by Cindi Myers
Ryder had to stop himself from asking how Darcy was doing. She obviously hadn’t had any more trouble from whoever had tried to break into her place. He might find an excuse to stop by there later, just to make sure.
“Ed Nichols was home with his wife, watching TV last night when Christy was killed,” Travis said.
“I’m guessing he wasn’t too happy to see you,” Ryder said, recalling his own less-than-warm reception in the Nicholses’ home.
“Ed was okay, but his wife is furious,” Travis said. “But I think they were telling the truth. There was six inches of snow in the driveway when I pulled in last night, and no sign that Ed’s truck or her car had moved in the last few hours.”
Ryder consulted his notes again, but he had reached the end of his list. “What else do we have?” he asked.
“I questioned some of the high school kids this afternoon,” Gage said. “And I talked to the teachers. No one knew anything about any guys in letter jackets who might have been out last night, trying to break into homes. I got the impression some of the students might not have been telling me everything they knew, but it’s hard to see a connection between attempted break-ins and these murders.”
“If students were in that area last night, they might have seen the killer, or his vehicle,” Travis said. “I want to find and talk to them.”
“Anything else?” Ryder asked.
“The ME says both women had their throats cut with a smooth-bladed, sharp knife,” Travis said. “No defensive wounds, although Christy had some bruising, indicating she might have thrashed around quite a bit after the killer taped her hands and feet.”
“So the murderer was able to surprise the women and bind them before they fought much,” Dwight said.
“Might have been two men,” Gage said. “No woman is going to lie still while you tape her up like that.”
“One really strong man might be able to subdue a frightened woman,” Travis said.
“Or maybe they were drugged,” Dwight said. “A quick jab with a hypodermic needle, or chloroform on a rag or something.”
Ryder frowned. “I don’t think there are any facilities here to test that,” he said. “And even if we collect DNA from the bodies, we don’t have any way of testing or matching it here.”
“Right,” Travis said. “We’ll have to hold the bodies at the funeral home until the roads open.”
Meanwhile, whoever did this was running free to kill again. “I spoke with the friends and family of both women,” Ryder said. “None of them were aware of anyone who had made threats or otherwise bothered Kelly or Christy.”
“There was no sexual assault,” Travis said. “Whoever did this was quick. He killed them and got out of there. No lingering.”
“We can’t say they weren’t targeted killings, but right now it feels random,” Ryder said.
“Thrill killings,” Gage said. “He did it because he could get away with it.”
“If that’s the case, he’s likely to kill again,” Travis said.
The others nodded, expressions sober. Ryder’s stomach churned. He felt he ought to be out doing something to stop the murderer, but what?
Travis’s phone buzzed and he answered it. “Sheriff Walker.” He stilled, listening. “When? Where? Tell the officer we’ll be right there.”
He ended the call and looked to the others. “A 911 call just came in from Darcy Marsh. Someone attacked her tonight—ran her car off the road.”
* * *
“DARCY! DARCY! Wake up, honey.” Darcy struggled out of a confused daze, wincing at the light blinding her. She moaned, and the light shifted away. “Darcy, look at me.”
She forced herself to look into the calm face of a middle-age man who spoke with authority. “What happened?” Darcy managed, forcing the words out, the effort of speaking exhausting her.
“You were in a wreck. I’m Emmett Baxter with Eagle Mountain EMS. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“Everything,” Darcy said, and closed her eyes again. She had a vague recollection of dialing 911 earlier, but her memories since then were a jumbled mess.
“Don’t go to sleep now,” Emmett said. “Open your eyes. Can you move your feet for me?”
Darcy tried to ignore him, then the sharp odor of ammonia stung her nose and her eyes popped open. “That’s better.” Emmett smiled. “Now, tell me your name.”
“Darcy Marsh.”
He asked a few more questions she recognized as an attempt to assess her mental awareness —her address, birthdate, telephone number and the date.
“Now try to move your feet for me,” he said.
Darcy moved her feet, then her hands. The fog that had filled her head had cleared. She took stock of her surroundings. She was in her car, white powder coating most of the interior, the deflated airbag spilling out of the steering wheel like a grotesque tongue. “My face hurts,” she said.
“You’re going to have a couple of black eyes and some bruises,” Emmett said. He shone a light into each eye. “Does anything else hurt? Any back or neck pain, or difficulty breathing?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He released the catch of Darcy’s seat belt. “I’m going to fit you with a cervical collar just in case.” He stripped the plastic wrapping from the padded collar and fit it to her neck, the Velcro loud in her ears. “How do you feel about getting out of the car and walking over to the ambulance?” he asked. “I’ll help.”
“Okay.” Carefully, she swung her legs over to the side of the car, Emmett’s arm securely around her. They both froze as the bright beams of oncoming headlights blinded them.
“I’m not sure why the state patrol is here,” Emmett said.
Ryder, a powerful figure in his sharp khaki and blue, emerged from the cruiser and strode toward the car. His gaze swept over the damaged vehicle and came to rest on Darcy’s face. The tenderness in that gaze made her insides feel wobbly, and tears threatened. “Darcy, are you okay?” he asked.
She clamped her lips together to hold back a sob and managed, almost grateful for the pain the movement caused. At least it distracted her from this terrible need to throw her arms around him and weep.
“We’re just going to get her over to the ambulance where we can get a better look at her,” Emmett said.
“Let me help.” Not waiting for a response, Ryder leaned down and all but lifted her out of the car. He propped her up beside him and walked her to the back of the ambulance, then stepped aside while Emmett and a female EMT looked her over.
“You’re going to be pretty sore tomorrow,” Emmett pronounced when they were done. “But there’s no swelling or indication that anything is broken and I can’t find any sign of internal damage. How do you feel? Any nausea or pain?”
“I’m a little achy and still shaken up,” Darcy said. “But I don’t think I’m seriously injured.”
“With the highway still closed, we can’t transport you to the hospital, but I’d recommend a visit to the clinic in town. They can do X-rays and maybe keep you overnight for observation.”
“No, I really don’t think that’s necessary,” she said. “I think I just had the wind knocked out of me. If I start to feel worse, I promise I’ll see a doctor.”
Emmett nodded. “Don’t hesitate to call us if that changes or you have any questions.” He glanced over his shoulder at Ryder, who stood, arms folded across his chest, gaze fixed on Darcy. “Your turn.”
For the first time Darcy realized there were other people at the scene—Travis and another man in a sheriff’s department uniform, and several people in jeans and parkas who might have been neighbors. Ryder sat beside her on the back bumper of the ambulance while Travis came to stand beside them. “What happened?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, buying time to organize her thoughts. “I got a call at lunchtime today,” she said. “When I w
as alone in the office. A woman who said her name was Marge asked me if I could make a house call to look at her mastiff who had hurt his leg. She said she was staying with her sister and had been trapped by the weather. She gave me an address on this street, but I couldn’t find the number. I tried to call her, but the phone number she had given me wasn’t a working number. I turned around and started to head back toward town when this vehicle blinded me with its headlights and ran into me.” She put a hand to her head, wincing. “I must have blacked out for a minute, then I guess I came to and called for help, then passed out again. I didn’t come to completely until the ambulance was here.”
“A man backing out of his driveway saw the accident and called 911, too,” Travis said. “He didn’t get a good look at the vehicle that hit you, though he thinks it was a truck. He said it drove off after it put your car in the ditch.”
Darcy looked toward her car, which was canted to one side in a snowbank. “He hit me almost head-on,” she said. “My car’s probably ruined.”
“Had you ever heard from this Marge person before?” Ryder asked.
“No. She said her name was Marge Latham. I didn’t think to ask for her sister’s name.”
“What was the address she gave you?” Travis asked.
“Two two three seven Silverthorne Road,” Darcy said. “She said her dog’s name was Rufus. She sounded really old, and said he was a mastiff, and too big for her to lift.”
“You say you were alone in the office when the call came in?” Ryder asked.
“Yes. I had just sent Stacy to lunch. I stayed in to catch up on some work.”
“So anyone watching the office would have known you were alone,” Ryder said.
She stared at him. “Why do you think someone was watching the office? Why would they do that?”
His grim expression sent a shiver of fear through her. “I think someone made that call to get you out here, so they could run you off the road,” he said. “The neighbor backing out of his driveway probably scared him off.”
She hugged her arms across her stomach, fighting nausea. “Do you think it’s the same person who killed Kelly and Christy?”
Ryder and Travis exchanged a look. “Is there anyone you can stay with for a while?” Ryder asked.
“No,” she said. If Kelly was still alive, Darcy might have stayed with her, but that wasn’t possible now. And the thought of leaving her little home was wrenching. “I don’t want to leave the cats. I’ll be fine.”
A young uniformed officer approached. “The wrecker is here,” he said. “Where do you want the car towed?”
All three men looked at Darcy. “Oh. Is there a mechanic in town?”
“There’s O’Brien’s,” the officer said. “That’s where the wrecker’s from.”
“Then I guess tow it there,” she said.
“I’ll drive you home,” Ryder said.
There was no point in refusing—she didn’t have any other way to get home, and she could see he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He helped her to his Tahoe and she climbed in. They rode in silence; she was still numb from everything that had happened. At the house he took the keys from her and opened the door, then checked through the house—which took all of a minute—the cats observing him from their perches on the stairs to the loft.
Darcy unbuttoned her coat and Ryder returned to her side to help her out of it. He draped it on the hook by the door, then hung his leather patrolman’s jacket beside it. “Sit, and I’ll make you some tea,” he said.
She started to protest that he didn’t have to wait on her. He didn’t have to stay and look after her. She wanted to be alone. Instead, she surrendered to her wobbly knees and shakier emotions and slid onto the bench seat at the little table and watched while Ryder familiarized himself with her galley kitchen. Within minutes he had a kettle heating on the stove and was opening a can of soup.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said.
“No.” He took two bowls from a cabinet and set them on the counter. “You’ve had a fright. I figured you could use some company.” His eyes met hers. “And I’d rather stay here than go home to my empty place and worry about you out here alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I can see anyone coming, the locks are good and I have my gun and my phone.”
“Use the phone first.”
“Of course.” She shivered. She had only ever fired the gun at the range. Could she really use it on a person? Maybe. If her life depended on it. “But I think I’m safe here.” If she kept repeating the words, she might make them true.
“You should install an alarm system,” he said.
“That’s a great idea. But the nearest alarm company is in Junction—on the other side of Dixon Pass.” Not accessible until the road reopened.
He stirred the soup, the rhythmic sound calming. Elinor the cat settled onto the bench next to Darcy, purring. She stroked the cat and tried to soak in all this soothing comfort. “Why is this happening?” she asked.
“Have you thought of anything at all that’s happened the past few weeks that’s been out of the ordinary?” he asked. “A client who was difficult, a man who leered at you in the grocery store—anything at all?”
“No.”
“And no one who might have a grudge against you, or resentment—other than the other vet.”
She hesitated. There was Ken, but he didn’t really hate her. He had only had his feelings hurt because she had refused to continue dating him. But she had never felt threatened by him. Ryder turned toward her. “Who are you thinking of?”
She sighed. “There was a guy I went out with a few times—Ken Rutledge. He lives next door to Kelly, in the other half of the duplex. I thought he was getting too serious too quickly, so I broke things off. He wasn’t happy about it, but I can’t believe he would kill anyone. I mean, he’s just not the violent type.” She would have said the same about the man who raped her, too, though.
“I’ll have a talk with him,” Ryder said. He poured soup into the two bowls and brought them to the table. “I won’t tell him you said anything. If he was Kelly’s neighbor, I need to talk to him, anyway.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over the bowl of soup and the smell hit her, making her mouth water. Suddenly, she was ravenous. She tried not to look like a pig, but she inhaled the soup and drained the cup of tea, then sat back. “I feel much better now,” she said.
Ryder smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he did so. A shadow of beard darkened his chin and cheeks, giving him a rakish look. “You’re not as pale,” he said. “Though I bet you’re going to be pretty sore tomorrow.”
“But I’ll heal,” she said. “I’m not so sure about my car. And how am I going to get to work?” Her predicament had just sunk in. “It’s not as if Eagle Mountain has a car rental agency.”
“I’m pretty sure Bud O’Brien keeps a couple of loaner vehicles for customers,” Ryder said.
“I hate to bother him,” Darcy said. “The man just lost his daughter.” Her stomach clenched, thinking of the woman who had been murdered.
“The people who work for him will be there,” Ryder said. “Too many people would be left stranded in this weather if they closed their doors. Call them in the morning and someone will work something out for you. If not, give me a call and I’ll put out some feelers.”
“Thanks.”
Ryder insisted on staying to help clean up and do the dishes. They worked side by side in her tiny kitchen. He seemed too large for the compact space, and yet comfortable in it, as well. Finally, when the last dish was returned to its place in her cabinets, he slipped on his jacket.
“You’re sure you’ll be comfortable here by yourself?” he asked.
He was standing very close to her so that she was very aware of his size and strength. She wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but her heart beat
a little too fast, and she had trouble controlling her breathing.
“Darcy?”
He was looking at her, waiting on an answer. She cleared her throat. “I’ll keep my phone with me and I’ll call 911 if I see or hear anything suspicious.”
“Call me, too,” he said. “I’m going to have the phone company try to track the number the call came from, but if you hear from Marge again, you’ll let me know.”
It wasn’t a request—more of an order. “I will,” she said. “Part of me still hopes it was a mistake—a confused woman who wasn’t familiar with the area gave me the wrong address and phone number.”
“It would be nice if that were the case,” he said. “But I think it’s better to act as if it was a genuine threat and be prepared for it to happen again.”
His words sent a shudder through her, but she braced herself against it and met his gaze. “I’ll be careful,” she said.
He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’m not trying to frighten you,” he said.
She wanted to lean into him, to rest her cheek against his hand like a cat. Instead, she made herself stand still and smile, though the expression felt weak. “I know. I’m already frightened, but I won’t let the fear defeat me.”
“That’s the attitude.” He bent and kissed her cheek, the brush of his lips sending a jolt of awareness through her. She reached up to pull him to her, but he had already turned away. She leaned in the open doorway.
He strode to his car, his boots crunching in the snow. He lifted his hand in a wave as he climbed into the Tahoe, then he was gone. And still she stood, with the door wide open. But she didn’t feel the cold, still warmed by that brief kiss.
Chapter Six
Ryder’s first impression of Ken Rutledge was an overgrown boy. On a day when the temperatures hovered in the twenties, Rutledge wore baggy cargo shorts and a striped sweater, and the sullen expression of a teen who had been forced to interact with dull relatives. “You’re that cop who’s investigating Kelly’s murder,” he said by way of greeting when he opened the door to Ryder.
