Diana lowered her head and cupped the coffee mug in her hands. “I had no idea. Winston never said anything.”
“It was a couple years back. Maybe he forgot.”
“I don’t think so.”
Diana felt the vibration of her cell, took it out of her pocket and opened it. “Hey,” she said to Jess.
“Something’s going on down here,” said Jess in a low voice. “Keith just came home and he didn’t key in. School bus dropped him off and somebody opened the door for him. I’m in the back yard now.”
“You better get out of there,” said Diana. “You’re trespassing. That wasn’t part of the plan. Want to make Rogart’s day?”
“I’m gonna make his day one he’ll never forget. Hey…”
“What? Jessie, what?”
“I hear a kid crying,” whispered Jess.
“Keith?”
“Nuh-uh. A little one. Like as in…baby.”
Chapter 38
Jess listened for a few moments to the wails of a newborn. Then she quietly backtracked up the hill to the stand of ponderosa pines where she’d parked her car. For the first time, she actually regretted driving around that red beacon of a Camaro. As she put the car in gear and steered down the incline, a plan was stewing in her brain. She’d script it on the fly.
With the hill as a sound barrier, Jess started her engine and drove slowly around to the front of the Rogart house. She hesitated only a second before pulling into the driveway. As she parked, she reached down and checked the Glock in her ankle holster. Then she quickly rehearsed her line: Hey Darren, Diana told me about Pregnant Patty being safe with you. I just wanted to congratulate you and give you my bill for time and expenses. What? You need a payment plan? No problem.
The house was a gray ranch with an attached oversized garage—newer and more impressive than she’d expected. Damn dandy digs, Darren. How’d you manage that?
The tan Ford pickup that she’d come to associate with Darren sat parked in front of the garage. Jess’s urge to peek through a garage window was foiled. Literally. Goddamn aluminum foil over the window. Can’t see a fucking thing.
The house was quiet as Jess knocked on the front door, then leaned on the bell. Finally, Keith opened the door a crack.
“What d’ you want?” he asked.
“You must be Keith. I’m Jess, a friend of your dad. Is he home?”
Keith opened the door the width of the security chain and frowned at her. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I’m not allowed to open the door when I don’t know you.”
“I take it your dad is not at home.” Jess smiled at the boy. “Can you tell me when he’ll be back?”
Suddenly a teenage girl appeared behind Keith, then pulled the boy behind her. “Dad’s not home, Miss Edwards,” she said.
“You must be Lori.” Jess brightened her smile and extended a hand through the narrow opening, hoping Lori wouldn’t decide to slam the door on her wrist. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Lori looked at Jess’s hand, but didn’t take her up on a shake. “I know you work for my dad. I’ve seen you before.” Lori folded her arms and took a half-step back. “But he didn’t say anything about you coming by today.”
“He wasn’t expecting me. I just got some new information for him. I really need to talk with him.”
Lori took hold of the door knob, letting the chain go slack. She seemed to be weighing the legitimacy of Jess’s visit. Then an idea lit up her face. “Why don’t you just leave the information? I’ll give it to him.”
“I could come back.” Jess half-turned, pretending to weigh some heavy news. “It’s just that time is important in this…matter.”
As Jess turned back toward the door, she saw Keith tugging on his sister’s arm. “Maybe she found Trisha,” he said.
Found Trisha? I thought she was here. Scratch that. If she was here, she’d be at the door finding out who I was, not leaving it to the kids.
“Trisha’s with Dad,” said Lori between clenched teeth. “You just forgot. Or you’re making up stories again.”
“I am not.” Keith pulled angrily away from his sister. “And I didn’t forget.”
Jess looked expectantly at Lori, but the girl’s eyes were unyielding. “If you have something for Dad, you can leave it with me,” she said.
“It’s in the car,” said Jess. “I’ll go get it.”
What the fuck do I have in the car? She’ll obviously read whatever I leave.
Jess had just started down the steps when the baby tuned up again and sounded off like a couple of battling alley cats.
“Trisha had her baby?” asked Jess, wheeling back toward the door. “Boy or girl?” she asked, as if ready to share the joyful news.
“Girl,” said Keith before Lori could yank him away from the door. Then she slammed it abruptly in Jess’s face. No amount of hammering could get her to open it again.
Chapter 39
The longer days of March stretch fingers of light through the ponderosa pines that grow on either side of the road. Once he leaves the highway, the Hunter’s silver truck glides along the well-maintained dirt road.
“Are we almost there?” Trisha whines, spoiling his reverie.
“Almost,” he replies, the soul of patience. Bitch couldn’t wait to get away from her kid.
He tries to concentrate on her positive qualities. The elasticity of youth has quickly put Trisha’s body back in shape after childbirth. Sooner than he’d expected. He won’t have to endure much more yapping from her pretty mouth.
“I’m getting hungry,” she says.
He darts a smile in her direction. “So am I.”
“I meant for food.” She nudges him in the ribs. Sometimes she’s not completely clueless. But her areas of expertise are limited. “You’re sure there’s a good restaurant there?”
“The best,” he lies.
“It better not be no fast-food crap.” She squirms in the seat like a two-year-old.
He knows by now that the rocks and trees bore her. She grew up in the mountains, and only the promise of an A-rated fancy restaurant tempted her to accompany him. If she knew anything about this area, she wouldn’t have been so easily fooled.
“I’ve gotta pee,” she complains after a while. “Bad.”
Worse than an infant. He grinds his teeth as he pulls over to the side of the road, then reaches across her and opens the passenger door. “Go ahead.”
She looks at him incredulously. “In the bushes?”
“Sorry.” He shrugs at her and smiles, hoping she doesn’t squat in poison ivy. He wonders how long a reaction might take to develop. Probably nothing to worry about. Her shelf life is about up.
“It’s not funny,” she pouts. “Stop laughing at me.”
As she stalks away into the trees, he opens the duffle bag on the floor and removes a syringe and vial of George’s Ketamine. A special treat for Trisha. He thumps the syringe, ridding it of air bubbles.
He’s smiling as she returns. “Whew. That’s better,” she says as she gets into the truck. “What’s that?” She eyes the syringe, not a trace of suspicion in her blue eyes.
“Your favorite,” he replies. “Special K.”
“But, a shot?” She draws back, doesn’t like needles.
“Much quicker. You’re gonna love it.”
This puts a smile on her face. She even rolls up her sleeve for him. It’s only a matter of seconds before she slumps against him, unconscious. He moves her to the seat behind him in the king cab. The ensuing quiet is delicious.
He savors the remaining minutes of the drive as enthusiasm for his current project fills him with an adrenalin rush and fades his disappointment in the blemished redhead.
Knowing that the black and the redhead are out there asking a bunch of questions only heightens his excitement. They’re like beautiful birds trailing his breadcrumbs. After all, the best part of the hunt is the stalking, the maneuvering of the prey.
Too bad about the redhe
ad—a waste. Not entirely. She’ll bring the black straight to him. Then, when she’s served her purpose: Burn, baby, burn. The runty Latina is just a little piece of ash now. He chuckles at his own humor. Too bad there is no one to appreciate it. Yet.
But soon he looks forward to sharing the fruits of his project, which he’s convinced surpasses his mentor’s major coup. He shoots a backward glance at Trisha’s motionless form as he recalls that it took Dr. Ara a year to finish Evita’s preservation. Too bad the doctor was so obsessed with her persona that he never realized what he had in the process. A shame the man’s been dead these many years and will never see his unknown pupil’s work.
Well, maybe not. Unless something’s been lost in translation, he doubts that he and his unsuspecting mentor are of a mind. The irony makes him smile as a vision pops into his head: Ara thrashing in his grave. Is it horror or jealously that moves him? The Hunter laughs aloud. It doesn’t really matter; he doesn’t believe in an afterlife.
Smugness overtakes him as he imagines his studio full of glass cases containing examples of his special art form. Soon the current crop will be ready to share with an elite group. Thanks to Shane, his untraceable website is already sending out feelers.
By the time he reaches the lodge, only a hazy glow tops the mountains to the west. Soon darkness will enfold him and his workshop like a familiar blanket.
As he lifts Trisha’s limp body from the truck and walks toward the front door, he feels a welcoming presence.
I’m home, Brandi.
Chapter 40
“The kids are not going to let me inside the house,” said Jess to Diana. “At least, Lori won’t. I think I had a chance with Keith.”
They sat over coffee in a Starbucks in Littleton, where they’d agreed to meet on the evening of their respective discoveries at the Flannigan and Rogart residences. “You’re sure Darren wasn’t really there and just didn’t want to face you?” suggested Diana. “You said his truck was there.”
“The one we know about.” Jess took a drink, licked cappuccino from her lips, then glanced up at Diana. “I know you’ve been pulling for Darren to be the good guy. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way.”
“Look, after what Rena Flannigan told me, I’m ready for anything. She had no idea Cutler was involved with Lori.”
“Hey, you didn’t—”
“Name names? Of course not. But I got a totally different picture of Rena this time. She seemed totally credible.”
“So Rena gets Joe off the hook, and we’re left with Cutler and Darren. Maybe they’re the unholy twosome and no tradeoff was involved,” mused Jess.
“Rena obviously believes in her husband, but what if her trust is misplaced?”
Jess rolled her eyes. “You just don’t give up, do you? You think I didn’t want Dare to be Mr. Right, too? Cutler’s a factor in this thing, all right, but his thing is young chicks. Read my lips, Diana. We are not young chicks, in case you haven’t looked lately.”
“Thanks a bunch,” Diana growled. “And just as I was feeling a little better about this old bod. Hey, thirty-five is not old. What about the old buds? Thirty-five would be young to them.”
“Ah, the old fart factor. I really don’t think they’re involved in this. Whatever this may be…” Jess trailed off, as if in deep thought.
“What is it?” asked Diana.
“What if videos of women—porno flicks—was what this is all about? He’d want a product for every perverse taste, wouldn’t he?”
“He, meaning?” Diana beckoned a response from Jess. “Are you conceding that Shane Cutler may be working alone? He seduces Lori. Films their activities in the cabin. Larry Strickland comes along. Shane kills Larry and lets him take the blame for Lori’s rape.”
“But Brandi Rogart’s prints are in Larry’s truck. That lends credibility to Custer County’s theory that she’s still alive and may be Larry’s killer.”
“I forgot. But that doesn’t rule out Shane’s making sex flicks.”
Jess nodded. “That much tracks. But that’s as far as it goes. You’ve never even met him. You and I don’t factor into an equation in which Shane Cutler is the sole player.”
Diana applauded. “Wow. You sound just like a real detective.”
“Okay, be a smart-ass. But if it wasn’t for one thing, I’d guess Darren is HUNTER 2 and he and Shane are a team.”
“What’s that one thing?” asked Diana, struggling through muddy emotions, trying to detach from Rogart completely. Yes, she’d only think of him as Rogart, not Darren. Depersonalize and conquer.
“Blondie said whoever bought Larry’s truck paid for it by check. And the check cleared. That rules out Darling Dare. He doesn’t even have a checking account.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Maybe Penelope Strickland flat-out lied to you,” suggested Diana.
“I don’t credit her with that much smarts.”
“So, back to Trisha. Why would she leave her baby? Do we call children’s services? Scratch that. We have no reason to think the baby’s in danger. We haven’t even seen a baby.” Diana’s frustration wrinkled her brow, deepened the faint lines between her eyes as she plumbed for a solution.
“You want to see a baby?” Jess’s face lit up with a solution. “You go to the house. The kids know you. I’ll bet they’ll let you in.”
Diana hesitated. “I have another idea,” she said. “We need to get a welfare check on the Rogart kids. But I’d just as soon not have my name connected to it. We’d never get another peek at them if it got back to him.”
Jess nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right.”
Diana’s face brightened suddenly. “I know somebody who might help us out. A woman in the D.A.’s office. I’ve worked with her on a few cases. And last week I took on a guardian ad litem thing for some poor little rich kids at her request. I think she’d lean on Douglas County if I can convince her there’s a real situation here.”
“What if Darren snows them like he did us? Note, I said us. I was just as much the fool as you, Diana.”
“Thanks, I needed that. You always know how to cheer me up.”
“Do I hear a growl coming on?”
“No, it’s okay. If Plan A fizzles, we’ll go to Plan B.”
Chapter 41
It was completely starless dark when Diana reached Rogart’s home in Franktown. Jess’s instructions had been easy to follow, and Jess would not be far behind her. She hoped. The skinny curve of a crescent moon teetered among clouds, barely distinguishable in the moody March sky.
Now that she was actually approaching the house, Diana had giant misgivings. The original plan—the sensible one—had been executed the evening before. She’d called Marge in the D.A.’s office and requested a welfare check on some children in Franktown. The Rogart children and an unidentified infant. When Diana hadn’t received news of the outcome by the following afternoon, her patience had frayed. She wondered if the welfare check had even been performed, but didn’t want to call Marge. Giving her request such high priority might elicit too many questions from Marge.
Now that she’d set Plan B in motion, she doubted the wisdom of not giving Douglas County a bit more time to get the job done.
The shadowy form of a nocturnal animal skittered across the road as Diana turned into Rogart’s driveway. The tan truck she’d seen him drive to her house sat where Jess said it had been when she’d been there.
The front of the house was dark. Maybe they’re watching TV. Diana glanced at the dashboard clock just before she shut off the ignition. Eight-thirty. As she opened the car door, the sound seemed inordinately loud to her ears. What did it matter? She was about to go up and ring the doorbell. Still, she felt like a sneak. As much as she wanted to safeguard these children, this mode of operation was foreign to her. Discomfort from it chafed her like a hair shirt as she eased out and quietly closed the car door.
She waited a moment longer, watchin
g for any sign of life from the residence. The nearest neighboring house was all but hidden in trees across the road. This observation increased her anxiety. The area wasn’t set out in city blocks, but small parcels of several acres each. How could he afford a spread like this? The house and those she passed on the way were definitely upscale. Then she remembered Rogart had told her that Joe held the mortgage. Maybe Joe had wanted the best for his Brandi.
Nervously, she glanced up at the rocky, pine-crested hill behind the house where she expected Jess to be. Hopefully, she’d kept pace, although Diana hadn’t seen the red Camaro in her rear view for some time. She watched a moment longer for approaching headlights, then surmised that Jess would have turned hers off as she positioned herself.
Her cell vibrated. As she unfolded it, she could make out Marge Lane’s name and number. “Hey, Marge, how’s it going?”
“Just got a call from Douglas County,” said Marge in her low, husky smoker’s voice.
“What did they find out? Was the baby all right?”
“Yeah, they said so. No sign of child neglect. The dad wasn’t home, but they said the daughter seemed a perfectly capable babysitter for her baby sister.”
“She passed the baby off as her sister?”
“Nope. Didn’t pass off anything. Showed the deputy a birth certificate.”
He’s the father? The sting of betrayal sent a rush of blood to her cheeks. Why should I care how many lies he tells?
“Diana, are you there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The birth certificate lists Patricia Strickland as the mother and Darren Rogart as the father. The house was clean. Food in the fridge. The girl said her dad would be home soon. Everything looked A-okay.”
“How’d she explain where the baby’s mom was?”
“Said she and their dad went to the mountains. Diana, what’s your connection with these people?”
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