The Sheriff of Silverhill

by Ericson, Carol

  Like it or not, that’s why they needed the FBI for an investigation like this, but Rafe planned to solve the case before the fibbies called in their big guns. He didn’t want them to upstage him in his own town where he accepted full responsibility for the residents’ safety.

  Rafe gestured toward a round table next to the single interview room. “We can work over there.”

  Brice shot up from his chair. “Can I sit in on the meeting, Sheriff?”

  “You can listen in, but I need you manning the phones and finishing that paperwork.”

  A flash of anger distorted Brice’s features for a moment before he dropped his gaze. “Okay.”

  Rafe knew the young sheriff’s deputy wanted in on the murder investigation, but he couldn’t afford to spare him from the other duties. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  They all dragged their files out of their briefcases and bags and dropped them onto the table.

  Emmett started since some local boys found the first body in his jurisdiction—on the reservation. “Lindy Spode grew up here, went to Silverhill High School and worked as a waitress at the Miner’s Café. She liked to party, and she frequented clubs in Durango. Two days before her murder, she’d been club hopping there.”

  “Holly Thompson, the victim today, also hung out at clubs in Durango.” Steve hunched forward. “Did you show Lindy’s picture around in Durango?”

  “One bartender remembered her, but she was with girlfriends. Came with them, left with them.”

  “But this club scene could be a connection.” Dana shuffled through some papers.

  “I hate to be the spoiler here, but Alicia Clifton, the second victim. was no club hopper.” Rafe tapped his finger on the desk. “She was in college, had a part-time job and helped out at the reservation school.”

  “Great, two party girls and Mother Teresa.” Steve slumped back in his chair.

  They continued to discuss the women’s friends, hangouts and ex-boyfriends, and made a plan to share all their information going forward. The FBI’s restraint surprised Rafe. Usually they moved in and took over, but Steve seemed willing to listen to what he and Emmett had to say about the cases. Maybe Steve was relying on Dana to lead the way, since this was Southern Ute territory, but Steve had been with the Indian Country Crimes unit for over fifteen years. He knew his way around a reservation.

  If they all continued to cooperate, they’d nail this guy without further interference from the FBI.

  “What about the calling card?” Dana bit her lip, her eyes darting around the table. “What’s the significance of the crude Indian headband?”

  Emmett splayed his hands on the tabletop and blew out a long breath. “So far he’s been targeting Southern Ute women. Could be one of our own, could be some white guy on a mission.”

  Dana hunched her shoulders. “I hope not. Do you hear any rumblings on the reservation, Emmett?”

  “There’s a lot of fear, a little anger and some speculation since you came to town, Dana.”

  Dana shoved back from the table, almost knocking her chair to the floor. “Is there a bathroom around here, Sheriff?”

  “Around the corner.” Rafe pointed to the hallway on the other side of his desk.

  As Dana turned the corner, Rafe swiveled his head back toward Emmett. “What speculation are you talking about?”

  Emmett rubbed his hands on the thighs of his jeans and shot a glance toward the bathroom. “You know Dana’s gifted?”

  “Sure. She was the smartest girl in school, valedictorian even.” Rafe scratched his chin. Did the entire reservation think Dana was going to catch this killer because she was valedictorian?

  “I don’t mean gifted that way. The Southern Ute, like most Native American tribes, have shamans. They can see the future, cast spells and communicate with the spirit world. In our tradition, we call this having the gift and those who have it, gifted. Only women are gifted in our tribe, and it’s passed down through families. The females in Dana’s family are all gifted, but Dana chose to reject that part of her heritage.”

  Rafe’s brows shot up. Maybe that’s why Dana left him. She saw a vision of their future together and it stunk. “She never told me any of that.”

  “She wouldn’t. Her stepfather Lenny exploited the gift in Dana’s mother by having her go on the road to tell fortunes and cast love spells. That didn’t sit well with Dana.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it didn’t, especially after that drunk driver struck and killed her mother at one of those roadside stands.” He’d heard about the accident when he was a kid, but he didn’t know Dana then. She attended the school at the reservation until she enrolled at Silverhill High.

  During their senior year in high school, he believed they’d shared everything about themselves. Apparently not. What other secrets had Dana kept from him?

  “Anyway,” Emmett continued, “folks on the reservation, who know about Dana’s gift, are wondering if she’s going to use it to solve these crimes.”

  “Did you know about this?” Rafe tilted his chin toward Steve, who looked as mystified as Rafe felt. Something else. Fear, like a flame, leaped in Rafe’s chest, and he crossed his arms to squelch it.

  “Emmett,” he began slowly, “does everyone on the reservation know Dana’s gifted?”

  “Maybe not the younger ones, but the elders all know it because they know the Redbird family has the gift.”

  Rafe swore and pounded the table with his fist. “You need to keep that piece of information under wraps as much as you can. If it gets out to the general public that Dana can read minds or see into the future and our killer finds out, she’ll be in more danger than ever.”

  His words hung in the air as the clip of Dana’s heels echoed down the hallway. She stopped at the table and rested her hands on the back of her chair.

  “I see Emmett’s been spinning Native American ghost stories.”

  Steve said, “Why didn’t you tell me you had this gift, Dana?”

  She snorted, her nostrils flaring in anger. “I know you have a little Cherokee blood in you, Steve, but do you really believe all that spiritual claptrap?”

  “The FBI has used psychics before, and we’ve gotten some valuable information from them. You should’ve told me.”

  “Okay, stop.” Dana held up her hands. “I don’t have the gift. I’ve never been able to predict a lottery number, I can’t cast spells and I don’t see dead people.” She lifted one shoulder and said, “I guess it skipped me.”

  Rafe stood up next to her and grabbed her hand. “Does everyone on the reservation believe that?”

  Her eyes widened as she grasped his meaning. “I—I don’t know. The Redbirds never made a big deal out of it, except my stepfather. The older folks know, but it’s not something I ever discussed…with anyone.”

  “Don’t start now. We don’t need this psycho believing you can identify him through dreams.” Rafe squeezed her hand, resisting an urge to pull her into an embrace. She’d welcome that about as much as she had welcomed that trip down memory lane.

  At least she didn’t yank away from him. She briefly leaned against his arm and said, “It’s not something I bring up in everyday conversation.”

  Standing up, Steve unzipped his briefcase and slid his files inside. Without looking up, he asked, “Have you ever tried to use your powers of clairvoyance, Dana?”

  She disentangled her hand from Rafe’s and smacked it on the table. “I told you, I don’t have that ability.”

  Steve cleared his throat. “From what I understand, it’s something you need to develop and practice. You have to make yourself susceptible.”

  “Well, I’m not making myself susceptible.”

  “If it could be useful for this case, if it could save some lives?” Emmett shoved to his feet and gripped the edge of the table.

  The three of them created a semicircle around Dana. She pulled her shoulders back and widened her stance, but her lower lip trembled. Rafe’s protective instincts shot into overdriv
e.

  “Forget it. Dana told you she can’t see into the future or read minds. Are you boys so afraid of a little old-fashioned detective work that you have to rely on the mystical dreams of a reluctant psychic?”

  Everyone around the table let out a sigh, and Steve rapped his knuckles on the table. “You’re right, Sheriff. Dana and I are going out to Holly’s house tomorrow. Since her mother was out of town today, I had to give her the bad news over the phone.”

  Emmett coughed. “And I’m following up on that lead from one of Lindy’s coworkers about the customer who kept requesting Lindy’s table at the restaurant.”

  Dana shot him a grateful look from beneath lowered lashes, and Rafe squeezed her hand again.

  They stepped outside the station, and Emmett put on his hat and said, “I noticed you drove in with Rafe, Dana. I’m going back out to the reservation. Can I give you a ride back to your auntie Mary’s?”

  “Sure.” She glanced at Rafe. “Thanks for the ride over and…”

  “My pleasure.” Rafe took her hand, running his thumb across her smooth skin. He knew she wanted to thank him for standing up for her in there and not allowing Steve and Emmett to bully her into using some powers she didn’t even think she possessed.

  He watched through narrowed eyes as Dana climbed into Emmett’s patrol car. It felt natural and right to be Dana’s protector again. And if it ever got out that she could identify the killer through supernatural powers, Rafe would do everything in his power to shield her from danger.

  He didn’t have the gift, but he had a gun and he’d go to hell and back to keep Dana Croft safe.

  Chapter Three

  “Guess who I saw last night?” Rafe shook the container of orange juice with one hand as he took a bite of toast.

  His brother, Rod, grunted from behind his newspaper, and his stepmother, Pam, raised her eyebrows as she poured coffee. “Who?” Pam asked.

  “Dana Croft.”

  Rod answered by rustling his paper and cursing. Rafe was pretty sure the curse had nothing to do with Dana. His brother only half listened to what anyone said unless it pertained to the ranch.

  Pam responded with a curse, too. She’d poured too much coffee in the cup and the steaming liquid had run over the sides and pooled in the saucer.

  Rafe grabbed a dish towel and tossed it to her. “Do you remember Dana? She went off to Georgetown, went to the FBI Academy at Quantico, and now she’s working in the FBI’s Indian Country Crimes unit. She’s in town to investigate those three murders.”

  Pam’s brow furrowed as she dropped the dish towel on the counter to soak up the coffee. “Dana Croft?”

  “You remember Dana, Pam.” Rod folded his newspaper and shoved back from the table. “She’s the pretty Ute girl you tried so hard to pry away from Rafe during his senior year.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Pam slid the wet towel into the sink. “I never interfered with you boys.”

  Rafe clenched his jaw as Rod rolled his eyes at him before exiting the pot he had just stirred.

  Looked like Dana was right about Pam if Rod had noticed. His stepmother probably told Dana to back off when they were in high school, but the fact that Dana actually did back off shocked the hell out of him. He’d meant it when he told her he never knew her to run from a fight.

  Unless the fight concerned something she didn’t really want.

  Rotating his shoulders, he kicked his boots onto the chair Rod vacated and leaned back. Dana had flitted across his mind a few times in the past several years; why was he allowing her to take up residence now like a big, white elephant in the corner of his brain? Correction. A dark, sleek panther. A sexy cat of a woman.

  He gulped his juice. Once they caught this killer and wrapped up the investigation, she’d go back to whatever kind of life she had in Denver. And that suited him just fine. As long as he could keep her safe while she worked the case.

  Pam dropped a single rose into the small glass vase on Dad’s breakfast tray. Gripping the handles of the tray, she hoisted it from the counter and turned toward Rafe. “You don’t believe Rod’s nonsense about that girl, do you? With your father’s health deteriorating, Rod’s had more than he can handle at the ranch. He’s always angry about something, and has a sarcastic tongue.”

  Rafe shrugged. Even at eighteen years old, Dana could stand up to Pam…if she’d wanted to. “That was a long time ago. How’s Dad this morning?”

  “The flu hit him hard, and it takes him longer and longer to recover from an illness. Doc Parker thinks Ralph needs to retire to a different climate.”

  Rafe’s cell phone rang and he checked the display, which flashed Steve Lubeck’s number. His heart skipped a beat. It was too early in the morning for Steve and Dana to have uncovered anything at Holly Thompson’s house. He hoped it wasn’t another body. “I have to take this.”

  Pam backed out of the kitchen with the tray almost groaning under the weight of Dad’s favorite breakfast. Pam may have broken up his parents’ marriage, but she catered to his father in a way his biological mother refused to do. His mother hadn’t possessed one nurturing gene in her body. She hadn’t contacted one of them since leaving over fifteen years ago.

  Shaking his head, Rafe flipped open his phone. “Hey, Steve, anything new?”

  “No, unless you count my burning ulcer. I need to see a doctor today. Do you mind going out to the Thompson residence with Dana to talk to Holly’s mother? We’re supposed to be there at eleven o’clock.”

  Rafe pulled up his sleeve to check his watch. “Sure. Were you picking up Dana or meeting her there?”

  “I was going to swing by her aunt’s house to pick her up. The Thompson place is on the other side of the reservation from Dana’s aunt’s house.”

  “I’ll be there. Did you tell Dana yet?”

  “Not yet. Do you want me to call her? I can give her a ring on my way to the doctor in Durango.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll call her.” Rafe wanted to gauge her response to working with him. His presence seemed to put her on edge, and he planned to find out why.

  AFTER THREE UNSUCCESSFUL phone calls to Dana, a three-mile run and a conversation with Alicia Clifton’s agitated boyfriend, Rafe pulled into the reservation. His patrol car rolled to a stop behind Dana’s rental, and as he opened the door, the wind snatched it from his hand and flung it wide. The winds always kicked up on the reservation. Before the oil money started pouring in, the winds stirred up a lot of dirt from the undeveloped lands. The winds still stirred up dirt, but now it came from the construction sites that dotted the reservation—dumping grounds for a killer.

  Rafe’s gaze darted toward the thick foliage where Dana’s attacker had disappeared last night. One of Emmett’s officers had scoured the area this morning, but didn’t turn up one clue. The “Headband Killer,” as they’d secretly dubbed him, seemed to move about silently and stealthily, snatching women, murdering them and dumping their bodies without leaving a trace of evidence.

  Rafe stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the sudden chill in the air. If it was their guy who accosted Dana, thank God all he had in mind for her was a warning. But why just a warning? Why didn’t he drag her off and strangle her like all the others?

  For some reason, despite her Ute heritage, Dana didn’t fit his pattern. Or he didn’t want to mess with an FBI agent. Or maybe Dana was right—a wannabe attacked her, not the real killer.

  He huffed out a breath in the cold air and stomped up the two steps to Mary Redbird’s door. Even though she’d married a Croft, everyone called her Mary Redbird or Auntie Mary. After Dana’s mother died, her aunt had raised her, since her stepfather, Lenny, was useless. He hadn’t been back in town two weeks, and he’d already caused a ruckus at the Elk Ridge Bar the other night.

  He knocked on the door and Dana opened it, wearing slacks and a blouse. This time she had a shoulder holster with her weapon tucked inside, not packed away in her purse.

  “What are you d
oing here?” She grasped the door and the doorjamb, blocking his entrance to the house.

  “Steve’s ulcer is acting up. I’m going with you to interview Mrs. Thompson.”

  “Oh, I thought maybe you were just in the neighborhood again.”

  “I tried calling you on your cell phone a couple of times, but it went straight to voice mail.”

  “We don’t have the best reception out here.” Her grip on the doorjamb loosened. “You should’ve tried my aunt’s number.”

  Rafe jerked his chin forward. “Are you going to invite me inside this time?”

  “We need to get going. I’ll get my jacket and…”

  Auntie Mary ducked beneath Dana’s arm. “Nonsense. Come on in, Sheriff McClintock.”

  Dana’s jaw tightened but she threw open the door, and Rafe squeezed past her to clasp Auntie Mary’s clawlike hand. “You can call me Rafe, ma’am. You’re looking as spry as ever.”

  Thumping her cane against the floor, Auntie Mary chuckled. “Spry is only ever used for ancient people who haven’t dropped dead yet. It’s good to see you, Rafe. Haven’t seen much of you since you returned to Silverhill, but I did vote for you for sheriff.”

  “That’s good to hear, ma’am. I’m just sorry such sad business brings me to the reservation.”

  Auntie Mary shook her head. “It’s a tragedy for those girls and their families. As much as I like having my great-niece here, I hope you catch this killer quickly.”

  “We will.” His gaze meandered around the cozy living room, settling on the crackling fire in the grate. He stepped toward the fireplace, holding out his hands. “It’s chilly outside. I think we’re going to have an early winter.”

  Leaning forward, Rafe peered at the framed photos on the mantel—Dana’s high school graduation picture, Dana with the FBI director and several pictures of Dana as a young girl.

  He reached forward to pluck one of the photos from the mantel and Dana shouted, “Let’s go.”