Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “Which is pretty much anyone who’s ever stayed or worked here at the ranch, at least when it comes to knowing about the guns. The family connection is another matter,” Gray said. “We’re not fools, Agent McCullough. I have men going over lists of all the workers and past guests.”

  “It could also be someone who lives in the area and knows about the museum and the ranch’s history,” Matt said.

  Gray nodded. “Which is pretty much everyone in town. And then there are all of us who are descended from Nathan Kendall.” He nodded at Scarlet and grinned.

  Diego wasn’t sure why, it looked to him that there was something scary about that grin. “True, though I’m not sure why one of the man’s descendants would want to kill any of the others. It’s not as if there’s an inheritance involved.

  “Listen,” Diego said, looking at Gray. “We need a security upgrade for this place. Can you give me the name of someone reliable who can put in better locks and arrange a security system? I’d like the locks changed by tonight.”

  “Why don’t you let me take care of that?” Gray offered, and promptly pulled out his phone to make a call. When he hung up, he was smiling. “There’s a guy on the way,” he promised.

  “Thank you,” Diego said. Whatever had changed the guy’s attitude for the better, he was glad of it. He leaned forward to talk to Lieutenant Gray. “I understand that you’re handling the human remains found up on the mountain.”

  “Yes, a month or so ago. I mean, what’s left of the body was found a month or so ago. It had been there awhile. It’s strange when you find remains at the tundra level. Because they’re above the tree line, there’s a lot less cover to protect them, so sometimes they’re nearly perfect, if the snow comes in time to cover them, but otherwise, it’s a crapshoot. In this case, we don’t know yet when he—we do know it’s a man, by the way—was killed, whether it’s been months or even years. Our department experts can’t agree. Betsy Wiggin, the department head, is convinced he died this summer, so not even a year ago yet. A couple of the others say the fabric scraps found under the body suggest that the remains are a lot older. But Betsy thinks we’re looking at the reenactor wearing authentic clothing. At this point we’ve got a forensic anthropologist working on it, and we’ll wait and see what he says.”

  “You said it’s a man, but do you know anything else?” Matt asked.

  “Somewhere between thirty and forty, but that’s it,” Gray said.

  “No one similar in the missing persons database?” Brett asked.

  “No one so far, but once we figure out when he died, maybe we can focus our search more effectively.”

  “Have you done a facial reconstruction yet?” Diego asked.

  “No,” Gray said. “Right now we’re focusing on how he died—along with when, of course. There aren’t any nicks on the bones that suggest a knife wound. No bullets were retrieved from the area. He could have gotten himself lost up there and just frozen to death. Or fallen. We’re still working on it.”

  Diego made a point of not looking at any of the other agents. He knew the Bureau had the resources to figure that out—and quickly.

  “We don’t believe he was from around here,” Gray told them. “There’s definitely no one missing locally who’s anywhere near the description.”

  Matt cleared his throat. “We have an agent in our unit who’s a brilliant forensic artist. We can bring her in, if you want.”

  When Gray didn’t say anything right away, Diego thought he was going to refuse their help, since the case didn’t have any connection to the murders of Larry and Candace Parker.

  But then the lieutenant surprised him by shrugging. “Sure. Quite frankly, we have no idea what we’re dealing with, and I’d appreciate any help.”

  “I’ll get on it,” Matt said.

  “On another note, what can you tell us about the guests who left the Conway Ranch after the Parkers’ bodies were discovered?” Diego asked.

  Lieutenant Ernie Gray almost smiled. “The interview reports have already been emailed to all four of you.”

  “Thank you,” Meg said.

  “I like to think we could have handled this,” Gray said gruffly. “But, hey. A solved murder is a solved murder, right?”

  Scarlet stood. “I think I heard someone at the door,” she said, and started out of the room.

  Diego rose quickly, blocking her.

  She turned to him almost indignantly. “I was going to look before I opened the door.”

  “That should be the security guy,” Gray said.

  Diego went with her to open the door and discovered that Gray was right.

  He was young, no more than twenty-five, but he was with the police, one Officer Benjamin by name, and he seemed to know his stuff. He’d not only brought state-of-the-art locks, but he’d also come with an alarm system and a motion detector. He had the system installed and showed them how it worked, and by the time he finished, the agents, who’d left ridiculously early that morning, were dragging.

  Meg and Matt said good-night and headed over to the main house, promising that before they went to bed they would tell Ben and Terry to use a little extra caution, just in case the connection to Nathan Kendall had played a role in the recent murders. Brett told them that he was going to call Lara before he turned in for the night.

  “I can’t wait for her to get here this weekend. You’re going to love her,” he assured Scarlet.

  “Of course I will. If you love her, so will I,” she told him.

  Words, Diego thought. They were all saying the right words, but what difference did it really make if Scarlet and Lara got along? They would all be leaving as soon as this case was solved.

  Except for Scarlet. Scarlet would stay.

  And that, he realized, didn’t matter at all. He’d come here to keep her safe. No matter where they might be in life, or with whom, it wouldn’t change a thing. He loved her, and nothing mattered more than keeping her safe.

  Brett left them to close himself into the far bedroom for the night and make his call. And once again, Diego and Scarlet were left alone.

  “I need to get some sleep, too,” he said.

  “Of course. Your things are in the room,” she said. She sounded nervous, but she met his eyes as she spoke.

  He shook his head, smiling slightly. “We don’t have to do anything, Scarlet.”

  “What if I want to do something?” she asked.

  The color of her eyes was like a mix of the sea and sky on a summer’s day; the wistfulness in her voice seemed to touch something as old as time in his soul. He fought not to fall prey to his emotions, to remember that once they’d had something unique, special beyond anything he’d ever dreamed of, but it still hadn’t been enough to last for all time.

  And yet he couldn’t stop himself.

  “I have a feeling I could be convinced,” he told her lightly.

  She smiled. “Well, then…”

  She turned to head for her room. He caught hold of her shoulder, and swung her back around and into his arms. He kissed her, relishing the softness of her lips, her tongue…and a hunger that seemed to match his own.

  He broke away, breathless. Her eyes seemed dazzling now on his.

  “Wow,” she murmured, then turned serious. “Brett is down at the other end of the hall.”

  He grinned. “And you don’t think Brett knows what we’re doing?”

  She flushed. “Some divorced people hate each other.”

  “I never hated you.”

  “I only hated you a little.”

  That hurt—because he knew why.

  He started to pull away, but she held him back. “Only a little bit—and only for a little while,” she whispered, sounding almost desperate. “And I know that…that I was at fault, too.”

 
“You were never at fault,” he told her.

  “But I was,” she said. “I wanted the knight in shining armor all the time, the man who was charming and teased and laughed, and could make everyone around him comfortable…who even made me jealous sometimes, but not really, because I knew I was the one you wanted. I didn’t want to get between you and your work, because I knew it was a passion for you, but at the same time I resented it for coming between us.”

  “I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he said. He started to turn away.

  She stopped him, pleading in her eyes. “Can we forget the past for tonight? No past, no future. Just tonight.”

  His only answer was to pull her back into his arms. His physical response to her was almost embarrassingly instantaneous.

  She felt him against her and practically melted into him. Her fingers started playing with the buttons of his shirt.

  “Brett’s down the hall,” he reminded her, echoing her words in one last attempt to retain his sanity.

  “Yes, but he knows what we’re doing,” she said.

  Then she smiled, turned and walked down the hall to her room.

  He followed.

  She closed the door and kicked off her shoes. Her T-shirt hit the floor in seconds, her bra following suit without a pause. She shimmied out of her jeans and panties while he watched, and then she stood naked before him, smiling.

  He grinned, pulling his holster and gun from his waistband, then set them on the bedside table before practically tearing off his shirt.

  There had been a time when she’d hated the gun, when she’d asked him to put it out of sight the minute he got home, a request he hadn’t recognized for what it was: an attempt to forget about his job for a little while and have him all to herself.

  She didn’t ask that tonight.

  The minute he ditched the rest of his clothes she moved into his arms, her heated skin practically setting his aflame. “Remember how to do this?” she teased.

  “I remember everything,” he told her seriously. “I remember that one of the things that drives you the craziest is when I stand behind you and run the tip of my tongue down your spine. Want me to show you?”

  She started to say something, but he didn’t give her the chance. He caught her lips, then lifted her and set her down on the bed. He kissed her long and deeply, and he never really broke away, he just trailed down to her throat and her breasts, and then her midriff and along the soft silky flesh of her inner thighs.

  She writhed and moaned against him, her fingers on his shoulders, her body arching in a way that fed his hunger and desire nearly to the breaking point. He made love to her slowly, despite the burning need within him, taking her almost to the point of no return, then backing off and finding her lips again, teasing her flesh as he savored the feel of her, the pleasure of being with her again.

  She cried out softly again and again, until suddenly she became the aggressor, shifting until she was on top of him, burning his skin with kisses and caresses, and then sliding onto him again until he rolled her under him again and drove them both to a violent climax. Finally, exhausted, sated, the sound of their heartbeats like a crescendo in the night, they rested.

  As he held her, he remembered how they had promised each other forever…and how soon they’d broken that promise.

  He was surprised when she spoke.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He turned to her. “No, thank you,” he said, and smiled.

  “I—I haven’t, um, I haven’t really even dated since…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away.

  Resting on an elbow, he watched her face in the pale light that seeped in through the window. “Neither have I.”

  “What? I don’t believe you.”

  “One dinner,” he told her.

  “Was she nice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Very.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She wasn’t you,” Diego said softly. Then he pulled her against him. “Let’s get some sleep. I really did get up at the crack of dawn.”

  “Whatever you want,” she said, which sent his mind running in a direction conducive to anything but sleep. But a moment later she said, “Thank you for coming here.”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “That’s who you are,” she said softly.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Diego?”

  “Yes?”

  “That’s an admirable quality, you know.”

  Her fingers closed around him, and to his chagrin, he was instantly aroused.

  Apparently forgetting her promise to let him sleep, she slid atop him. “And so is this,” she teased.

  They made love again, and it was a very long time before he went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  The dreams that filled Scarlet’s unconscious mind came with morning’s light rather than the deepest darkness of the night.

  It seemed to Scarlet that she was waking up, roused by the glow of dawn slipping into the room. The sun. But then the sun was suddenly surrounded by a haze, as if a mist had come from nowhere to dull its brilliance. And that notion was ridiculous, she knew, because mist didn’t come in bright sunlight, it came on days when storms were darkening the skies. But logic didn’t matter, because the mist was there, diffusing the glow of the sun. And then…

  Someone was walking toward her through the mist.

  No, there were two of them…

  Two men walking toward her. One moved stiffly, like the living robots she’d seen entertaining tourists in Times Square. The other moved naturally, shaking his head as if in amusement at his companion’s awkwardness.

  They both looked to be in their thirties, wearing jeans, Western-style shirts and cowboy hats.

  At first she wasn’t afraid.

  “We’re just trying to help,” the awkward one assured her, reaching the foot of the bed. It was the statue of Nathan Kendall, she realized.

  “You’re one of us,” the other said. She wasn’t sure who he was; she couldn’t see him past Nathan.

  “We’re coming back,” Nathan said.

  “We’re trying to help,” the other said.

  “Trying to save you,” said Nathan…

  That was when she awoke, bolting upright from the dream. She stared at the foot of her bed, terrified that the statue would be standing there again.

  It wasn’t, and she breathed deeply in relief.

  Diego. Diego was here.

  She stretched a hand out across the sheets. Diego wasn’t here.

  He’d always been an early riser, even when he’d stayed up late. He was probably just in the bathroom or in the kitchen making coffee. And Brett was there somewhere, too. She was safe.

  She inhaled deeply and told herself that she’d simply had a weird dream.

  All she had to do was let the dream drift away and she would be fine. She reminded herself that she’d had a pretty spectacular night. But now she needed to shower and face the day. At least now she wasn’t alone.

  She showered quickly, and realized from the wet towels and familiar razor by the sink that Diego had showered and shaved earlier. There was something comforting about seeing the evidence of his presence there.

  She dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen.

  There was an unfamiliar older man sitting at the table. His hair was snow white, neatly cut, and he was studying one of Nathan Kendall’s journals.

  For a moment, she froze, wondering about her sanity, her dreams and mannequins that moved.

  She stood there gaping, wondering if the man was real or not.
>
  He was.

  And he proved it by standing up as soon as he noticed her and smiling.

  “Scarlet, hello, I’m so sorry to have startled you. Brett let me in a little while ago. I’m Adam Harrison.” He offered her his hand.

  Relieved and feeling more than a little silly, she smiled and quickly walked forward to offer him her hand in return.

  “It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard all about you, of course. You were so kind to send everyone out here so quickly to help me.”

  “I was happy to do it. Come, why don’t sit down and join me?”

  “Just let me get some coffee,” she said. She poured herself a cup and sat down beside him.

  “Phantom photos—now that’s something new,” Adam said.

  “I wasn’t the only one who saw them,” she said, and realized that she sounded defensive. “Ben—Ben Kendall, my boss—saw the pictures, too. They were there—and then they weren’t.”

  “I don’t doubt you for a minute. The camera will be on its way to our own people back East very soon. We’ll find out what’s going on.”

  “That’s great, thank you,” Scarlet said. Then she asked, “Do you know where Diego is?”

  “I do. He and the others are with Lieutenant Gray. They’re heading to the morgue to examine the remains that were discovered up on the mountain.”

  “Ah, okay,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say, so she asked, “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “No, I ate on the plane, but feel free to get yourself something. Once you’re done, I would love to see your museum. I understand it holds an extensive weapons collection.”

  “It does—except that it’s not here at the moment. The police took all our weapons. Except—”

  “Yes, I know. You’re missing an 1849 Colt pocket percussion revolver,” Adam said. “Most probably the murder weapon.”

  “Someone must have broken in here and stolen it,” she said.

  “They won’t now,” he assured her. “Not only do you have an alarm system, but we know exactly where all the keys are—with us.”