01 Storm Peak

by John Flanagan

  “I’ll be heading home then,” she said to him. There was a strained, unnatural look to her. She seemed to be watching him closely, as if she were looking for some message in his bearing.

  “Been a hell of a day” he said, without any particular inflection, and she nodded.

  “How’re things with Abby?” she asked. Lee and Abby had met before, of course, and Jesse had reintroduced them a few minutes earlier in the parking lot. Pleading urgent business to attend to, Lee had left him with his former wife and headed for her office. Now she asked the question almost too casually. Jesse shrugged.

  “Well, she seems fine. Up here to do a piece for Channel 6 on our killer,” he added. That much he’d been able to find out from Abby in the short conversation they’d had to date. “You want to talk to her about it?” he added and Lee shook her head, not even giving the idea a moment’s consideration.

  “You do it, Jess. Your case.”

  He nodded. “Well, fine then. If you say so. Don’t believe I’ll mention our friend Miller. Can’t say I’d like to see the media concentrating on that aspect.”

  Lee flushed a little and he mentally cursed himself. The statement, intended innocently, had sounded like a criticism of her handling of the day’s events. He debated whether to try to correct the impression and decided it was best not to try to retrieve the mistake. Their eyes met for a moment and he saw that she knew he hadn’t intended any hurt. He was glad he hadn’t said anything further.

  Lee made an abrupt movement, brandishing her keys.

  “I’ll head off then,” she said. She hesitated, debating whether to say anything more. “There’s still a meal going if you have time later,” she said a little tentatively. Then she added, forcing a smile, “Got a fifth of Bushmills going begging too.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe I’ll take a rain check on that for tonight, Lee.” He saw the tension leave her body, as if she’d been keyed up and waiting for his answer. As if his answer were the one she had been fearing to hear.

  “Yeah. Sure,” she said dully. “Any time at all, Jess.”

  She turned away and headed for the stairwell. He watched her go, knowing he’d said the wrong thing

  She paused at the door to the stairs. “Give my best to Abby,” she said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Abby was still making a pretense of reading Jesse’s whiteboard notes when he returned to the conference room. She looked up as the door opened and he came in, clearing a spot on the table and setting the thick china mug down.

  “There’s your coffee,” he said. She looked at the single cup, raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re not having one yourself?” she asked. He shook his head, said nothing.

  “You used to be such a coffee hound, Jess, as I recall,” she said lightly, taking the cup and sipping. He shrugged.

  “Things change,” he said. “People change. I guess I have.”

  She tilted her head to one side and smiled at him. It was an old mannerism of hers. He didn’t know whether it was unintentional or cultivated but he remembered how that smile, that slight tilt of the head, used to make his pulse race a little faster.

  “Not too much I hope, Jesse?” she said lightly. Again, he shrugged.

  “What do you want, Abby?” he asked flatly. Her eyebrows went up and she looked at him with some surprise.

  “That’s pretty blunt, Jess,” she said. “We haven’t spoken for over a year and the best you can say is ‘What do you want’? Whatever happened to ‘How have you been?,’‘How’s life been treating you?,’ or even ‘Gee but it’s good to see you, Abby?’ ” She smiled as she said it, disclaiming any bitterness or enmity. He ignored the smile. There were too many heart-torn nights in his past to wipe everything away and make polite small talk.

  “Like you say, Abby,” he said doggedly, “we haven’t spoken in over a year. Don’t see that there’s any real need to catch up on old times anymore. They’re in the past.”

  “Well, for Christ’s sake, Jesse,” she said, with a hint of bitterness behind the light laugh she tossed in. “Surely we can be civilized. After all, we don’t hate each other, do we?”

  “I guess not,” he replied. “But then, I guess we don’t do much of anything anymore, do we?”

  She shrugged, set the cup down and shook her head—a picture of injured grace.

  “Well, no. I suppose we don’t,” she agreed, letting him know in the way she said it that she didn’t agree. Not at all.

  “So then,” said Jesse, in the same flat tone he’d been using throughout the conversation. “We come back to my question: What do you want?”

  “I told you,” she replied. “Steamboat Springs is news with this serial killer you’ve got up here. The network asked us for some coverage and the news editor picked me to come and do a story.”

  “He picked you, or you volunteered?” Jesse asked.

  She feigned surprise, her eyebrows arcing again at his question. “Why would I do that?” she asked.

  Jesse looked away from her, tired of the pretense. There had been too many conversations like this during their brief marriage. He shook his head, refused to make eye contact with her. Abby had that most important talent for a television reporter: She could fake sincerity perfectly.

  “Are you listening to yourself, Abby?” he asked angrily. “You said the word ‘network.’ The network wanted a piece on Steamboat. Now we may not have spoken, stayed in touch or exchanged Christmas cards over the past year or so, but I’m willing to bet that you haven’t changed all that much. When the word ‘network’ crops up, I’ve seen you trample old ladies to get to a story.”

  She laughed, with a noticeable hint of derision.

  “Besides,” he said, “last I heard, you weren’t doing news reports anymore. You were hosting a morning talk show. So what would make your news editor suddenly decide to haul your ass up here for a news report? Come on, Abby. You asked for this assignment and I think I already know why they gave it to you.”

  “And why would that be?” she asked innocently. She’d adopted a tone of tolerant amusement. The tone that an adult used when talking to a recalcitrant child.

  “Me,” he replied bluntly.

  Her eyes widened even farther and she tilted her head forward to look at him—seeming to stare at him over nonexistent glasses.

  “You?” she said incredulously. “What makes you so important?”

  “Don’t jerk me around, Abby,” he said tiredly. “It used to work for you, but it won’t any longer.” As he said it, he felt a faint stirring of fear as he wondered if perhaps that wasn’t the truth. He realized angrily that he wasn’t sure. Given enough time and the right opportunities, he wasn’t one hundred percent confident that Abby wouldn’t be able to drag him back into her silken net.

  She perched on the edge of the table. His eyes were drawn unwillingly to the short hemline of her skirt, and the trim line of her hip and thigh. Abby had great legs. Hell, he thought miserably, Abby had great everything. And she knew how to display any and all of her features to best advantage. She seemed to notice the direction of his glance and straightened from the table, pointedly smoothing the hem of her skirt down again.

  “My question stands,” she said evenly. “What makes you so important?”

  “Okay, I’ll spell it out so we can both understand it. You hear that the network wants a piece for national broadcast. It’s a case happening up here and I just happen to be the investigating officer. While your editor is figuring who’s best for the story, you waltz in, point out that you and I are old, old friends—‘Heck, I was married to the guy! I know him! I can get him talking’—that sort of thing. The editor asks if there’s no hard feelings over the divorce. You say ‘Hell no, we’re really civilized, you know?’ And you get the assignment.” He paused, locked her eyes into his. “How’m I doing so far?”

  She spread her hands in a gesture of defeat, laughing in a self-deprecating way.

  “Okay, Jesse, I admit it. You’ve got
me! But, hell, is that so bad? I mean, look at the way you just saw right through me. It just goes to prove that we still know each other. We still think about each other. We still understand each other. What’s so bad about that? Okay, I admit I wanted the story. I did it pretty much the way you said, except”—she raised one perfectly manicured forefinger as he went to speak and he stopped—“that the editor did actually broach the subject with me first. He knew we’d been married and he asked if there was any bitterness, or whether I thought our relationship might help.”

  Jesse grunted and she spread her hands ingenuously. “Well, come on, Jesse, are we bitter? I know I’m not.”

  “As I recall,” Jesse said, “you weren’t the one to have much to be bitter about.”

  “Well, now, that’s not exactly true, Jess,” she said earnestly, and he looked up quickly at her. He’d learned to be on his guard when that earnest note crept into her voice.

  “Admit it, Jess,” she continued. “There were problems on both sides. I wasn’t the one who’d be out till four and five a.m. on stakeouts while you were home waiting for me. I wasn’t the one who was getting calls in the middle of the night and rushing out and leaving you to wonder if I’d come back in one piece.”

  There was no answer to that. He knew she was right, on the surface of it. But he also knew that she’d known she was marrying a cop. And he knew she’d made no great effort to accept the life he had to lead. But if they started down that route again, he thought morosely, they could do a rerun of the entire marriage breakup and divorce. He didn’t want that.

  Besides, he knew that when it came to a guilt match, Abby could tie him in knots without even trying. She was a grandmaster of guilt. A black belt in blame.

  “Come on, Jess,” she said in a placating tone. “We had some good times too, didn’t we? Why should we forget them? Why can’t we remember what was good and accept what was bad and be … well, friends? Is that asking too much?”

  And there it was. If he said yes, it was too much, he would be casting himself in the role of the unreasonable, unforgiving ex-husband in the drama that Abby was directing. He went to pace the room, stopped, half-turned away, then turned back again. He must look like a chained bear, he thought bitterly.

  Abby was smiling at him now. A sad little smile that allowed her eyes to plead with him for reason and forgiveness and friendship. God, she was beautiful! he thought and felt a sudden, unexpected shaft of desire shoot through him. Instantly he was wary. He knew that Abby could entangle him again so easily. Knew too that for her, it would be a short-term thing. He couldn’t do that anymore. Not with her. Never with her. And not now that he’d found Lee.

  As if she were reading his thoughts, Abby said, “Would you rather I spoke with your friend Lee? Maybe that would be easier for you?”

  He shook his head. For some reason he didn’t fully understand, he didn’t want Lee and Abby talking. He didn’t know how or why, but he sensed that Abby would make things difficult between himself and Lee. Maybe she’d do it, he reflected, just to see if she could. Abby could be like that.

  For her part, she saw the sudden wariness in his eyes as she mentioned Lee’s name. She ran her eyes over Jesse’s slim build. He was still in great shape, she thought, and remembered now that his body—slim, muscular and taut—had always had an effect on her. Regardless of what had been wrong with their relationship, the sex had always been right. Very right.

  And looking at him now—tired, wary and kind of beaten down—she knew that, given the chance, she’d go to bed with him in a moment. As the realization came to her, she felt a surge of anger toward Lee.

  “No,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to you. You got a crew up here yet?”

  “The crew will come up tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll do an interview then and you can fill me in on the investigation so far.” She paused. “I understand you had a break in the case today?” she said innocently. He looked at her, wary again, not sure how much she knew about Miller and the way things had gone today.

  “False alarm,” he said briefly. “Nothing to get excited over.”

  She nodded and he knew now that she knew the full story. If she hadn’t she would have continued to probe. He thought he’d have to tread very carefully around Abby. She had the instincts of a good reporter. And all the lack of heart that usually went with them. If she could do a hatchet job on the Routt County Sheriff’s Department, its sheriff and its newest deputy, he knew that nothing would prevent her doing so—not their former relationship, not any possible renewal of it.

  Not anything.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said. “Call me here after nine.”

  He motioned toward the door, indicating that he was finished for now and that she could leave. She hesitated a second or two.

  “You busy tonight?” she asked, smiling hopefully. Then, before he could answer, she hurried on. “I’m at the Mountain View and I seem to remember they used to do a great steak. Maybe you could join me? We could catch up a little?”

  He met her eyes deliberately and said, very evenly, hoping that she would get the message, “Not tonight, Abby. I’ve got things to go over, okay?”

  She smiled, looking disappointed but not overly so. “Not tonight?” she asked lightly. “Does that mean ‘not anytime’?”

  “It means not tonight,” Jesse said evenly.

  She shrugged. Can’t blame a girl for trying, the gesture seemed to say.

  He let her out through the parking lot door and saw her to her Ford. She smiled and fluttered her fingers in a wave good-bye as she pulled out onto Yampa.

  Feeling tired and confused, Jesse climbed into the Subaru. He noticed the shriek of metal from the front door and frowned, wondering how long it had been doing that. Then he cranked the engine and pulled out, turning up toward Lincoln. The lights were green at the turnoff to Lee’s house and he came to a halt there, trying to decide whether he might call in on her after all.

  Eventually, just before the lights changed to amber, he decided not to and accelerated away, heading for the turnoff to Rabbit Ear Pass and his own little cabin.

  He wondered why he’d decided not to see Lee and was angry with himself when he couldn’t find a reason.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Abby sat on the bed in her room at the Mountain View, idly swinging one leg and staring at her own reflection in the window.

  Beyond that other image of herself, she could see the lights of the groomers as they moved about the mountain. Her image ebbed and faded as the stronger light sources outside passed across it.

  She was virtually naked, wearing only a pair of white bikini panties. She wondered idly if anyone outside could see into her room and see her sitting there, decided that she didn’t really give a damn if they could.

  She studied her reflection a little more closely, as a Snowcat’s headlights passed across it, dissolving it briefly into the glare, then allowing it to fade back up again. It was a good body, she thought. A damned good body. The breasts were good and still firm. Not too big, but not too small either. They were full and rounded. Her legs were good too. Long and shapely. She raised one as she watched, seeing the play of firm muscle tone under the skin as she did so.

  The stomach was flat and the hips curved nicely. If she stood, she could see that her ass was in great shape. Except she couldn’t be bothered to stand. She decided to take her ass on faith.

  The hair, of course, was spectacular. A glowing, almost white blond that even the subdued image of the reflection couldn’t dim. She knew other women hated her for her hair. Hated her even more when they found out it was natural. They hadn’t made the bottle that could give a woman hair like that.

  She was angry. Angry at the way Jesse had spoken to her. Angry because she knew he’d been sleeping with Lee. She wondered how long that particular arrangement had been going on. Her instincts told her that it was a fairly recent occurrence. She’d sensed the wariness in Lee when they’d spoken, briefly, at the Public Safety B
uilding. The sheriff wasn’t totally sure of her position there. She didn’t radiate the sort of self-confidence that came with a long-standing arrangement.

  Still and all, self-confidence or none, Lee currently enjoyed a tactical advantage and that made her angry. Most of all, Abby was angry because, on the spur of the moment, she’d asked Jesse to join her this evening and he’d refused.

  A large part of it, she could write off to injured pride. But she had to admit that, when she’d seen him again, slightly stooped, looking worn down and overtired as he was, she’d felt some of the old thrill of excitement that used to light up inside her in the old days. He’d always had that feeling of vulnerability about him, she thought.

  She realized, sitting here now, that she still loved Jesse. Maybe not as much as she once had. But certainly more than she’d realized. The sex had always been great between them, she thought now. Certainly a sight better than anything she’d experienced since they’d split. She’d had several affairs with men from the TV channel, but none of them had lit the fire inside that Jesse used to.

  That the mere thought and sight of him now was still able to.

  “Goddamn it!” she said aloud. She stood and moved to the ridiculous little refrigerator that held the room’s minibar. She selected two tiny bottles of Bacardi and dumped them into a glass, tossing ice in after the rum and topping it off with a splash of tonic.

  She swirled the spirit around the ice to chill it faster and moved to the window, leaning her head against the cold glass. The window was double glazed but the inner pane was still only just above freezing. She glanced down, seeing the chill from the window puckering her nipples, bringing them erect. She thought about Jesse’s tongue and the way it used to roll around them and she felt a shock of warmth in her groin. Her breathing was coming faster and shallower she realized, and she took a deep pull at the drink, feeling the bite of the spirit in the back of her throat.