself that babies didn’t always smell so sweet. More often than not, they were poopy or wet. Or both. Did he make sure she was clean because he was expecting me?

“I don’t resent your checking up on me,” he said as he removed a plastic juice bottle from the fridge.

She blinked at him, her expression less than cordial as she watched him take two glasses from a cupboard and fill them from the bottle.

“Honestly,” he continued, “it’s better to be overly caring than indifferent.” He placed one of the glasses on the table in front of her.

Diana frowned slightly as she looked back at him. “Darren, if you know I initiated the welfare check, then you also know I’m aware of the baby’s paternity. And you just presented her to me as your daughter. Why did you…mislead me…before?”

Rogart lowered his head, as if shame kept his eyes from hers. “I didn’t mislead you.” He took a sip from his juice glass.

Diana’s hold on the baby tightened involuntarily. She willed herself to relax. “I know you didn’t specifically say you weren’t the father, but everything you said implied─”

“I’m not the biological father.”

“Then why is your name on the birth certificate?”

Chapter 43

Rogart took his time in replying, as if he were weighing the words to explain the contradiction. Diana waited.

“This may not come out right,” he began. She didn’t help him out. “Fawn’s biological father is dead.”

She filled in the gap of silence quickly. “Why should that influence you to put your name on the birth certificate?”

“It didn’t.” He shook his head sadly. “Trisha listed me as the dad.”

“She could’ve put down ‘father unknown.’”

“But that would lead to assumptions. And the father was known to her. She didn’t want his name on the certificate. She didn’t want her daughter growing up knowing she was the product of incest.”

“Larry…”

He nodded.

“Isn’t that a pretty big load to take on when you’re having trouble supporting your own kids?”

Rogart moved closer, touched baby Fawn’s head gently. “I think I’m up to it. If I know Trisha, she’ll move on and never look back. My kids…my other kids are already attached to Fawn. I can’t let them know the truth. They might accidentally hurt Fawn with that knowledge some day.”

Diana felt the baby stop suckling and wriggle in her arms. She looked down and saw that Fawn was sleeping. “But you just told me,” she whispered.

“Because I know you’ll never do anything to hurt Fawn. Or any child. I know you, Diana.”

“What if your paternity is challenged? DNA testing will prove the baby’s not yours.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Who’s going to challenge it? Larry Strickland is dead. Someone would have to come forward and claim to be the father. You know, like with Dannilynn, Anna Nicole’s baby?” He shook his head sadly. “No one wants this child but me.”

She felt her throat tighten with emotion. To relieve the feeling, she took a small sip from the glass in front of her. Who wouldn’t want this baby? “Not many men would do what you’re doing,” she finally said. As the words left her lips, she felt a wave of vertigo disrupt her equilibrium. With one arm still cradling Fawn, she grasped the kitchen table.

“Diana, what’s wrong?” Rogart’s brow puckered as he moved toward her.

His face danced before her eyes, not quite in focus. “I’m not sure,” she answered. It was as if all her conflicting feelings were on a collision course within her head.

Then, as suddenly as its onset, the dizziness was gone. Rogart’s face hovered near her own. The intensity of his gaze was no longer disconcerting, but seemed to reflect genuine concern for her welfare.

“It’s alright. It’s passed…whatever it was.” She shook her head when he offered the glass of juice. “No thanks.” The thought of a cold drink was unappealing. But she smiled up at him as she felt the baby’s warmth through her sweater.

Rogart smiled back, then reached down and touched her cheek. “I knew I was right about you,” he said.

Though the dizziness was gone, a feeling of confusion remained with her, like an aftertaste. Have I been so paranoid that I’ve misjudged this man? Am I still mired down in postpartum depression?

The sleeping infant’s warmth infused her being. It felt so right, holding this child. It felt so…permanent.

Shock waves ran through Diana as she considered this possibility. She quickly rose from the chair, careful not to jar the child. “I have to go.” Her hands shook as she handed Fawn back to Rogart. She saw him watch the trembling that intensified as their hands touched when he took the baby.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You look a little queasy. Did you have dinner?”

She hadn’t, but nodded anyway. Lying could become addictive, she thought. But the idea of consuming food in his house made her nauseous, in spite of her changed perception of him.

Rogart walked her to the door. She got her own coat from the closet and put it on. As she felt the bulk of the trust papers, she withdrew them and put them on a table. “I almost forgot,” she said sheepishly.

“I will see you again,” he said simply. She had the feeling that he’d have kissed her if he hadn’t been holding Fawn. “Call me when you get home,” he said. Shifting Fawn to the crook of his left arm, he leaned toward her and pecked her lightly on the cheek. “Promise me you’ll call when you get home.”

She nodded as she twisted the door knob. Part of her wanted to reach back and touch the baby again. Another part of her ached for more of Rogart. She hurried through the door without looking back, as fresh, cool air filled her lungs. Had it really been so stifling in there? The house was clean to a fault, but something unfamiliar that made her think of disinfectant had crept into her nostrils and overpowered the baby powder scent. Diaper pails went out with the advent of disposable diapers, didn’t they?

Diana drove with the windows partly open. But her head didn’t clear completely. Visions of what could be, if she let him into her life, charged at her out of that dark corner of her mind where she’d stuffed all the baby things. The dead baby things. The nursery, the stuffed animals, the furniture that she hadn’t had the guts to watch being carried away.

What could be? She felt the baby in her arms. Her mind raced ahead. First tooth. Preschool. First day of kindergarten…

Brakes screeched. Diana blinked and saw that she’d just run a stop sign. Observing that she hadn’t provoked road rage in the other driver, she pulled to the side of the road, rolled up the car window and tried to gather her wits.

Why was she fighting Rogart off now? Had her whole perception of him been erroneous? He wanted to see her again. He’d confided in her, made her part of the secret they would both carry to protect an innocent child. Why did this terrify her more than the thought that he was a womanizing liar? Was she programmed to expect deception from her partner?

I will not be this person. I have choices.

*****

As Diana let herself into her house, then reactivated the security alarm, she had regained some sense of calm. Life with Rogart and his children was a possibility she might allow herself to explore. Then she remembered that he had a wife out there somewhere. Maybe. Brandi Rogart could be a fugitive from justice. And when she was apprehended, what kind of man would Darren be if he didn’t stand by his wife?

Diana looked in the fridge. Even the smell of food turned her off. Like when she was first pregnant. Tig rubbed around her, begging. She pulled off pieces of leftover roast chicken and put them in his dish; then she went upstairs to shower.

As she pulled sea-green satin pajamas from a bureau drawer, she eyed the bedside phone. His request for her to call him was probably just a courtesy. He really didn’t expect her to call, did he? But it was thoughts of Brandi Rogart out there somewhere that kept Diana from picking up the phone.

*****

At first she thought the jangle of noise was an alarm clock. Morning already? No, much too dark. Through a haze came the realization: she didn’t have an alarm clock. As she reached for the phone, her hand encountered something warm and moist. She flipped on the bedside lamp and recoiled. “Damn it, Tigger!” The half-eaten remains of a field mouse lay on her satin comforter.

The phone rang again as she missed a beat. In the lamplight she scanned the caller ID box. Unknown. She picked up the phone, not even attempting to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Hello.”

“You didn’t call,” said Rogart, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Diana let her breath out slowly, hoping he wouldn’t hear the ragged edge to it.

He continued before she could formulate a response. “I thought maybe…it was because…you knew…” He seemed to grope for words. How un-Rogart, she thought.

“Knew what?” Annoyance constricted her throat.

“I can’t lie to you anymore, Diana.”

“Lie about what?”

“I know you felt it.”

Felt it? All the wrong connotations came tumbling through her thin veneer of propriety. Diana curled under the warm, slippery, satin sheets, and imagined Rogart in her bed. Damn!

“Darren, what are you trying to tell me?” She hoped she kept the desperation at bay. Was his wife back? That had been her last conscious thought before drifting off: Don’t make plans, even in your head. He still may have a wife out there.

“You knew she wasn’t here. Like you said, no mother could ignore her baby’s cries.”

Diana straightened up in bed, now fully awake. “You’re talking about Trisha?”

“She was gone when I got home yesterday. The kids said somebody picked her up in a truck.”

“Wait a minute.” Diana reprocessed Marge Lane’s call. “Your kids told Children’s Services that the baby’s mom was with you.”

“That’s right. They told Jess the same thing when she was here. They were afraid that if they told the truth, Fawn would get put in foster care. That’s my fear, too.”

“But you’re the father, at least on the birth certificate.”

“Without a mother in the home, the picture changes. You pointed out some of my problems. I’m not sure my home would pass muster without Trisha. And the DNA. What if somebody did decide to compare mine to Fawn’s?”

“Have you reported Trisha missing?”

“You know as well as I do that they won’t take any action until she’s been gone forty-eight hours. She’s barely eighteen. Sombody’s decided that’s an adult. Go figure.”

“Is there a chance she’ll call you? She can’t just abandon her baby.”

“That’s what I love about you, Diana. You never think the worst of anybody.”

Did he just say…love? Diana shook her head. An expression, nothing more.

Rogart continued, “Believe me when I tell you Fawn is lucky she wasn’t dumped in a trash can. What can you expect? Trisha’s parents never showed her the simplest affection. She doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. She won’t call. She didn’t even take the cell phone I got her.”

“You’ve got her cell?”

“Sure, but─”

“Check out the incoming calls. Find the last number she called.”

She heard him sigh. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he said. “I’ll get it.”

In the few moments of silence that followed, Diana tried to think of what she would have done in Rogart’s place. She could find no pat answer.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he finally said.

“Try me.”

“Joe Flannigan. She called Joe’s land line. Maybe I was right all along about Joe and Larry.”

“But with Larry dead, we’ll never know for sure, will we?” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the gossip Jess had brought back from Westcliffe, about his wife being alive. He’d probably already heard it.

“Neither of the girls would give me a straight story.”

“Girls? Plural?”

“Lori and Trisha,” he replied. “Trisha gave up her dad as the baby’s father, but she won’t talk about Joe. I was trying to build her trust. She’s looking for a father…a real one. My guess is Joe let her down on that score. So she ran again. I can’t imagine why she’d go back to him.”

“Neither can I,” replied Diana. “You’re claiming that Trisha looked at both you and Joe as father figures?”

“Sure. What did you think?”

Diana determined not to touch that one. “You do know your daughter wasn’t with Larry? What are you doing about Shane Cutler?”

“Part of what Jess is feeding you is crap. I can’t do a damn thing about Shane. Lori won’t cooperate. The doctor says not to press her.”

“You’re getting help for her? What changed your mind?”

“You did,” he replied.

He seemed to have answers for everything. And they made sense. Could Jess be just acting out the woman scorned bit? Diana sighed as she thought of something else.

“What?” asked Rogart.

“I have to let the authorities know about Trisha. I should’ve done that when you first told me. I’ll go through my contact at the D.A.’s office.”

He didn’t reply. Diana twisted uncomfortably in the sheets.

When he finally answered, his change of tone jarred her. “Fine, Diana. Do what you have to do. But Fawn won’t be here when they come for her.” His voice held about as much warmth as a piece of granite.

“Wait, Darren. That may not necessarily happen. I’ll do what I can─”

“Then give me a couple of days,” he pleaded, emotion flowing back into his words. “Listen, Joe’s got a cabin in the mountains above Evergreen. I know where it is. Trish may be there. Go with me. Maybe we can resolve this thing, then we could go to the authorities together. I could get proper custody of Fawn, if Trisha doesn’t want her. I’ll do whatever it takes. Is that too much to ask?”

What was a couple of days? The baby was safe, although Trisha appeared to have made another bad choice. “I’ve got court tomorrow. I should be clear for the next day. But you shouldn’t wait. Just go check it out yourself.”

“If Trish is settled in, she’s not going anywhere. She doesn’t have that many options. I’m not really excited about going up there alone.”

“Make a call. What county is the cabin in? Should it be the Feds?”

“She might not even be there. I’d really like you to come with me, as a witness.”

Diana twisted a length of hair as she vacillated. She felt she’d used up her options with Marge. One more wild goose chase might seriously damage that relationship. Darren didn’t need to know that, though. “Have you been to this cabin?” she asked.

“No,” he answered without hesitation, “but Brookvale’s so small, I’m sure we can find it.”

Chapter 44

He pictures the blonde bimbo on the stainless steel table. Out with the old blood, in with the new. Better than blood. Plastic tubing takes the old, brownish stuff down to the drain below the table. They were all dirty inside before he cleansed them. The new, clean fluid fills them and makes them truly, fully his. Satisfying. Peaceful, even.

The Hunter watches them in his head as he drives. He doesn’t need sleep when he has them to draw on. It soothes him to relive the process and savor pictures of perfect, naked women waiting for him at the lodge.

He can’t wait to see the finished Asian project. Her fluids have already been replaced with Dr. Ara’s special concoction. Well, perhaps not exactly like Ara’s, but close enough. As close as available research could bring him.

Now she’s in the incubator where her flawless form receives a series of paraffin infusions. This trip should do it. Her new home is ready. He’s proud of his unique design that suits her ethnicity. What was that old saying about people who live in glass houses? No worry on that score. It concerns people who live in glass houses.

He chuckles and wishes he could share his humor with the women. On second thought…

The winding drive through the pines of Upper Bear Creek Valley heightens his anticipation. To relax, he relives the sequence of events that brought him such good fortune: the ideal workshop, close enough that the commute is doable, yet off the beaten path and possessing a modesty that lets it merge with its surroundings.

When he considers the proximity of the creekside mansions that dot both sides of the narrow highway up from Evergreen, it’s impossible to relax. The rush is nearly as overpowering as the act itself─the taking of a specimen.

If he hadn’t met Arlette so soon after her husband’s death, if he hadn’t been obliged to deliver the dead husband’s last order, a deer head with a puny rack, he’d still be operating out of his garage. Anthony Ramos had been a wannabe hunter, probably didn’t even shoot that little buck. Who cares? The grieving widow was ripe for the plucking, but for his taste─overripe.

Arlette has other attributes. Her generosity is boundless. Next to the lodge, her most endearing gift to date is sharing her knowledge of Dr. Pedro Ara’s preservation process with him. As his Spanish is deficient, he owes Arlette big-time for her patient translation of Dr. Ara’s books.

How can he repay his benefactor? Not with what she wants from him. In his opinion, it’s much too late for that. He has to have something to work with, and Arlette is way past her prime. No need to be cruel, is there? He smiles as the Ram pickup continues its effortless ascent up the winding road toward the lodge. She’ll never have to know.

More good fortune: Arlette’s slow-moving M.S. has reached the point where she can’t drive up to check on his progress in converting the lodge to a wildlife museum. There had been some close calls when she’d popped in unexpectedly and almost come face-to-face with Brandi. The thrill of imminent discovery was about as wild as it gets. But he can’t afford continued indulgence in this brand of danger─the Brandi brand.

One wrinkle─he expects Arelette’s lawyer to ask for some paperwork on the non-profit the Hunter is supposed to be setting up. That could prove troublesome unless he gets himself a new lawyer. Or stalls until Arlette no longer needs one. He’s almost sure she’s left the lodge to him in her new will. Almost. As long as there’s doubt, he must proceed with caution where she’s concerned. He has yet to come up with a means to defuse her plan for an artist colony in Brookvale. He’s the only artist the town needs.

He parks the truck behind the lodge and sits for a while, as he reviews his project debut─a bunch of hits on the site. Now he knows there’s interest in his product. One of the hits presents a problem he’ll have to fix. Soon.

It galls him to think of them as product. But one has to be practical. He smiles at the realization: he’s one of the lucky few who loves his work─to death.

Like strippers in a club, other applications reveal themselves to him. Ones that mandate strictest confidence from potential clients. If only he’d had this knowledge way back when O.J. had his problems. There’d have been no mess, no collateral damage, no trial. Just a beautifully-preserved trophy wife. He can’t resist another chuckle here.

He wonders how many other celebrities would pay big bucks for such a fix.

Time to check on his handiwork. He gets out and slams the door of the Ram. As he mounts the log steps of the two-story lodge, he shouts for all the trees and rocks to hear, “Trisha, I’m home. Are you ready for me?”

Chapter 45

When Diana’s phone rang again, it was morning. She was already awake, and had been since Rogart’s call. An itchy-twitchy feeling plagued her. Accepting Rogart’s invitation to drive up to a cabin he claimed was Joe’s didn’t seem quite right. Brookvale wasn’t an all-night trip. She’d looked it up on MapQuest. Just west of Evergreen. Maybe they’d find Trisha and persuade her to come back and raise her child. But would that really be a good thing?

Diana picked up the phone after the third ring, hoping it was Rogart canceling out.

“Goddammit, Diana,” barked Jess. “When were you going to call me back? What the fuck is going on?”

“Jess, ohmigod.” She’d completely forgotten that she’d left Jess sitting on the hill above Rogart’s house. “I’m so sorry.”

“I watched you leave Darren’s. I followed and saw you almost get into a wreck on Santa Fe.”

“Why didn’t you call my cell?”

“I did. You didn’t pick up. I just got your voice mail.”

Diana grabbed for her cell on the night table, flipped it open. A frown puckered her brow. “It’s turned off.”

“I guess you didn’t want to be disturbed.” Bark turned to purr that was half-growl.

“I didn’t turn it off. At least, I don’t remember… Maybe I did by accident.”

“I’d think the first thing you’d do after you got out of there is call me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” replied Diana. Alarms were going off, but she was squelching them. “A lot has happened.”

“So, tell me,” ordered Jess, her pissed-off tone not easily dislodged.

“Trisha has run off again. She left the baby with Darren. Somebody in a truck picked her up, but the kids didn’t recognize the person…or didn’t see them…or…” Diana realized that she’d failed to ask Darren a bunch of pertinent questions. She’d do that on the way to the cabin.

“Did you see that there actually is a baby?” asked Jess.

“Well, it could have been a recording of a baby’s cries coming from behind a closed door.” Ask a dumb question and what do you expect?

“Diana!”

“Of course I saw a baby. Do you think I’m a complete idiot?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that. None of us is truly complete.”

Diana, sitting cross-legged on the bed, made a face at the phone receiver, then continued in a quasi-normal voice. “The last person Trisha called was Joe Flannigan. She left her cell phone behind. What do you think about that?”

“I think if Flannigan had picked her up, the kids would’ve recognized their own grandpa’s truck. What do you think about that?”

“He could easily have more than one vehicle. Remember when we were tossing around the idea that he might have another house somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you come up with anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Joe’s apparently got a cabin near Evergreen. We’re checking it out tomorrow.”

“What do you mean we? I’m following up on something else and it may take me a couple of days. Looks like Darren is involved with a lady up in Evergreen. While I was waiting for you, I was busy on my trusty laptop.”

“I meant we as in Darren and me.”

“Makes sense he would want to find Trisha since he seems to be stuck with the kid. Why doesn’t he just call Children’s Services?”

“He’s on the birth certificate as the father.” Diana thought about sharing the rest, but the time didn’t seem right.

“Birth certificate? How old is this kid? I thought it was a newborn.”

“She. She is a newborn. Maybe a couple of weeks.” Diana pictured Fawn’s tiny, plump body and rosy cheeks.

“You don’t get a birth certificate in a couple weeks, Diana. Even I know that. It takes a month to six weeks. If there’s a birth certificate, that means the kid was already born when Doubtful Darren was chowing down at your place.”

Chapter 46

On the way from her scheduled court appearance, Diana ran into Marge Lane in the corridor. Or rather, Marge grabbed the sleeve of her suit jacket.

Diana, satisfied that she’d just done a good job for her client, felt her adrenalin rush evaporate as the events of the semi-sleepless night before weighed in on her. She’d been about to pass Marge by, hadn’t even seen her before the tug on her sleeve and the gravel voice in her ear.

“Diana, wait up.”

“Hey, Marge, just the person I wanted to see.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Marge cocked a salt-and-pepper head and gave Diana an appraising look. “You look bushed.”

“No kidding. Kind of a rough day yesterday,” replied Diana, groping for a way to lead back into the Trisha thing. She didn’t have to.

“Anything to do with that welfare check on the kids in Franktown?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The women drifted slowly out onto the wide porch of the courthouse where they found a quiet corner. Imposing gray pillars sheltered them from the chill March air.

“You never did tell me what your connection is,” reminded Marge as she slid into a black overcoat.

“It’s a long, convoluted story, Marge. But I have reason to believe that the kids at the house lied about the baby’s mom. She’s a missing teen from Custer County.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Marge looked annoyed, then lit up a cigarette she took out of a pack from her coat pocket.

“I’ve no excuse,” replied Diana lamely.

Marge eyed her, a puzzled look on her face. She lit up and took a long drag on her cigarette.

“I honestly thought the girl was in a safe place. Safer than her home environment had been,” continued Diana. “But now I have reason to believe she may have gone back to…an abusive situation.”

“Her home?” asked Marge, a troubled look on her thin face.

“No. I got a tip that she might be with a Joseph Flannigan in Evergreen. Or near there. Brookvale, maybe.”

“Brookvale?” Marge stifled a cough.

Diana suppressed the urge to snatch the cigarette from her hand and stomp on it. “That’s the information I have. You know anything about the area?”

Marge shook her head. “What about the baby?” she asked.

“As far as I know, the…father’s providing adequate care for her. If it’s not too much trouble, you might give the guys in Custer County a heads-up.”

Marge rolled her eyes. “You ever been to Custer County, Diana?”

“No.”

“I mean, take the sheriff’s department, it’s small and understaffed. And I’m being kind.”

“This missing Strickland girl, she’s part of another case,” said Diana. “That one involves a kidnapping and rape. It’s where my involvement started. There’s an ongoing federal investigation. At least, I think so.” Diana purposely left out the part about the murder of Trisha’s father and the suspected incest. No need to completely overwhelm Marge.

“Just a couple of details you forgot to tell me?” Marge’s tone was now less friendly. A gust of wind carried her second-hand smoke into Diana’s face. Diana tried unsuccessfully not to cough.

“I have the name of the federal agent in charge in a file back at the office,” said Diana, after clearing her throat of Marge’s smoke. “I could email it to you when I get back,” she eyed her watch, “which should be in just a few minutes.”

“Why don’t you make the call to the feds yourself, Diana?” Marge looked at her through narrowed eyes.

“Because I really don’t want to get caught in the middle of this,” Diana sidestepped. If Flannigan was the heavy after all, this would set him off big-time.

Marge seemed to consider her explanation. “Sometimes you get a rotten apple for a client. Is that what happened?”

“Something like that. But Marge, I don’t─and never did─represent any of the people involved here, though I’d really appreciate it if my name was not mentioned.”

To Diana’s relief, Marge stubbed out her smoke and tossed the butt into a nearby receptacle. “I’ll do it,” she said, “on the condition that you keep me in the loop if you get any further information.”

“Thanks, Marge.” Diana squeezed the woman’s arm, picked up her briefcase from the stone porch of the courthouse, and then headed down the long flight of stairs that led to the street.

Chapter 47

Diana smelled the perfume as she entered her office suite. White Diamonds. Eleanor’s brand. Her eyes tripped over the back of a woman sitting in one of the burgundy-upholstered chairs in the waiting area, then latched onto Tamara’s helpless, wide-eyed glance.

Eleanor was in mid-sentence before she shifted at the sound of the outer door. Diana heard “…and then, Maui. I’d hoped for Paris, but maybe…” Her mother turned in her direction.

“Mother, what a surprise.” Understatement of the day. No. Of the year. Diana was much too tired for surprises.

Eleanor got up, did the hug-and-kiss-the-air thing. Diana was too embarrassed to pull away in front of Tamara.

“Diana, I have some news. Don’t look like that. It’s good news.” Eleanor winked at Tamara. Apparently she’d already been the recipient of the “good news.”

Diana shuddered at the thought.

“Can we go into your office, dear?” asked her mother. “Later, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Oh, jeez, I’ll bet it’s her psychiatrist. She’s going to get him to fix me.

Eleanor marched ahead, toward Diana’s office, like she knew where she was going.

Diana mouthed at Tamara, “She’s been in my office?”

Tamara rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Well?” said Diana, closing the door behind them. She tried to paint a look of at least civility on her face. The last thing she wanted was a family fight in front of her secretary.

Then she noticed the expression on Eleanor’s face: the nearest thing to joy she’d ever seen there. Eleanor waved her left hand in Diana’s face. Her third finger bore the burden of a huge diamond solitaire. If Diana knew carats, she’d have guessed this was several. What sins was Daddy expiating with this gift, and why did it put such a glint in her mother’s eye?

“I’m divorcing your father.” Eleanor spoke the words with gusto.

Diana blinked, and noticed for the first time that her mother’s wedding ring was gone. The big rock sat all by itself on her mother’s perfectly-manicured hand─gloating, no doubt. If a rock could gloat.

“You’re…excuse me, I thought you said…divorcing Daddy?” She stumbled over the words, rocks in her tired brain’s path.

Eleanor drew back dramatically. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I…I’m speechless.” And that was no lie. “What happened, Mother?”

“You did, Diana. Our last visit. Well, I’d hardly call it a visit. But you really made me think.” Eleanor took a deep breath. “I have options.”

Diana stood there nodding like a bobble head, a stupid grin on her face. “Stock options?”

“No, of course not.” Eleanor looked lovingly at the rock. “I’ve got Kenneth.”

“The boy-toy?” Oops.

“Dear, he’s only five years younger.” Eleanor whipped her wallet out of her alligator handbag and flipped it open. “Here we are. See, he’s neither boy nor toy.”

Curiosity overcame Diana as she eagerly grabbed her mother’s wallet and examined the picture. A pleasant-looking man with a head of steel-gray hair stood with his arm around her mother. He appeared about Eleanor’s height, a bit thick through the middle─not as handsome as Daddy. But they both looked happy.

“Well, Mom, looks like you lucked out after all. And you actually look younger than he does.” Jeez! Were these words actually coming out of her mouth?

“It wasn’t luck. I think it was fate.” Eleanor smiled, a dreamy look in her eye. “He’s not as wealthy as your father, but we can live comfortably.”

On whose money?

“On your settlement?” Diana blurted, the cynic in her raising its ugly head. “I assume you got a good one.”

Eleanor shook her head. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I made up my mind, with Kenneth’s encouragement, of course. Then I thought about what you’d do in my situation. How you’d handle it. Then I told him…your daddy…to shove it. He didn’t have a thing I wanted.”

“No, Mom,” Diana’s eyes bulged. “Not after all those years you put up with him. You didn’t sign anything yet, did you?”

“But I did.” Eleanor still didn’t look worried.

“You were under duress,” countered Diana, shifting into lawyer mode. “We can get it thrown out.”

“Diana,” Eleanor began slowly, as if speaking to a backward child, “I do have assets of my own. Over the years…well…I’ve accumulated a certain…amount of security.” Here she paused and unfamiliar fire shot from her eyes. “Do you think I’m a complete fool?”

My mom, the embezzler? Who more deserving than Daddy?

Diana remembered Jess’s words: “None of us is complete.”

She hugged her mother and listened as Eleanor giggled like a school girl.

“We’ll be married as soon as the divorce is final,” continued Eleanor. “We’re taking a little trip to Hawaii now, to celebrate my freedom. I arranged this stopover in Denver, so I could tell you. We want to take you to dinner tonight.”

Diana felt her last bit of energy flowing away, bath water down the drain. “Mom, I’m happy for you. Honestly I am. And I do want to meet Kenneth. But I’m so tired. Could it be on your way back, instead?”

Eleanor looked disappointed. But only for a moment. “We’ll make it a date. I’ll call you when we’re getting ready to head back.”

“Good, Mom. It’s a good thing. I feel it.” How tired she was really brought tears to her eyes, but Diana batted them back. If Eleanor noticed them, she didn’t say anything. They did the hug thing again.

And as Eleanor swept grandly from the office, Diana noticed the absence of dead animals hanging from her mother’s body. She has on a cloth coat!

Diana heard voices through the office wall, then the outer door closed. Wasn’t this what she’d hoped for since…she couldn’t remember since when. There were so many things she wanted to ask her mother, bitter chunks of gall that tainted this evolving relationship. Could they really be a normal mother and daughter? Could they shed the baggage of the past? Would she shatter their new, fragile bond if she asked: Why did you let him make me do things I didn’t want to do?

Chapter 48

Lori threw her school books down on the dining table and picked up the ringing phone without looking at the caller ID. She went into major shock when she heard Shane’s voice. “I saw your mom on the internet,” he said. He didn’t even ask how she was. Or ask if she missed him. Or say he missed her.

She hadn’t spoken to him since that last day at the cabin, when he went out to find them a place to stay. If he really loved her, wouldn’t he have found a way to get in touch, at least get a message to her? More than six months, and no word. She’d seen his wife in Denver last month and the cow was pregnant again. Some divorce.

She was about to slam down the receiver when his voice snagged her like it always used to do. “Lori? You there? Don’t─”

“What do you want?” She flattened her voice, crushed all the feeling out of it.

Then his words echoed back at her: “I saw your mom on the internet.”

“That’s not possible.” Again her finger hovered over the end button. He finally calls, and it’s to talk about her mom? Forget it. If her mom was out there somewhere and didn’t call her own family? Double forget it. How could he be so totally cruel as to make up a lie like that?

Lori pressed end and slammed down the receiver. Then she grabbed it up again. But he was gone. A flood of tears burst from her eyes as she clenched back audible sobs. No one must hear. No one must know.

“Who was that on the phone, hon?”

Lori jumped, then wiped away at the wetness on her face, hoping he hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t heard her dad come in through the door from the garage. “Nobody. Just one of those telemarketers.”

Her dad gave her a big hug. She hid her face in his jacket so couldn’t see traces of her lie. He saw everything. He even forgave her for not being raped. Now, on top of her other mega-sins, she’d just lied to him, but Lori couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. The name she’d loved now choked her and made her want to vomit.

She’d been shopping with Trisha for baby things in Denver when they both saw Shane’s wife in the store. Trisha knew. Lori had never told her but it was apparent she knew about her and Shane. “That could be you,” Trish had said. “Be glad it’s not.” Lori got sick on the spot and had to run and find a rest room.

Her dad let go her shoulders and gave her a big smile. “How’s Fawn?” he asked as he crossed the room to where the phone sat.

“She’s…great!” Lori tried to paint on a big grin for Dad, but he saw right through her.

“Hon, telemarketers don’t make you cry.”

He headed straight for the phone without even hanging up his jacket. She felt herself shrivel as she watched him punch the caller ID arrow. She couldn’t actually see what he was touching, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind.

Though her dad had never laid an angry hand on her, Lori began to tremble. As she watched him get whatever from the phone screen before turning back to her, she felt like a pup who’d just been caught peeing on the carpet.

“What did he want, hon?” Her dad’s voice was calm, not like he was mad or anything. Even as she registered his lack of emotion, it seemed…well…weird. Considering this was the guy who’d done it to her. And he was married. Most likely her mom had been right. Shane was not about to divorce his wife. If only she’d followed her mom out the window, maybe…just maybe… She covered her mouth with her hand and once more shoved back the scream that had been trying to escape for six months.

“It’s okay, Lori. I’m not mad at you for talking to him.”

She hung her head. “You should be.”

“No. He’s the one at fault. Just tell me what he said. I promise I won’t bark at you.”

“I don’t know what he really wanted. I hung up on him. Honestly, I did.” She looked into her dad’s eyes, this time wanting the truth to register with him.

Together, they crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen. Lori could see Keith coming through the back yard gate. Soon she and her dad wouldn’t be able to talk about the Shane thing.

“But what did he say he wanted? Was he trying to see you again?”

Her dad was really strong. He made himself sound calm so he wouldn’t frighten her. He must really want to knock the crap out of Shane. But now wasn’t the time for him to end up in jail…again.

Keith was almost at the back door. It was the rule. He was too young to know about these things. “Shane said he saw Mom on the internet,” she blurted, then saw her dad’s smile curl up like a dry leaf, leaving only his bare face hanging out with feelings popping out on it like pimples.

Chapter 49

Diana left her office just before noon, after a morning of minimal productivity.

The news of her parents’ impending divorce seesawed for attention between thoughts of her approaching meeting with Darren. She’d had second thoughts about the latter, but when she’d called him to cancel, she’d gotten his voice mail and had hung up without leaving a message.

The night before, bizarre nightmares of slaughtered animals had marred what was to have been her catch-up night of uninterrupted sleep. She felt like a zombie.

After she was already on the road, she thought to call Marge Lane. Maybe Marge had already spoken to Special Agent Benson. If Joe Flannigan had a cabin anywhere, the FBI would be able to access the information.

Diana pressed in Marge’s number as she drove─an activity she’d criticized in others. Fools talking, texting and driving at the same time. Now she was one of them.

“Hey,” said Marge. “I was going to call you. Didn’t get to talk to Benson, but another agent told me they’re not looking for Patricia Strickland as a missing person. She was a person of interest in that other case you mentioned, but now she’s not.”

Diana merged onto C-40 as Marge continued, “Should’ve left it at that, but you’ve got my curiosity up. I even called Custer County and talked to some kid that didn’t sound dry behind the ears. He said they’d put somebody on it when they had a man available.”

“Did he say they’d call you if they found out anything?” asked Diana.

“Oh, sure,” said Marge. “But I’m not holding my breath. Neither should you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Marge.”

A gauze of clouds muddled the front range as Diana continued on C-40 toward Golden. She’d agreed to meet Rogart at a taxidermy shop in Morrison.

As her route branched into I-70, bypassing Golden, she glimpsed Heritage Square on her right and was inexplicably drawn to memories of Greg and events they’d attended at the Victorian-style theater during happier days. More crap to cloud her judgment.

As she then grabbed C-470 south toward Morrison, Diana pondered the incongruity of Rogart’s farming out jobs now. She was surprised that he seemed to have more than he could handle.

Within thirty minutes of leaving her office, Diana pulled up in front of Gorman’s Taxidermy Studio. A black synthetic bear reared up in front of the shop, its outstretched arms giving new meaning to the expression bear hug.

Diana parked in the small lot next to Rogart’s tan Ford truck. The only other vehicle in the lot, a van, bore the shop’s logo. She turned off her engine and sat for a moment, wondering why she was really there. Her imagination, cut loose by her fatigue, meandered through a fantasy of herself on Rogart’s arm, entering a nebulous theater for a cultural function. She tried to imagine Darren Rogart in a dark suit and tie, but couldn’t quite bring it off. The vision wilted.

Or rather, the clothes on the vision evaporated. Diana grabbed her water bottle and took a long, cold drink. To really put a lid on this mood, she pulled out her cell and pressed in Jess’s number. Disappointed, she listened to Jess’s voice mail. She’d really counted on the grounding influence of exchanging some words with her friend. “It’s me. I’m in Morrison meeting Darren. Call me ASAP.”

As she entered the front door of the shop, she could hear the faint sounds of men’s voices, but didn’t see anyone at first. Display animals gaped at her from various angles around the room. A wave of distaste unsettled her further. It was as much from the odor in the room as from the sight of the animal mounts.

It was the same odor she’d noticed two nights before at the Rogart house, only stronger. She assumed that it must be something used in the taxidermy process. A shudder traversed her spine, echoing murky visions from the night before.

The male voices drew nearer. She could make out Darren’s laugh. So now he’s Darren again? She’d come to hate her own ambivalence.

“Hey, there,” he called cheerfully as he entered her line of vision from a back room. A stocky, pale man who appeared to be in his late forties followed.

Somehow, his greeting seemed off. “Hi, yourself,” she replied.

In two strides he was at her side, cutting short her greeting with a soft kiss. She felt his hands at her waist, then running down her hips. She was caught in the heady scent of him─musk and leather─that she was sure didn’t come from an aftershave bottle. But the flick of his tongue froze her desire with the snake’s image it conjured up. Diana held her jaw tightly closed.

She hadn’t been aware that her eyes were closed, too, until she opened them and saw a python mount leering at her from a side table. Maybe she’d seen it before and that’s what had imprinted her brain.

Rogart quickly wound up his business without introducing Diana to the shop owner. “I’ll have it ready for you next Thursday,” said the man, whose eyes wandered slowly over Diana, increasing her discomfort. She vowed that her first trip into a taxidermy studio would be her last.

As Rogart propelled her out of the studio toward his truck, she wondered about the lack of introductions. But perhaps none was appropriate in this business transaction. Why did she even remotely need this affirmation?

“It’s okay to leave your car here,” said Rogart as he led her around to the passenger side of his truck. Herb’ll keep an eye on it.”

I’ll bet he will. The idea of Herb─now he had a name─keeping an eye on anything didn’t give her warm fuzzies.

“I think I’ll follow you instead.” The words were sudden and unplanned, but now made perfect sense.

He looked disappointed. “I thought I’d have the chance to hold your hand on the way,” he said boyishly. A grin pulled at his lips, but his eyes were now unreadable behind sunglasses.

The lumpy ball of apprehension in her middle lurched. “Have you checked out the cabin yet?” she asked. “Do we know what we’re heading into?”

He squeezed her arm. “I was waiting for you,” he said as he opened the passenger door.

She backed off. “That’s damned considerate of you. Suppose we meet up with Flannigan?”

He nodded toward the rifle case in back of the seat. She could just see the edge of it. “I can protect you.”

Shit! That does it!

Diana backed away from memories she couldn’t quite reach without burning herself. “I’ll follow you,” she said with resolve. “In my own car.”

Rogart raised both hands, conceding to her. “Okay. I’ll drive slow.” His mouth smiled again. This time she was sure his eyes didn’t.

Just get the hell out of here ranted an inner voice. But her curiosity and concern for the errant teen-mother wouldn’t let her go safely and quietly home. She started her car while Rogart sat in his truck, engine idling.

Safe in her own vehicle as she followed him from the taxidermy shop, Diana felt that debilitating ambivalence churning around again. If you scratched the fact that he hunted and stuffed animals, he was physically everything she desired. Relationships are not perfect. Greg was a golf nut─well, maybe not anymore─and that had nearly bored her out of her skull.

That’s right, go for the packaging again instead of the man inside. See what it gets you.

Maybe just a quick sample?

Easy to imagine from the safety of her car. But why was Rogart’s hunting such a turn-off? She knew that every good man wasn’t necessarily an animal rights activist. Why indeed? She didn’t need Eleanor’s psychiatrist to figure that one out.

Chapter 50

When Jess finally got around to Googling Arlette Cruz-Ramos, the net disgorged volumes. The Texas-born artist earned kudos for her portraits of noted celebrities. Then, there was Arlette’s marriage to Argentine-born financier Anthony Ramos that had left her with a fortune on her hands when Anthony had died in a small, private plane crash. Died. That was the assumption. No body had been recovered.

Jess’s brain stuck on financier, private plane and no body; then she drew her own conclusions.

The list of hits was daunting. And, after a while, boring. Jess started to pull up only the ones that looked interesting. Pretty soon she was scrolling down the list with glazed eyes. None of the snippets of paragraphs contained reference to Rogart.

Then one lit up the screen: Arlette Cruz-Ramos done up like Evita? Anthony Ramos plans…

Jess quickly brought up the full article that predated Anthony’s death.

Jesus Christ! This is way sick!

Jess knew of Juan Peron, former dictator of Argentina in the fifties, and his wife Eva only because of the musical and later movie version of Evita. She knew Eva Peron had died young, of cancer, but the rest of it? That hadn’t been in the movie. The creep had his wife stuffed and mounted!

But, no. That wasn’t exactly it. Jess read on and learned that Peron had reportedly paid a Spanish doctor $100,000.00 to perform what read like an elaborate embalming procedure on Eva that left her lifelike after nearly fifty years. Anthony Ramos was looking for someone with similar skills to preserve Arlette, but unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on whose viewpoint one considered), Arlette wasn’t near death at the time the article was written.

Jess zipped down the rest of the hits on Arlette, giving them only cursory glances. Then she Googled the name of the doctor that had done the work for Peron. She was just getting started on this when her cell jangled.

“Edwards and Associates.”

“Hey Jessie, it’s Troy.”

Who? She could hear whoever breathing into the awkward silence.

“Troy Flack, Custer County Sheriff’s office? You said it was okay to call.”

Oh, Flack the plick. “Troy. Sure. What’s happenin’ my man?”

She heard the kid clearing his throat. Then, “I’ll be in Denver next Friday. I was hopin’ we could get together…a drink or…”

Was he even old enough to drink? She guessed so. He was a sheriff. She eyed the incoming number. It was not a Custer County area code. “I’ll have to check my schedule, Troy. Okay if I get back to you?”

“I’ve got somethin’ you might be interested in.”

I seriously doubt that. “Uh, Troy─”

“The Strickland murder and the Lori Rogart rape?”

This got her attention. “Yeah? Fill me in.”

“The Feds’ve been leanin’ hard on Mrs. Strickland and she come back just as hard with a name that didn’t make the short list.”

“Well, don’t just leave me hinging. Spit it out already.”

“Shane Cutler,” said Troy. “The widow Strickland thinks he was the one in the cabin with the Rogart girl, that her husband come along and caught ‘em at it and Shane killed Larry. Then Mrs. Rogart must o’ come along and maybe he did her, too.”

Did her? As in killed or fucked? Jess could hear her office phone ringing in the next room. She let it go to voice mail. “I thought Brandi Rogart was the prime suspect in Strickland, her prints and DNA being all over Strickland’s truck,” said Jess. “Now they think she’s dead?”

“Maybe,” said Troy.

“What kind of answer is that?” She was a hair away from hanging up on the kid.

“I might do better if you tell me why an ADA in Denver is interested in Patty Strickland,” said Troy.

“No idea,” Jess lied. “Come on, Troy. Tell me what you’ve got.”

“Could give you all the details next week. Over dinner.”

“Sounds really…nice…but…”

Jess’s call-waiting signaled. Winston’s number. “I’ll have to get back to you, Troy. What’s your private number? It doesn’t show up here.”

He gave her his number slowly, in a kind-of surly voice. By the time he finished, Winston had hung up without leaving a message. She pushed her favorite connection to Winston and he answered before a single ring had completed.

“Jessie, I just got a disturbing call from Rena Flannigan,” began Winston.

“Fine, thank you, and you?” Now Jess wished she’d mined Troy a tad more. Rena Flannigan wasn’t high on her priority list.

“I’ve had it with your sarcasm,” Winston snapped. Now she was afraid he’d hang up.

“Sorry.”

“The story of our relationship. I’m sorry, too. This isn’t about us. The FBI came to Rena’s door looking for Joe. She doesn’t have a lawyer, so she called Diana’s office, but Diana wouldn’t take the call.”

“That doesn’t sound like Diana.” Then Jess remembered. “She’s off on some wild goose chase with Rogart. They’re checking out a cabin Joe owns in Evergreen.”

“Joe doesn’t have a cabin in Evergreen.”

Like you’d really know if it’s where he stashes teenage girls. “Maybe near Evergreen?”

“The Feds are looking for Joe in connection with a homicide.”

“I’m not totally surprised. I knew he was a suspect in the Strickland thing.”

“Not that homicide. One of the other hunting buddies. A Shane Cutler.”

Jesus! “Did they take him in?”

“Jessie, he’s dead.”

“I mean Flannigan.”

“They don’t know where he is.” She could hear Winston’s snort of frustration. “Joe couldn’t have done this, given the time line.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know where Joe is. Where he’s been for the past month.”

Chapter 51

“The Feds think Joe’s become some sort of vigilante,” continued Winston. “First, Strickland because he thinks the guy raped his granddaughter. Then when he discovers his mistake, he goes after the man who did the deed.”

“Makes sense to me,” replied Jess.

“Except for the fact that he was in an alcohol rehab facility in Estes Park when Cutler was murdered. Joe fell off the wagon. That’s why he wasn’t showing up for meetings.”

Jess’s stomach did a nose-dive. “Who does that leave among the usual suspects?”

“Who do you think? Can you get hold of Diana?”

“I can try.”

*****

When Jess got off the call with Winston, she punched in Diana’s cell number. It went to voice mail. Shit!

Then she called Diana’s office and spoke with Tamara, who had the same information she already had: Diana was meeting Darren Rogart in Morrison. From there, they were scheduled to check out a cabin in Evergreen where Flannigan might have stashed Patty-Trisha Strickland.

“Wait a minute,” said Tamara after Jess’s third “Are you sure she didn’t say anything else?”

“I’m in her office as we speak. She has ‘Darren Rogart’ written on her calendar and under it ‘Gorman’s Taxidermy.’ That’s not a client. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“No, but it soon will. I’ll keep you posted. You do the same. You’ve got my cell?”

“Have it,” replied Tamara.

Before Jess headed out of her office, she remembered the call she’d heard coming in when she’d been on the phone with Troy. She quickly retrieved the message and heard Diana’s voice: “Call me ASAP.”

But she’d already called Diana within the last half hour. Jess pushed Diana’s cell number again. For the second time, it went to voice mail. “Diana, I’m calling you back─again. For Chrissake, call me!”

*****

Jess made the drive to Morrison in under a half hour, found Gorman’s Taxidermy with her GPS. A row of conifers hid it from sight until she was right on it. The small parking lot in front of the shop held only one vehicle, a Toyota van that was lettered in gold on its side with the name of the shop.

A quick check in back of the building revealed no other vehicles. Just a bird’s-eye view of the freeway. Jess walked back around, made a face and clawing motion at the stationary sentry on duty in front. You’re no Smoky the Bear. She entered the front door and called out, “Hey, anybody minding the store?”

“May I help you?”

Jess spun toward the voice. The man’s arms were full as he carried a moose head from someplace in the back of the shop. The dark moose hide made him look even whiter in contrast.

“I’m looking for a friend,” said Jess.

“I’m not he. Haha.” The forced laughter could have come from a mechanical device.

What rock did you crawl out from under? “A tall redhead. She was meeting a guy here. I’m pretty sure…”

“Ah, Darren’s friend.” He said friend in a way that made it sound like a dirty word.

Jess nodded. “Yeah, Darren’s friend. I take it they were here.”

Moose-man set his burden down on a table. “They were here. Haha.”

Somehow, What’s funny? didn’t seem appropriate. Jess attempted to duplicate the sound: “Haha?”

“I think Darren’s date…didn’t turn out like he expected.”

Jess peered at the doughy little man through narrowed eyes. “You think that because…?”

“Darren asked if the lady could leave her car here for a while. No problem for me. Parking’s not an issue. Don’t get many walk-ins. Haha.”

Eew. Go back under your rock. “I don’t see her car. It’s a white BMW.”

“Yes, it was. They talked for a while, then left. In separate vehicles.”

Jess frowned. “Did they go in separate directions?”

“Couldn’t tell.” Moose-man walked to the front of the shop, gestured through the window. “As you can see, the road curves. You can’t see beyond the row of pines. They could have gotten on the freeway, or continued up Morrison Road. Or each gone in a separate direction.”

“Haha,” said Jess as she headed out of the shop.

Glancing over her shoulder, more to see if the guy was picking up a phone─he wasn’t─she saw a puzzled look on his face. “Is that supposed to be some kind of black humor?” he asked.

Chapter 52

Diana trailed Rogart through the town of Evergreen. He slowed down just long enough to observe the posted speed limit. At the edge of town, he turned left and proceeded into a wooded stretch of narrow highway that wound upward through Bear Creek Valley. Among the trees that flanked the road, she could see occasional mansions dotting the hillsides. Then, they seemed to leave civilization as the houses became less frequent and the road more convoluted.

Although it was still early afternoon, Diana observed a darkening around her not fully explained by the thickening pine forest. She looked up through her sun roof and noticed an impending storm through a break in the trees. The flimsy gray clouds she’d observed when she left Denver had ripened in an angry sky.

She pulled to the side of the road and parked, relieved to see Rogart’s truck continuing around a curve ahead of her. The road followed the base of a large formation of jagged granite dotted with pines that seemed to protrude from solid rock.

A chill ran through her bones. She pulled an overcoat out of the back seat, then slipped into it, but the inner cold was still with her. Why hadn’t Jess called her back? She reached into her suit jacket pocket, felt around. No cell. Then she checked the overcoat, thinking maybe she’d put it in there before getting out of the car in Morrison. Not likely, but…where was it?

She was bent down, checking the floor of the car and around the console when she heard a tapping on her window. Diana didn’t immediately recognize the face that peered at her from under the hood of a yellow rain slicker. Big, wet snowflakes zigged and zagged in front of her vision. The spring storm had commenced in earnest before she’d been fully aware of its imminence.

“Diana, roll down the window.” Rogart’s voice? He looked different somehow with his head of beautiful silver hair covered by the rain slicker. Yellow wasn’t his color, she thought. But it wasn’t that. It was something in his eyes, now bare of sunglasses. It jolted her to remember that the sun hadn’t been bright when he was wearing them an hour or so ago. She hadn’t noticed. She’d once again been blinded by him.

His lips were smiling at her through the thickening veil of spring snow. He held up something in his hand and dangled it in her face.

A cell phone. Hers?

Then she looked beyond the phone, beyond Rogart to a spot just behind and to the left of her car, where snowflakes fell and melted on the hood of an idling silver Dodge Ram.

Chapter 53

Diana’s ambivalence toward Rogart vanished like a highway centerline in a blizzard. She didn’t need a second look at the Ram truck to know the license was HUNTER something. Depending on what connection Shane Cutler had with Rogart. If Rogart had Cutler with him, she was doubly in peril.

She watched the smug grin vanish from Rogart’s face as she threw the BMW into gear and wrenched it onto the highway, nearly knocking him down. She took satisfaction in seeing him scramble, the hood of his slicker falling away.

The BMW skidded, and in the moments it took her to complete a U-turn, Rogart had positioned himself in the road in front of her. She checked that all her doors and windows were locked, then tried to steer around him. He blocked her path and waved his arms for her to stop. He’d managed to put a smile back on his face. Then he shook his head and pointed toward the Ram truck. Was he trying to convey that he needed help? Ridiculous. She could see exhaust coming from the truck. It was still idling. But she couldn’t see whether anyone was inside.

Then she saw Rogart inching backward toward the parked truck, still smiling. The tires of her car spun uselessly in the sludgy snow and mud. He now stood abreast of the Ram. Both man and truck blocked her path, should she get her car in motion.

Throwing the car into reverse, then first, Diana rocked it several times. She imagined a look of amusement on Rogart’s face, hidden again under the yellow slicker hood. The snow had stopped. Fickle Colorado weather! As her car lurched forward, Rogart mocked her with applause she couldn’t hear through closed windows. His lips moved. Was he saying Bravo?

Diana floor-boarded the BMW. The car leapt forward. Rogart or the truck? She’d have to hit one to get by. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell her which. He dove for a ditch on the far side of the road. Through her rear-view, she could see him climbing out of the slush. One glimpse. Worth a thousand words.

Her plan was to backtrack to Evergreen, find a police station if the town had one, or at least some public place where she could phone for help. She’d been driving only a couple of minutes when she noted an obscure side road to her left that appeared to skirt the north side of the mini-mountain. No time or inclination to explore it, but at least it offered an explanation of how Rogart had been in front of her in a tan Ford, then ended up behind her in a silver Ram. The road must circle the mountain. Somewhere along the route another vehicle had awaited him.

At least the snow had subsided, but a deepening gray sky hovered over the area, choking off light. The storm was just taking a breather.

She opened the window, then drove faster than she knew was safe. The forest air smelled of wet pine needles, but somehow that odor had lost its freshness.

As she took curves and ruts at sixty miles an hour, Diana reasoned that she might as well die in a crash as to let Rogart catch her. She had her hands too full to analyze her fears, but one thing stood out. The kiss and the quick feel that didn’t really go anywhere. It went somewhere all right. Into her jacket pocket. Back at Gorman’s Taxidermy, Rogart had lifted her cell phone.

Chapter 54

Arlette Cruz-Ramos lived in Evergreen. Jess knew this from the woman’s biography found on the internet─artists of the twenty-first century. Diana and Rogart had been headed for Evergreen. Their paths may have split according to the strange little man at the taxidermy shop. But then again, they may not have.

Jess drove out of sight of Gorman’s, parked and then called Tamara who informed her that she still had not heard from her boss. Next Jess consulted her GPS for directions to the address listed for Arlette.

Some ominous dark gray clouds were descending on her from the western mountains. Jess recalled that the morning weather report had predicted snow in the high country that might spill over onto the front range. Might now appeared more of a certainty. Her Camaro would be next to useless in a snow storm. As bad as, if not worse than, Diana’s BMW. So why would she drive it into a burgeoning storm? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Diana was headed back to Denver. Why doesn’t she call?

Another thought: just because Jess had reception didn’t mean that Diana did. Maybe Diana didn’t have that Can-you-hear-me-now company.

As she pulled up to the iron gates that marked the entrance to the Cruz-Ramos estate, Jess’s cell vibed. “Diana,” she answered without looking at the caller number.

“No,” said Tamara. “It’s me.”

Jess’s whole being wilted. “Oh,” she said.

“Dr. Bell called, looking for Diana.”

It still amused Jess that Tamara held Winston, with his juris doctorate, in such high esteem that she always referred to him as “Dr. Bell.” She should see him in his boxer shorts at six a.m.

“I told him where you’d gone. He wants you to know he’s taking Mr. Flannigan in to surrender to the authorities. He’s pretty sure they’re going to charge him. Dr. Bell’s going on record as his attorney.”

“And Winston’s not calling me directly because…?”

“He did. He said he got a message that your number was not available.”

“I must’ve lost reception somewhere. Damn!”

“He gave me the information he wanted you to have,” continued Tamara. “He has to enter his appearance with federal court, get to Estes Park to pick up Mr. Flannigan, then accompany him to the Denver FBI office. He thought…he hoped you might have found Diana. You haven’t, have you?”

“Not yet. I’ll keep in touch.”

Snow flakes were falling at a good clip as Jess rolled down her car window so she could reach the key pad on Arlette’s gate. One button read Main House. She pushed it. Nothing. She pushed again, waited. Still nothing. Finally Jess held the button down for a full sixty seconds. When she let up, a falsetto voice that Jess could not positively identify as male or female was in mid-sentence. Chewing her out royally.

“I’m sorry,” said Jess without an ounce of sincerity. “I’m here to see Mrs. Ramos.”

“Mrs. Cruz-Ramos?” asked the voice.

Whatever. “Are you she?” ventured Jess.

Flustered garbles at the other end. Then, “Oh, dear no. I’m Roy…uh…the houseman.”

“Is Mrs. Cruz-Ramos available?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Jess took a deep breath. The cold seared her lungs. She wore only an unlined leather jacket over a medium-weight blue turtleneck and jeans. “No, I don’t have an appointment.” Her teeth began to chatter.

“I’ll check with Mrs. Cruz-Ramos. She doesn’t usually see people without an appointment. Did you know she doesn’t receive unscheduled callers?”

Would I be sitting out here in a blizzard if I knew that, asshole? Then she had a constructive thought. “I’m a friend of Darren Rogart. He’s meeting me here.”

“Just a moment, please.” Then…nothing. For more than a moment.

Shivering, Jess rolled up her car window, leaving only an inch or so at the top. Then she heard the sound of the gates grinding open. She quickly zipped the Camaro through the opening, skidding on the icy pavement as she did so. She hoped the guy wouldn’t change his mind and close the gates, making sandwich filling of her beloved red Camaro.

Inside the gates, Jess looked around the courtyard of a Mediterranean-style villa. Dry fountains adorned with…Is that what I think it is? A marble cherub on one held his small penis forth to descending snowflakes. Cold enough to shrink even a stone pecker.

Roy met her at the door. She knew him by his voice. “Walk this way, please.”

At least he’s not limping.

The man with the high voice stood perhaps six feet tall, but bent at the shoulders. And thin to the point of emaciation. He reminded Jess of a carving of Don Quixote.

Jess followed Roy across a vast foyer, past a winding staircase, into what appeared to be a library from the ceiling-high rows of books that filled one wall. Another wall was devoted entirely to wildlife art. Jess recognized some of the artists from work in Diana’s collection.

“Ms. Edwards?” a woman’s voice inquired.

The lighting in the room was dimmed by the thickening storm outside. Jess had to look twice to see where the voice came from. The woman came toward her in an electric wheelchair, its motor barely audible. She had apparently been watching Jess through an oval window that faced the front gate. A small pair of binoculars lay on an antique table by the window.

“I didn’t tell your…houseman my name,” began Jess. Fingers of discomfort constricted her throat. She had the sudden, inexplicable feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The dark red plush carpet and the walls, papered in a black-and-white scroll pattern, seemed like relics from a different era.

“You’re Darren’s friend. You’re black. You’re…beautiful. You must be Jess Edwards.”

The woman smiled, revealing perfect white teeth against light olive skin. Although her sentences were clipped, she had no accent, Texas or otherwise.

As Arlette drew closer, Jess could see the fine lines in her taut skin. The woman’s chiseled jaw line was either the legacy of excellent genes, or the work of a skilled plastic surgeon. While her onyx-black hair color surely came from a bottle, the brightness of her gray eyes gave her a youthful appearance. Nonetheless, Jess guessed her age at about sixty.

“So, Darren has mentioned me?” Jess began. This was so totally surprising that it knocked whatever planned spiel she had right out of her head.

In answer, Arlette threw back her head and laughed, a throaty sound, which in younger days Jess surmised would have been quite alluring. She could well imagine the woman’s husband wanting to preserve many of his wife’s qualities. There was nothing out on the net about her being terminal, but…the chair? She obviously wasn’t in the best of health.

“I have M.S.,” said Arlette, her expression sobering. “I can see that Darren hasn’t told you. From the way you’re staring.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was.” Jess felt an unfamiliar bewilderment.

“I was in remission for a number of years. So Anthony and I put it off.”

It? Jess watched Arlette cock her head, looking as if she expected a comment. Jess had none.

“I assure you, it’s not an uncomfortable subject for me. Nor should it be for you. Like you, I value the quality of my life.”

Like me? “You’re telling me this because…?”

“Because you’re one of us, of course.”

Chapter 55

“What do you mean, one of us?” asked Jess.

“You are kidding. Right?” Arlette’s brows arched, pulling at her thin skin.

“Is my friend, Diana one of us?”

A pouty expression claimed Arlette’s face. “I don’t know any Diana.” She cocked her head again and seemed to assess the situation. “I think Darren may be mistaken about you. I think you’re not who he thought.”

Jess’s curiosity took over, quelling her apprehension. “I’ll play your game. Tell me who he thought I was…and who you think I am.” Jess smiled sweetly. This old gal’s a certified nut case.

“I think you mean harm to Darren. You’re probably wearing a wire.”

“A…wire?” Jess raised an eyebrow. “Why in hell would I, for Chrissake?”

“You don’t need to curse.” Arlette wheeled her chair around so that she was facing the window. “The procedure is virtually unknown, but not illegal. It basically died with Dr. Ara. In this country, at least.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. It’s pretty much alive on the net.”

“If one knows what to look for.” Arlette picked up a phone from the table that held the binoculars. She pushed in a number.

“But, to be eligible for the procedure, one has to be more or less…dead.” Jess backed rapidly toward the door.

“Darren? I think you’d better get over here,” said Arlette on the phone. “Oh, good,” she added.

Jess turned the door knob. It seemed stuck.

Arlette returned the phone to the table and wheeled around to face Jess. “He’s already here.”

“Listen, lady, I don’t give a fuck about your assisted suicide. So, I’m not wearing a fucking wire. Okay?”

Jess gave the door handle a mighty jerk and this time it gave. She stood looking at Darren Rogart. He had a smile on his face and a cell phone in his hand.

“Your timing couldn’t be better, Jess.” His smile widened. Then he winked.

Anger gripped Jess. She clamped a lid on it, then asked through clenched teeth, “Where’s Diana?”

“Let’s talk,” he said softly. He motioned with his head, “out here.”

Arlette wheeled across the room, an anxious look on her face. “Darren, where are you going?” she bleated.

He stepped into the room just long enough to give Arlette a reassuring pat on the arm. “Be right back. I just have some business with Jess.”

As he drew Jess down the hall after him, his tight grip on her right arm pinched and made her want to smack him. He’d never figured out that she was left-handed.

Before she did any smacking or even thought of using the Glock in her boot, there was something she needed from him.

“Where’s Diana?” Jess demanded when they were back in the foyer.

Letting go of her arm, he put a finger to his lips and steered her toward the front door. “Let’s just go out to my truck.”

“The fuck you say. I’m not going anywhere near your truck.” Jess backed way rubbing her arm and weighing a bunch of unattractive options.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that Mrs. Cruz-Ramos isn’t all that stable.”

“She thinks you’re Doctor Death,” said Jess. “Are you?”

Rogart looked around before answering. She supposed it was to see if Roy was skulking in the shadows. “She’s delusional,” whispered Rogart, circling his index finger at the side of his head. “She has the idea I’m going to help her kill herself, then do her up like Eva Peron.”

“Darren…”

“Of course I wouldn’t do something like that. I wouldn’t even know how.” He laughed nervously.

Jess’s eyes narrowed. “Where would she even get the idea that you’d do it? And why would she think that I…” Jess felt an unfamiliar tremor in her voice.

He opened the front door. “Come outside a minute.”

Jess poked her head out. It actually looked like the snow was letting up.

“You don’t really think I’d do something like that, do you?” His eyes widened as his smile faded.

Jess shrugged. “Peron paid Dr. Ara a hundred thou for it back in the fifties,” she said. Rogart looked mildly surprised as Jess added, “But Eva was already dead.”

“Jess, come on!” He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her straight in the eyes as he continued, “Mrs. Cruz-Ramos…she wants me to call her Arlette…she’s a fine artist. But she’s going down hill fast. Why do you think Roy is here?”

“The houseman? They seem like a well-matched pair.”

“Roy’s not her houseman. He’s her nurse. She has dementia.”

Maybe, maybe not. “You’re evading my first question. Diana met you in Morrison. Where is she?”

He put on an Oh, that expression. “She’s at Joe’s cabin, trying to persuade Trisha to come back with us and raise her baby.”

Jess tried not to blink. “And what does Joe have to say about that?”

“Trisha says she hasn’t seen him since she got there.”

“How did Trisha get into the cabin?”

“What is this, the third degree?” he asked, the smile stealing back. “He keeps a key for her under a flower pot.”

How original. “How’d she get there?”

“I have no idea. I suppose she has friends, kids with wheels.”

As they rounded the side of the house, Jess saw the silver Dodge Ram. “I see you’ve got new wheels, Darren.”

“It’s Larry Strickland’s,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t you mean was?”

“Penny Strickland sold it to me cheap. That’s why I felt the obligation to help her find Trisha.”

They paused before the passenger side of the truck. “You never registered the truck?” Jess thought she saw just a flicker of something in his eyes.

“Penny didn’t want to report the sale on her taxes. She never actually signed it over to me.”

Jess backed out from under his hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what, I’ll follow you in my car.”

He laughed. “You’ll never make it in that little toy of yours.” He looked up at the roiling sky. “This storm isn’t over. It’s just getting started.”

Still she held back, knowing half of what he said was probably lies, but also knowing Diana might be counting on her.

“You want to see Diana, or what?”

Jess looked him up and down. They were about the same height. He was probably stronger, but she had the Glock and could probably get to it before he did her any damage. Probably.

He held the door open for her. Jess got in and slammed it after her, keeping her eyes on Rogart as he got in and started up the truck. The front gates swung open as they approached, then closed behind them. Rogart headed west into the mountains. As they left the populated area of Evergreen, he accelerated. The truck bumped roughly over ruts in the road, traveling farther into thickening forest coated with flimsy snow. Rogart’s quiet now unnerved Jess. They’d ridden in silence for several minutes when she pulled out her cell.

“Who’re you calling?” His tone was calm enough, but she caught something in it, a minute change in timbre.

“I thought I’d try Diana again.”

“Won’t do you any good. No reception at the cabin.”

She opened the phone anyway and pressed. At the same instant, Rogart accelerated around a wrenching curve, throwing her toward him. She bent away toward the passenger door, reaching down for her Glock. He braked suddenly, skidding to a stop. Over the screech of brakes, she heard a cell phone ring somewhere in the truck. As she glanced left, Jess saw his hand come out of his overcoat pocket. Hers was on the Glock when she felt something sharp pierce her neck.

Chapter 56

It took less than twenty minutes for Diana to get back to Evergreen. But it had seemed like an hour. She’d been so sure that Rogart would follow her. Was it possible that she’d nearly run down an innocent man? Crap. No way. She could imagine all the other things Jess would be saying about now.

She pulled into the parking lot of a bank and gathered her thoughts as she glanced at the car clock. Nearing 4:00 p.m. Did Evergreen have a police station? If it did, what would she tell them?

Rogart’s entire story to explain his relationship with Trisha Strickland didn’t track. Nevertheless, she’d bought it. At least, part of her had. But all the inconsistencies and things that seemed just a bit off paled by the sight of the silver Dodge Ram. That vehicle had been her nemesis since it had followed her from the gym in January. She’d assumed it had been Joe Flannigan driving. And she’d thought his motive was clear. He was pissed at her for not taking his case and, in his eyes, causing him to lose his grandchildren.

But with Jess on Colfax, it had been a different Dodge Ram. Different license plate. Damn! As she’d sped by the truck that was now connected to Rogart, she hadn’t had the proper angle to read the license.

The only thing that made sense was a connection between Rogart and Cutler, the computer guy. But Cutler was the guy Jess said had raped Lori Rogart. Maybe Rogart didn’t know. She still couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea of a father teaming up with his daughter’s rapist. Maybe it was some kind of internet porno scheme after all. They must be using Trisha. But, jeez! Why the video in her own bathroom? Jess was right when she said that they’d be looking for young stuff. Not thirty-something-year-olds. This line of thinking was going nowhere. She had to find a phone.

Diana pulled across the street, entered a restaurant and looked for public phones and restrooms. She’d thought of using the phone first, but by the time she saw the Ladies sign, she realized that she was about to pee her pants.

When she did use the phone, her first call was to Jess. Voice mail again. She next entered her own office number and Tamara’s voice brought her back from the twilight zone.

“Diana, we’ve been so worried,” gasped Tamara. “Jess and Dr. Bell have both been looking for you. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Now I am. I’m in a café in Evergreen, but I’ve got a bit of a problem. My cell phone’s missing, for starters.” She couldn’t believe how calm her own voice sounded in the relative safety of the restaurant, with phone contact to her world restored.

“That’s why they couldn’t get you,” replied Tamara. “There have been some developments in the Flannigan case. I know it’s not yours anymore, but you’ll be interested.”

“Go on.”

There was a brief pause at Tamara’s end before she asked, “Have you spoken to Jess yet?”

“No. I left her a message before my phone went missing. And I just left another. What’s this about Flannigan?”

“He’s being charged in the Larry Strickland murder and another one as well.”

“Another one?” Diana paused, looked around to make sure she was still alone. She suddenly felt trapped in the narrow hallway of the near-empty restaurant.

“It wasn’t a name I was familiar with. Some associate of Flannigan’s.” Tamara paused. “Here it is. Shane Cutler.”

Diana stifled a gasp.

“Dr. Bell is representing Mr. Flannigan,” continued Tamara. “He’s picking him up from a rehab center.”

“Flannigan’s in rehab?”

“They’re probably on their way to Denver as we speak. Something in this case has Jess and Dr. Bell very worried about you. I gave Jess the information from your calendar. I think she went to that taxidermy shop. She’s called a couple of times, but I haven’t heard from her in over an hour.”

“I’m going to try Winston now. I’ll get back to you,” said Diana. “If for some reason I don’t, let Jess or Winston know were I am. Is it snowing there yet?”

“No, it’s just really dark. You can’t even see the foothills. Do you want me to stay late?”

“No. Go on home. Wait, no. Stay until five in case Jess or Winston calls. Then go home. If I get hold of Winston, I’ll call you so you can relax.”

She could hear Tamara taking a breath, as if she was reluctant to say something. Then, “Diana, are you still with Darren Rogart?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Is he…around?” Tamara finally asked.

“I don’t know where he is.” She decided not to worry Tamara any more than she already had. “I’m okay. I’ll be back in touch.”

“Be safe,” said Tamara. Then they hung up.

Diana searched for more coins in her wallet, inserted them and punched in Winston’s cell number. Her call went to voice mail. Damn! “Winston, it’s me, Diana. I’m in Evergreen. I don’t have my cell. I think Jess is up here somewhere looking for me. I can’t leave till I find her. I’m headed for the local police, but damned if I know what I’m going to say when I get there. You were right about Rogart.” She hung up, then regretted the unsettling content of her message.

As she walked back to the dining area, the dinner crowd was beginning to file in. Crowd was an overstatement. At least there were a few people dining and waiting to dine. The restaurant was done in a mountain motif. A gas fireplace shimmered invitingly. She felt relatively safe there. The smell of food cooking reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but even the thought of food made her gag.

A matronly hostess with a wide, friendly face asked if she could seat her. “No, thank you,” replied Diana. “Can you tell me where to find the local police station?” As she watched the hostess’s smile fade, she wished she’d taken Jess’s advice and gotten herself a GPS unit.

“We don’t have town police,” replied the woman. “Jeffco Sheriff substation’s over by the library.” The woman gave her directions that Diana committed to memory. Then she had another thought. Brookvale had been Darren’s stated destination─the site of Joe’s cabin. It had looked really close to Evergreen on the map she’d consulted that morning. But during her drive behind Rogart, she’d seen no sign of another town.

“Wait,” she called to the departing hostess. The woman turned, the smile returning to her face, but this time it seemed more polite than friendly. “What can you tell me about the town of Brookvale?”

The hostess shrugged plump shoulders. “What d’ you want to know?”

“What’s there?”

The woman rolled her eyes upward, as if trying to recall. “’bout three acres or so of forest. It’s not exactly a town,” she began hesitantly.

“But it’s on the map.”

“’cause it was a stagecoach stop in the eighteen hundreds,” said the hostess. “It’s got a few historical buildings left, some cabins, but it’s not really a town. Whole thing got sold last year as a package deal. One of our locals bought it. I hear it’s being turned into an artist colony or some such cultural thing.”

Diana nodded and thanked the woman. A package sale seemed to rule out Flannigan’s owning a cabin there. One more lie for Rogart. Unless Flannigan had bought the whole town. But he wasn’t a local. And he didn’t seem the type to fund a cultural endeavor. If only she’d brought her laptop, she could’ve checked out the ownership.

The drive to the sheriff’s station took about three minutes. An anal-retentive sky was still holding back its burden of snow. Diana pulled up to the building and parked in one of the two visitor’s parking spots. She would go in and say…what? Start with Trisha’s disappearance? Then she remembered Marge Lane’s brush-off from the Feds and Custer County. Would anything likely be accomplished by reporting the incident with Rogart? Would her strongest complaint be that he stole her cell phone? She tried to imagine the next question. And her answer: It must have been while we were kissing. Of course, that was before I tried to run over him.

With a jolt, she considered the possibility that Rogart might be filing his own complaint against her. But where? There was no other vehicle in the substation lot. Why else would he have given up the chase? Was the chase all in her mind? Where was Jess?

Then she remembered that Jess had been going to interview that woman who had painted Darren’s portrait. The humongous paean to his overblown ego that hung in the entry hall of his home. The same woman whom Jess said was Rogart’s alibi in the Strickland murder. Arlette of the double sir-name. What was it? Cruz-Ramos. She could almost see the distinctive signature on the painting. Jess had filled in what the “A” stood for. One more reason to have a GPS.

She gave up on the sheriff’s station and drove next door to the library where she hoped she’d have access to a computer and the internet.

The library was small by Denver standards and nearly empty when Diana entered. A white-haired woman directed her to the public computers. There were two, neither in use. Diana logged in the necessary information, then typed “Brookvale” in the search field. What the screen disgorged was meager. She scrolled down and saw: Town sold to local artist… When she pulled up the entire article, she saw the name again: Arlette Cruz-Ramos.

She copied the article, then went on the Jefferson County site looking for Arlette Cruz-Ramos in Evergreen. While this site offered online information, she needed the property address to access it; so she looked Arlette up on Switchboard. The artist was listed, along with a map to her residence.

Before leaving the library, Diana emailed both Jess and Winston.

When she reached the Cruz-Ramos estate, it was 5:00 p.m. and nearly dark. The angry clouds indistinguishable in a dark sky now spit snow on her windshield. The wipers scraped, making an irritating sound. Not enough moisture to glide smoothly, yet just enough fine snow to require their engagement.

Diana pulled up to the closed gates and pressed the call button on the keypad. She had a speech prepared. But when she glanced beyond the gates, into the courtyard, the sight of Jess’s red Camaro parked inside knocked it right out of her head.

Chapter 57

A man’s unnaturally high voice answered Diana over the gate intercom. She asked for Arlette Cruz-Ramos.

“Mrs. Cruz-Ramos doesn’t receive unscheduled visitors,” replied the voice.

“I’m Diana Martin, an attorney from Denver here to see Ms. Cruz-Ramos on an urgent matter. Apparently she made an exception for my associate, Jess Edwards,” replied Diana crisply.

“She makes no exceptions.” His tone matched the outside chill.

Diana shivered, but remained firm. “My associate’s car is in your driveway. I can read her license plate from here.” Well, almost. Diana squinted through the snowy drizzle. She had no doubt that it was Jess’s car.

The next voice she heard over the intercom was a woman’s. “I’ll have to ask you to leave, Ms. Martin.”

“Are you Arelette Cruz-Ramos?”

“You must leave now, Ms. Martin.” The woman’s voice was overtly hostile.

“Not until I speak with Ms. Edwards.” This was so wrong. Even if Jess wasn’t there, why the hostility? Well, she was a stranger. And this was pretty far off the beaten track. The caution might make sense, if not for Jess’s car parked on the property.

“There’s no Ms. Edwards here,” replied the woman.

Diana thought of asking for Darren Rogart, but revisited their last encounter. She would like to hear the reaction this brought from the woman, but the risk of having him appear was too frightening. Neither of his vehicles was in sight, but that didn’t mean anything.

Oh, what the hell. “Is Darren Rogart there?”

Silence. Bone-chilling as the increasing snow. Diana imagined she could hear the sound of breathing, but decided it was probably the swelling wind that had commenced to scatter the loose snow.

Then, the woman’s voice again, “If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll be forced to call security.”

“Go ahead,” snapped Diana. “I’d welcome the chance to talk to them. Shouldn’t take a deputy long to get here from the substation.”

“I’m afraid you won’t find our security people as friendly as the local authorities,” threatened the woman. Then Diana heard a sharp click, as if the woman had terminated the connection.

Diana backed up, and then angled around to the side of the wall that surrounded the estate. Damn! If she just had her cell. The prudent thing to do would be to go back to town and report what had happened. Now she had something tangible. There was no way Jess would have left her car and gone somewhere else. And if she were inside the estate, there was no way she wouldn’t have made her presence known. Unless she’d been prevented from doing so.

What if she was wrong about the license plate? Just like there was more than one silver Ram with a vintage hood ornament, there were bound to be other red Camaros. She pulled her car close to the wall, shut off the engine and got out. If she could find an opening somewhere without setting off an alarm, she could confirm that the car was in fact Jess’s. As Diana crept along the outside wall, she heard a hissing sound above her. Psst!

She staggered back. Her heart lurched as she looked up into the man’s face. He must be standing on something, but he was definitely tall. Like a scarecrow. Or someone on stilts. His brown eyes under bushy brows looked as frightened as she felt. He touched a bony index finger to his lips. She nodded and swallowed the scream in her throat.

“She went with Darren Rogart,” he whispered, inclining his head toward the road leading away from the property. Diana swallowed again, trying to find her voice, blinked once. When she looked back, he was gone.

Chapter 58

Diana drove back to the sheriff’s substation, parked and entered the small concrete building. A deputy with a thick head of mouse-brown hair sat hunched over his evening meal─a bun with barbequed mystery meat on a paper plate. Beside him on the table sat a king-sized drink in a red-and-white paper cup.

Diana cleared her throat to get his attention. He belched in response.

Just go for it. “Is there someone I can talk to about a missing person?”

He turned toward her, wiping barbeque sauce on a red-and-white paper napkin as he did so. “I’m it,” he said. A bit of barbeque sauce clung to his bushy mustache.

“My name is Diana Martin. I’m an attorney─”

“Martin? Whoa, lady, hold it right there,” he interrupted.

“Excuse me?” Diana stepped back.

The deputy glanced down at a notepad on the table where he’d been eating. Then he got up, walked to the front window and looked out at her car. “And you just come from Mrs. Ramos’s place?”

“Yes, but─”

“You’re lookin’ for your friend who drives a red car.” Now he wasn’t asking.

“Yes, Mrs. Ramos has obviously called you.”

He gave Diana a knowing look, then returned to his sandwich. “Obvious you been botherin’ the woman.”

“I suppose she told you that my friend left with someone. That’s why her car is still there.” Diana felt futility setting in. “I can assure you, if my friend left, it wasn’t willingly.”

The chair scraped as the deputy stood up again. “Lady, they ain’t no red car at Mrs. Ramos’s and they ain’t no black gal there neither. Never was. You keep away from Mrs. Ramos or I’ll have to call for backup and run ya down t’ Golden for a sobriety test.”

“I’m not─”

“You just go on down to the hotel, check in an’ things’ll look better in the mornin’” He winked, reminding her of Rogart. “We don’t take kindly to folks botherin’ Mrs. Ramos.”

Diana bristled. “She’s lying. You said ‘black gal.’ I never mentioned my friend’s race.”

The deputy rolled his eyes at her, picked up the phone and punched. “Hey, Matt, I got me a problem. How long it take you t’ get somebody up from Golden?”

For a moment, she thought he’d relented until she heard, “I think I got me a harasser, a distrurber of the peace. Can’t rule out drugs or alcohol’s involved.”

As Diana backed out of the office, she saw him hang up the phone, a smug look on his face. Then he turned back to his meal.

Chapter 59

Diana climbed hurriedly into her car and drove next door to the library where the redneck deputy couldn’t watch her every move. She tried to sort through diminishing options as snow blanketed the car, and her rapid breathing quickly fogged up the windows.

At least she could scratch the possibility of Rogart having Cutler with him. If he had teamed up with Cutler, Rogart seemed the most likely candidate to have ended the association─permanently. But why? If Rogart and Cutler had some internet porn scheme going, why would Rogart kill his partner? What else was at stake?

Two missing women and two dead men. All with connections to Darren Rogart. Was Jess getting too close to the truth? Was that why he took her? Frustration brought Diana close to tears as she thought of poor Joe Flannigan. One of the missing women was his daughter. No wonder his behavior had been erratic. Then she started tabulating all the things Joe couldn’t have done. Probably the only thing the man was guilty of was being half out of his mind with grief.

She had to find a phone. Diana got out of her car and climbed the steps to the library door. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing it was still open. Inside, a half dozen or so people─mostly young─sat at tables or prowled the rows of bookcases. The librarian she had seen before dozed at her desk.

The computer area was unoccupied. She logged onto the closest machine and sent emails to Winston and Tamara. There was no time to wait for outside help. But at least she’d leave a record of where she’d gone and why.

Then she thought of the Rogart children alone and unsupervised. If she failed in what she was about to attempt and dropped off the face of the earth like Brandi and Trisha…and…no…don’t even think it…Jess…nobody was going to know about Rogart’s neglect of those kids. She couldn’t believe she’d once entertained the dream of helping him raise them. The thought that nobody was going to know the true face of Rogart was scarier than any physical danger.

Diana found a pay phone next to the computer area and left a concise voicemail message informing Marge of the situation and her concern for the Rogart children. Maybe Marge would help with both problems. Jeffco for sure was not going to come to the aid of some nut that had ruffled the feathers of their local celebrity.

Where could she get help right now? Still holding the phone, she looked at the strangers going about their business in the library, oblivious to her plight. She may as well have been invisible. A feeling of isolation permeated her being. She ached for a familiar face or voice. Then she entered Winston’s number. If she could just hear his voice, she might have the strength to go after Jess. Her call went to voicemail again. He was probably with Joe at the FBI office. She left another message in a small voice that sounded foreign to her ears.

Outside the library, she found a blanket of snow covering her car. She ducked inside to start the engine, then got out and brushed snow off as the defroster cleared the windshield. Snow still covered the side and rear windows. As she got back in the car, she had the weird feeling of entering a coffin.

She wished for that sense in birds and animals that told them where to go without sight or sound, some radar that would bring her back to the spot where she’d last seen Rogart.

The town was so quiet. Few cars on the streets. People headed to warm homes and dinner. Her stomach cramped at the thought. She reached over and opened the console, half-remembering the energy bar left there a week or so ago. She grabbed the bar, tore the wrapper off with her teeth as she drove slowly to where she remembered entering the town after fleeing Rogart.

The snow had moved east as she retraced her route as best she could. The energy bar was tasteless. Just as well. She reached down for her water bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a long drink.

There was not a doubt in her mind that the cabin Rogart had attributed to Joe Flannigan was really the property purchased by Arlette Cruz-Ramos. If Rogart had an accomplice, it was likely the Cruz-Ramos woman and maybe the skinny man as well. There had been a real destination that afternoon. But it was Rogart’s place, not Joe’s.

When she was following Rogart, she must have been almost there when some primitive inner radar had caused her to pull over and stop. The fact that Rogart had driven around the mountain and approached her from the east in another vehicle indicated the proximity of the destination.

She concentrated on the curves, turned up the defroster as the windows fogged up again. A hulking, naked deciduous tree by the side of the road rose up in her vision like an eerie hitchhiker. Her brain had sorted out that it was a tree before her body stopped trembling.

If the scarecrow with the high voice at the Ramos estate was an accomplice, why did he tell her Jess was with Rogart? Well, duh. She was doing exactly what Rogart wanted. He knew her. He played her like an instrument. He knew all the chords to strike.

She braked slowly to a halt, feeling the car skid slightly as she pulled to the side of the road. Ahead, the rock mountain seemed to close in on her.

The possibility that Jess and Rogart were not at Brookvale seemed remote. That she should follow his trail like an unsuspecting bird was so…not… Not what? Not smart. Not prudent. Not a hell of a lot of other choices. Jessie, I can’t just leave you.

Chapter 60

The soft jangle of his cell phone shatters the moment. The Hunter curses the intrusion as he moves away from Jess’s supine body and plucks the phone from the pocket of his jeans. Arlette’s number jumps out at him from the small screen.

“Yes?” He can barely conceal his annoyance.

“You said you’d be right back,” she reminds him.

His face twists as he mouths her words in silent mockery before he replies aloud, “What is it?”

“You need to know that a lawyer was here looking for the black woman.”

He takes a deep breath, steps into his jeans and pulls them up while holding the cell in the crook of his neck. “Probably someone the family sent. Was the situation resolved?”

“Roy has taken care of the car. But I have a question. Why would the lawyer refer to the black woman as her colleague?”

“You must have misunderstood,” he says. “Is the lawyer still hanging around?”

“She left, but if she was sent by the family members─”

“I’m sure that was it.” He curses again under his breath.

“Why can’t people just respect their loved ones’ decisions?” asks Arlette.

He aches to choke her and stuff her in the crematorium. He can’t wait for the day. He doesn’t know which irritates him more─her cloying or her stupidity. Has she signed the transfer papers for Brookvale yet? The question hangs, unasked. She’s probably not that stupid.

“It’s a sad situation,” he finally replies.

“She looks so…healthy,” Arlette comments.

He hates it when people try to elicit answers without asking questions.

When he doesn’t respond, she continues, “I said the black woman looks in good health.”

You should see her now. “She’s been in a lot of pain,” he replies. “Is there anything else?”

“I think the lawyer may have gone to the police. When I didn’t see her leave, I sent Roy out to look for her. He found her nosing around.” Arlette lowers her voice to a whisper. “He is becoming a problem. You need to talk to him. I’ve told him that he’ll be provided for after I’m gone.”

“I’ll talk to him. He won’t have any financial worries. Is that it?”

“I called the sheriff and told him that the woman was bothering me.”

Oh, great. “What did he say?”

“He called me back to say he’d sent her on her way with a warning. He said she seemed a bit off. He thinks she probably went back to Denver.”

“Good job,” he says before hanging up.

During his conversation with Arlette, his eyes are on Jess. Detecting no movement, he judges that the ketamine in her system will hold her until he takes care of the Diana business.

Downstairs in front of a window that gives him an unobstructed view of Brookvale’s east entrance, he reviews where he went wrong. When she’d gotten away from him that afternoon, he was so sure that she’d hightail it back to Denver. Now that he doesn’t need her any more, she turns into one more loose end. She’ll burn for that, he decides. Literally.

Chapter 61

Intense lights tweaked Jess’s consciousness. A soft groan escaped her lips as one eye half-opened. Her lids felt like they had weights on them. So bright. So white.

She looked up at the ceiling, source of the brightness. Am I in a hospital? She moved her arms with great effort. Then, her legs. Her fingers traced along the metal surface on which she lay. So cold. Then she realized that she was naked.

Her head ached with a vengeance. In the back. Her hand sought out the place that hurt, at the base of her skull. She withdrew her fingers and looked at them. No blood. Then she remembered the needle prick. Somebody gave her a shot. Whatever was in it must be giving her the headache.

The room smelled of disinfectant and something she couldn’t immediately identify. As she tried to sit up, the pain in her head intensified, but she persisted. It seemed imperative that she get off that table, but she couldn’t remember why.

Her eyes widened as she focused across the room on a row of steel cabinet doors with large handles. The handles were in the centers of the doors. They looked like…

Jesus Christ! I’m in a morgue.

Jess tried to swing her legs over the side of the table, but had to lay back as dizziness overcame her. As one hand flopped down on her inner thigh, she felt something wet and slimy. Am I bleeding…internally?

She dipped into the slime, then looked at her hand, expecting blood. But the substance was colorless. Then the strange scent that didn’t go with the antiseptic surroundings identified itself.

Semen!

Whatever had been her last meal came lurching up into her throat as she sat up again. Quickly, so she could retch over the side of the table. So she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. When there was nothing left to disgorge, she wiped her mouth on her arm, then slithered carefully to a standing position on the floor, gripping the table for support.

Her last ride with Darren came reeling into cognition. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! A lot of good coulda-woulda-shoulda was going to do her now.

As her eyes dragged the corners of the room for some sign of him, she wondered. He’d left her alone because… Shit! I wasn’t supposed to wake up.

Jess staggered toward the only door in the room, tried the handle. That it was locked didn’t really surprise her. She looked around for her clothes. They weren’t in evidence.

She took a more thorough look at the room. Two stainless steel tables. A double sink. Shelving that held bottles and jars of stuff, plastic tubing and a bunch of other junk you’d expect in a lab. Something in the far corner that looked like a furnace. She didn’t want to go near that─not really. Dizziness forced her back against the bank of drawers that reminded her of a morgue.

Even as she realized that getting out of this room should be her first priority, Jess felt the handle of the drawer that she leaned upon. Her fingers tightened around it. Then she pulled.

At first the drawer remained stationary. Jess tugged again, harder. With a faint sound of sloshing liquid, it came sliding out as she moved back, making room for whatever it contained.

Oh, God! She choked back any audible sound. A naked female form lay suspended on an opaque liquid. Jess looked closer. Blond and young, she almost appeared to be sleeping. Trisha! The girl looked just like her picture. An odor of paraffin emanated from the drawer.

Ohmigod. This is the procedure!

Jess felt as if she’d been poked by a cattle prod. On suddenly steady feet, she dashed across the room and tried the only window. Boarded shut from the outside. Her spaghetti legs crumpled under her. She struggled back to a standing position.

There must be something here. She searched frantically for a tool of some sort, a sharp object to use on the door lock, or if all else failed, as a weapon. One of the shelves had drawers in it. Jess opened them until she found what she was looking for: surgeon’s tools. She grabbed a scalpel, then attacked the door lock with quiet urgency. She hadn’t picked that many locks. Each scrape made her stop and listen for returning footsteps. Each listening pause made her hold her breath, as that sounded even louder to her ear than the rasp of metal against metal. As she worked, she marveled at how quickly her head had cleared. If only her body cooperated as well.

Chapter 62

Diana rounded the dark mountain, grateful for the intermittent wind that now covered the sound of her engine. At least the snow had moved on down to Denver by now. She hugged the side of the dirt road, creeping along at fifteen miles an hour.

Five minutes passed before her headlights picked up the sign: Brookvale-Elevation 7,658 ft. On the west side of the mountain she saw the dim outline of a group of buildings in a clearing. The road seemed to end at this point. Perhaps there was another fork before it circled back eastward. Faint lights glimmered from one of the larger buildings that set back farthest from the road.

If Rogart had a night scope, she’d be a sitting duck. Where had that thought come from? She quickly flipped off her headlights as all the childhood hunting lessons came slinking back into her head, as if they’d known all along that someday she’d need them.

The ground under her car dropped unexpectedly. She caught her breath. Just a bump. The road hadn’t ended after all. She turned off the engine and coasted down toward the entrance to the group of buildings, still impelled by the slant of the road. A sign attached to wooden poles that framed the entrance was unlit. Unreadable. She coasted past the entrance to where a fork in the road enabled her to either return the way she’d come or continue west into deep forest. She continued west.

The car came to rest as the road sloped upward. Diana restarted the engine. The wind was still providing good sound cover. About a half mile into the forest, the compass on her rear view mirror told her she was angling south. Soon, she should be positioned in back of the group of buildings. Her eyes strained to see lights. If there had been a moon, the storm had eaten it up. Nothing but blackness.

The BMW’s engine coughed. Don’t die on me now. She shook her head to clear out the thought, then turned left into a thick grove of trees. Careful not to stray too far off the road, she picked an outcropping behind a large ponderosa pine for a marker. The oddly-shaped rock formation reminded her of some weird animal. Head like a beak, bulky body hunkered down, it sat almost humanlike with folded forearms. She’d remember this spot. If she got the chance to revisit it.

Diana stopped the car, opened the door and took a deep breath of cold air. She eased out into the night, treading carefully on slick pine needles. Not exactly dressed for a hike in the woods, she at least had on a wool suit, all-weather boots and a down jacket. With a hood, even. She’d exhibited some good sense when she’d left her office some seven hours earlier. Who’d have thought it would all desert her? What did she think she was going to do? Turning back to her car, she opened the trunk and removed a wrench from the tool box she carried─tools that she had never used.

What’ll I do with a wrench? Clunk him on the head? And meanwhile he’s doing…what?

She stuck the wrench in her shoulder bag and moved cautiously through the icy woods, thinking what an inglorious end to a promising life. And in mortality’s shadow, life suddenly looked more precious. Even a childless, mateless life. Something in her wanted to just run back to her relatively warm BMW and get the hell out of there.

But then she saw faint lights in the distance, and the thought of Jess shook her to the core. No turning back. Her choice.

She’d only gone a few paces more when a hard poke in the small of her back told her that retreat was no longer an option.

“Walk straight ahead, Diana.” Rogart’s voice was eerily pleasant. He might have been inviting her for an evening stroll.

As she whirled around to face him, he hit her in the legs with the butt of his rifle, knocking her to the ground. Sharp pain quickly obliterated shock. She cowered for an instant, out of survival skills for the moment.

Rogart towered over her, apparently relishing his power position. “Now, get up slowly and do exactly as I say. Next time you disobey, you’ll feel a lot more pain.”

She nodded, then struggled to her feet. Fear closed off her throat. What did it matter? There was no on to hear her scream.

“Walk toward the light,” he said, inclining his head toward the largest building, now visible in moonlight loosed by parting clouds.

Pain in her left ankle intensified as she put weight on it. God, don’t let it be broken, That would surely wipe out any escape options.

“You can go a little faster than that,” he mocked. “Jess is waiting for you.”

Chapter 63

When the lock on Jess’s prison door finally gave to her touch, she was covered with sweat even though she was just as cold and naked as before.

She sucked in her breath, upper teeth biting into lower lip, then inched open the door. Hearing no approaching footsteps, she poked her head out into an open area bordered by a railing. As she crept out of the room, she found herself on a balcony overlooking the first floor of the building. A floor board creaked. She froze at the sound of voices coming from below.

As Jess leaned cautiously over the second story railing, a wave of dizziness unsettled her. She clutched the railing for support as the scene below wiped out her hope of escape. Although the lighting was dim and her vision still blurred, she instantly recognized Rogart. His back to her, he held Diana at bay with a rifle. Fearing Diana would look up and give her position away, Jess staggered back. The whole scene seemed unreal. A set from a horror movie. A nightmare from which she’d wake. Or wouldn’t.

Feeling her legs rapidly turning to rubber, Jess sank quietly to the floor. She could hear Diana trying to talk her way out of an impossible situation. Only Jess was sure that Diana had no idea what lay upstairs. She sounded too calm.

“Think about it, Darren. What’s it going to do to your kids when you’re arrested again?”

“What makes you think I’ll be arrested?”

Jess crept back toward the railing on all fours and peeked down. Rogart’s back was still to her, but she could imagine a smirk on his face.

“I’ve told people where I was going. A number of people. They know where to look for me,” replied Diana. “You don’t want to do this.”

“This what?” he mocked.

“Your kids need you,” continued Diana. “It’s not too late to let Jess and me go. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sure a judge would take that into consideration.”

“You know you don’t believe any of that,” said Rogart. “Besides, Lori won’t need me much longer.”

Jess watched fear steal through the veneer of confidence on Diana’s face as she asked, “Why not?”

Rogart laughed. “She’s a little beauty, isn’t she?” he said. “I’ll harvest her soon. Didn’t want to do it without letting her know the carnal pleasures. Why do you think I let Shane have her?”

As Rogart slipped momentarily from Jess’s view, a surge of bright light nearly blinded her. Was this what people see when they die? Was she dying?

No. She could still hear Rogart’s voice. “Now you see how stupid your words are,” he said.

Sanity teetered back. He’d obviously turned on a light and was showing Diana something, but Jess couldn’t imagine what could rival the upstairs horror.

Whatever it was wiped away Diana’s pseudo-civility as she lunged at Rogart. He easily knocked her to the floor with the rifle butt. “Didn’t learn your lesson yet?” he asked.

Pulling herself to a standing position, Jess gauged the distance to the floor below. She fingered the small scalpel still clutched in her left hand. Unless she instantly hit a vital spot with the knife, it wouldn’t put much of a dent in him. Could she slow him down long enough to get hold of the rifle? Could she even use it in her weakened state?

As Rogart aimed a kick at Diana’s cowering body, Jess eased herself over the top of the railing. At that moment, her eyes met Diana’s. Rogart whirled and looked upward as Diana’s stifled scream warned him an instant before Jess leapt. She landed on his chest, knocking the rifle from his grasp. But when she tried to drive the scalpel into his throat, her arms felt like jelly. She only managed to get in a superficial cut to the side of his neck before he threw her off. She landed with a thump and a clatter against a hard surface in the area under the balcony, then slumped to the floor amid shards of breaking glass. Searing pain tore through her shoulder as a sharp fragment pierced it.

Her eyes found what Rogart had shown Diana, the source of the glass: Three display cases decorated the area under the balcony. Two of them contained wax-like figures of nude women in provocative poses. The third case had broken with the impact of her body. A drum and animal skins tumbled from an African diorama.

Jess rose and stumbled toward Diana, moving as though through thick molasses. Running out of adrenalin.

“Jess, get out of the way!” Diana commanded in a voice Jess barely recognized. Through hazy consciousness, she saw that something had changed.

Now Diana held the rifle.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She’ll never be able to use it. She can’t even squash a bug without wincing.

Jess moved back. Not quick enough. Rogart grabbed her, thrusting her between Diana and himself. One of his arms folded roughly over her face, while the other twisted her injured shoulder. The pain was like none she’d ever felt.

Her brain and body fast going to mush, Jess summoned everything she had left. She forced open her jaw, feeling the hairs on his arm graze her lips. His smell, mingled with her own scent, made her forget the pain for an instant as anger took over. She bit down with all her remaining strength.

*****

With a roar of pain, Rogart threw Jess from him. Diana watched her friend, now bleeding profusely from the shoulder wound, crumple like a rag doll.

At least Jess wasn’t in the African diorama case. The horror of the other two cases twisted surreally in her brain.

Then Rogart came toward her. “Put the gun down, Diana.” No artificial smile to hide behind now, he looked every bit the monster he was.

Diana raised the rifle to her shoulder as she backed away, her resolve still a slippery slope. The contents of the diorama cases held her attention in a paralyzing grip. Brandi Rogart was certainly the woman in the Native American setting. Don’t look at them. Keep your eyes on Rogart.

“Won’t do any good,” he scoffed. “It’s not loaded.” He’d gotten a hold of his bravado again, back in Darren mode. “Why do you think I hit you with it instead of shooting you?”

She guessed he’d never have come out after her with an unloaded weapon. But, being Rogart, he just might have. Just for that extra thrill.

Cycle the goddamn breach, Diana. Daddy’s voice in her memory’s ear.

She did.

One cartridge, one shot, one kill.

She snapped it closed with a crack, then returned it to the ready as Rogart moved toward her, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. Again she backed away, yelling, “Stop,” as she got him in the crosshairs. But the gun shook in her hands. Even braced against her shoulder. Her entire body trembled. Rogart couldn’t fail to see it.

“Or you’ll what?” he asked, his tone mocking her. But he did stop, as if weighing the chances of her actually firing. She watched a smile steal over his face. Apparently he determined that she would not.

Then he took a step forward as her finger curled around the trigger. Rage consumed her, and in its heat she felt the trembling subside.

Squeeze, don’t jerk, dammit!

Yes, Daddy. This one’s for you.

Epilogue

Brookvale, Colorado

Afternoon sun reflected off aspen leaves turns them to myriad gold coins dancing in a cool September breeze. Brookvale teems with people attending the dedication of the Brandi Flannigan Memorial Wildlife Museum.

Evergreen’s favorite resident artist, Arlette Cruz-Ramos, abandoned her death wish when she donated the entire town in memory of Rogart’s murdered wife. Arlette has convinced the authorities that neither she nor her houseman, Roy, were knowing accessories to Rogart’s diabolical plan.

The feds found the knife used to kill Larry Strickland among Rogart’s many trophies and also tied it to the murder of Shane Cutler. Now the lodge contains only exhibits of animal specimens. The intact human victims were laid to rest by their loved ones, but it will be months before forensic efforts can identify the rejects whose ashes filled Rogart’s crematorium.

*****

Diana, in burnt-orange suede, holds Winston Bell’s arm as he helps her over a fallen tree. They continue on toward picnic tables bordered by a stream made immobile by an early freeze. The record cold has loosened its grip, granting a reprieve for this special occasion.

Jess trails behind them, hand-in- hand with a studious type who looks a tad younger than she. “Sorry we’ve got to split,” says Jess. “I’ve got classes in the morning.”

The women hug briefly and the men look at each other, neutrally at best.

“She’ll get her J.D. yet,” whispers Diana to Winston as Jess and her new boyfriend move away toward the parking lot.

“She’s finally growing up,” says Winston, sounding more like Jess’s wise old uncle than ex-lover.

“Have you met the guy before?” asks Diana. “He seems like a nice contrast, doesn’t he?”

Winston’s low laughter gurgles up. “No to the first. Yes to the second. He sure is white.”

Nervous laughter erupts from Diana. “That’s not what I meant. Personalities. He’s Mister Conservative. What could be more of a contrast?”

“That he’s white,” replies Winston. Diana is sure that she catches a twinkle in his eye.

They move on, choosing an empty table, farthest from the group of people that now spills from the lodge. “I thought the dedication went well,” says Winston. “Joe and Rena will bring the kids some day, but today wasn’t the right time.”

Diana nods in agreement, holding up her hand to shield her eyes against the sun’s glare as she looks at Winston. “They’re in better shape than I expected, considering.” Her voice trails off as she imagines the day when she’ll have to face Rogart’s children. How will they view her? That day is inevitable because of what she has decided to do.

“Joe’s giving it all he’s got,” says Winston. “It’s hard to change your ways when you’re past fifty.”

Now, contemplation of another sort puts a twinkle in Diana’s eye. “Are you speaking of Joe…or yourself?” she asks.

In answer, he places a large hand over hers. “That’s for me to know.”

A smile flickers over her face as she wonders if Winston returns the feelings that she’s been aware of for some time. She changes the subject. “Rena’s in remission. Did you notice her hair? It’s grown back jet black. Not a thread of gray in it.”

“Give her a few years of parenting grandkids,” replies Winston. “It’ll turn gray again.”

Diana’s face sobers. “You think?”

“It’s quite a responsibility, Diana.”

She knows that he is not talking about Rena and Joe now. He refers to her pending adoption of Fawn Rogart, Trisha’s baby. “Yes, I realize that. You said you’d help.”

In this most important step of her life, she doesn’t completely trust herself to get it right. She has no idea how a court will view a person who has killed the biological father of the child she seeks to adopt. Even though the record clearly shows she could have taken no other action. How will she deal with Fawn’s eventual questions? And in the nearer future, how will she integrate Fawn with Keith and Lori? According to Joe and Rena, Rogart’s older children yearn for their baby sister. Only an unfeeling person would deny them that comfort.

Winston draws a sheaf of papers from his suit jacket, pulling her attention back to the present. “The first hearing on your petition is next week. We’ll need to go over a few things.” He hands the papers to Diana. “It’s not a slam-dunk, but things look pretty good.”

Impulsively she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. He doesn’t pull away, but Diana sees a ruddier tinge glowing through his brown complexion.

He clears his throat and turns serious. “You know there could be a downside to this. You could be in for more than a few gray hairs.”

“Right. My mother won’t let me forget the downside. She called again this morning to offer some reference books on the hereditary nature of psychopathy.”

Winston takes both of her hands in his and looks into her eyes. “I hate to say it, but your mom has a point.”

“Fawn has to have a chance for a normal life. I think I’m the one to give it to her.”

“And your dad? What does he think? You never talk about him.”

Diana withdraws her hands slowly from Winston’s. Should she tell him what she’s never even told Jess?

“He’s been the pattern for most of my bad choices,” she begins. “But, on the other hand, he may have saved my life by giving me the knowledge and the anger…when I needed them.”

“To shoot Rogart?” asks Winston. “That came from anger at your father?” His brow wrinkles. “I’ve never seen that side of you. Never dreamed it existed.” He shakes his head. Without looking at her, he begins, “Did he… None of my business.”

“No,” she replies. “It’s not what you think. There are many kinds of abuse. I’d like to tell you.”

He nods, but looks as if he were about to swallow a bitter pill. She wonders if she’s making a mistake, if she’s about to eradicate any chance for more than a friendship between them. But the story is part of who she is. He needs to know, no matter what the consequences. She doesn’t need another Greg who can’t deal with strong emotion.

“With no siblings, I was his captive pupil for firearms instruction. He tried to make a hunter out of me, dragged me through the woods of Illinois and Michigan until I got too big to drag.”

Winston looks puzzled. “Firearms instruction isn’t a bad thing. The museum trustees are talking about having firearm safety classes for young people next year.”

“It wasn’t the instruction that I minded. I dry-fired until my arms went numb. It was the killing I couldn’t do. It’s why I can’t eat red meat to this day.”

“He made you kill something?”

She shakes her head as tears make their way down her cheeks. “I missed on purpose every time. Until he figured it out. Then he shot a doe and made me gut her. He…he took my hand, put the knife in it and shoved it into her stomach. I threw up on him and myself. He went someplace and cleaned himself up, but he made me stay in my puked-on clothes for the rest of the day.”

A look of pain crosses Winston’s face. She wants to assure him that she’s not an emotional cripple, hopes he already knows this. “It had an up side,” she continues with a wistful smile. “He never mentioned guns or hunting to me again.”

As they watch caterers bringing food to a central table, Winston blinks several times. “I have the feeling you’re not in the mood to picnic. How about driving back to Denver, catching a show and a later dinner?”

Diana smiles. “You read my mind,” she says.

###

Table of Contents

The Trophy Hunter