by Morgan James
Two hundred miles later, I finally stopped glancing in the rearview mirror. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn’t matter. I was free.
Chapter 2
Eric
The woman screamed obscenities at me from the back seat, and I rolled my eyes at her lack of creativity. People were always doing dumb shit, but as sheriff I tried to treat them with common courtesy. More often than not, I let the person off with a warning and they were more than happy to get their head on straight and not do it again.
I’d only been sheriff of Pine Ridge for almost two years, and the slow pace was a welcome change from the constant hustle and bustle and high crime rate back in Chicago. I enjoyed what I did, and I genuinely liked most of the people. Just like any other small town, we had our share of troublemakers, but even the bad apples here weren’t that bad. Except maybe this one.
“You’re despicable!” she spat.
Ironic, coming from a woman who was potentially an accessory to attempted murder. Best case, what she’d done was obstruction of justice.
Hands cuffed behind her, she leaned forward to close the distance between us. Like I couldn’t hear her obnoxious voice well enough. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll never work in law enforcement again!”
I clenched my jaw. I was sorely tempted to hit the brakes and throw her face-first into the cage dividing the cab of the cruiser. Unfortunately, I’d taken an oath to protect and serve, even for the worst of society, like the woman currently blistering my ears from the back seat. Plus, I’d just have to listen to her bitch even more if she ended up with a broken nose because of it.
I’d hoped that she would tire herself out, but her vile, senseless chatter as I navigated down the mountain toward Kalispell told me she’d only gotten started. The more I ignored her, the more fired up she got. I breathed a sigh of relief when the jail came into view.
I’d kept her in lockup overnight to let her cool her heels, but all she’d done was make a nuisance of herself. The small sheriff’s office in Pine Ridge had only two holding cells, since we didn’t see much in the way of crime. Or we hadn’t until recently. The first murder the town had ever seen was more than a hundred years ago during the Gold Rush, when Harrison Leeds killed his partner out of greed. As of yesterday, we could add one more to that tally.
Jack Prescott had moved up to Pine Ridge several months ago and was in the process of building Briarleigh Lodge and Resort up on Mount Chineroot. He’d been having some trouble recently, mostly missing or damaged supplies—but when someone had hurt his fiancée, Mia, shit hit the fan. I didn’t think I’d ever forget the sight that’d greeted me when I’d stepped into that clearing in the woods yesterday morning. I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened to Mia.
I couldn’t say the same for the man who’d held her at gunpoint, though. He’d caught a bullet and probably died a better death than he deserved. Though cause of death was obvious, EMS had taken the body down to the funeral parlor yesterday so the town mortician, Dick Chancellor, could perform the official autopsy. After everything Jack and Mia had been through recently, I felt obligated to bring the woman in myself.
I pulled into the garage attached to the jail and watched as the large bay door slid shut behind me. I’d radioed ahead to let dispatch know I was transporting the prisoner this morning, so they were ready for me by the time I climbed out of my cruiser. I unclipped my taser and duty carry from my belt and placed both in a lockbox, then slipped the key into my pocket.
The woman fought my hold as I helped her from the back seat. “Get your filthy hands off me!”
She stumbled, and I clamped one hand around her elbow to keep her from taking a header straight into the concrete floor. With a shake of my head, I tapped a button to open the first set of steel doors to enter the jail. A loud clanking noise filled the air as the lock disengaged and the door swung open. A corrections officer stood just inside, a tiny smirk on her face. “Sheriff.”
Lips pressed into a firm line, I gave a tight nod as I practically dragged my prisoner along. “Hey, Russo.”
As soon as the door closed, securing us inside, I released the woman into Russo’s care. I couldn’t wait to wash my hands of her completely. While Russo searched my prisoner and stripped her of her belongings, I filled out an inmate form with the woman’s information. All the while, she raged on, screaming at the top of her lungs that we were violating her rights and that her lawyer would be there soon. With the waist-deep shit she was in, I welcomed the opportunity.
As soon as Russo was finished, she opened the second set of doors to lead the prisoner, now clad in a bright orange jumpsuit, inside. “Coming, Sheriff?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like to speak with Rooney if he’s around.”
“Down by dispatch,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You know the way.”
Though she couldn’t see me, I nodded in acknowledgement. I trailed along as Russo led the woman to another steel door and waited for it to be buzzed open. As soon as we crossed into the next section of the jail, I turned to the right while Russo led the woman off to the side. Rooney stepped out of an office and greeted me with a tip of the chin. “Donahue.”
I stuck out a hand and shook. “Sheriff.”
Together, we watched Russo settle the woman in front of a screen to have her mugshot taken. She looked like she’d been on a weeklong bender, her hair mussed and makeup smudged. All the while, she shot me hateful glares.
“She’s a pleasant one,” Rooney commented from the side of his mouth.
“No shit,” I huffed under my breath. I was sure this wasn’t the last I’d see of her; if not physically, I’d at least get a call from her lawyer as she’d threatened. Thank God for body cams. A tiny smile lifted my mouth. I couldn’t wait for them to review the footage for themselves and watch her crazy ass unleash hell.
Turning my attention to a more important matter, I spoke up. “I got statements from the victims this morning. Report’s been uploaded for you.”
Rooney nodded. “Appreciate it. See what we can do.”
I wasn’t sure how involved the woman was in the events that had transpired. The jury would have to determine whether justice would be served. I prayed they would get the full story out of her, because we wouldn’t be getting any details from the body in the morgue.
“Ready for vacation?”
Rooney was taking his wife of twenty-five years on a weeklong cruise down around Mexico. They’d never gotten around to having kids, so instead they spent their spare time travelling and enjoying each other.
He grinned. “Deanna is already packed and ready to go.”
“When do you fly out?”
“Not ’til the beginning of next week.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing wrong with being prepared.”
“Just grateful I won’t have to deal with this shit for a whole week.” Rooney jerked his chin toward the prisoner, and I nodded in commiseration.
“Amen.” I touched the brim of my hat. “Thanks again, and safe travels.”
I took my leave and wound my way back through the maze of corridors and steel doors. I nodded at the corrections officer, then grabbed my taser and pistol from the lockbox and hopped into the cruiser.
As I headed back toward Pine Ridge, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I prayed that, now that this was over, the quiet peacefulness would descend again and we could all get back to normal. As I merged onto I-93, my phone rang, and I groaned when I recognized the number.
Reluctantly, I tapped the button to answer and lifted the phone to my ear. “Hey, Cynthia.”
“Oh, God, Eric... I think he’s back.”
I briefly closed my eyes and drew in a steadying breath. The worry in her voice was real, though unfounded. We’d had the same conversation several times over the past few months. “Just take a deep breath, Cynthia. Everything’s fine.”
Cynthia’s ex-husband, Josh Drummond, had worked under me for several month
s by the time I’d found out what was happening. Josh had kept Cynthia sequestered at home away from prying eyes, but things had grown increasingly worse. She’d finally come to me in confidence after being treated for several broken ribs in the hospital, and I’d encouraged her to press charges and file for divorce. With Josh in jail and Cynthia now working as a waitress at Rosie’s Diner in Pine Ridge, she’d been forced to sell their house. The meager profits had been split between her and Josh, and Cynthia had moved in with her mother on the outskirts of town. My former deputy had definitely fallen from grace, but he’d brought it on himself the moment he chose to raise a hand to his wife.
“But I heard—”
“Cynthia.” I kept my tone friendly but firm. “He’s still serving his term, and he’s aware of the restraining order that will go into effect once he’s released. Sheriff Rooney will let me know if anything happens.”
On the other end, Cynthia drew in a shuddering breath. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how to repay you.”
Wisely, I didn’t respond. I had a feeling I knew exactly what form of payment she would prefer. Ever since she’d pressed charges for assault and Josh had been placed in jail, Cynthia had started reaching out to me. The initial innocent, friendly phone calls had gradually become more frequent and insistent. I always tried to maintain a professional demeanor, hoping that, in time, she would turn her attentions elsewhere.
After a long, awkward silence, she finally spoke again. “Well, I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll let you go.”
“Take care, Cynthia.”
I hung up before she could come up with something else and shoved down the guilt for doing so. I genuinely felt bad for the woman, but I refused to cross that line with her.
The hairs on the back of my arms lifted, and I glanced around, checking the rearview mirror, taking in my surroundings. Nothing seemed out of place. Still, I couldn’t disregard the chill that had settled over my skin. It was that little instinct that’d saved my ass more than once, and I refused to disregard it. Forty peaceful miles later, I began to think I was losing my edge.
The prickle in my spine never went away, and as I crossed the line into Pine Ridge, my radio crackled to life.
Chapter 3
Giuliana
I bit my lip as I eyed my gas gauge, the needle of which had been dipping perilously close to empty for the past half-hour. If I drove any further, I’d be running on fumes. I was quickly learning just how often I had to fill up the gas tank. When Daddy taught me to drive, I hadn’t really understood the concept. The tank was always full. Now, hundreds of miles—and dollars—later, I was beginning to realize that I needed money if I planned to keep going.
I eased up on the accelerator and coasted down a little knoll. As if fate had directed it, a billboard came into view on the right side of the road. The once-red words, now faded almost completely to pink, read “The Fox Hole, five miles.”
I drummed my fingers on the wheel and bit my lip. It was the first place I’d seen in the past forty minutes, each mile of road growing more desolate than the last. I mentally cursed myself for not grabbing a map at the last gas station I’d stopped at a few hours ago. I’d decided to just keep driving until I found someplace that looked, well... safe.
I wasn’t very good with geography, so I’d spent a lot of time over the past week driving aimlessly. I’d wanted to get away from the city as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want my uncle to find me so easily. Instead of setting out with a destination in mind, I’d headed south. A few hours later, I’d turned west and ended up circling back up to the north. A couple hours ago, I’d crossed the Montana border. Though I’d had this idea in my mind that it was the Wild West, in a lot of ways most of the towns looked normal. It was almost disappointing. I didn’t want to be in a city though, surrounded by tons of people. So I’d kept driving. Which had led me here—to the Fox Hole.
I’d heard of places like these. What were they called? Sportsman’s clubs? A few minutes later, another sign came into view: “The Fox Hole, next right.” Keep driving or take my chances here? My heart leaped in my chest as I flicked on my turn signal and steered onto the next road, following the arrow. A few moments later, a small building came into sight. Dilapidated and made of rusted gray steel, the Fox Hole looked a little worse for wear. Still, I was in no position to be picky. Plus, it kind of made sense. Out here in the wilderness was the perfect place for a sportsman’s club—if that’s what this was. A faded Molson sign listed precariously over the door, but I saw nothing else on the exterior to give me any clue of what I might find inside.
Hopefully, I could at least get something to eat, maybe ask for a job. Worst case, if they weren’t hiring, maybe they could tell me who was. I climbed from the car, inspecting the outside of the building as I did so. Other than an eagle on the side of the building and a flashing Open sign over the front door, there was nothing else. The windows appeared dark and dingy, and a slight shiver ran down my spine.
This wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t long-term. I needed food in my belly and gas in my tank. God willing, maybe I could make some money to spend on a hotel room. Last night I’d forgone a room completely to save money. It had been cold and miserable, and I had no desire to do it again. Besides, this couldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I figured that rugged, bearded outdoorsmen were infinitely better than what I’d come from. Up here in the mountains, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing me or hanging around too long.
I stepped into the building—and froze as the door slammed shut behind me. My eyes slowly began to adjust to the dim light, and I scrunched up my nose as the smell of alcohol mingling with disinfectant and... something else hung in the air. It took me a moment to process exactly what I was seeing before my mind made the connection. Oh, God....
Several pairs of eyes turned to me, and I was tempted to turn around and flee back out the door. Swallowing hard and steeling my spine, I pushed through the fog-like scents and made my way further into the room. Music pulsed through the speakers, and a few grizzled men sat next to a narrow but empty stage. Music switched up, and my heart returned to its normal pace as the next performer stepped out and their attention swung back to something more interesting than a newcomer.
It was still fairly early, just before dinnertime, so I wasn’t surprised that the place was mostly empty. A quick scan of the room showed a middle-aged man behind the bar rearranging bottles and glasses. He lifted a brow at me as I moved closer and he spoke around the toothpick sticking out between his lips. “Need some help?”
“Hi. Um...” My gaze darted around the room once more. I’d yet to see any cocktail waitresses milling around, and it filled me with hope. “I’m looking for a job. Maybe waiting tables or something?”
His dark gaze slid down my body before meeting my eyes again. “Talk to Shirlene. Down that hallway”—he pointed to the back of the bar—“last door on the left.”
“Thank you.” Giving a quick nod of acknowledgement, I followed the man’s directions and found myself in front of a dingy white steel door that had seen better days. Rusting along the bottom and showing a myriad of greasy fingerprints and other marks, I grimaced and used two fingers to turn the handle. I stepped into the locker room, my senses immediately assaulted by the aroma of multiple perfumes competing with one another as they wafted on the stale air. Several chairs were set up in front of a mirror, the counter cluttered with makeup, hair accessories, and other beauty paraphernalia. Scantily clad women occupied most of the chairs, and others milled around at the end of the room, clothes flying through the air in the makeshift closet area.
Venturing further into the room, I shot the woman closest to me a tentative smile. “Um, hi. I’m looking for Shirlene.”
The woman looked me up and down before raising a brow and returning to her makeup. Clearly they weren’t receptive to new hires. Dropping my eyes from her, I walked toward the closet. Aerosol hairspray and glitter formed a cloud in the air, and I ch
oked on the foul material, batting it away.
A bleach-blonde and a redhead stood in the middle of the dressing area, arguing heatedly.
“You know that’s mine!” The blonde grabbed at something in the redhead’s hands, but she held it high over her head, using her extra four inches of height to her advantage.
“It’s mine! I get compliments on this one all the time!”
“Shirl!” the blonde yelled over her shoulder without taking her gaze off the redhead. “Ginny stole my gold G-string!”
I stopped in my tracks.
“Did not!” the redhead—Ginny—retorted. “Sabrina is a lying cunt!” Her palm whipped out and caught the blonde across the cheek.
“Oh!” Sabrina clutched her face, eyes round with surprise. “You fucking Amazon bitch! I’m going to kill you!”
“Ladies!” An older woman came around the corner, her raspy, pack-a-day smoker’s voice cutting through the argument. “We have plenty of outfits to go around.”
I examined the small woman in the too-tight clothes. Her skin was several shades too dark, as if she spent twenty minutes a day in a tanning bed. Wrinkles bracketed her eyes and mouth, caked with a layer of makeup. Smoky eyeshadow and black eyeliner paired with her wine-colored lipstick made her look like the Alice Cooper of house mothers.
Shirlene pushed between the two younger women and held out her hand expectantly. With a roll of her eyes, Ginny dropped the G-string into the woman’s hand. “Sabrina brought in more money last night, so she gets to wear it tonight. You can have it tomorrow.”
“What the hell—”
“That’s not fair!”
Outraged at the apparent injustice, Sabrina and Ginny spoke at the same time, but the older woman ignored them, turning to me instead. Her gaze, surprising shrewd, swept over me. “Honey, you lost or looking to dance?”
