by Aimée Thurlo
Without giving her a chance to protest, he leaned over and took her mouth in a gentle but persuasive kiss.
She’d meant to respond casually—a thank-you and an apology all at once—but the moment his lips covered hers, fiery sensations began coursing through her. Arms around his neck, she melted into him. All her senses went on hyperdrive as the past and present joined in one glorious moment of pure desire.
He gripped her hips and pulled her against him. Instinctively, she rubbed her body against his, but all too soon, the fires became too intense. Afraid of the heat, she pulled back, catching her breath.
“We can’t do this, Ben.”
He released her and watched her move away from him. As his breathing evened, his expression became impossible to read. “Consider it a way of cementing our new alliance.”
Taking a breath, she forced herself to match his expression. “Alliance?”
“You can count on me to watch your back, and I expect you to do the same for me. What binds us now is our connection to Dad, and what that might mean to the person who killed him.”
“The danger’s far from over,” she said with a nod. “Whoever killed your dad will continue coming after us. They still don’t have what they want.”
“Agreed. I’m not sure what level of danger we’re facing, but I intend to find answers before I leave. That’ll mean turning over a few rocks and making some noise.”
“The sheriff’s department—”
“Is sitting on their collective asses. Detective Wells isn’t pushing to solve my father’s murder. I waited over an hour to talk with her yesterday, and she never even showed up.”
Jo stood and paced, mostly to put some distance between them. She didn’t want to be distracted, but she could still taste Ben on her lips. She pushed those feelings aside. To him, it had only been a way of cementing alliances … or maybe pushing for a meaningless quickie.
She reached for her purse. “I better get going. I have to be at work early tomorrow.”
As Ben reached around her to unlatch the screen door, she heard a noise coming from behind the house and froze.
“Something’s back by the shed,” he whispered.
“Skunk?”
“I don’t smell anything. You?”
“Maybe a coyote?”
There was a thump.
“More like the two-legged kind.”
He crossed the room, grabbed the fireplace poker, then continued down the hall. The house’s back door was solid wood with a small window. As Ben looked out, he saw a figure standing on the small step of the shed. The door was half open, and the guy was aiming a flashlight beam into the interior.
He felt rather than saw Jo behind him, reaching for the outside light switch. “No! Leave it off.
“Stay here,” he said, undoing the lock as gently as he could. Then, feeling the heft of the steel poker in his left hand, he inched open the door. Ben saw the man’s flashlight in one hand, then a shiny object in the other he recognized instantly.
The man turned in his direction.
“Gun!” Dropping the poker, Ben whirled around and yanked Jo to the floor just as a shot rang out.
There were two more quick, thundering blasts, and splinters rained down on them. Past the ringing in his ears, Ben managed to hear running footsteps.
“Stay low, stay here, call the cops,” he yelled, jumping to his feet.
Jo brought out her cell phone, trying to enter 911 and still keep her eyes on Ben as he raced after their assailant. The burglar scrambled over the field fence about fifty feet beyond the shed, dropped to the ground on the opposite side, then turned around.
Ben dived to the left, hitting the ground as the man’s pistol flashed in the dark.
Jo heard bullets thump into the house. Staying down on the floor, she spoke quickly to the emergency operator.
Jo heard more running in the distance, and the roar of an engine, followed by spinning tires. By the time she looked up, the sound had faded.
Ben was standing beside the fence, alone, watching red taillights disappearing down the dirt lane to the south.
She ran outside. “What happened? And why didn’t you grab a gun?” she said, her hands shaking so badly, she had to jam them into her pockets.
“The shotgun’s in the trading post, remember?” he said.
“But I thought you’d have your own—”
“You mean my military sidearm? That’s locked up back in my quarters at Fort Riley.”
“Then why did you chase him? Are you crazy? You had no way of defending yourself.” Her voice rose an octave.
“All I had to do was stay close. He had a revolver, six shots, then he’d be unarmed again. I could have taken him out.”
“If he hadn’t already shot you,” she snapped.
“Were you worried?” he said with an irrepressible grin.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re trying to distract me from the fact that someone was shooting at us.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Did you call 911?”
She heard a siren and nodded toward the highway. “I would imagine that’s the sheriff’s department now.”
A few minutes later, a county patrol car pulled up. Close behind was an unmarked SUV.
The uniformed deputy climbed out and glanced back at Detective Wells, who was just exiting the SUV.
“The burglar’s gone. The last I saw were taillights headed in that direction,” Ben said, pointing west toward tribal land.
“Did you see what type of vehicle he was driving?” Detective Wells asked him.
“I didn’t get a make, it was too dark, and the parking lot glare didn’t help. All I can tell you is that it was a dark-colored van.”
She gestured to the patrol deputy, who raced off, then looked back at them. “According to dispatch, the intruder fired a total of five shots. Did either of you get a look at the weapon?”
“A chrome- or nickel-plated revolver, with a four- or five-inch barrel,” Ben said.
“Any idea where the rounds went?”
“In the wall around the kitchen, maybe the outside wall, too,” Jo said, remembering.
“We weren’t his target. He was more interested in the shed,” Ben said.
“Anything missing?”
“We haven’t looked, not yet, but I doubt he had time to pick up whatever it was he came for.”
They walked over and Wells aimed her flashlight beam into the interior beyond the half-open door.
“Looks pretty full. When’s the last time you had a look inside?” Wells asked him, her eyes still checking out the contents.
“A few days ago. I was in the process of moving in, and decided to store some of my dad’s things until I could figure out what to do with them.”
“Could this be connected to what happened to his dad?” Jo asked Detective Wells. If the shed hadn’t been searched, maybe that was where Tom hid the “property” that had gotten him killed.
“It’s too early to know,” Wells said. She shifted the light toward the door, where a key was still in the lock.
“You leave this in here?” she asked Ben.
“No, ma’am.”
“So the person had a key that fit the lock,” she said quietly. “How did he get it?”
“I have a set, and so does Ben, but I thought my former boss’s keys were taken by the police, along with everything he had on him when…,” Jo said, doing her best to avoid saying Tom’s name out loud.
“Whatever he had on him is now locked up at the station. Those items are evidence, and nothing can be taken out of that room without going through a shitload of paperwork,” Katie said. “I’ll check it out, but maybe the killer got this key from Mr. Stuart.”
“Then he already had a chance to look inside the night of the murder,” Jo said.
“Maybe not, and with me here, or people coming and going and on the lookout for more trouble, he had to wait,” Ben said. “Or maybe Dad just faked him out, trying to buy time by telling the k
idnapper that the key would give him access to whatever he was after—but lied about which lock it fit. It’s what I might have done, just to piss the guy off. That would also explain why the man waited so long to get to the shed. Remember the burglars the day of the memorial service? They couldn’t get past the keypad and dead bolt and had to resort to the crowbar. One of them, the killer, knew that once inside, he could use the safe combination Dad must have given up. But after not finding what he was after in the trading post, the house, and your home, the shed was the next logical place to search.”
“That’s a good theory,” Katie said with a nod. “From what I’ve learned, your father was tough and smart. As a former marine, he would have kept his cool and played it anyway he could.”
“Hooah, ma’am,” Ben said.
“I’m going to save some time and dust for prints myself. The forensic techs will be here ASAP and recover any slugs they can find.”
* * *
Once she’d processed the lock, key, and the area around the handle, Detective Wells pushed the shed door open all the way. “Now let’s take a good look.”
“I can tell you right now that my dad wouldn’t have left something of value in a relatively unsecured place like this,” Ben said.
“Or maybe he did, and the safe was just a diversion. Hiding a valuable item among everyday things can be a good strategy. How thoroughly have you searched this shed?” Detective Wells asked.
“Not very. I gave some of the house furnishings to charity—Jo might have noticed the truck the other day. I also shifted things around to make room for other stuff I took from the house. Most of it is on the left side.”
“Let’s take a look now,” Wells said. “I just wish I knew what we’re looking for.”
Jo brought two emergency lanterns from the trading post and the interior was soon brightly illuminated. They searched inside the boxes and trunks, including those Ben had recently taken from the house. Unfortunately, there was nothing of obvious value among the used clothing, furniture, and household items.
The forensic van pulled up just as they finished, and two techs stepped out of the vehicle.
Wells turned the key and fingerprint evidence she’d gathered at the shed over to them, then gestured to the house. “Rounds impacted inside and against the outside of the structure.”
“I think at least two came into the kitchen,” Jo said.
“I’ll start there, then,” the blond-haired tech said.
As they entered the house, Jo placed her hand on the jish at her belt. She opened the top and reached inside, touching the bead token with her fingertips. Slowly, she pushed back the terror she’d felt when she heard the shots. So much violence in such a short time …
Concentrating, she forced herself to stop trembling. She wouldn’t give in to this now.
Detective Wells spotted a bullet hole in the refrigerator and studied the impact point. She turned and looked through the open door toward the shed. Then she stepped aside, allowing the tech full access.
“First Tom and his house, then the store—twice, my house, and now the shed. It’s got to be the same guy, the one who locked us up in the freezer. So we already know something about him, like his build, general age, and the fact that he has an accent. What will he do next when he runs out of places to search for whatever it is he’s after?” Jo said.
“Then everything changes,” Wells said. “He’ll come for one or both of you. You’ll need to be especially careful.”
“This man is dangerous, but so am I,” Ben said. He’d given his words no particular emphasis, but there was no mistaking their deadly intent.
Ben was a soldier, trained to fight. Jo hoped that would help them stay alive.
“If we could figure out what he’s after, we might be able to uncover a motive for what’s been going on,” Wells said.
Jo looked at Ben, then Detective Wells. Maybe it was time to speak up and tell them both about the mysterious caller and the threats made. Yet if she did and the man found out she’d told the officer, her own life would be on the line. The police and the others already knew the important points—what was going on and that they were being threatened. Maybe it was better to let law enforcement just concentrate on trying to find this man. Except for the call itself, they already knew everything she did—at least all that counted. It was more important to figure out what he was after, and once that was clear, a trap could be set.
Ben looked at her strangely, apparently waiting for her to speak. When she remained silent, he shrugged and spoke to the detective. “We’ve searched the shed, and everything in the trading post has been carefully inventoried. I’ve gone through the contents of the house, too. There’s nothing here of significant value—not worth killing for anyway,” Ben said.
“Same with my house,” Jo added.
“You’re both thinking in terms of money, but what it means to someone may not have anything to do with dollars and cents,” Wells said.
“You mean like a figurine with a map or something very valuable hidden inside it, or maybe an object that would implicate someone in a crime? If that’s the case, I’m not even sure how to begin looking for it,” Jo said truthfully.
“Those examples are strictly Hollywood—but, yeah, like that. Look among the victim’s papers and the ordinary things he kept close. Try to find something that doesn’t seem to belong or that appears out of place.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jo said.
“I’ll help,” Ben said.
“You might also consider closing the trading post and leaving the Four Corners area for a few days. We’ll stake out the place and hopefully catch the suspect when he tries to break in again. If nothing was taken tonight, the intruder might give the trading post another go when he thinks he has more time.”
“Sorry. I can’t do that. The trading post’s business has already taken a serious hit. We can’t close up on the off chance that the burglar might come back. In fact, I’m considering staying open longer hours on Sundays, at least for a while.”
“How many suspects with breaking and entering records are on your list?” Ben asked her.
“Several. There were two who looked like good candidates, at least for the attempt on the day of the memorial service, but obviously, neither one was responsible for tonight. They were brought in for questioning, made bail, then turned up dead—murdered,” Wells said.
“The same men that were found in the back of the green pickup, right down the road from my home?” Jo asked, not really surprised.
“Yeah, the two had previous convictions for burglary, and they often struck residences and business sites when they knew the people would be elsewhere—weddings, funerals, you name it. I’m still waiting for the Office of the Medical Investigator, via the tribal police, to make a positive ID on one of the victims,” Wells added. She brought out two photographs from her jacket pocket and handed them to Jo. “Have you ever seen either of these men before?”
Jo looked at them carefully, and handed them to Ben. “I saw the dark-haired man in the back of the pickup, but can’t say for sure he was one of the burglars. Ben got a good look at one of the men, though I was too busy ducking.”
Ben looked at the photos, then returned them to Detective Wells. “The man in the top photo was the person in the green pickup who fired a shot into the yellow pickup. He also aimed the pistol at us, and I backed off. I’m positive that’s him.”
She nodded. “They’re brothers, so my guess is he’s the one who was decapitated. DNA tests won’t be coming back for a few weeks, though. The tribe has agreed to give me those results.”
“What about the third burglar, the driver? Has his body been found—elsewhere?” Jo asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“So you don’t who he is?” Ben asked.
“Maybe he killed the brothers—so they couldn’t identify him,” Jo suggested. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Could be,” Wells answered. “It’s not my c
ase, though, unless it turns up showing a connection to Mr. Stuart’s homicide.”
“What about tonight’s incident?” Ben asked.
Detective Wells looked down at the small notebook she carried, then made a few notes before answering. “Depending on the condition of the slugs we find here today, it’s possible we’ll be able to link the caliber and the type of bullet to a suspect, maybe even the actual firearm. It’s all we have right now. But it won’t help us in any of the other incidents. The only time we’ve actually recovered a bullet was when your father was killed, and the weapon used has been in the evidence locker for more than a week now.”
“Give me the names of some of your suspects, and I’ll help cut down on the legwork. They might tell me something they’d never tell a police officer,” Ben said.
“No chance. I can’t get someone outside of law enforcement involved in a police investigation,” Wells said, staring at him intently for a few seconds before placing her notebook back into her jacket pocket. “I’ve got to get rolling on this. If you think of anything that’ll help, call my cell.”
Jo watched Detective Wells leave. “You made her … uneasy,” she said after struggling to find just the right word.
“That was my intent,” Ben said. “So far she’s got nothing, but she’s right about one thing. We need to figure out what my father’s killer wants. Once we do that, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re up against.”
“We’ll find the answer,” Jo said firmly, glad that the secret she was keeping would not interfere with the investigation. “Evil and good exist side by side so each can balance the other. Evil made its move. Now let’s make ours.”
SEVENTEEN
Jo was at the trading post early the following morning. Despite the new locks at her house, she’d scarcely slept. Too many worries clouded her mind and the lack of rest was starting to wear her down.
Esther, who’d also come in early, entered Jo’s office holding a large paper sack. “I’ve brought some fresh vegetables from our garden. You’re here before the others, so that means you get first pick,” she said with a bright smile, setting the bag on the table and removing tomatoes, cucumbers, and summer squash.
