Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Feehan, Christine

Four nightmares later, it was very clear to Stella that Denver was hunting her, not Sam.

  STELLA LEANED BACK against Sam’s chest, looking out over the lake, watching the sun come up. They stood together on the private pier, the various shades of gold and crimson pouring across the surface of the water. There was little wind to ruffle the water. It appeared like glass, with the various shades of colors sparkling like gemstones. No matter what time of year, the view of the lake never failed to move her.

  Sam’s arms felt like her own place of safety, yet he hadn’t been there when Denver had managed to get into the mudroom. They might know what Denver planned and how he planned to do it, thanks to her nightmares, but they were no closer to finding him. The sheriff’s office had put out a missing persons report on him, stating there was concern for his mental health and not to approach but to call the sheriff’s office if he was spotted. No one had seen him.

  Sam had gone to every one of Denver’s favorite hunting and fishing camps, every cave he had talked about, but he hadn’t found tracks. Denver was too familiar with the forest, the private properties where most owners only came up at certain times of the year. He could be anywhere.

  There was such beauty and a sense of calm and peace just looking out over the lake, watching the sun rise. Standing with Sam’s arms around her allowed Stella to breathe when she felt as if she’d been unable to draw in air for hours.

  Sam nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “You feeling better, sweetheart?”

  She’d cried for hours— or it had seemed as if she had. Until there were no tears left. Her eyes and face felt swollen, but the cool morning air was helping to make her feel refreshed again. Sam had made the suggestion that they walk out onto the private pier and watch the sun come up. He hadn’t flinched away from her red, splotchy face. He’d held her hand and helped her over the rocks as they made their way to the private dock and out to the end of it.

  She’d sketched every detail of the nightmare, journaled it and then told him everything she could think of, all the while sobbing for their lost friend who wanted to kill her and Vienna. Sam was Sam, and he just let her grieve. Then he’d held her while he studied the sketches, read her journal and listened to her account, asking her a question every now and then in between handing her tissues. After, he told her to get dressed in warm clothes, that they’d watch the sun come up over the lake and drink coffee. She wasn’t about to turn that offer down.

  “I’m going to take you into town, Stella. You and Bailey both. I want you to stay with Shabina until I come for you. I’ve asked her to have all of you stay there, Raine, Harlow, Zahra and Vienna as well.”

  She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. He was back to inscrutable. “Why Shabina’s?”

  “She has the best security. I know you’ll be safe there,” Sam said. “And just in case, to err on the side of caution, I’ve asked a few of my friends to help out. They’ll be outside on her grounds, patrolling. No one will get in or out. That means they won’t be bribed by Shabina’s baked goods or seduced by any of your friends’ charms. They’re professionals.”

  “Oh my God, Sam, you know where he is, don’t you?” She stepped away from him, forcing him to drop his arms so she could turn around and face him. “You do. You know where he is. You plan on killing him.”

  Sam didn’t respond. He kept his gaze steady on hers.

  Stella shook her head. “You can’t. Sam, you can’t. Call Griffen. Let Griffen arrest him.”

  “For what? You aren’t thinking straight. Griffen can’t arrest him. Denver hasn’t done anything they can prove.”

  “Then we should go together. Talk him into a confession. Get it on tape or something. I don’t care. You can’t kill him. I want you to stay with me. If you do this, how can you stay here? You’ll come to regret it and you’ll want to move on.”

  “Why would I regret it? Sweetheart, listen to me,” Sam said gently. “I know you’re thinking in terms of protecting me, but think in terms of Denver being family. Being ours. What do you think Raine was trying to tell you? Denver knew he was deteriorating. He didn’t want to be his father or uncle. You were always his last resort, Stella. He knew, ultimately, if he went after you, I would hunt him down and I would end him.”

  Stella shook her head, unable to speak past the terrible lump in her throat. “Sam, no.”

  “You said it yourself, there was no feeling of triumph, of power, when he was stabbing you in your nightmare. It was different from all the other times. He could barely look at you or Vienna. He killed both of you because in his sick mind it was the only way for him to get me to end this for him.”

  “You don’t know that,” she whispered.

  “I do know he can’t kill himself, but he’s willing to pit his skills against mine. It’s his game and he’s made the rules. I have to know all of you are safe. He believes he can lure Vienna to him, but he can’t. I’ve made certain of that. The moment you told me about the nightmare, I texted one of my friends and he collected Vienna and took her to Shabina’s. He did remove her cell phone before he left her there.” He sent her a faint grin. “Apparently, she was spitting mad. That girl has a bad temper.”

  “Where did all these friends come from all of a sudden?” Stella asked suspiciously, but it was really more to buy time. He’d never seemed to bother with friends, other than Denver.

  “When I first became suspicious of Denver, I called a few of my friends who owed me favors and asked them to get out here fast if they could. I was fortunate in that they were between assignments and they came. They’ve just been waiting for me to give them the word on what they needed to do. Keeping Denver from getting to Vienna or any of your friends is number two on my priority list. Keeping him from getting to you is number one on that list.”

  “Keeping him from getting to you is number one on my list, Sam,” Stella murmured. “I know you and Raine both think this is some well-thought-out plan by Denver to pit you against him, and that just makes it worse. He has a side to him that thinks he’s intellectually superior. You know he does. All of us know it. That night at the Grill when he’d had too much to drink, when he was warning me about you being a ghost, he had that note in his voice.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He was an officer, Sam. He came from a background of money. Whether or not he turned his back on that money, he still was raised with it. He was a doctor. He was always in a position of authority. Everyone looked up to him. He might be quiet and seem unassuming, but he was looked up to. He was used to a certain amount of deference, and he would have gotten it in the service just as he did here.”

  Sam didn’t interrupt her. He never did. He waited to hear her out. He always did. Stella couldn’t hide her fears for him. “Denver wasn’t a very sexual man, Sam. He didn’t date a lot of women. He would ask someone out now and again, but not really pursue them. But he liked being considered really good at everything. He was falsely modest about it. The first one to volunteer for the most dangerous climbs when it came to the rescues, because he could do them. He shared the meat he could with the elderly. The fish. Everything he did, he was good at. Everyone in town liked him and sang his praises. He was a big deal in Knightly. And then you came along.”

  Stella’s gaze moved over Sam’s beloved face. She didn’t know which of them was right, but no matter who it was, Denver wasn’t going to go peacefully. She did know that much.

  “He was an officer and he thought his men looked up to him and yet he couldn’t get them out of a tough situation. Along comes a single man— someone they referred to as a ghost, someone with no rank or real education, in his eyes. His men admired that man because he single-handedly saved them. How do you think Denver would really feel no matter what lip service he would pay?”

  Sam nodded slowly. “That’s a good question, Stella.”

  “And here, when he’s the center of attention, no matter how low-key he is, how do you think he really feels, Sam, when you’re good at everything y
ou do, and you might very well be one of the ghosts who stole his thunder back in the day? You drifted into his town, a dirtbag, one of the ones who just comes to climb and then moves on, but you didn’t move on. You stayed and you’re good at everything, and even though you’re low-key, everyone takes notice. Even Bale and his crew back down around you.”

  He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her trembling lips. “I see where you’re going, sweetheart, and in the end, it doesn’t matter what kind of trap Denver is setting. It only matters that I find him. I’ve got my friend Rafe waiting in your rig to take you and Bailey to Shabina’s. The other women will all be there. I’m walking you back to the house, you’re going to pack a bag and I’ll walk you to the 4Runner.”

  “Sam.” She wondered if he’d already thought of every one of her points. Probably.

  “We’re not arguing about this. You’ve done your part, you have to let me do mine.”

  Stella wanted to argue, but she didn’t see any other solution, and she wasn’t the type of woman to argue for argument’s sake. She couldn’t help Sam, and what he was doing was his field of expertise. He obviously had a plan and she didn’t. She could only hope he was as good as he seemed to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Denver stood up slowly in the middle of his camp. It was impossible to find him. He had avoided every single place he had ever been. He didn’t go near a hunting, fishing or empty cabin. He’d covered his rig with branches. The paint was special, impossible to see the way it blended into the leaves and brush even from the air, especially when concealed the way he’d done. He hadn’t used a campfire or anything that might draw attention to his position. His clothes blended into the brush around him. Still … his gut told him he wasn’t alone.

  He put his hand on the hunting knife in the scabbard at his side. He was more than good with a knife. Very carefully, and very slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself when he was hidden in the circle of brush, he looked around. He had excellent vision. Far better than most people, and also good hearing. The insects were still droning on and on. There had been no break in their incessant noise. Squirrels ran up a tree, fighting with one another, trying to get a few last nuts for storage for winter. Birds flitted from tree to tree. Life went on in the forest even as the needles and leaves fell to the ground in preparation for the coming season.

  A frisson of awareness went down his spine. A chill. He’d never had that before. Was it actually fear? He didn’t feel fear. He felt … excitement. He’d entered a game. This was his game. He didn’t feel fear. Still his legs shook. There was a tremor in his hands. He didn’t even know why. If all around him the lizards slid through the rotting vegetation and the insects droned without breaking even for a split second, then nothing was stalking him. Why did he feel as though he had a target centered right between his shoulder blades? Or between his eyes? Or over his heart? Each spot itched for a moment and then that itch moved to his throat. He was going crazy. He refused to accept that diagnosis.

  Swearing under his breath, he caught up his two large water bottles and moved to the small entrance of his camp. He had only to wait a couple of hours before he put his plan into action. Right now, he needed to get fresh water. It was the only thing he hadn’t managed to get enough of, but he’d set up camp near the top of the tall waterfall running over rocks. The water fell a good forty feet to a churning pool below. He could purify the water easily.

  Denver stepped out of the tight circle of brush he’d created using actual plants, and made his way along the deer trail to the falls. It wasn’t far to go and he was careful to walk lightly, not brushing leaves or snapping off twigs to show his passing along the way. The sound of the water rushing over the rocks was loud as he approached the waterfall, drowning out his ability to hear anyone sneaking up on him. He had to rely on his warning system and his gut.

  Just like the deer he hunted, before he stepped out of the heavy brush he stopped again and sniffed the air, head up, doing his best to catch the scent of any enemy hunting him. The insects and birds continued their chatter. The wind touched his face and there was nothing to indicate an adversary was close, yet his hands had gone cold. Clammy even. His heart accelerated until it was pounding, making his mouth dry.

  Denver stood at the mouth of the deer trail, peering out into the open like a wild animal, frozen with genuine fear for the first time in his life. He didn’t know why. There was nothing there. It was broad daylight. The sun was shining on the water. Birds were actually singing. He tried to draw in air, but his lungs had seized, and terror clawed at his gut until he was light-headed and feeling faint.

  He stood there for several minutes, fighting for control. No myth was going to beat him. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. This was his game. His rules. He wouldn’t lose. He was superior. He repeated his mantra, the words that had saved him so many times in his life. After a few more minutes he managed to take several deep breaths, pushing the fear and dread away and gaining back control.

  Holding out his hand, he waited until it wasn’t shaking before he smiled, showing his perfect, white teeth. “If you’re out there, Sam, looking for me, you don’t scare me. You can’t possibly find me. The forest is too big and I’m too good at what I do. I’ll take away the one thing in this world that matters to you and we’ll see how good you are when you’re thrown off your game.”

  He didn’t whisper. There was no need. None. He was alone and he knew he was. He was absolutely certain of it. He had left no tracks. He had outsmarted anyone trying to figure out where he would go. The Inyo National Forest was far too large for anyone to find him. He had skills beyond even the rangers who had worked there for several years. He’d quietly gone about studying the area through hunting, fishing and his search-and-rescue efforts. He’d hiked and camped and climbed. He was familiar with most of the trails. He had waited for this time and prepared for it.

  How Stella ever realized his intent, he would never know. That was the most shocking, and exhilarating and depressing, moment of his life, when he stared into her eyes and realized she knew. Someone saw him. The real man. All of him. That moment was one he took out over and over and examined from every angle. How had she known? What had tipped her off? He savored that recognition even as he despised it.

  Had it been Sam? Had he realized what Denver was and told Stella? No, she’d been so happy to see him. That greeting had been genuine. Something he’d said or Jason had said had been the catalyst, but that would mean she knew about the others, and that just didn’t make sense. Had she been hunting him since the fiasco at the lake when he’d nearly killed Sam? He would probably never know.

  Once more filled with confidence, he waded into the fast-moving water. Anchored by the rocks, he took one look at the view, just the way he always did before he filled his two bottles. Standing right on top of the powerful waterfall, high above the trees and the creatures making their home there, he always felt invincible.

  He’d been drawn to this spot for a reason. It was his place of power. His center. He felt the wind on his face, felt it tug playfully at his clothing while it swirled in eddies over the water running toward the rocks just before it disappeared over the edge to make the long drop.

  He had the bottles around his neck on a cord. He unscrewed the lid to the first bottle and bent to dip it into the fast-running water off the opposite side of the rock where it would normally drop into space to descend. The bottle filled quickly and he straightened to screw on the lid tight and unscrew the other lid.

  The wind seemed to pick up, blowing harder, pushing against him, tugging at his shirt and retreating only to rush back, teasing at the hairs on his neck. As he bent once more to fill the water bottle, the wind whispered to him, a low, familiar voice. One that was always gentle. Never raised. The ghost found you.

  Then he was falling. Headfirst. Tumbling. Out of control. His body hitting something hard over and over. The pain was excruciating. Freezing water soaked him as he hit jagged rocks sticking out
of the cliff on his way down, his back, his legs, his head, his shoulders. He knew bones broke, smashed, as he struck those rocks, and then he landed hard on the jagged mass of rocks sticking up in the river. The current pulled at him immediately. He had landed on his side, driving his ribs into his lung. He felt the burst of his lung collapsing and then it was nearly impossible to breathe. But after hitting on his side, his body had been flung to a second mass of rocks by the force of the water, and one pierced his back low, just as surely as a dagger would have.

  Denver lay gasping for air on the top of the rocks, desperately trying to see without turning his head. That way lay even more pain. If he moved from the rock, the current would surely get him, but he couldn’t stay there, he would die. His back was broken in several places. He had a head injury. His left arm was broken. Both legs. His ribs were caved in and one lung was collapsed. That wasn’t the worst of it. He had somehow, when he landed, punctured his kidney. He was bleeding and it was severe.

  He needed medical attention immediately. He was a doctor and he knew for certain he didn’t have long, not with his injuries. He had to stay right there, with the rock in his body, because if he lifted himself off it, he would bleed out very fast. The rushing water was trying to force him off the rock, and each push at his body was pure agony.

  He looked up at the sky. The sun was bright and he had to squint. A shadow fell across him and his heart leapt. Someone was there. On the bank not more than a foot or so away. They could help. He forced his head to turn a scant inch in spite of the pain. He blinked to clear his blurry vision.

  Sam was crouched there, looking at him dispassionately, as if Denver was nothing, less than an insect crawling on the ground. There was no expression on his face. All along, even though he’d told Stella Sam was a ghost, Denver hadn’t believed it.

  “Ghost,” he croaked, or tried to. He could barely breathe, let alone talk.