No one ever has before.
She definitely couldn’t show anyone the note. That was one thing she was clear about. The note was a lie that would only make it harder for the police to find the truth. Before she left the cabin, she had to burn that lie in the fireplace. She shuddered to think about what the note said and about the second lock of hair.
Believe in your own goodness.
She put on her jacket, slid the backpack on, then closed her eyes.
Reason dictated her path. She should go home, talk to her parents and to the authorities. But her gut clenched at the thought. How could she convince them with mere words? She needed evidence to back up her theories.
Proof of the others.
A thud sounded outside, and her eyes flew open. The sound of footsteps, crunch, crunch, crunching over the ground broke through her dizzy indecision. They were heavy menacing footfalls growing closer and closer.
His footfalls?
Her purse still sat on the plank table. She grabbed it and bolted out the back door.
Chapter 11
Thursday, October 24
1:45 P.M.
Task force headquarters
Highlands Hotel
Denver, Colorado
With the interview concluded, Grady left, giving a terse good-bye and offering yet again to join the task force should they come to their senses and recognize the value he could add. Caitlin was glad to see him go for more reasons than one. She had her eye on the powder room and was just about to excuse herself when a short, heavyset man barreled through the door Grady had just exited. The squat detective’s legs were scissoring hard enough that Caitlin could hear the slap of his polyester pants whipping against each other. What this man lacked in height he made up for in speed and alacrity.
Spense arched an eyebrow.
Hatcher replied to his unspoken question, “Cliff’s one of my best men.”
“Jordo!” The pitch of Cliff’s voice was much higher than Caitlin had expected from such a burly source. He was worked up about something. That much seemed sure. “Jordo, we got something.”
Her first thought, her first hope, really, was that someone had spotted Laura out and about. But since they hadn’t yet notified the press, a Laura sighting seemed unlikely. The public didn’t know she was missing.
“Get the usual suspects together for a press conference. Let’s say ten a.m. tomorrow,” Hatcher replied, apparently thinking along the same lines as Caitlin.
It was time to ask for the public’s help. And holding the press conference in the morning would give Hatcher time to craft a statement. She and Spense would be expected to come up with a preliminary profile by then, too.
A tall order.
Hard to profile the perpetrator when it wasn’t yet clear what crime, if any, had been committed.
“Consider it done. But Jordo, I just talked to Rhonda.” The detective bent and put both hands on his knees then quickly straightened up again.
“Rhonda’s desk sergeant at District 2,” Hatcher clarified for her benefit and for Spense’s.
“Per Rhonda, a call came in to Dillon and Dillon relayed to Piney Trails. Piney Trails relayed to District 2.” He was panting now. “Hiker. Up in the mountains. Near—get this—Frank’s Cabin.”
“Frank’s Cabin?” Hatcher’s hands flew up to his wiry hair.
“You heard me right.”
Caitlin wasn’t sure but if she had to guess . . .
“Thirteen years ago Angelina’s body was found in the mountains near a cabin. That would be Frank’s Cabin?” Spense asked.
Hatcher was on his feet. “Same.”
The stocky detective let out a long wheeze.
“Take a breath, Cliff. Then get on with it.” Hatcher pinned him with a commanding look.
“Road from Dillon to the Angel Rock trailhead is officially closed, but this dude, he hiked up anyway. Photographer looking for what he called Magic Mike. Magic light . . . magic hour? I don’t remember what kind of magic.”
“That part’s not important,” Hatcher answered.
Cliff took a puff off a red inhaler he’d pulled from his pocket. “Right. He planned to stay the night at Frank’s Cabin, but when he got there, he heard noise. Saw a flash out the back door. Somebody small, he thinks a female. Running—maybe limping a little. He considered giving chase, but didn’t see a reason, until he got inside, and by then it was too late.”
To Caitlin’s way of thinking, Cliff should’ve started his story with that reason inside the cabin. But he was flustered enough already, so she tried to be patient while he got on with it.
“Blood all over the place.”
Finally, the punch line.
“And a green dress.”
“When did the call come in?” Spense asked. He and Caitlin had both gotten to their feet as well. Everyone huddled in a rapt circle around Cliff.
“Now. It came in just now. Rhonda, she said she knew right away we’d want to hear about it. Guy called from his cell as soon as he got signal. He’s on his way out, but he’s gotta finish hiking down. You want he should wait in Dillon or come here?”
“Take Frampton and meet the photographer in Dillon. Get his statement. Then check in. Our honored guests, here, will come with me, up to the cabin. And, Cliff, get a park ranger and a couple of techs, maybe some uniforms, to meet us at the road. Hopefully it’s passable and we won’t have to hike up it ourselves. That all you got?”
“Blood, a green dress, and a witness ain’t enough?” Cliff asked. “You’re just like the wife—never satisfied. What more do you want, conjugal rights?”
“Long as I get to be on top,” Hatcher shot back. “And you’re right, I won’t be satisfied with anything short of finding Laura Chaucer alive and getting her home to her family. And this time, I intend to nail the bastard responsible.” He jerked a gaze around the circle. “Anyone needs to powder his nose better hurry. We’re going on a field trip and the bus leaves in five.”
Chapter 12
Thursday, October 24
1:48 P.M.
Task force headquarters
Highlands Hotel
Denver, Colorado
Caitlin finished drying her hands and glanced in the mirror. Touching her cracked lips with her index finger, she remembered the Chapstick in her purse and wished she’d brought it with her into the bathroom. Her hair was a mess. She dragged her fingers through the tangled waves and tucked them behind her ears.
A door creaked.
She let out an involuntary gasp as she whipped around to confront the man whose image suddenly loomed in the mirror behind her.
“You startled me,” she said to Grady. “Last I heard, knocking before entering a restroom was standard operating procedure.”
He gave her a superior look. “I knew it was you in here. I watched you down a full liter of water during my interview. The way you kept looking toward the bathroom, I surmised you’d be headed here within minutes of concluding the questioning. However, it took you long enough. Cliff’s news must’ve been compelling indeed.”
She doubted Grady and Cliff had been introduced. If he knew the detective’s name, most likely he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation after leaving the interview room. This took bad manners to a whole new level—almost a criminal one. “Why ask when you were obviously listening through the door while lying in wait to accost me in the bathroom?”
“Accost is a strong word. And hardly fair since I waited until I heard the toilet flush and the water running. I knew you’d be decent when I walked in.”
He was behaving as though this was normal, appropriate, even polite behavior. A hot burst of anger flared inside her, setting her cheeks on fire. “Get out!”
He grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her toward him. “C’mon, Caitlin. I just want to talk to you. I didn’t know a better way to get you alone. And let this be a lesson to you. Always lock the door.”
He had the nerve, with his fingers locked around her wrists and
digging painfully into her flesh, to assert that he was looking out for her—teaching her a lesson. A spider crawling up her back would’ve creeped her out less. And she had locked the door she entered by. But this was a massive, multi-room suite and the bath could be entered from either side. She’d made the mistake of assuming the door on the opposite side was already locked. A mistake she wouldn’t make twice. Grady had gone back around and then entered via the other door.
“Any one of these sketchy detectives, all of whom have less consideration for your dignity than I do, could’ve walked in on you.”
“The only sketchy one around here is you. So take your hands off me.” She jerked her wrists free and pushed him away.
“Relax, Caitlin. You misunderstand my intent.”
Doubtful. She took a step back. He took a bigger one forward. She considering grinding her heel into his instep, but she knew he’d draw satisfaction from it. It would prove he’d gotten to her. It would make her appear frightened. And she wasn’t frightened. She was pissed. Grady might be twice her size, but she didn’t need to fear him . . . at least not in this moment. Just outside the door, an entire room full of detectives—not to mention Spense—stood at the ready. Grady was too smart to take things further while they were in a setting where he was certain to be found out.
She waited a moment for her breathing to return to normal, then said, “You admitted you followed me into the bathroom. That’s way out of line, and you know it. Don’t ever do that to me again. In the future, if you want to speak to me alone, you’ll need to ask my permission. I may or may not give it, as is my right.” Then she smiled, as graciously as she could manage to do while picturing herself gouging his eyes out. “However, it seems you’ve caught me in a generous mood.” She swept her palm out invitingly. “If you want to chat in a bathroom, then by all means, let’s.” For good measure she straightened her shoulders and moved in close. Now she was the invader of personal space. “What’s up, Grady?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Not following.” She checked out her fingernails to signal her indifference.
“From the moment we said hello in the limo, you’ve been acting distant.”
“I’ve been polite.”
“You’ve been formal, even cold. I can’t imagine what I could possibly have done to deserve such treatment from a very dear old friend.”
One of them needed a reality check, and it wasn’t her. “Then let me explain it to you. A: We’re not dear old friends or any other kind of friends. B: You shouldn’t have said a damn word about our past relationship in front of other people.”
“You’re the one who insisted on making it known.”
“Not at all. I simply insisted on not pretending we’d never met. Your subterfuge is what called attention to it. Made it seem like a big deal. Even though we only dated briefly, and so long ago.”
“But it was a big deal. I was your first. And it wasn’t so long ago.”
“Not my first. But, I was young and—”
“Beautiful.”
“I was going to say impressionable. And you were someone I looked up to—my teacher and mentor. You took advantage of my naiveté and because of my father, you knew I’d be vulnerable to an older, wiser man.”
“Really, Caitlin, you make me sound like a terrible letch. A dirty old man. When in truth, I’m little more than a decade your senior. And if you’ve got a daddy complex, that’s hardly my fault.”
She’d never punched a man in the face, but a first time just might be on the horizon.
“I didn’t force myself on you. As I recall, you were quite enamored of me.”
“In the beginning, yes. But when I tried to end things, you refused to accept it. You stalked me through the halls of the hospital.”
“I worked at the hospital. You were my resident. I was your attending. It was my job to keep close tabs on you. And I fully embraced the breakup. I, too, was happy to part ways . . . eventually.” He raised his right hand. “Caitlin, I swear to you that it was Inga, not you, who was the love of my life. Inga’s loss is what keeps me up nights. It’s her face I see in my dreams when I do finally fall asleep. This may come as a crushing blow to your inflated ego, but I haven’t given you a second thought in that way since the day I met my sweet Inga. So, rest easy, darling. I have absolutely no intention of trying to rekindle a dead flame.”
A pang of pity assailed her—for Inga. “Is that what you followed me in here to say?”
“Yes. Your behavior’s been strange, and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have the idea I still . . .”
Caitlin hadn’t really had time to process the news of Inga’s death. Though they hadn’t been close, she’d always liked her. She remembered Inga compassionately reaching out to touch a patient’s hand during rounds. She remembered the lively way Inga debated the merits of Freud versus Skinner with her fellow residents. She remembered Inga humming as she worked on her progress notes. She remembered Inga alive. The pressure of unshed tears rose behind Caitlin’s eyes, and her shoulders softened as the anger she felt for Grady slowly drained from her heart.
He’d lost his wife.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss.” She met his eyes, her own moist. “I thought the world of Inga. And I want you to know, that even though you could’ve chosen a better way of getting my ear, I am glad we had this talk. I’d like to put the past behind us. I’d like to move forward without animosity—as colleagues.” She took a breath. She felt compelled to add, “Colleagues and nothing more. We’re going to have to stay in touch regarding this case, so I’d like to keep a good working relationship.”
“Colleagues only. We’re on the same page. What a relief.” He extended his hand, and she gladly shook it. “You go ahead,” he said, as though she were a maiden with her reputation in danger. “I’ll wait here for a minute, and then I’ll leave the same way I came in.”
She felt relieved, too, but not for long. As she exited the room, she caught Grady’s reflection in the mirror, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Grady didn’t notice her watching him watching her . . . because his lascivious gaze was glued to her bottom.
Chapter 13
Late afternoon
Near Frank’s Cabin
Eagles Nest Wilderness
Colorado
Another dead end.
Like the others she’d taken before it, this turned out not to be a trail at all.
Laura’s muscles strained eagerly, propelling her body into a ready crouch as she peered down over the edge of a precipice. How perverse that just a couple of hours after the burning will to live sent her running out of Frank’s Cabin, she found herself battling a powerful urge to jump off a cliff.
Instead of hurtling from the ledge, she scooped up a stone and tossed it over. Her gaze jealously followed its arc for as long as she could make out its path. It tumbled down, down, down. That lucky rock easily found its way off the mountain. A task that was proving difficult for her. When she’d gone tearing out of the cabin, sheer adrenaline had fueled her flight, blocking out all awareness of physical discomfort. It wasn’t until later that she’d noticed the shooting pains in her side and the watery ache in her legs. The places where her ill-fitting borrowed boots abraded her feet.
She didn’t think she’d been followed, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Whether those were her monster’s footsteps she’d heard outside the cabin or someone else’s, he would be looking for her.
Hunting her.
If not now, then soon—the very moment he learned her dead body wasn’t lying on that cabin floor.
She indulged in one last glance at the gaping chasm below, then walked to a less tempting distance from the ledge. The trudge up the mountain had exhausted her almost as quickly as the sun had begun to sink in the sky. And no matter how hard she’d studied her topo map, she simply hadn’t been able to find her way. A half-dozen false trails had led her farther and farther up the mountain.
She was badly lost.
According to the map, Frank’s Cabin was only a few miles from Dillon, but once the sun went down, she’d be surrounded by the darkest kind of night—the kind without city lights. She couldn’t risk trying to make it to town tonight—and when she did get there, to whom would she turn?
Shading her eyes with her hand, she surveyed the area. That group of boulders over there would make a good enough spot to camp. She could spread a blanket at the base, and the weathered rocks would shield her not only from view, but from the wind and cold. It would be a long night, but she had warm clothing and supplies, and there was no way she’d ever find the road in the dark.
Huddling in the shelter of the boulders, she settled in. Despite her fatigue, she felt mentally stronger. The air was clean, and the shadow of evil that hung over the cabin was nowhere to be found. It was another world out here, a beautiful, wondrous place where lodge pole pines and quaking aspen gave way to ground-hugging grasses, knee timber, and eventually alpine meadows. A world so unlike the prison of a home she’d grown up in.
Always under the watchful eye of Cayman and her parents.
Medicated.
Protected not only from the outside world, but from the dangers of her own mind.
She stared at a lonely red flower, amazed it had somehow survived the cold and wind and altitude, then she lifted her face to catch the warmth of the sun’s last rays. Life was a gift and though hers, like the little red flower’s, had been a struggle, in this moment she knew for certain she would never willingly relinquish it.
Her stomach growled, and that made her happy. Her appetite had returned—yet another miracle. All that fresh air and exercise, she supposed. She didn’t dare chance a fire, so she poured cold water from one of her canteens into a bag of freeze-dried beef stroganoff. The meat was chewy, and the noodles turned to powder on her tongue, but the flavor was good—downright tasty even—and the meal satisfied her clamoring stomach. Deciding she wouldn’t wait for night to sleep, she zipped her coat tight and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.
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