Murder in Black Canyon

by Cindi Myers

  “I’m not liking the sound of this,” Dylan muttered. He could still picture the dark-haired girl with the blade to her throat, her eyes wide and terrified. Metwater could talk all he wanted about symbolic sacrifices, but it had all looked pretty real to Dylan.

  Metwater motioned two men forward. They carried shovels and at his direction began shoveling coals from the fire and spreading them out in a wide path that led from the fire to Metwater’s feet, some three yards away. Someone began drumming, a deep, steady rhythm like a heartbeat. Metwater addressed the crowd again, but the drumming made it impossible for Dylan to make out his words.

  “I think he’s telling them they’re going to walk on the hot coals,” Ethan said.

  Dylan lowered the glasses once more to stare at him. “Seriously?”

  “Fire walking has been practiced for thousands of years as a religious rite and a team-building exercise.”

  Dylan looked back to the camp. Metwater was motioning to the coals, while two women set basins of water at either end of the glowing path. “Now I know they’re crazy,” he said.

  Ethan moved in beside him. “I’ve heard of this, but I’ve never seen it done before,” he said. “Supposedly, the risk of injury is fairly minor, because the cool bottom of the foot does a good job of spreading out the heat, and the embers themselves actually don’t conduct that much heat.”

  “That still doesn’t make me want to walk barefoot over a bunch of hot coals,” Dylan said.

  “Who will be the first?” Metwater asked, his voice raised to carry over the drumming.

  The silence from the group gathered around the fire was almost eerie.

  “Asteria!” Metwater called. “Asteria, you shall be the first, to show us the way.”

  Andi stumbled forward, as if she had been pushed from behind. Dylan tensed. “What does he think he’s doing?” he asked. “She’s pregnant.”

  Smiling, Metwater took Andi’s hand and led her to the start of the fiery path, the coals glowing red against the darkness. “Don’t do it,” Dylan muttered.

  Metwater knelt beside Andi and began to tie up her long skirts. She was trembling, the vibrations visible through Dylan’s binoculars. He swore and stood. “I’m not going to let this happen,” he said, and prepared to climb down the rocks. All he had to do was get within firing range.

  With a loud cry, Andi whirled and fled into the darkness, leaving Metwater—and Dylan—staring after her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kayla let out the breath she’d been holding as Andi fled the fire-walking scene. Some of the tension went out of the senator’s shoulders, too. “Thank God she hasn’t lost all her senses,” Matheson said. He turned away. “Come on, let’s go find her. Now will be a good chance to talk to her without the others around.”

  He led the way around the camp. “You act as if you’ve been here before,” Kayla said as she followed him.

  “Only once. But I’ve got a good memory for details. Comes in handy in my job. Now if we keep traveling in this direction, we should be able to come up on the back of the camp. I’m guessing Andi would have fled to her quarters.”

  He sounded so sane and competent. A businessman with a job to do—such a contrast to his downtrodden appearance. On the drive over he had refused to answer Kayla’s questions about what had happened to him and what he had been doing. He wouldn’t deny or confirm that he had been kidnapped, and refused to discuss anything about his car or the clothes that had been found in it. “None of that is my concern right now,” he said, in answer to all Kayla’s queries.

  As he had promised, the path they navigated led to the back of the camp. They could still hear chanting and shouts from the bonfire, but the noise was muffled by distance. Kayla wondered if anyone had taken Metwater up on his invitation to walk on hot coals. She noticed the Prophet hadn’t volunteered to demonstrate how it was done.

  “You’ll have to show me which shelter is hers,” Matheson said.

  “The big tent, next to Metwater’s RV.” Kayla pointed to it. A lantern hung by the door, and a fainter glow emanated from within.

  Matheson paused to draw himself up to his full height. “I’m ready,” he said.

  Before Kayla had time to react, he left the shadows where they had been hiding and strode the short distance to the tent. He entered without knocking or otherwise announcing himself. Kayla hurried after him and ducked inside in time to see Andi turn toward them, one hand to her throat. The young woman stared, mouth open, face ghostly pale.

  Kayla hurried forward, afraid Andi would faint. “It’s okay,” she said, helping her to a low stool. “Your father wanted to see you.”

  “Daniel told me you were dead,” Andi said, her gaze fixed on her father.

  “Daniel was wrong.” Matheson pulled another stool alongside his daughter. “I had to make sure you were okay,” he said.

  “I’m okay.” She clutched his hands. “Better now that you’re here. What happened, Daddy? I don’t understand. Daniel said you were dead, and then we heard the police found your car, with bloody clothes inside.”

  “I had to go away for a while. And I will have to go away again soon.” Matheson smoothed the hair back from her face. “I’m sorry I hurt you. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “I’m okay, really.”

  “Frank Asher hurt you.” Matheson grimaced. “I’m sorry I ever hired the man.”

  “Frank’s gone now, Daddy. He’s dead.” Andi’s lip trembled, but she regained her composure. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all those terrible things I said to you. I just... I needed to live life my way, not your way.”

  “I know, honey, but you need to leave this place.” He patted her hand. “That man—Daniel Metwater—he isn’t good for you. What kind of man expects a pregnant woman to walk over hot coals? What is he trying to prove?”

  “He wanted to free me from myself,” Andi said. “He told me walking over the coals would burn away all my guilt and pain. But I wasn’t brave enough. I didn’t have enough faith.”

  It’s not about faith, Kayla wanted to say. It’s about control. But she bit back the words, not wanting to interrupt this moment between father and daughter.

  “Come back home, Andi,” Matheson said. “You’ll be safe there. You can have your baby there and you’ll never lack for anything. I have plenty of money put aside to make sure of that.”

  “My baby.” She cradled her belly and her voice took on a crooning quality. “Poor baby. Her daddy’s dead.”

  “Frank can’t hurt you anymore,” Matheson said. “I made sure of that.”

  Kayla started and moved closer. Andi stared at her father. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Someone killed Frank.”

  “I killed him,” the senator said. “He told me he was coming here to see you again, to ask you not to make trouble for him over the baby. He wanted you to pretend he wasn’t the father. He thought the affair would be bad for his career.”

  “You killed Frank?” Andi asked.

  “I only intended to warn him off—to tell him to leave you alone. But he wouldn’t listen. He was determined to see you. He’d already hurt you so much. I couldn’t stand the thought of him hurting you again. I only meant to threaten him with the gun, but he wouldn’t back down. I had to show him that I wouldn’t back down, either. I had to protect you.”

  Kayla gasped. She hadn’t even realized she’d made the noise until Matheson turned on her. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he said. “I was having a private conversation with my daughter.”

  “We all heard you, Senator.” The tent flap lifted and Dylan stepped inside, followed by Ethan Reynolds. “Put your hands up and stand slowly,” Dylan said. “Peter Matheson, I’m arresting you for t
he murder of Frank Asher.”

  “No.” Matheson stood and backed up, until he bumped into Kayla. She was groping for her weapon when he grabbed her, his grip surprisingly strong. He wrenched the gun from her grasp and held it to her throat. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill her,” he said. “You know I’ll do it. I don’t have anything to lose.”

  * * *

  THE SIGHT OF that gun at Kayla’s throat turned Dylan’s blood to ice. He met her gaze, and the courage he saw behind her fear strengthened him. He holstered his weapon and took a step back, his hands out at his sides. “Take it easy,” he told Matheson. “No one wants any trouble.”

  Ethan already had Andi and was ushering her out of the tent. Dylan trusted he would go for backup. Meanwhile, he had to find a way to deal with Matheson and save Kayla.

  “You need to leave, too,” Matheson said, one arm across Kayla’s chest, the barrel of the gun pressed to her throat. “We’re going to go away and you’ll never see me again.”

  “You can go,” Dylan said. “But leave Kayla behind. She hasn’t done anything to hurt you.”

  “I’ll let her go when I’m safely away from here.”

  “Where are you going to go?” Dylan asked. “You know if you leave, every cop in the country will be looking for you. If you give yourself up now, the courts will go easy on you. Any jury would understand a father wanting to protect his daughter.”

  “That’s right. All I wanted to do was protect her. Asher laughed at me when I told him he didn’t deserve her. Laughed!”

  “He didn’t deserve her,” Dylan agreed. “And Kayla doesn’t deserve to be involved in this. Let her go, Senator.”

  “I’m not a bad person,” Matheson said. “I sent money to Asher’s wife and kids, to try to make up for their loss. They’re better off without him, too, I think.”

  “We know you’re not a bad person,” Dylan said. “Prove it by letting Kayla go.”

  “I won’t hurt her,” Matheson said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “I know you don’t. Let her go.”

  Matheson no longer looked like the confident, determined man who had walked into the camp. He looked old and confused. Lost. “Where is Andi?” he asked. “Where’s my girl?”

  “She’s safe, Senator,” Dylan said. “But she’s worried about you. She needs to know that you’re safe, too. Haven’t you put her through enough?”

  “I only wanted to protect her.” The barrel of the gun slid down, no longer pointed at Kayla’s throat, though a shot at that close range would still be lethal. Kayla stiffened, and Dylan read the determination in her eyes.

  Matheson seemed to gather himself also. “I’m leaving now,” he said, some of the fog cleared from his expression. He took a step forward, tugging Kayla after him.

  Kayla lunged forward, throwing all her weight into Matheson’s back. He lost his balance and stumbled, and the gun went off, the bullet burying itself in the rug at his feet. Dylan pulled Kayla clear and shoved her behind him, then trained his gun on the senator, who lay sprawled on the floor. “Put your hands behind your head and don’t move,” Dylan ordered.

  Matheson groaned, but did as commanded, and Ethan stepped in to cuff him. Once he was secure, Dylan holstered his weapon and turned to Kayla. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She was pale and her voice shook, but her eyes were clear and steady. “You showed up just in time.”

  He pulled her close and cradled her face against his chest, shaky with relief now that the danger was past. “We were doing surveillance on the camp and saw you arrive with Matheson,” he said.

  “Did you know he had killed Agent Asher?”

  “No. But I imagine the lab reports on Matheson’s clothes will show the blood is Frank Asher’s,” Dylan said. “He must have sunk the car himself to hide that evidence.”

  “When I picked him up this evening he told me he had hoped it would take police longer to find the car—that he’d have more time. Time for what?”

  “To figure out how to get out of the country? To prepare to turn himself in?” Dylan shook his head. “Who knows?”

  Kayla turned to watch Ethan lead Matheson away. “I feel sorry for him,” she said. “I think he blamed Asher for his own estrangement from Andi.”

  “Killing the man didn’t solve anything.”

  “I know, but love can make people do the wrong thing for the right reasons.”

  Dylan pulled her more tightly against him. “I think my heart stopped for a second when I saw you with that gun to your throat,” he said. “All I could think of was that if I couldn’t stop him from hurting you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t need a man to rescue me. Just one to be there alongside me.”

  “I’m starting to figure that out.”

  “Then you’re starting to understand me,” she said.

  “I don’t have to understand you,” he said. “I just want to be with you.”

  “That’s a good place to start.” She slid one hand to the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. The kiss, more than her words, told him everything was going to be all right between them. They’d found Frank Asher’s killer. Kayla was safe. And they would figure out a way to meld her need for independence with his need to protect. Life wasn’t a fairy tale, but he still believed in happy endings.

  Epilogue

  “Do I look all right?” Kayla tugged at the skirt of the dress she had chosen for the awards banquet and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “I hate this stuff. You know that, don’t you?”

  Madeline Zimeski, president of the Colorado Private Investigators Society, patted Kayla’s back. “You look lovely, dear. I’m only sorry your family couldn’t be here to see you receive your award.”

  “They live out of state,” Kayla said. It was easier than explaining the truth—that she didn’t have any family who cared enough about her to walk across the street, much less attend an awards banquet.

  Madeline checked her cell phone. “It’s almost time for the awards,” she said. “We’d better get back.” Kayla had been hiding in the ladies’ room when Madeline had come in search of her. Clearly, the president wasn’t going to let even one honoree escape her moment in the spotlight.

  Reluctantly, Kayla followed her back to the front table where she had been seated, her back to most of the crowd. She’d managed to choke down a few bites of dinner and make polite small talk with the board members and other honorees at her table, and was counting the minutes until she’d be free to leave.

  Madeline strode to the podium and made a show of adjusting the microphone. “Now is the point in the program I know we’ve all been waiting for,” she said. “Our annual awards. Each year we honor those of our members we feel are the finest representatives of our craft.” She droned on about the voting process, the history of the organization and some other things Kayla couldn’t focus on. She squirmed in her chair and wished she had opted for a drink from the bar.

  “And first up, our senior private detective of the year, Malcolm Stack.”

  A tall man with a shock of white hair walked to the podium to accept the plaque Madeline handed him. Kayla stared at her water glass, mentally rehearsing the brief thank-you she planned to deliver.

  “And for our Western Slope PI of the year, Kayla Larimer.”

  She had expected Madeline to draw out the ceremony more, so the announcement of her name caught her off guard. Awkwardly, she shoved back her chair and stood as a smattering of applause rose around her. As she started toward the podium a chorus of shouts and whistles echoed from the back of the room. Startled, she whirled to see Dylan standing at a table near the back. Beside him, his mother and father stood also, both clapping wildly.

  “Kayla?” Madeline prompted
from the podium.

  Flustered, Kayla made her way to the stage. Madeline shoved the plaque into her hand, and a flash almost blinded her. “Say something,” Madeline hissed, and nudged her toward the microphone.

  “Umm...” Kayla stared at the plaque. Nervous laughter rose from a few people near the front. She cleared her throat and fought for composure. “Thank you for this honor,” she said. She looked out across the room and caught Dylan’s eyes. He was grinning like a fool, and gave her a thumbs-up. She couldn’t help but smile. “And thank you to all the people who have helped me along the way. And to those who continue to support me now.”

  She managed to make it down the steps from the dais without tripping, but instead of returning to her chair, she walked the length of the room to join Dylan and his parents.

  “Congratulations,” Bud Holt said, and pumped her hand.

  “We’re so proud of you,” Nancy added, and patted her arm.

  Kayla looked at Dylan. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a funeral?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to pass up the chance to see you honored like this, did you?” He hugged her to him.

  “I guess you don’t really need to go to Frank Asher’s funeral now that the case is closed,” she said.

  “Even if it was still open, I wouldn’t miss your big night,” he said.

  She held out the plaque and read the text, which proclaimed her as the Western Slope Private Investigator of the Year. “It’s not such a big deal.”

  “It is to me.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m proud of you,” he said. “You deserve this.”

  She turned to his parents. “I can’t believe you came,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re special to Dylan, so you’re special to us, too,” Nancy said. “Congratulations.” She nudged her husband. “Now, I think we should leave these two alone.”