by Bonnie Vanak
It felt wonderful to be there with her, no problems, no one pestering them. Before leaving, they would explore Pine Paradise. But for now, he’d remain in this snug illusion that all was well.
Although in his heart, he knew it was not.
Chapter 16
After packing their luggage, they drove to Pine Paradise Cabins. Quinn’s stomach churned with anxiety. Maybe regaining her memory wasn’t such a terrific idea.
She might discover things about herself she didn’t like. Or her mysterious sister, Demi.
As the truck bumped and bounced over the gravel road, Quinn recalled another memory. A car with springs that squeaked and balding tires. Her mother always scrimping and scraping together enough money for them to live. Never enough for extras, like new clothing for school or toys. Quinn once thought her middle name was Secondhand.
He turned onto a steep gravel road barred by a yellow steel gate. The gate was padlocked.
After putting the truck into Park, he turned to her. “Rex and I are doing a quick sweep of the property, and then I’ll drive up to the cabin you stayed at with Demi. Stay here.”
While they were inspecting the area, Quinn thought about West and all he’d done for her, and the fierce passion of his lovemaking.
West taking time to help her remember struck her as something very sweet and unselfish.
He returned fifteen minutes later and unlocked the gate. Quinn took a deep breath as he let Rex into the back seat and then climbed back into the truck. “West, I’m scared.”
He turned, leather creaking beneath his jeans. “Why, honey?”
“What if I remember something nasty? Something that will make you think less of me?” She bit her lip. “Make me think less of myself? Not having any recollection of my past feels horrid, but in a way, it’s a clean slate. I can re-create myself.”
Long dark lashes swept down as he gazed at his scarred hand. “I understand. And I get that you’re scared. I’m scared, as well. I’m terrified that you won’t remember anything about us, and I’ll lose you.”
Her heart turned over. “You want to keep me? Battered and bruises and all.”
No smile. “You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me, Quinn. Before I met you, I seldom smiled. Hardly ever laughed. You make life outside the job worth living again.”
Mouth wobbling, she reached over and touched his arm. “Thank you. I had started to think I was a hot mess and always would be. If you aren’t my future husband, I almost wish you were.”
That earned her a quiet smile. “I’m glad you said that,” he murmured.
When they drove through the gate, up the gravel road, she stared at the cabins peppering the roadside. Rough-hewn, with purple and pink petunias in flower boxes at each window, but nothing looked familiar.
They arrived at cabin seven. Narrow porch, one story. Dark wood, green shutters. He took the key, jingled them in his hand as they got out of the truck.
“I looked for the key you said you had, couldn’t find it, so I got this key from Tia’s brother. I need to check out the cabin first, Quinn. Just in case.”
In case there is a threat. She read it in his eyes.
West opened the glove box, withdrew a revolver. He handed it to her. “I know you hate guns, but if you get scared or see something fishy, fire it. I’ll come running.”
Quinn touched her purse, where her Taser rested. “I can use the Taser.” She picked up the weapon gingerly. “I don’t remember how to shoot.”
He showed her the safety and how to click it off. “Just point and fire. Except try not to aim it at me.” A crooked, sexy grin. “You never did learn how to shoot, hon, so that’s not something you forgot.”
Quinn watched him whistle to Rex. “Rex, find!”
It was fascinating to watch him work. She suspected she’d never seen this part of Agent West Brand. Driven and focused, concentrating on searching the perimeter of the cabin and the roadside, his brown eyes hard and purposeful.
A few minutes later, he returned, locked the revolver in the glove box. Then West held out his hand. “All clear.”
“Good to know.” She let him help her out of the truck. West grabbed a flashlight from the glove box.
The gun at his lean hip assured her she’d be well protected.
Rex bounded out of the truck, loped up the porch steps.
“Tia’s relatives said the power was turned off about a month ago. That was the time around when she was supposed to sell the property and she would have closed the account so the new owner could open his own,” West told her.
Using his key, he opened the door.
“Take your time,” he told her in his deep, soothing voice.
Quinn walked around the living room. The stone fireplace was cold, no evidence of the fire that once crackled there merrily. Rug mats were strewed about the pine floor, and the sofa was brown. Her memory flickered. A redheaded woman, sitting on the couch, making a face.
“Puke green. The sofa here was green. We called it puke green,” she told him. “It was like pea soup.”
West didn’t pepper her with questions or say anything. He simply waited.
“I know this place.” Quinn frowned, trying to remember. “I came here once, a long time ago. Isn’t it odd how I can remember things in spurts?”
“The doctor said that’s normal. It will return to you,” he assured her. “Who was with you?”
She pressed a hand to her temple, thinking. “Demi.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling the stale air, exhaling the memories.
Quinn had been in this very cabin, or at least this area, with Demi Colton. One night with the sister she’d longed to connect with, longed to befriend, but had never really known.
Demi had collared a felon who skipped bail, but the case had turned ugly. Demi had needed a place to retreat, get away from the ugly side of life. Quinn had booked this cabin for a short vacation, invited Demi. Just the two of them, trying to forge bonds they’d never had growing up.
Quinn always wanted a sister, the kind you could swap stories with of boys you thought were cute, brush each other’s hair and borrow each other’s clothing. It had been one night where they’d both reached out, tried to make it work.
Quinn had been so eager and Demi cautious. In the end, Demi left early. Demi hadn’t shed her private side, hadn’t wanted to share secrets or swap stories or do any of the things Quinn imagined.
But she had been in this cabin.
West didn’t pressure her, only remained quiet. Quinn was glad of the silence. Too many people had been pounding at her like a jackhammer, trying to get her memory triggered. Finn, with his attention to duty, to find a suspect in Tia’s death. Brayden and Shane.
West hadn’t nagged or prodded. He simply waited, watched, and she sensed he worried about her safety, especially now. Quinn realized it was part of his personality, like a big wolf always on guard against predators wishing to harm the pack.
“She seemed a little secretive. I remember that. I hate secrets,” she muttered. “People keep things from me, like my mom did, trying to hide how broke we were, trying to hide the fact that she was marrying yet another loser so I’d have a stepfather.”
The bedroom had a queen bed and two nightstands. Quinn went into the bedroom, touching the blue-and-green comforter. The cabin had a slightly musty air of disuse, and a pang of sadness struck her.
“What was the deal with this cabin?” she asked West.
“Tia was planning to sell, and the sale fell through and the property was closed.” His fingers rested on the gun’s hilt. “Sale was to the Larson brothers. Two million, but they offered three mil.”
Anxiety pinched her insides. “Too much money. They wanted it badly. Are they suspects?”
A shoulder shrug. “Always are with everything, but there’s no evidence.”
&nbs
p; Quinn returned to the living room and peered outside the windows at the surrounding canyon walls, the sweep of pine and oak trees ringing the wood porch. She went outside, touched one of the two wooden rockers. The sound was soothing. Creak, back. Crick, up.
Another memory surfaced. A laughing redhead, rocking back and forth, teasing Quinn about her being the older sister, the first one who would be an old lady rocking in a chair like this, knitting socks for the grandbabies.
“She sat here,” Quinn mused. “Demi. She said I’d be the first to be a grandmother, and she would take advice from me. I told her I’d make sure my grandchildren ate all their vegetables and I would not be a grandmother who spoiled them. Then Demi said I’d probably serve them kale cake instead of chocolate.”
A slight smile tugged her mouth upward, and then it faded. One hand went to her abdomen. “She was pregnant when she vanished.”
West nodded. “Yes.”
“And she went someplace, alone, to have her baby. I can’t bear to think of her being alone, with a baby to care for, no one to help her.”
Throat closing tight, she stared down at the rocker. She knew she and Demi never shared much, but how she wished she could be there for her little sister now. Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. Then she felt two strong arms encircle her waist from behind, and West laid his cheek against her head.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll get your memory back.”
For a moment she rested against him. Maybe she couldn’t remember anything about her relationship with this big, strong man, but he had only been considerate and tender with her since the moment she’d seen him in the hospital.
Quinn pulled away to face him. “Why is it so important that I remember being here with Demi?”
Gaze steady, he studied her. “Any memory you regain is helpful. This property is central to the bombing investigation. The Larson brothers itched to purchase this property. They wanted it for something, and it didn’t have to do with planting pansies or relaxing on porch rockers.”
If being in this cabin helped kick-start her memory, then she’d comb through every square inch. Quinn returned inside to the bedroom.
The king-size bed was neatly made, the room spotless, though the musty air of disuse lingered. West pulled open the closet door.
He went very still and very quiet.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Quinn peered into the closet. A sleeping bag, stashed in the corner, along with a packet of disposable diapers, a box of energy bars and a battery-operated lantern.
But that was not what caught West’s attention. He took a leather jacket off a hanger and turned, the jacket dangling from two fingers.
His expression turned grim.
“Quinn, you want to tell me about this?” West’s voice deepened. “You told me this jacket was hanging in your closet. Then why is Demi’s motorcycle jacket here?”
Chapter 17
West ushered Quinn outside while Rex remained on the porch. Phone to his ear, West made the call.
“Finn? I’m at Pine Paradise. Cabin number seven, where Quinn stayed last year with her sister. I found a jacket belonging to Demi Colton.”
West’s stomach lurched at Finn’s next words.
“We got a tip today from an anonymous caller, anonymous for now, who gave us very specific information on cabin seven. He said he saw Demi there a few days ago when he was making a delivery to a resort in the area. I’ll send a team straightaway.”
He thumbed off the phone.
West turned to his fiancée, the woman he loved. The woman who at this moment could have helped to harbor a fugitive from the law.
“Finn told me someone called in a tip. Demi was seen in this area.”
Quinn’s gaze widened. “My sister was here?”
“The jacket and those items in the closet seem to indicate so. Why is Demi’s jacket here, Quinn?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice rose slightly. “I can’t remember anything, West. Why would Demi be here?”
It’s a good place to hide out and if she had a hand in planting that bomb...
If he’d thought Quinn was innocent of hiding information on the whereabouts of her sister, seeing Demi’s jacket changed his mind.
Eyes wide, Quinn shook her head. “I have no idea how it got there!”
“You lost your memory and you wouldn’t remember. Not now,” he told her. “But think. Does this cabin trigger anything to you? Anything Demi said to you that would lead her back here to hide out?”
Quinn bit her lip. “No.”
They walked to the truck to wait for the Red Ridge police officers. Quinn was trembling, so he removed his windbreaker jacket and put it over her shoulders. Getting her agitated would not solve anything.
West started talking about the fishing trips he’d taken, to calm her frazzled nerves. Get her to relax. But Quinn remained staring at the cabin, huddled into his jacket.
Finally a convoy of police cars arrived. He briefed Finn on what he’d found as crime scene techs began dusting the doorknob for prints. He took a pair of latex gloves to cover his hands and preserve any additional evidence found.
West returned to his truck and a visibly upset Quinn. “Stay here,” he told her. “I’ll finish soon and take you back.”
With all the police swarming over the cabin, he knew Demi wouldn’t return. Nor would anyone threaten Quinn.
But it wasn’t looking good for her. If only her memory would return, he could question her, watch her face to see if she told the truth.
The cabin smelled musty with disuse. Yet his gut told him someone had been here, holing up and making bombs in the woods.
Frustrated, West looked around the living room as the other officers began working the scene.
He had more questions than answers, but at least a starting place.
Whoever had been here had left it clean. No dirt on the wood floor, not a speck of dust on the table. Bathroom was clean as well, with fresh towels hanging on the rack and no water droplets in the sink or shower.
It made sense that Demi would use the cabin as a hiding place, since she’d been here with Quinn previously. If she had informed her brothers, they wouldn’t have told him.
He went into the bedroom where Demi’s jacket had hung in the closet. Crime scene techs were dusting everything. The cabin, isolated and hidden from the main road, made a perfect hiding place.
West swept his flashlight over the room as the techs worked in the closet. He went to the bureau by the window and opened drawers.
Empty, except for the top one that contained a hairbrush.
West picked up the brush, which bore strands of long red hair. He knew of only one woman purported to have hair that color. A woman on the run.
Demi Colton.
He returned to the living room and watched Brayden comb through the cabin, he studied the man to see if his fellow officer hid evidence. He didn’t trust the Coltons. The only Colton he did trust was Quinn. But Brayden was shadowed by a fellow K-9 officer West trusted.
West glanced at Rex. “Too crowded in here. Let’s head outside.”
Rex wagged his tail.
If the unsub used this cabin, Rex would detect even the smallest amount of explosive residue left behind. As Rex sniffed the ground, West searched the ground for inorganic evidence. Something as simple as a cigarette butt contained DNA evidence.
One of the officers came forward. “Found this. What do you make of it?”
Sunlight glinted off the object. Foil, looked like a gum wrapper twisted into something. He smelled it. Interesting. Fruity.
“Bag it as evidence,” he told the officer.
Might be nothing, only a litterbug’s discards.
Or it could be something.
He ordered Rex to find as they searched the perimeter of
the cabin once more.
West smelled the redolent odor of pine, fresh mountain air and little else. But Rex, with his keen sense of smell, could pick up days-old traces of gunpowder.
After a few minutes, when the dog had not stopped, West began thinking he’d been too cautious. Suddenly Rex lifted his head and stared in the direction of the woods. West immediately went on alert.
“Find,” he ordered, and the dog bolted.
West followed. Nose to the ground, Rex kept loping along a narrow trail cutting through the forest leading down to the creek. Leaves crunched beneath West’s boot soles as he scanned the area. Ferns and bushes brushed at the legs of his jeans. The trail was little used and barely visible, but for the flattened stalks of plants.
Someone had been here recently.
Could be the cabin’s occupant used this trail to access the creek to fish. Or something else...something that caught Rex’s attention.
Rex clambered down a few rocks and then hooked a left around the bend. Leaves rustled overhead in the breeze and he could hear the gurgling of Pine Creek.
West climbed down the rocks, saw the sparkle of sunlight upon the rushing water tumbling over rocks. Beneath a recess in the cliff wall, Rex sat. The rock alcove looked natural, carved out by nature. Part of the wall had eroded, leaving a flat ledge big enough to accommodate two people. Hidden by thick brush, the recess wasn’t visible until you rounded the corner.
Made a great place for nature lovers to share romantic moments with each other...or for an unsub to make a bomb.
“Good boy,” he murmured, giving Rex his favorite treat. West crouched down to study the remains of what would look like a campfire to most people.
Taking out his penknife from a back pocket, West stirred the ashes on the ground. This location next to the creek was ideal for anyone wanting to make bombs. Close enough to water in case of an oops. Far enough away from prying eyes and ears. One could set off a small explosion, and even with the sound echoing off the canyon cliffs, it would be mistaken for gunfire, something not unusual in these parts, just like the gunshots he’d heard the other night. Plenty of people in South Dakota owned guns. They just didn’t advertise it like some folks did.
