The Trophy Hunter
Page 25
She guessed he’d never have come out after her with an unloaded weapon. But, being Rogart, he just might have. Just for that extra thrill.
Cycle the goddam breach, Diana. Daddy’s voice in her memory’s ear.
She did.
One cartridge, one shot, one kill.
She snapped it closed with a crack, then returned it to the ready as Rogart moved toward her, in no hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. Again she backed away, yelling, “Stop,” as she got him in the crosshairs. But the gun shook in her hands. Even braced against her shoulder. Her entire body trembled. Rogart couldn’t fail to see it.
“Or you’ll what?” he asked, his tone mocking her. But he did stop, as if weighing the chances of her actually firing. She watched a smile steal over his face. Apparently he determined that she would not.
Then he took a step forward as her finger curled around the trigger. Rage consumed her, and in its heat she felt the trembling subside.
Squeeze, don’t jerk, dammit!
Yes, Daddy. This one’s for you.
Epilogue
Brookvale, Colorado
Afternoon sun reflected off aspen leaves turns them to myriad gold coins dancing in a cool September breeze. Brookvale teems with people attending the dedication of the Brandi Flannigan Memorial Wildlife Museum.
Evergreen’s favorite resident artist, Arlette Cruz-Ramos, abandoned her death wish when she donated the entire town in memory of Rogart’s murdered wife. Arlette has convinced the authorities that neither she nor her houseman, Roy, were knowing accessories to Rogart’s diabolical plan.
The feds found the knife used to kill Larry Strickland among Rogart’s many trophies and also tied it to the murder of Shane Cutler. Now the lodge contains only exhibits of animal specimens. The intact human victims were laid to rest by their loved ones, but it will be months before forensic efforts can identify the rejects whose ashes filled Rogart’s crematorium.
* * *
Diana, in burnt-orange suede, holds Winston Bell’s arm as he helps her over a fallen tree. They continue on toward picnic tables bordered by a stream made immobile by an early freeze. The record cold has loosened its grip, granting a reprieve for this special occasion.
Jess trails behind them, hand-in- hand with a studious type who looks a tad younger than she. “Sorry we’ve got to split,” says Jess. “I’ve got classes in the morning.”
The women hug briefly and the men look at each other, neutrally at best.
“She’ll get her J.D. yet,” whispers Diana to Winston as Jess and her new boyfriend move away toward the parking lot.
“She’s finally growing up,” says Winston, sounding more like Jess’s wise old uncle than ex-lover.
“Have you met the guy before?” asks Diana. “He seems like a nice contrast, doesn’t he?”
Winston’s low laughter gurgles up. “No to the first. Yes to the second. He sure is white.”
Nervous laughter erupts from Diana. “That’s not what I meant. Personalities. He’s Mister Conservative. What could be more of a contrast?”
“That he’s white,” replies Winston. Diana is sure that she catches a twinkle in his eye.
They move on, choosing an empty table, farthest from the group of people that now spills from the lodge. “I thought the dedication went well,” says Winston. “Joe and Rena will bring the kids some day, but today wasn’t the right time.”
Diana nods in agreement, holding up her hand to shield her eyes against the sun’s glare as she looks at Winston. “They’re in better shape than I expected, considering.” Her voice trails off as she imagines the day when she’ll have to face Rogart’s children. How will they view her? That day is inevitable because of what she has decided to do.
“Joe’s giving it all he’s got,” says Winston. “It’s hard to change your ways when you’re past fifty.”
Now, contemplation of another sort puts a twinkle in Diana’s eye. “Are you speaking of Joe…or yourself?” she asks.
In answer, he places a large hand over hers. “That’s for me to know.”
A smile flickers over her face as she wonders if Winston returns the feelings that she’s been aware of for some time. She changes the subject. “Rena’s in remission. Did you notice her hair? It’s grown back jet black. Not a thread of gray in it.”
“Give her a few years of parenting grandkids,” replies Winston. “It’ll turn gray again.”
Diana’s face sobers. “You think?”
“It’s quite a responsibility, Diana.”
She knows that he is not talking about Rena and Joe now. He refers to her pending adoption of Fawn Rogart, Trisha’s baby. “Yes, I realize that. You said you’d help.”
In this most important step of her life, she doesn’t completely trust herself to get it right. She has no idea how a court will view a person who has killed the biological father of the child she seeks to adopt. Even though the record clearly shows she could have taken no other action. How will she deal with Fawn’s eventual questions? And in the nearer future, how will she integrate Fawn with Keith and Lori? According to Joe and Rena, Rogart’s older children yearn for their baby sister. Only an unfeeling person would deny them that comfort.
Winston draws a sheaf of papers from his suit jacket, pulling her attention back to the present. “The first hearing on your petition is next week. We’ll need to go over a few things.” He hands the papers to Diana. “It’s not a slam-dunk, but things look pretty good.”
Impulsively she leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. He doesn’t pull away, but Diana sees a ruddier tinge glowing through his brown complexion.
He clears his throat and turns serious. “You know there could be a downside to this. You could be in for more than a few gray hairs.”
“Right. My mother won’t let me forget the downside. She called again this morning to offer some reference books on the hereditary nature of psychopathy.”
Winston takes both of her hands in his and looks into her eyes. “I hate to say it, but your mom has a point.”
“Fawn has to have a chance for a normal life. I think I’m the one to give it to her.”
“And your dad? What does he think? You never talk about him.”
Diana withdraws her hands slowly from Winston’s. Should she tell him what she’s never even told Jess?
“He’s been the pattern for most of my bad choices,” she begins. “But, on the other hand, he may have saved my life by giving me the knowledge and the anger…when I needed them.”
“To shoot Rogart?” asks Winston. “That came from anger at your father?” His brow wrinkles. “I’ve never seen that side of you. Never dreamed it existed.” He shakes his head. Without looking at her, he begins, “Did he… None of my business.”
“No,” she replies. “It’s not what you think. There are many kinds of abuse. I’d like to tell you.”
He nods, but looks as if he were about to swallow a bitter pill. She wonders if she’s making a mistake, if she’s about to eradicate any chance for more than a friendship between them. But the story is part of who she is. He needs to know, no matter what the consequences. She doesn’t need another Greg who can’t deal with strong emotion.
“With no siblings, I was his captive pupil for firearms instruction. He tried to make a hunter out of me, dragged me through the woods of Illinois and Michigan until I got too big to drag.”
Winston looks puzzled. “Firearms instruction isn’t a bad thing. The museum trustees are talking about having firearm safety classes for young people next year.”
“It wasn’t the instruction that I minded. I dry-fired until my arms went numb. It was the killing I couldn’t do. It’s why I can’t eat red meat to this day.”
“He made you kill something?”
She shakes her head as tears make their way down her cheeks. “I missed on purpose every time. Until he figured it out. Then he shot a doe and made me gut her. He…he took my hand, put the knife in it and shoved it into her stomach.
I threw up on him and myself. He went someplace and cleaned himself up, but he made me stay in my puked-on clothes for the rest of the day.”
A look of pain crosses Winston’s face. She wants to assure him that she’s not an emotional cripple, hopes he already knows this. “It had an up side,” she continues with a wistful smile. “He never mentioned guns or hunting to me again.”
As they watch caterers bringing food to a central table, Winston blinks several times. “I have the feeling you’re not in the mood to picnic. How about driving back to Denver, catching a show and a later dinner?”
Diana smiles. “You read my mind,” she says.
The End
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Epilogue