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by Jennifer Haynie


  He sat up straight as if the Holy Spirit had swatted him across the head. Where did that come from?

  Monica ran her fingers up and down his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  He refocused on her. “Huh?”

  Her brow knit as she studied his face. “You look like something’s wrong.”

  “I’m just tired.” Not too far from the truth. He’d spent most of the night lying on his rack with his hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could turn back the clock to make things different with Abigail. It was hopeless. He should forget about her and focus on Monica. “Hey, want to go out this weekend?”

  What was he thinking? Obviously, he wasn’t. He couldn’t take those words back, not when her dark eyes lit up.

  “Sure! What do you have in mind?”

  He scrambled for something—anything—to hide the fact his wish had been for another woman. How could he make it up to Monica? “Maybe a romantic dinner somewhere other than Burning Tree?”

  She offered a smile, one not nearly as sexy as Abigail’s. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  Nothing there. No zing that left him weak in the knees.

  Monica leaned forward and kissed him. “After we’re done this morning, let’s talk.”

  Now what had he done? Talked himself to the edge of a cliff. Why couldn’t his life in Burning Tree be as uncomplicated as it had been before Abigail turned it upside down?

  The bell above the door jingled, and a slender man in a brown delivery uniform stepped through. His eyes lit up. Within seconds, he bounded to the table. “Hey, Shepherd. How’s it going?”

  David’s heart lifted. “Patterson, good to see you.” He rose, shook his hand, and resumed his seat. “What brings you up here so early?”

  Patterson shrugged, though his forehead creased a little. “They want me over in Moab sooner rather than later. Who’s your friend?”

  “Sheriff Monica Wiseman, meet Mitch Patterson.” David nodded toward her. “Patterson and I are mountain biking buddies.”

  Patterson shook her hand. “And cycling buddies in general. Good to meet you. Where’s your jurisdiction?”

  “Sheridan County,” she replied. “How did you two meet?”

  “Mountain biking after I got back to Burning Tree,” David said.

  Patterson cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll leave you two. Gotta get some chow before fueling up and heading on. Nice to meet you, Monica.” He shook David’s hand again before seating himself on a stool just on the other side of the Formica partition.

  David thanked the waitress, who refilled his mug with hot water and left him another peppermint teabag without asking.

  “Tea?” Monica quirked an eyebrow. “I would have pegged you for a coffee guy,”

  David dumped the bag in his mug. “I never got the taste for it. That might have had something to do with that swill the Army tried to pass off as coffee.”

  Her lips twitched in a way he couldn’t quite interpret. “Real men drink coffee.”

  Where had that come from? David stiffened. More sharply than he intended, he shot back, “Real men aren’t afraid to drink tea in front of their coffee-drinking buddies.”

  She loosened her grip on his hand. “Sorry. I was just kidding.”

  The bells over the door clanked again as Abigail and Jonathan pushed through.

  David released her. Maybe Abigail hadn’t seen that.

  Yep. She had. Without preamble, she pulled out the chair across from him.

  His feet clunked to the floor.

  That gaze of hers? Hazel stone. It flicked to Monica. “And you are?”

  “Monica Wiseman. Sheriff of Sheridan County.” She rose and offered her hand.

  Abigail shook it, but from the way the tendons bulged in her hand, she used the strong-arm grip she said she reserved for suspects.

  Yep, weird things had gone weirder.

  “Jonathan, good to see you again,” Monica added as she resumed her seat.

  Abigail picked up her menu and studied it with the same intensity she’d used when writing her notes the evening before.

  David’s heart sank as he realized his predicament. The jilted one across from him. The new girl beside him glaring daggers first at him and then her. And no way out since the partition pinned him in. Could he climb over it? Sure, right onto Mitch’s plate of eggs, bacon, and hash browns. He bit back his sigh.

  Jonathan placed an order for a short stack of pancakes, then announced, “Abigail’s coming with us.”

  David started. When had he made that decision?

  Monica’s eyes narrowed as her gaze flicked to Abigail. “Why is that?”

  “She’s curious about our appointment with Mr. Stone.” Jonathan mouthed, Mighty Men.

  David frowned and sipped his tea to cover his concern. Abigail must have uncovered something while talking with her brother.

  Monica cleared her throat. “Isn’t this police business?”

  Uh, oh. Abigail’s lips pressed into a line, and she clenched her hands together on the table. Were those claws forming on her fingers?

  Jonathan’s cheeks colored. When he spoke, he clipped his words. “She’s cleared. Promise you on that.”

  Monica lifted her chin and focused on him. “Since we have that out of the way, I do have some information.”

  “Which is?” Jonathan asked.

  “I’ll tell you after you tell me why she’s going with us.”

  Abigail drummed her fingers on the table and leaned forward. “How ’bout you cut to the chase and tell us what you have?”

  “Because Jonathan said he’d share—”

  “Enough already.” David shook his head. “Monica, it’s okay. We’re among friends, right? Right, Abigail?”

  The corner of her lip curled.

  Monica huffed out a sigh. “Whatever. I got more information on the heroin sample the SBI sent to the feds. I happen to know the lab manager, and she sent it to me. It’s from Ghazni Province.”

  David drew a sharp breath between his teeth. For a moment, he saw blood everywhere. Ever so slightly, he shivered.

  “Anything else?” Jonathan asked after a long second.

  “Nope.” She blinked her eyes like a snake. “Unless you’re willing to share why she’s going with us. I mean, the feds kicked me off the case, and all.”

  David wanted to howl. He considered canceling that romantic dinner he’d planned with her.

  “Maybe seeing you with us will jar Mr. Stone into cooperating.” Obviously, Jonathan wanted to change the subject.

  “Maybe.” Monica ran her hand down David’s denim-clad quad. She squeezed his leg in what she probably thought to be a seductive manner.

  Abigail’s jaw clenched as spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

  Yeah, she’d noticed.

  Gently, David shoved Monica’s hand off. That earned him a little glare.

  Oh, please. He wanted to roll his eyes.

  For the rest of the meal, they chatted about nothing in particular. Well, he and Jonathan talked. Monica and Abigail remained locked in a battle of stares. Had they been cats, their tails would have swished as they yowled and hissed.

  Finally, Jonathan checked his watch. “Hey, I hate to push, but if we’re going to make it to Goblin Valley by ten, we need to get going.”

  “Ready to rumble.” David rose without bothering to pick up Monica’s check.

  She gazed at it, then at him. What? She was on police business.

  As Abigail rose and headed to the cash register, he thought he heard a disdainful harumph from her.

  Argh. He needed to get out of there. Maybe a toilet somewhere on the resort would break and flood a room, thereby requiring his presence.

  He was the last one to leave. After he settled the bill, he nudged Patterson, who sat next to the partition. “Good to see you. Bike on Saturday?”

  “Let me check with the fam. I’ll get back to you. Later.”

  David joined the crew outsid
e. Monica studied her phone. Abigail stood there, her arms folded across her chest, one boot-clad foot tapping on the ground. For the first time, he noticed the Glock in a holster at her waist and her badge gleaming in the morning light. Like a peacock displaying its plumage, she showed off to Monica, who sported a badge and sidearm as well. Who had the bigger gun? CID or a local sheriff?

  Jonathan had unlocked the car. “Uh, ladies, sorry, but David’s got to have the front. Six-four, two-fifty and all that jazz.”

  Abigail hesitated. She shot her brother a pleading look as if begging him to let her ride in the trunk. “And since I’m five-ten. I’m behind you, Jonathan.”

  Great. David slid into the car with Monica behind him. He cranked the seat all the way back, wincing as it crammed into her knees. As he reached to grab his seatbelt, he glanced at Abigail.

  A smirk twitched the corners of her mouth.

  David wished he could walk to Goblin Valley.

  Thursday, April 20, 2017, 0830 hours MDT, Burning Tree, UT

  Mitch Patterson’s stomach churned. Behind him, the bells above the door clanked together. Normally, he enjoyed their sound. Not today. They grated on his nerves.

  Seeing David and his friends had brought nothing but trouble.

  He had to make a call, one that most likely meant a death sentence for his friend.

  The waitress, who manned the counter that morning, studied him. “You okay, Mitch?”

  “Yeah. Just tired. Left Cedar City at five.” His stomach churned on the coffee. He shoved the mug away.

  “You poor thing.” She took it, dumped the brown liquid, and set the mug in a basin. “Take tomorrow off.”

  That got a weak laugh. “I wish.” He pulled out a twenty and laid it on the counter. “You mind ringing me out? I’ve got to get going.”

  She made his change. After leaving a generous tip, he headed into the bright morning. Already, temperatures had begun climbing into the eighties. It’d probably top out at ninety-five today, a hot one for this time of year. He climbed behind the wheel of his truck and sat there for a moment. Why did I have to overhear that? I wish I could report to Sal I’d heard nothing. Better yet, that they hadn’t come to the diner.

  Sal wouldn’t believe him. Not at all. The man possessed an uncanny sixth sense.

  Right then, Mitch had a job to do, not of delivering packages but news. He started the engine, then rumbled down the highway and headed eastward out of town. He passed the Martin house, now still and quiet as if Kyra had run out for errands. If things went as Sal intended, she’d seen her brother for the last time.

  He shuddered. Once out of sight, he pulled over onto the shoulder where it widened. He stared at his phone. You don’t have to do this. You can walk away. Pretend like they never showed, like Kyra prepared everyone a hot breakfast or something.

  Except he knew exactly the amount of power Sal had behind him. Like firepower. His ex-comrade wouldn’t hesitate to kill his family, and he’d make them suffer before doing the job.

  He swore as he dialed Sal’s number. “How did I get myself into this?”

  Sal’s voice growled over the phone. “You’d better have some news for me.”

  Mitch leaned against the wheel and pinched the bridge of his nose. “They left just a few minutes ago. I overhead Jonathan saying something about a ten o’clock appointment at Goblin Valley.”

  “Was Abigail with them?”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yes.”

  “Perfect. That’s all I need to know.”

  Mitch straightened. “You don’t need to kill them, you know.”

  “You leave that up to me.” Sal’s voice hardened. “And such a thing is not to be discussed. Understand? You’ve done your part. That’s all you need to know.”

  “And I’m done.” Brave, definitely for him.

  “You’re finished when I say you are. Goodbye.” A click sounded in his ear.

  Mitch hopped out of the truck and wound up his arm to throw his phone. He froze, then lowered it and propped himself against the side. He kicked at a wheel. He recalled Sal’s easy sense of humor from nine years before, the comradery they’d shared when hunting wild boar. And the cigars. Sal’s rich, heady laughter filled his ears, as did his suggestion as they’d prepared to part ways shortly after returning to the States. “Let’s keep in touch, eh? Maybe we can go hunting together sometime.”

  They’d kept that friendship. When Mitch’s daughter Vespa got sick with leukemia, he’d turned to Sal after their insurance ran out. At the time, he’d been desperate enough to trust Sal’s assurance of funding rather than the uncertainty of fundraisers his friends and neighbors had planned.

  “Nothing’s ever free, Patterson. You should have known that,” he muttered.

  Now, he remained indebted to Sal. Probably for forever.

  And David and his friends would pay the ultimate price.

  Mitch saw no way to wipe that off his conscience. None.

  17

  Thursday, April 20, 2017, 1000 hours MDT, Goblin Valley State Park, UT

  As they passed through the entrance of the state park, David gawked. “His house is in Goblin Valley?”

  “On the edge, but this is the only way in. He’s got a special permit so he doesn’t have to pay fees.” Monica leaned forward in her seat. “Jonathan, I’ll guide you.”

  What a drive. No conversation. Not one word. No music either, which was totally unlike every other time when Jonathan had driven. David wanted fresh air. Badly.

  She pointed out a strip of asphalt. “Turn left here.”

  “I’m on it.” Jonathan made the turn. They passed a marker differentiating the boundary of the park from private property. A red and white sign stated trespassers would be shot. The two-lane blacktop curved to the right and seemed to parallel the boundary of the park. Within a minute, they passed an empty guard shack.

  Monica straightened as she peered at it. “Where’s the guard?”

  “Is someone always there?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yeah. Mr. Stone hates trespassers. Strange.”

  And nothing else was? David wanted to laugh. No, everything about this day was weird from the moment Monica had assumed he was her sweetie. He’d cancel his date with her. Maybe he could fake food poisoning and never reschedule. Regardless, he needed air and the sooner, the better. When Jonathan pulled to a stop in front of a four-car garage, David grabbed the door handle. Durnit. No give. He fumbled for the lock.

  Jonathan hit the unlock button. “You okay, bro?”

  He rolled his eyes and almost fell from the car.

  Abigail climbed out and studied the garage. She seemed to focus on the roofline. “Why do you think these garage bays are so high if this is a residential house?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “Who knows?”

  He turned toward a smaller building where a man cloaked from head to toe in black stepped through an ornately carved Oriental front door. He held a phone to his ear.

  David stared. Okay. He’d been wrong. The day could get weirder since it seemed Mr. Stone had hired a Goth as his personal assistant.

  The Goth lowered his phone and strolled toward them. His blazer flapped in a stiffening breeze. “Mr. Ward?”

  “That’s me. Jonathan Ward.” Jonathan flipped open his cred pack, then extended his hand.

  They shook. “Rupert Randleman, personal assistant to Mr. Stone.”

  Jonathan barely masked his wince. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Randleman squirted hand sanitizer on his palms and rubbed them together as if obsessed with the motion. His eyes, which were lined in black, focused on the others. “I thought only you were coming.”

  “No, sir, I never specified that.” Jonathan’s Southern drawl, so much like Abigail’s, appeared. “This is David Shepherd. He works with me.”

  David settled for a small wave rather than a sanitized hand.

  Jonathan nodded toward Monica. “And I believe you know Sheriff Monica Wiseman.”

>   “I do. Good morning, Sheriff.” Randleman turned his gaze to Abigail. He leered. “Well, hello there. Who might you be?”

  David’s senses pricked.

  Abigail’s expression remained neutral. “Jonathan’s sister.”

  Randleman put his hands behind his back and raised his chin. “This is not family time.”

  “No, sir, it’s not,” she replied in that same honeyed drawl Jonathan had used. She rested her hand on her hip so both her badge and gun showed. “I’m US Army. Criminal Investigation Command. But,” a smirk crossed her face, “if you say this is family time, it’s family time.”

  Randleman quelled at her pronouncement. Was it the man’s makeup, or had he paled? He hid something he didn’t want Abigail to discover. Like what?

  David peered closer at him.

  Then Randleman shook himself and smoothed the lapels of his blazer. “Do come in. Mr. Stone is running late. He said for me to escort you to the kitchen.”

  David studied the building with its wide side windows and blood-red double front door. Where was the rest of the house?

  Randleman eyed him. He stepped aside for them to enter. “Mr. Shepherd, in contrast to what you see here, it is a rather large house with all floors going downward. Mr. Stone had it built ten years ago and hired the best architects and engineers he could afford to ensure its structural integrity. You are now standing in the foyer. Mr. Stone wanted to capture the view of the red rock as soon as he entered his sanctuary.”

  What a... David’s eyes narrowed at Randleman’s condescending tone. He folded his arms across his chest and ground his teeth. He tried to think pleasant thoughts, like running in the desert with his dog, Ranger, by his side.

  Or Ranger chewing Randleman’s butt.

  The personal assistant almost pranced toward the stairs. “This way, children.”

  Had he heard him right? What was with this guy? David glanced at Abigail. For the briefest of seconds, they’d become allies in this strange drama.

  They walked down steps of black metal with cabling for rails. Once they hit what David dubbed floor negative one, Randleman stopped between what were obviously two bedrooms. “The guest suite, complete with a conversation area.” He gestured to a door in the red rock. “The bathroom is carved out of the rock. The same with a personal cargo elevator.”

 

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