Case File: Canyon Creek, Wyoming

by Paula Graves

  “I’ve been hiding here, hiding behind you, for too long,” Hannah said. “I have three days left of my vacation, and what have I been doing? I haven’t remembered anything new since the belt buckle. I haven’t even really tried.” She slammed her hand against the table, the sudden sound putting his nerves on hard alert. “I have to do something, Riley.”

  “You already have,” he said, knowing it wasn’t going to appease her.

  The look she gave him proved him right. “I think I need to do more interviews. Maybe play up the tourist in jeopardy angle. It would get plenty of play, wouldn’t it?”

  “And draw the killer right to you.” The thought made his stomach hurt.

  She crossed to stand in front of him, her eyes shining with a manic light. “Exactly.”

  He shook his head. “No way in hell.”

  “We could come up with a way to lure him in. Police would be everywhere. I’d be safe.”

  Everything inside him rebelled. “Hannah, that’s crazy. You’re letting your frustrations overcome your good sense.”

  “You’re letting your fears overcome your cop instincts,” she countered passionately. “If it was you, you’d do it.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Because I’m a woman?”

  “Because I can’t-” He bit off the rest of the thought, not ready to say it aloud. Not even to himself.

  She took his hand and threaded her fingers through his, gazing up at him with a warm, soft gaze. “Why don’t we do this? Let’s table the discussion for tonight. We can wait and see how things go tomorrow when the article comes out.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed the reprieve, weary of arguing with her when all he really wanted to do was hold her close, to bury himself in her soft warmth and make the hard, dark world outside the two of them disappear.

  “Let’s just have a nice, quiet evening, okay?” She tugged his hand, pulling him down the hall to the den. She let go long enough to drop on to the sofa and pat the cushion beside her. “Let’s see if we can find a movie on TV. Something funny.”

  He handed her the remote, content to let her choose. She found something old, in black and white. Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn and a leopard. He paid little attention to the story, content to listen to Hannah’s peals of laughter and the feel of her warm and solid beside him.

  Three more days alone in this house with Hannah was a lifetime.

  And not nearly long enough.

  THE ARTICLE IN THE JACKSON paper was exactly what Hannah had hoped for, although she could tell from the grim look on Riley’s face that he thought she’d gone too far.

  “Look at it this way,” she said as they walked down to the stable after breakfast, “if it grabs the killer’s attention, then maybe he won’t be out hunting for another woman to kill just to prove a point to us.”

  “Yeah, he’ll just be looking to kill you.”

  “And you’ll be there to stop him,” she said firmly, refusing to allow the little knot of terror tap dancing in her belly to win the battle.

  “It doesn’t always work that way.” The stricken tone of Riley’s voice caught her by surprise.

  “I know,” she relented, stopping halfway to the stable to take his hand. He turned to look at her, his eyes shadowy beneath the brim of his hat.

  “I’ve been after this guy for three years. God knows how many more years he’s been killing women that we don’t even know about.” Riley’s fingers tightened around hers. “I couldn’t stop him from killing those other women.” His voice grew a notch fainter. “I didn’t stop him from killing Emily.”

  “How were you supposed to do that?” Hannah asked, torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to shake him. “Drive her to work every day? God, Riley, you sound just like that guy at the gas station!”

  Riley’s brow wrinkled. “What guy at the gas station?”

  Hannah blinked, surprised by the question, until she realized she’d never mentioned the man she’d run into at the gas station on Highway 287. In fact, until this moment, she hadn’t remembered him at all. “He was at the other pump-at that station on 287. He was filling up his car, and he saw the rental-car plate. Said I was brave to drive around all by myself in a strange place. Only, I could tell he really meant I was stupid to be traveling alone.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He finished by then and drove off.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Not really-there was a pump between us, and he had a hat on, and sunglasses.” She frowned. “You think he might be the guy who pulled me over?”

  “I don’t know. Was he in a car or a truck?”

  “A car.” It had been a dark sedan, but beyond that, she couldn’t really remember anything. “I guess it could have been the same car. I really don’t remember much but the flashing blue light, to be honest.”

  He laid his palm against her cheek. “It’s something new. Joe’s got someone going through the receipts from the gas station. If he paid with a credit or debit card, we’ll know who he is soon.” He dropped his hand and headed for the stable.

  She followed, her mind reeling. Had she actually spoken to the killer that day at the gas station?

  Had that one simple exchange marked her for death?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We found Hannah’s credit-card receipt from the Lassiter station, and a few others sprinkled through the day, but nothing right around the same time.” Joe Garrison gave Riley an apologetic look. “Guy must’ve paid cash.”

  “Damn it,” Riley growled, slanting a look at Hannah, who sat in one of the armchairs in front of Joe’s desk. She’d been so hopeful on the drive into town, but now she looked as if Joe had kicked her right in the teeth.

  “What if it was him?” she asked faintly. “I can’t even tell you what color hair he had, or what shape his face was. Why didn’t I pay more attention?”

  “Because you weren’t expecting some nosy guy at the gas station to track you and try to kill you,” Joe said sensibly.

  “And we don’t even know if it’s the same guy,” Riley added, laying his hand on her shoulder. He soothed her tense muscles beneath his palm and turned back to Joe. “Has Jim Tanner held his press conference yet?”

  Joe glanced at the wall clock. “It’s supposed to start in about twenty minutes.”

  More waiting, Riley thought. Hannah’s growing impatience was contagious.

  “What about security video?” Hannah asked suddenly. “Don’t most places like that have cameras trained on the gas islands to discourage gas theft?”

  “The Lassiter station’s security video hasn’t worked in over a year,” Joe answered. “Population is so low in Wyoming, people here don’t take the same precautions you find in other states. It’s just not a big problem, most of the time.”

  “I bet he knew it, too,” Hannah said glumly. “This guy seems to be a step or two ahead of us.”

  “He’s clearly a local,” Riley agreed.

  “He wore gloves, so no fingerprints. He moved fast before I even got a look at his face, so I can’t ID him. Even at the gas station, I never got a good look at him. Now that I think about it, he was careful not to turn his face toward me.” She looked up at Riley. “Maybe he was already in hunting mode.”

  It was possible, he conceded. “Did anybody find out who was working that shift at the Lassiter station? Maybe he’d remember if our guy hung around longer than usual.”

  “We’ve got the cashier’s name. I have Prentiss tracking the guy down to see if he remembers anything from the day of the attack.” Joe picked up the television remote and hit the power button. The small television on the credenza near the window flickered on, the volume low.

  No press conference yet, just a syndicated talk show, Riley noted. He turned back to look at Hannah. Her green eyes met his, shining with a mix of excitement and dread.

  He knew just how she felt. He’d never been as close to findi
ng the killer as he was now, yet he wasn’t sure he was really prepared for the uncertainty that lay ahead. What if, despite all efforts to keep her safe, Hannah ended up hurt-or worse? How could he live with such an outcome?

  And what if they actually found her attacker, and it turned out Emily hadn’t been one of his victims after all? Could he start from scratch, devoting more years of his life to nothing but cold, comfortless vengeance?

  “Here we go,” Joe said suddenly, and he turned up the volume on the TV.

  As Sheriff Tanner laid out the basic details of the pepper-spray attack, Riley found his gaze drawn to Hannah. Emotions played across her face as she listened, a battle of fear and hope. As much as he had riding on this case, she had more. It was her life in danger, and she’d stayed here to help in spite of that fact, when a lot of other people would have gone home.

  She was one hell of a woman.

  I’m going to keep you safe, sweetheart, he vowed silently. Whatever it takes.

  On television, Tanner had finished his statement and was taking questions. Most were utterly predictable. Did they have a suspect? Were other women at risk? Was Ms. Cooper going to make herself available for questions?

  “What is he going to say when they ask if there’s a connection to the murder in Grand Teton State Park?” Riley asked Joe, knowing the question was coming.

  Before Joe could answer, a reporter asked just that question. Joe nodded toward the television.

  “We aren’t certain, but we’re proceeding as if there’s a possibility,” Tanner answered carefully. “That’s why it’s important for women traveling alone to be especially careful. Local and state agencies have agreed that no law-enforcement officer driving an unmarked vehicle will attempt a traffic stop in Wyoming. So if such a vehicle attempts to pull you over, do not stop. Call nine-one-one and drive to a public place. Do not stop in an isolated place for any reason.”

  “What if you have car trouble?”

  “Lock your doors, call for help if you have a phone. I know cell service doesn’t work in all areas, but the people of Wyoming are friendly, helpful people. The Wyoming Department of Safety and several corporate partners are making distress signs available for motorists. These can be placed in windows to alert other drivers to your need for assistance.”

  He motioned to his right and a uniformed officer brought out a long banner with the words “Assistance Needed-Call 911” printed in block letters across the length.

  “Please remember-if you see this sign, it is not a good idea to stop and give aid yourself. Please contact the local authorities and alert us to the problem.”

  “They’re afraid the killer might use this to lure in unsuspecting good Samaritans,” Hannah murmured.

  “It’s possible,” Riley agreed.

  The rest of the questions were little more than rewording of previous questions. Tanner put an end to the questions and left the stage, and the station returned to the local news anchors in the studio.

  Joe turned off the television and looked at Riley. “That went okay, don’t you think?”

  It could have been a lot worse, Riley had to concede. God knew he was relieved to have information about the killer in front of the public.

  Joe’s phone buzzed. “Boss?” Over the intercom came the tinny voice of Bill Handley, the day-shift desk sergeant. “Sheriff Tanner from the Teton County Sheriff’s Department on line one.”

  Joe exchanged a quick look with Riley and picked up the phone. “Garrison.” He listened a moment, glancing at Hannah. “Yes, they’re both here. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

  He pushed a button and Jim Tanner’s voice came over the line. “Good morning, Patterson. Ms. Cooper.”

  “Hello, Sheriff Tanner,” Hannah murmured.

  “Tanner,” Riley added gruffly, his stomach knotting up.

  “I’m just going to get straight to the point,” Tanner said. “I have an idea to go on the offense on this case, but it requires your help, Ms. Cooper.”

  “No,” Riley said firmly.

  Both Joe and Hannah looked up at him, startled.

  “What do you have in mind, Sheriff?” Hannah asked.

  “I want you to give an interview to one of the TV stations and let them know that you’re seeing a psychiatrist here at the hospital in Jackson-someone who’s helping you recover some of the memories you lost thanks to the concussion.”

  “You want to set her up as bait,” Riley interpreted.

  “In a controlled way. I have already discussed the idea with one of the hospital’s staff psychiatrists, and she’s willing to go along with the plan.”

  “I’ll do it,” Hannah said swiftly.

  “No, she won’t,” Riley said, glaring back at her when she once again turned angry eyes toward him.

  “When do you want me in Jackson?” Hannah asked, her gaze doing fierce battle with Riley’s.

  “I need time to set things up, but I think we’ll want to shoot for the local evening newscast,” Tanner answered. “Give them a day to promo the interview, make sure our guy knows to watch. So, if you could be in Jackson tomorrow morning, we can get the ball rolling.”

  “Set it up,” Hannah said firmly.

  “Hannah, no,” Riley pleaded softly. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Call Chief Garrison when it’s set,” she added, her eyes softening. “He’ll pass the information along to me.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Cooper. You’re doing a brave thing.” Admiration rang in Tanner’s voice.

  “I just want this man caught,” Hannah replied.

  Tanner rang off and Joe hung up the phone. He looked at Riley, sympathy in his eyes, then spoke to Hannah. “If you want to back out at any point, don’t feel obligated to go through with this plan. I know Sheriff Tanner will do all he can to keep you safe, and I’ll make sure I’m in on things, too, but nobody can promise you that there’s no danger.”

  “I’m not trying to be a hero,” Hannah said. “I want to be able to go back home and sleep at night knowing I didn’t chicken out on a chance to catch a really bad guy who’s hurt a lot of people.” The look she gave Riley made his heart hurt.

  “If you’re doing this for me-”

  “For you, for me, for that woman in the national park and all those other women you told me about.” She leaned over and took his hand. “For Emily.”

  He lifted her hand, pressed his lips against her knuckles. The arguments he wanted to make died in his throat.

  Joe cleared his throat. “I guess that’s it for now.”

  Riley didn’t let go of Hannah’s hand as he turned to look at his friend. “I want you in on everything. Every bit of the planning. Can you stay on Tanner, make sure he’s covering all the possibilities?”

  “Of course. But don’t you want to do that yourself?”

  Riley looked at Hannah again. “No, I’m going to spend the next twenty-four hours talking her out of this crazy idea.”

  SO, SHE WAS REMEMBERING, he thought, replaying the sheriff’s press conference in his head.

  Jim Tanner hadn’t said it in so many words, but clearly he was holding something back, something that put that smug half smile on his face throughout the entire press conference.

  So far, he hadn’t had much luck finding out where the girl was hiding out. His friend at the Sheriff’s Department didn’t know. He’d even made a point of running into Mark Archibald, the reporter who’d managed the first interview with Hannah Cooper, but he wasn’t dropping any clues about the woman’s whereabouts.

  No need to panic yet. Whatever the woman remembered, it wasn’t enough to implicate him. She’d never gotten a good look at him; he’d been careful, wearing nondescript clothing and his hat low over his face. She might have seen his belt buckle, but that wouldn’t hurt him. He wore it only when he was hunting, and it had been a hand-me-down, not a purchase.

  Still, he’d feel better when he finally tracked her down.

  HANNAH COCKED HER HEAD, watching Riley flip the steak on the
grill. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her, fueling her suspicion that he was playing some sort of game with her. On the up side, at least she was getting a steak dinner out of it. But she couldn’t help wondering why he wasn’t trying to talk her out of playing bait for the killer.

  Driving home from the Canyon Creek Police station, he hadn’t said a word about Sheriff Tanner’s plan. On the contrary, he’d taken the scenic route, detouring along lightly traveled side roads winding through open range, where horses and cattle grazed on the last good grass before winter arrived. He was a charming tour guide, telling her all about the local legends from a time when cowboys were kings.

  “Just north of here,” he had told her, “lies the Wind River Indian Reservation. Northern Arapaho and Eastern Shoshone. Emily’s mother grew up there.”

  Which explained Jack’s coloring.

  “Emily’s mother died when she was little-not long after Jack was born. They grew up with their dad, so they never really knew much about their mother’s side of the family. She always regretted that.” Riley’s voice had gone faint, as it often did when he spoke of his late wife.

  He’d changed the subject, and the conversation for the rest of the ride home had been light and inconsequential.

  Certainly no mention of Sheriff Tanner’s plan to put her in the killer’s crosshairs.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you with something?”

  “Got it covered,” he assured her. He closed the grill cover and came to sit next to her on the rough, wooden bench set against the back wall of the house. He edged closer, enfolding her cold hands in his. “Are you sure you want to wait out here with me? Your hands are like icicles.”

  She leaned against him, happy for his body heat. Though the house blocked some of the wind whipping down from the north, the sun was already beginning to set, robbing her of its waning warmth. “And miss watching you play chef? Not a chance.”

  He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “Better?”

  He smelled like wood smoke and grilling steak. Her stomach growled, and she chuckled inwardly. Tasty, indeed.